How to Google Search

You type what you are looking for in the box in the middle of the Google.com page and hit enter. Choices will come up and you can click on the ones that look the most promising. If you don't find what you are looking for, think about what else you could add or subtract to your search field to narrow the results in the direction that you are looking. Try it, it's fun!

/sarcasm.

FML!

On September 7th, the planet Mercury entered its retrograde cycle, which About.Astrology.com tells me means:

"The purpose of Mercury retrograde is to review and revise our life and our connection with reality. The timing of this universe is geared toward the Sun as it moves through the zodiac. Mercury has an orbit that at times gets ahead of the Sun allowing us to look into the future toward new and innovative ideas. However, we cannot continue in that vein until we come back to the present designated by the Sun and put our new ideas into manifestation. During the time that Mercury jumps ahead, we ultimately have to bring the ideas back into the present to test and evaluate to see how they fit into our life. As Mercury retrogrades back into the present, the connection with the Sun happens as we test drive our ideas and re-align with reality and the natural timing of the universe."

It sounds all nice and wonderful, mainly that I'll have time to reexamine my life and make positive changes. Great! Yeah, not so much. In practice it means crappy stuff that pisses you off happens all the time. Latest shining example? Getting from Point A to B without becoming a sweaty mess is now impossible.

Last night Phil Beickler hosted a potluck at his apartment. I drove up there. My car had been doing this kind of odd little cough before starting, but it always started up immediately so I was concerned but not worried. Well, the battery died while I was up at Beicklers, so first we tried to jump it from pushing (which was hilarious), then some random Nigerian in the parking lot tried to jump it for us, which also failed, then I at last found someone with jumper cables who was able to get the car started. I drove it back and left it charging in my parking lot for an hour. I sat in the car and pirated wireless from my neighbors.

This morning I decided not to mess around with the car, so I decided to take my bike, which has been sitting on my porch all summer. It was hideously dusty, so I wiped it down with paper towels. It is so dry right now outside that the damp paper towels I was using dried out before I finished! Thanks a lot, desert! I also had to pump up the tires, which were flat. Fine, did that. Then, when I was taking my bike down the stairs I caught the back of my heel on the pedals, which ripped a large part of skin about the size of a dime off the back of my heel. OUCH. It stings like a mofo and I bled like a stuck pig all the way to CCC class.

I come out of class to discover that my back bike tire is COMPLETELY flat. I rode the rim all the way back to the apartment with a bloody heel. I got back to discover Caroline eating lunch on the couch, who proceeded to make a HUGE deal out of my bleeding and tried to make me feel better by trying to console me, baby the injury and generally be really, really nice. Now, if anyone who is anyone knows me, they should know that I detest making a big deal out of injuries, in fact I would rather just deal with it myself. Furthermore, if I am in a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad mood it is best to just leave me alone to deal with it rather than attempt to be overly accommodating, which I immediately pick up on, which just makes me angrier. A lot of slamming of objects seemed to calm down the babying, for which I was thankful.

I used rubbing alcohol to wipe off the blood and sprayed the area liberally with Bactine spray. I now have a nice, pink Hello Kitty bandaid on there and it feels much better.

I return to my original topic, which was up yours, Mercury Retrograde! You think you can cow me? I don't think so! For all you people taking notes, retrograde ends on Sept. 29th, so its days are numbered!

Mysteriously Ground Poultry

My friend Judy gave me this fabulous turkey chili recipe that I regularly make with great success. The recipe is so good that I have passed it on to others who have found it similarly yummy (perhaps the greatest success was my friend Jeff then enabling our friend Carey as well). The base meat is ground turkey, which I usually find at Trader Joe's in the meat section. The other day Caroline and I went to TJ's to restock for the start of the school year, and I decided to grab 1 lb of ground turkey so I could make a nice batch of chili and then leave it in the fridge for easy dinners for the rest of the week.

Fast forward to last night, when I actually made the chili. The first step is to saute up the onions and garlic, then add the meat and cook all the way through. Ground beef, turkey, lamb and ostrich all cook down nicely to those perfect little tiny meat globules that one wants in a sloppy joe, bobotie, shepherd's pie and chili consistency. The joy of dishes such as these is that all the flavors are pleasantly balanced and present in your mouth whilst eating. As I am cooking the meat, I discover that it is not separating nicely but rather is cooking into solid chunks of white meat. Cooked ground turkey is a darker color, so I rather quickly suss out that I am in fact making a ground CHICKEN chili instead. Dammit! The end result was ok, but the flavor was not as complex and the stupid chunks of ground chicken add a slightly off texture to the chili.

