Motherfucking Valentines Day

I hate you, Valentines Day. Or VD, as that is what you shall now be known as. You certainly feel like an uncomfortable boil on a sensitive area.

I hate you VD, because you are everyone who looked on smugly from their tables in Irish Village at the poor single guy walking around. I hate you because you are every couple at the club who flicked away from the nervous single guy standing in corner who didn't know how to dance. You are every group of single women who huddled together when they saw the nerd with glasses whenever he ran into them. You are every woman who judges a man in this godforsaken place by the clothes they wear, the watch he wears and the car he drives.

I hate you because you are every teenager prancing around with a little fitty fil heart shaped monstrosity handing out to random girls and I sure as hell don't remember getting one back in the day.

I hate you because you are every girl who wouldn't give me the time of day. You were the nice girl who wanted better, the pretty girl who was slumming, the popular girl who wasn't sure.

I hate you VD, because I can't find a woman here. As in literally, there are no women left. And the ones that are, know they can do better so they wait.

I hate you, Valentines Day, because you are A Lie.

Saturday In The Park

Today I saw:

A nice spot to park my car in Deira, under a spread tree. If you have been to the Salemiyah Tower in Maktoum street, you'll know where I'm talking about. Having concluded my appointments, lunch beckoned. But the dusty windshield had been bugging me all day (I have OCD) so it was time to whip out the feather duster and give the old girl a quick once over before starting for home.

The dust was fairly flying, when a middle aged kandoura clad local walked past. He glanced at me, did a double take, then came back. He seemed to be sizing me up.

"Your car?"he asked finally.

Yes, I nodded.

This seemed to take him aback somehow. He continued on his way to the meter to get a ticket. What a peculiar question, I thought.

On the return journey to his vehicle, he again questioned me.
"Sure this is your car?"

Uh, yes, definitely. I tugged the keys at my waist to emphasise the point.

He then began to apologise. "I'm sorry..when I saw you, I thought you were a cleaner...I was going to ask you to clean my car...sorry, ah?"

It's ok, I shrugged. As he walked away, I put the duster down. Didn't really feel like it any more.

Today I learned.
That some things never change. And perhaps I should dress better.

A Tale Of two Echoes

oday I saw:

On Khalid Bin Walid Street, a Toyota Echo driven by an Asian man of clearly South Indian descent. He had double parked on the main road, blocking a busy exit lane, while attempting to receive his goods from the roadside computer shop. Preoccupied on his mobile phone, a police patrol car came alongside and stopped beside him. Blasting their airhorn furiously, the two officers gestured for him to move along, while themselves blocking the road. The man took on a pleading expression, and though I could not hear him or the police officers, the exchange seemed to indicate he was danger of receiving a ticket if he tarried a moment longer. Hazards off, the driver and his Echo were away like he had been shot.

On Khalid Bin Walid Street, a Toyota Echo driven by an Arab man of clearly Omani descent. He had double parked on the main road, blocking a busy exit lane, while attempting to receive his goods from the roadside computer shop. Preoccupied on his mobile phone, a police patrol car came alongside. The two officers at first looked at the licence plate, then gestured for him to move along, while themselves blocking the road. The driver, young and sharply dressed in a local manner, began speaking to the officers calmly, and though I could not hear either of them, the exchange seemed to indicate he met with their disapproval. Concluding their exchange, the police car pulled away, while the young man waited in his car for a space to open up.


Today I learned:
A little more about people.