Superexciting: tonight I get to go to my first-ever Emirati wedding! It's for a local colleague who is 25ish, beautiful, UK-educated, doesn't cover, and whose family apparently owns half of Oman (she drives a pimped-out Cayenne, has a different Chanel bag for every day of the week, flies to Singapore with her mom once a month for wedding dress fittings, etc).
Yet, mind-blowingly, it's an arranged marriage to a guy who she's never met outside of the engagement and a few supervised visits. When I asked her about it, she was very apologetic - like, "Oh, that must seem really weird to you, right?" Which... well, I don't know if it seems weird. I'm so back-and-forth on the issue. Sometimes I'm like "Shit, I wish my parents would find me a cute, smart, well-educated, well-off guy from a good family for me to marry!" And then other times I'm like... well, we can all imagine the arguments against arranged marriage, I probably don't need to enumerate them here.
But yeah. It's at a really nice 5-star hotel (obvi) and the men and women are in separate ballrooms for the entire night, meaning that the woman apparently go ALL out with sexy dresses, over-the-top makeup, etc. that they could never wear in mixed company - total validation for the claim that women dress for each other, not for men! I'm so excited to see some of my female colleagues who I have only ever seen in abaya/hijab get all tarted up for the occasion - I suspect that alllllllllllll the eyeliner I have in my makeup bag and alllllllllllll the oversized bling I have in my jewelery box will not be enough to put me in their league. ;)
Will report back!
Thursday, April 10, 2008
Tuesday, April 8, 2008
It is crazy...
... how many CVs I have been getting lately from people wanting to work in Dubai. Most through the G-town alumni website, some through friends, but regardless - well over a dozen since the beginning of the year.
The funny thing is that most of them are from people with MBAs and/or investment banking experience and/or great Arabic skills and/or any number of things that make them infinitely more qualified than me... I kind of want to write back and be like "Um, it's ME who should be trying to get a job from YOU, but thanks for the self-esteem boost!"
A reflection of the global economic downturn and the fact that the GCC is one of few markets predicted to emerge (relatively) unscathed? Or just the fact that DXB is becoming the next London/Singapore/Hong Kong in-vogue expat haven du jour?
I recently learned about how certain British residents in Hong Kong are known as FILTH - "Failed In London, Try Hong Kong." So in that spirit, might I propose a new term to be added to the expat lexicon: RUINED - "Rampant Unemployment In New York, Emigrated to Dubai."
Has a certain ring to it...
The funny thing is that most of them are from people with MBAs and/or investment banking experience and/or great Arabic skills and/or any number of things that make them infinitely more qualified than me... I kind of want to write back and be like "Um, it's ME who should be trying to get a job from YOU, but thanks for the self-esteem boost!"
A reflection of the global economic downturn and the fact that the GCC is one of few markets predicted to emerge (relatively) unscathed? Or just the fact that DXB is becoming the next London/Singapore/Hong Kong in-vogue expat haven du jour?
I recently learned about how certain British residents in Hong Kong are known as FILTH - "Failed In London, Try Hong Kong." So in that spirit, might I propose a new term to be added to the expat lexicon: RUINED - "Rampant Unemployment In New York, Emigrated to Dubai."
Has a certain ring to it...
Monday, April 7, 2008
"You can take only so much newness before the urge for authenticity strikes"
Okay, thanks very much to NO ONE but J.Lee for alerting me to the "36 Hours in Dubai" article in this weekend's NYT. Check it out though. I have never heard of the Persian restaurant they mention but it sounds DELICIOUS... next out-of-town visitor gets to go with me! :)
Saturday, April 5, 2008
A Superfun Post! (Brought to you by the US Department of Treasury)
Some gems of wisdom from IRS Publication 54, Tax Guide for U.S. Citizens and Resident Aliens Abroad:
-In general, the tax shown on your return should be paid by the due date of the return, without regard to any extension of time for filing the return. [Does this statement not make you feel like the IRS has started writing tax law in zen koans just to F with people?! It LITERALLY took me two months of meditation on syntax/phraseology to understand this. I would drift off to sleep at night being like "it's an extension... for filing a return... but it does not give me an extension... for filing the return... PLEASE ZEN MASTER SHOW ME THE WAY TO ENLIGHTENMENT."]