I don't understand why Trader Joe's stocks the ground chicken next to the ground turkey, as the uncooked meat is the same color but the end result is very different. Additionally, who the hell uses ground chicken in the first place? The only possible use I could come up with is chicken burgers, which can be purchased pre-made from Trader Joe's in a delicious chili lime flavor that are far superior to any hand shaped varieties. So thanks a lot, Trader Joe's, for ruining Judy's chili recipe. I'll think twice before acquiring any ground poultry from you.

RMB Means Really Mothertrucking-useless Bucks

When I left China I ended up having about 250RMB with me. I figured this was no big deal since I could give the money to my mom, who visits China every year in the fall to celebrate her mother's birthday. I left the RMB with my dad in South Africa so he could give it to her when she got back from her summer in the US since she would be flying to China in November from Johannesburg. Well, my grandmother's passing last week really threw a loop into those plans, as my mom ended up flying to China from Vermont for the funeral. She doesn't plan to go back for many years, especially considering there is a 3 year prohibition on visiting the grave site (Chinese tradition). So, my poor mom is in China and she can't visit her mom's grave AND she can't visit anyone elseSU's house because of the recent death in the family. From what I understand, there is a concern about bringing the taint of death to others.

So, getting back to my problem of RMB, I decided I would just exchange the RMB into South African Rand so I wouldn't have to hit up the ATM again in Cape Town (I get charged a fee for every ATM use). Well, it turns out no one in South Africa accepts RMB. China, you continue to be the bane of my existence! It's not like I"m rolling up with a wheelbarrow of Zimbabwean dollars! I'm going to try to exchange at JFK if I can, otherwise maybe I can pawn them off onto a Chinese student at T-bird. ARGH, stupid China and your stupid non-convertible currency!!

Subtlety FAIL

My boss has a nasty habit of ragging on his ex-wife. This guy got divorced 5 years ago and he still complains about her all the time in the workplace. I find this inappropriate, rude, juvenile and just plain annoying. What's even more ridiculous is the fact that he is currently engaged to a lovely woman who is intelligent and kind. He really needs to let the hate for his ex-wife go and focus on the positive.

This morning I was in the kitchen getting my cereal ready along with one of our IT guys. My boss comes in to make some coffee and realizes the hot water pitcher is empty. The IT guy had just used it up.

"Oh," my boss snarked, "You're one of those people who doesn't refill the pitcher, hunh?"
"Nope," the IT guy responded. Hah, he's a funny one. He left. My boss then turned to me and says,

"Guess he doesn't get subtlety. My 'darling' ex-wife didn't get subtlety either." I said nothing in response. After a few seconds he asks, "So, no response?"

"I'm keeping out of this one," I replied.

WTF seriously dude? There's no need to be rude. Just say, "Hey, IT guy, next time you empty the pitcher could you please refill it?" Simple, sweet and to the point. And let your hatred go for your ex-wife. It will color your new relationship and your lovely fiancee deserves better. According to one of the consultants at my company, the boss disparages his ex-wife in front of customers/clients as well, which I think is in seriously bad taste.

Ugh, China, Again

I just got an email from my mother telling me that my Chinese grandmother passed away about an hour and a half ago. She was 90 years old and would have been 91 in October. We knew that my grandmother's health had recently taken a turn for the worse, and my mom had just purchased a ticket to go to China next week to see her. I don't really know what's going to happen with that now.

Anyway, the reason for this update is because I have a strong suspicion that my grandmother could have lived on for quite a while with some holistic treatment such as acupuncture or acupressure. Her symptoms were spine pain and difficulty talking, both of which can be successfully addressed with traditional Chinese medicine. Unfortunately, the relatives who live with her are cursed with a typical Chinese fatalistic attitude. Their feeling was that if it's her time to die, it's her time to die. I'm certainly not advocating for keeping someone alive in a reduced and painful state--not at all. My point is that she was uncomfortable and in pain and they didn't even bother to fucking do anything about it. It's not like we wanted them to put her in the hospital and get a tube down her throat and machines everywhere. We just wanted to see if we could get her back to a level of health where she could move around and get out of bed. My grandmother had a health scare a couple of years ago that was similar, back pain and inability to eat/talk and once again my #3 uncle did jack shit about it. My mom had to call her niece who is a nurse and make the niece's boyfriend (who is a doctor in Shenzhen) bring an IV to the house and hook up my grandmother. Luckily my grandmother recovered from that.

I'm pissed because I feel like this was a waste. My grandmother lived through all the shit that China put her through in the last century, period of warlordism in the 20's, the Nationalists and the Japanese invasion in the 30's, the Communists in the 40's and 50's and then all that additional shit like famines, Great Leap Forward, Cultural Revolution, etc. She had 7 children. She and her husband (and 1st son) WALKED to Hong Kong during the Cultural Revolution because there was no food or work in the village. My grandfather worked as coolie on the docks for a while and then they fucking WALKED back to our village. This village is about 350 kilometers from Hong Kong. She survived all of this against the odds and now she's dead because her stupid fatalistic son wouldn't get off his ass to try to do anything about it.

I was so upset when I got the news from my mom that I went and cried in the ladies room, which was a mini-fatwa in itself because the cleaning lady was mopping the floor and had blocked off the door. There wasn't anywhere else for me to cry on our floor, however, so I just barged in and sat in the 1st stall that has a nice, roomy feel and let it out. The cleaning lady gave me a really dirty look, too. But, come on, lady, it's business hours! Please don't block off the bathroom when there's a time that people will come in! I know she comes in early; I've seen her in there around 7am so she could have done it then. For the first time, though, I was glad that South Africa is obsessed with those European-style toilet rooms, not stalls, You can totally block off from the world in there.

How Do You Spell Indian Buffet? "R-O-L-A-I-D-S" or How I Got "Chamberlain'd" into a Stomach Ache

Today, the esteemed members of my partnership decided that it was time to bypass the putrid swill in our dining hall (seriously, we get the LOWEST quality ARAMARK caf service; I know its the lowest because I just reviewed our P&L distributions this year. A little research by my main man google, and voila, ARAMARK pricing and we are bottom-fucking-tier) and sail away from the friendly Irish shores of our favorite pub Mollie's. Needless to stay, I fully supported a little adventuring and was pretty excited to see what other culinary delights are hidden amongst the financial institutions, shoe-shine locales and men's clothing stores that dominate Midtown Manhattan.

As we met to decide our locale I should have noticed the storm gathering; specifically the Indian monsoon that was abrewin'. Led by Abhishek "Naan" Sud, the idea of hitting the Indian Buffet was quickly proffered and accepted by everyone -- everyone except yours truly. Let me start by saying this: Indian food is delicious and I thoroughly enjoy it. I do not, however, enjoy Indian food when it has been sitting and coagulating in a metal tray for many hours (how they feed so many people on the sub-continent without leading the world in antacid technology, I do not know). And today, I believe we reached record levels of oozing and discoloration. I'm a team player, so I went ahead and delved into this contemptible mess. Let me tell you, it was as bad as I thought it would be, maybe even a bit worse.

The end result of this ridiculousness: I spent an entire afternoon with stomach churn that was about 10x what Ginger got from her ill timed gastronomic backflips in her last post. What really fucking "grinds my gears," to steal a line from a GREAT Family Guy episode, was that this little foray into that shitbox was PREVENTABLE. Abhishek is Inidan and his wife is Indian. This fucktard eats Indian EVERY-GODDAMN-DAY. And yet, he feels like we do not support his ethnic food of choice because we like to go to a chill bar right by us when we go out and he won't get over it. You know what? THAT'S FUCKING LIFE. We have had the same ongoing debate about cricket as well; it's a pussy sport and he needs to accept that but until the world has kow-tow'd to the greatness that is Indian culture, it won't be enough. Putting that aside, we have also been to this place before, IT SUCKS DONKEY DICK. We all knew it, but because there is nothing else and everyone decided to get their Neville Chamberlain on (because he will whine and whine and whine), we got stuck going there.

There will be no next time for this guy. As Eric Cartman was once so fond of saying: "Fuck you guys, I'm going home..." That is the only response to the stupidity that I am dealing with. By the way, my stomach settled down, finally, at about 4am. Thanks Indian Buffet, you're shittiness may only be surpassed by my desire to burn you to the ground (though the coagulated trays of food are probably a great fire retardant).

Portion Control

For dinner last night my dad and I had some sweet and sour pork with rice. The pork was already made, so I cooked up 2 cups of rice for the two of us. Usually this is enough to feed the both of us with a little left over. Our rice cooker here in SA is really basic, the pot purports to be nonstick but that's a pretty big lie--the rice sticks to the cooking pot like nobody's business. My dad is trying to combat a way to get the rice to stick less (adding more water, adding less water, turning it off immediately after the cycle is complete, etc) but no luck. So, tonight he decides that we should just eat all the rice in one go!