-To meet the bona fide residence test or the physical presence test, you must live in or be present in a foreign country. A foreign country usually [usually?!] is any territory under the sovereignty of a government other than that of the United States. [Soooo... whither Iraq?]
-The term "foreign country" includes the seabed and subsoil of those submarine areas adjacent to the territorial waters of a foreign country. [WHY IS THIS INCLUDED? If you are for some reason living in the seabed or subsoil of a foreign country, don't you probably have bigger fish to fry than whether or not you're tax exempt?!]
-Bona fide residence test - example: You could have your domicile in Cleveland, Ohio, and a bona fide residence in Edinburgh, Scotland, if you intend to return eventually to Cleveland. [But... WOULD anyone intend to return eventually to Cleveland? Over Edinburgh?! You're setting yourself up for an audit on that one, Mr. Liar-liar-pants-on-fire!]
Oh, I could go on all night. But maybe (maybe) you are starting to grow tired of tax law. I can't imagine why. I will say there's a certain pride in having cracked the code(ish), and now I'm (kind of almost halfway) done figuring out my dues to Uncle Sam.
And with that... GOODNIGHT!
-In general, the tax shown on your return should be paid by the due date of the return, without regard to any extension of time for filing the return. [Does this statement not make you feel like the IRS has started writing tax law in zen koans just to F with people?! It LITERALLY took me two months of meditation on syntax/phraseology to understand this. I would drift off to sleep at night being like "it's an extension... for filing a return... but it does not give me an extension... for filing the return... PLEASE ZEN MASTER SHOW ME THE WAY TO ENLIGHTENMENT."]
-To meet the bona fide residence test or the physical presence test, you must live in or be present in a foreign country. A foreign country usually [usually?!] is any territory under the sovereignty of a government other than that of the United States. [Soooo... whither Iraq?]
-The term "foreign country" includes the seabed and subsoil of those submarine areas adjacent to the territorial waters of a foreign country. [WHY IS THIS INCLUDED? If you are for some reason living in the seabed or subsoil of a foreign country, don't you probably have bigger fish to fry than whether or not you're tax exempt?!]
-Bona fide residence test - example: You could have your domicile in Cleveland, Ohio, and a bona fide residence in Edinburgh, Scotland, if you intend to return eventually to Cleveland. [But... WOULD anyone intend to return eventually to Cleveland? Over Edinburgh?! You're setting yourself up for an audit on that one, Mr. Liar-liar-pants-on-fire!]
Oh, I could go on all night. But maybe (maybe) you are starting to grow tired of tax law. I can't imagine why. I will say there's a certain pride in having cracked the code(ish), and now I'm (kind of almost halfway) done figuring out my dues to Uncle Sam.
And with that... GOODNIGHT!
Friday, April 4, 2008
A Night in the Life
(In homage to my aforementioned favorite trashy new blog.)
Last night...
6:00 PM - leave work, drop car at home, walk the underpass beneath She!kh Z@yed road to Em!rates T0wers for drinks with colleagues at The @gency. Am seated next to my COO, so try to be on my best behavior, but still manage to snarf down the better part of a pot of gruyere/truffle fondue and two glasses of Grüner Veltliner. Several Pakistani colleagues and my Emirati CEO sit quietly in the corner drinking fruit juice, but the drinkers outnumber the non-drinkers - what to do. It is nice that we can still all get along. A Brazilian/Palestinian colleague who I have worked with for 6 months asks me what part of Canada I am from. Apparently he thought I was Canadian because I speak French. Try not to take this as a personal insult. Fail.
8:00 PM - COO pays for everyone's drinks/food (sweet!) and the old folks call it a night. Young 'uns join the team of McSchmancy & Co. consultants working on a project for our company and head back across She!kh Z@yed to the F@irmont Hotel for drinks at C!n C!n. It's a going-away party for one of the McSchmancy consultants who's "rolling off" the project (love consulting lingo), so McSchmancy is picking up the tab. Drink a caipiroska and eat copious amounts of sushi while listening to various, mostly German consultants talk about their impressions of Dubai and telling the whole "how does a blond girl from Tennessee end up in the Gulf" story a few times at their urging. When the conversation veers back towards shop talk, Scottish colleague Di & I graciously thank them for the drinks and excuse ourselves.