I heat up his pork and serve him some rice and then go to heat up mine in the microwave. He goes back to the pot and serves himself some more rice and has really an obscene amount on his plate. When my pork is done heating, there's just enough rice in the pot to serve me about 1/2 a place of rice, just in the center. That is a perfect amount for me, so I don't have a problem with it. I sit down at the table and my dad says, "Oh, do you not have enough rice? I'm so sorry, I didn't realize you hadn't taken any yet. Here, have some of mine!" I explain that this is a perfect amount of rice and that I don't need any of his, but he does have an awful lot on there. He won't let up and keeps trying to give me rice. Now, my parents have been overfeeding me rice for a long time. They simply don't understand that I am no longer 15 years old and on a swim team wherein I exercise heavily for 2.5 hours every day. My metabolism has slowed some and I just don't eat a huge 10" dinner plate HEAPED full of food for dinner. I like to fill my plate more with veggies and meats with a SIDE of rice to get some carbs. And yet, every time I am home with my parents, they emphasize how I need to eat MORE. It's very frustrating. My dad then goes on to lecture me about how rice isn't fattening. Which, technically, is true, but we're not eating brown rice, which helps you burn fat, which I would totally devour in large portions additionally for the fiber benefit. I just don't want a giant amount of white rice for Christ's sake!

The next morning we are driving to work and my stomach feels crappy. It feels like a combination of hunger, cramps and just general upset-tummy feelings. I'm pretty quiet and my dad is concerned about me. Finally I admit that my stomach isn't feeling so good and I might be really hungry. Of course he has to shoot back with, "I told you you should have eaten more rice last night." This of course turns into me snapping back that the rice have nothing to do with my current condition and that he needs to leave it alone. How fricking ridiculous, I stuffed my face with sweet and sour pork AND two squares of chili chocolate for dessert PLUS a spoonful of honey as a post-dessert dessert around 10pm. Clearly not eating enough was not the problem last night!

I got to work and relieved the problem by visiting the bathroom -- sometimes you just have to go in the morning [sorry to describe bathroom activities but I just want to make it clear that this wasn't HUNGER, it was needing to go #2. If you're grossed out by that, you need to read the book Everybody Poops. It's true. Everybody poops. Even girls. The general unwillingness of women in this country to discuss their bowel movements might be worthy of its own fatwa, in fact.].

I'm so sick of my parents trying to behave like I'm still some teenager who doesn't know her own body. I've lived away from home since high school and I think I know how much to eat and what to eat a hell of a lot better than they do.

Further Reinforcement That People are Stupid

As many of you may know, I am a moderator on the Tokidoki Forum. Tokidoki is a lifestyle brand designed by an Italian guy, Simone Legno. His colorful and inventive designs are inspired by Japanese anime traditions. The line got its big break with a LeSportSac handbag collaboration and has branched out significantly from there.

Anyway, about two years ago, Tokidoki had its own sub-forum on The Purse Forum (which is worthy of its own fatwa), but we were treated like ugly redheaded stepchildren compared to the big time groups like Louis Vuitton, Gucci, Hermes, etc. A group of us were sick of the 2nd class citizen treatment so we split off and formed our own forum under the tenets of freedom, liberty and justice for all (unfortunately we couldn't dress up like American Indians and throw tea in the harbor but we would have if we weren't virtual). Of course, as membership on the forum grew, we did have to put some rules in place.

The forum has a Buy/Sell/Trade section where people can post items (mostly handbags) that they are selling, or ask for specific patterns/styles that they are seeking. Due to an issue with scammers, we require that members have at least 50 posts before they can post bags for sale. This is posted clearly all over the regulations, the site itself, there's even a locked, stickied thread topic that reads "DO NOT START NEW THREADS UNLESS YOU HAVE 50 POSTS!" But, of course, there are idiots that don't bother to read the regulations or are totally out of it and just post shit willy nilly. Then I have to step in and delete their thread and notify them of their breach. The worst part is that I have to be POLITE to them because I'm a mod, I can't just say "You idiot. It's called reading; I suggest you check it out!"

There's this one user who keeps fucking up--she posted the same for sale thread twice, but she only has 4 posts. I keep finding that she's posted random shit in the wrong thread and it's pissing me off. She even responded to my (polite) PM with "oops, sorry! I didn't know how things worked around here! :)" Of course you didn't, you twit, because you didn't bother to learn!

Fatwa on online idiots. I love being a moderator because I do get quite a kick from coming in from on high, but it still chaps my ass when I run into stupid people.

Dude, Take A Hint

This is another gym-related entry, but it’s considerably less light-hearted and sarcastic than my last one. When I signed up for the gym, my dad (who was already a member) had me meet with one of the marketing guys, a Congolese guy named Jean Paul. He was nice, and friendly, and I enjoyed chatting with him while I was signing up. Since I do attempt to be friendly on occasion, I always said hi to him when I showed up and sometimes he would come and chat with me while I was on the elliptical. I actually hate being talked to at the gym, because I'm trying to concentrate on working on, but this guy was unstoppable! And, he was very friendly so it was hard to just ignore or shut him down.