10:00 PM - leave Di (who has a big date in Oman tomorrow so is calling it an early night) and walk the 200 yards back from the F@irmont to my building. Stop to scope out a blue Lamborghini with an "898" plate along the way. Head up to my flat and chat with flatmate E over vodka/pineapple juices while I change out of work clothes and into going-out clothes. Debate whether we are at the crucial weather turning point after which I will be able to go out wearing only a dress (no jacket) for 8 months straight, but decide that we're still a few weeks away. Grab jacket. Sigh.
11:00 PM - get into cab to go meet R + his colleagues + his sister for drinks.
11:30 PM - exit cab at Dubai M@rine Resort after sitting in 30 minutes of traffic to travel 2 miles. Sigh. Enter and proceed to Sho Cho, where I spend the next few hours being bought Stoli Raspberri & sodas by R's Syrian boss, who has long insisted that I am CIA because of my random travels/obscure country knowledge. Chat about my recent trip to Syria. Try to convince him that it is nothing that exciting; I am just really that big of a nerd. He remains convinced that if he gets me drunk I will crack. I don't mind. R looks on, amused. Intermittent dancing ensues.
2:30 AM - call it a night. Queue up for a taxi home; call 800 Zaatar to ensure that a falafel sandwich will greet me upon my return.
3:00 AM - arrive home (cf. traffic). Eat falafel, mourn my great foolishness for not ordering two falafels, watch several episodes of The Hills. Contemplate how much better I like Heidi than Lauren. Wonder if that's wrong.
4:00 AM - sleeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeep.
Last night...
6:00 PM - leave work, drop car at home, walk the underpass beneath She!kh Z@yed road to Em!rates T0wers for drinks with colleagues at The @gency. Am seated next to my COO, so try to be on my best behavior, but still manage to snarf down the better part of a pot of gruyere/truffle fondue and two glasses of Grüner Veltliner. Several Pakistani colleagues and my Emirati CEO sit quietly in the corner drinking fruit juice, but the drinkers outnumber the non-drinkers - what to do. It is nice that we can still all get along. A Brazilian/Palestinian colleague who I have worked with for 6 months asks me what part of Canada I am from. Apparently he thought I was Canadian because I speak French. Try not to take this as a personal insult. Fail.
8:00 PM - COO pays for everyone's drinks/food (sweet!) and the old folks call it a night. Young 'uns join the team of McSchmancy & Co. consultants working on a project for our company and head back across She!kh Z@yed to the F@irmont Hotel for drinks at C!n C!n. It's a going-away party for one of the McSchmancy consultants who's "rolling off" the project (love consulting lingo), so McSchmancy is picking up the tab. Drink a caipiroska and eat copious amounts of sushi while listening to various, mostly German consultants talk about their impressions of Dubai and telling the whole "how does a blond girl from Tennessee end up in the Gulf" story a few times at their urging. When the conversation veers back towards shop talk, Scottish colleague Di & I graciously thank them for the drinks and excuse ourselves.
10:00 PM - leave Di (who has a big date in Oman tomorrow so is calling it an early night) and walk the 200 yards back from the F@irmont to my building. Stop to scope out a blue Lamborghini with an "898" plate along the way. Head up to my flat and chat with flatmate E over vodka/pineapple juices while I change out of work clothes and into going-out clothes. Debate whether we are at the crucial weather turning point after which I will be able to go out wearing only a dress (no jacket) for 8 months straight, but decide that we're still a few weeks away. Grab jacket. Sigh.
11:00 PM - get into cab to go meet R + his colleagues + his sister for drinks.
11:30 PM - exit cab at Dubai M@rine Resort after sitting in 30 minutes of traffic to travel 2 miles. Sigh. Enter and proceed to Sho Cho, where I spend the next few hours being bought Stoli Raspberri & sodas by R's Syrian boss, who has long insisted that I am CIA because of my random travels/obscure country knowledge. Chat about my recent trip to Syria. Try to convince him that it is nothing that exciting; I am just really that big of a nerd. He remains convinced that if he gets me drunk I will crack. I don't mind. R looks on, amused. Intermittent dancing ensues.
2:30 AM - call it a night. Queue up for a taxi home; call 800 Zaatar to ensure that a falafel sandwich will greet me upon my return.
3:00 AM - arrive home (cf. traffic). Eat falafel, mourn my great foolishness for not ordering two falafels, watch several episodes of The Hills. Contemplate how much better I like Heidi than Lauren. Wonder if that's wrong.
4:00 AM - sleeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeep.
Thursday, April 3, 2008
Aerosvit? Nyet.
In the spirit of blogging more:
I was just pricing tickets for a trip to America sometime in the next few months and the cheapest option that came up was to fly through Kiev on Aerosvit Airlines (or as my frient Atif who lived in Ukraine calls it, "Aeroshit").
Now, I'm sorry, I love the former Soviet Union and I know I'm supposed to be young and intrepid and foolhardy and everything, but please just glance at their website - you can't tell me you don't feel a little queasy thinking about spending 20 hours each way on what I can only imagine are rickety old Tupolevs. I kind of love the intrigue of it, but I kind of also love, you know, being alive.
That said, two follow-on questions -
(A) Where do I live that the cheapest way home is for me to fly through Ukraine?
(B) Where do I live that the cheapest way home is still USD $984?
Sigh.
I was just pricing tickets for a trip to America sometime in the next few months and the cheapest option that came up was to fly through Kiev on Aerosvit Airlines (or as my frient Atif who lived in Ukraine calls it, "Aeroshit").
Now, I'm sorry, I love the former Soviet Union and I know I'm supposed to be young and intrepid and foolhardy and everything, but please just glance at their website - you can't tell me you don't feel a little queasy thinking about spending 20 hours each way on what I can only imagine are rickety old Tupolevs. I kind of love the intrigue of it, but I kind of also love, you know, being alive.
That said, two follow-on questions -
(A) Where do I live that the cheapest way home is for me to fly through Ukraine?
(B) Where do I live that the cheapest way home is still USD $984?
Sigh.
Back!
Okay, okay, sorry for the repeated hiatuses. I'm so far behind that it seems like there's too much to catch up on, but having been called out last weekend by my most loyal blog reader (she who actually strong-armed her work IT department into unblocking this site, despite an office firewall which prohibits Blogger), I will do my best to catch up.
We'll start with the recent. The first 3 nights of this week, I adhered strictly to the following routine: came home from work at 6 PM, made myself a vat of pasta (whole wheat, at least) and proceeded to download/watch The Hills and read this fellow G-town alum's somewhat trashy, shamelessly self-promoting, but oh-so-addictive blog for the entire evening. I have clearly been socializing far too much as of late, thus necessitating my retreat into this cocoon of pop culture and carbs – and what a dreamy cocoon it was.
Socializing came to a head last weekend with the Dubai World Cup, the world's richest horse race and basically a sweatier, nouveau-riche version of
Last weekend I also went to church for the first time in (yikes!) almost 9 months of living in
At any rate, it's definitely a one-stop God shop – a few square blocks of land crammed with Orthodox, Coptic, Evangelical, Maronite, Chaldean, Catholic and who-knows-what-else churches, catering to the varied demographics of Dubai's expat community (at least the Christian part… no word yet on Synagogue 'n' Temple City). I opted for the good ol' RCC, and quickly realized that aside from one Swiss priest, I was the only white face in the entire packed sanctuary. If I had to estimate I'd say the congregation was about 60% Indian and 40% Filipino – which was interesting and, if I can say this, kind of humbling.
Okay, what else… oh yeah,
Anyhow, that brings us up to the present, kind of. This weekend I am either going to a camel beauty pageant in Abu Dhabi or to
And that’s all she wrote, for now – but now that I’m semi-caught up, I promise to blog more frequently. It’s kind of like when I go a really long time without running and start thinking “well cleeeeeeeearly I have to run 15 miles today to make up for how lazy I’ve been or else it’s not even worth running at all” – but then I get back into a routine and I’m like, “oh, okay, 4 miles a day is cool.” Does that make any sense at all? Probably not. Ciao!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)