Unfortunately, his chatting turned into pressuring me for a date. He keeps asking if I will go for drinks with him or to dinner. I told him that I wouldn't go to dinner with him, that I wasn't available and that I just wasn't going out. He then started texting me on my phone, since he had the number in his files. I never responded. I take training sessions at the gym from another trainer (see below post about him) so when I am with my trainer, Jean Paul doesnt' come and bother me. I also told my trainer that I have a boyfriend (which I don't but, he doesn't need to know that) in the hopes that it would get back to Jean Paul and that he would leave me alone. The situation is very delicate for me because I don't want to get this guy fired since he has all our personal information from the sign up sheet and, let's face it, there is a higher risk of crime (including retribution-related) in South Africa.

Anyway, I was spared his advances for a week, but last Friday I was leaving and he asked me, "Hey what happened last Friday night, I thought we were going out for drinks!" I told him that I never committed to anything and that I really didn't know what he was talking about. I also told him that it wasn't possible for me to stay out late and that I have a boyfriend. I'm trying to let him bow out gracefully but apparently he is just gunning for public rejection.

I spoke to my trainer about it yesterday and he told me that I should just ignore Jean Paul because he thinks he is a charmer. There are other women whom he is also asking out on dates all the time. What the fuck? This guy is a total creep and I shouldn't have to be subjected to this bullshit. Women can't fucking get it right, ever. Either you're a sourface who should smile (which is an entirely other fatwa post, old men, stop telling me to smile! It's my choice to frown and I wasn't put on this earth to make YOUR day better!) or you're "leading men on" by being too friendly! I'm so pissed right now I can't even think. I think it is inappropriate and disgusting to hit on women at your place of work. Even creepier, this guy knows my Dad!

Now that I'm really fired up, I'm just going to be very straight with him and say, "Look, I'm not interested in dinner, drinks, or whatever. I'm uncomfortable with your pressuring me for this and I think it's inappropriate that you are trying to ask out women at your place of work. If you don't stop harassing me, I'm going to talk to your manager."

And, if he still won't leave me alone, I'm going to voodoo the fucking shit out of him and he won't know what hit him. And probably go all krav maga on his ass.

Ginger and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day

I am calling fatwa on all of yesterday—hear me, o readers, Monday, July 20, 2009 was a really crappy day. First of all, I had to re-do my class schedule about eight times. Information on what classes to take is (no surprise here!) difficult to find on the T-Bird Registrar’s website and is poorly organized to boot. I then discovered that I had the class codes wrong for two classes, which resulted in more organization. I thought that I had everything figured out neatly until Panos kindly wrote me to let me know that I still had the wrong class code for Ops Management, and that it was only offered in the 2nd module, which means that now I have 4 classes in the 1st module and SEVEN, yes, that’s right, SEVEN in the second. Basically if I want to take Business Presentation, I’ll have that many classes. This is unacceptable. Additionally, there are about 150 people who need to take Ops Management and there is only one section. How about that? Sometimes I really hate this school and want to make a big, fat pile of money and drop out. I emailed Kay Keck and Paula Friesen about this; fat chance they’ll do anything, as per usual.

I then went to the gym, where my trainer proceeded to tell me that I used to be fat (again) and that I had many parts of my body that were “flabby.” Fuck you, man, seriously. Telling people that they are fat is not motivating, it is insulting and in fact, puts you into a shame spiral of depression that makes you considerably less likely to want to do anything except curl up on the couch with a pie and eat the whole thing. I told him to his face that he should 1) shut the fuck up and stop calling people fat and 2) that he had body dysmorphic disorder that he projected onto others.

Then, a little bit later, he asked me, “what’s that thing on your nose?” You know what that thing is on my nose? It’s a giant fucking zit. Thank you, Lindwell, for pointing out the huge, enormous, erupting and red zit on my nose. This thing is epic. It’s the Mt. Everest of zits. It may be the unholy union of two zits, in fact, making up for the fact that I haven’t had one in almost a year. This thing is like the One Ring of zits—one zit to rule them all and in the darkness bind them. I look like fucking Rudolph the Red Nosed fat, flabby reindeer. This day just keeps getting better! I was so annoyed at him that I started responding very loudly. I think my monologue went something like this:

“Oh, what is that thing on my nose? The giant, angry looking, red bump? I’ll tell you what it is, it’s a zit! Thank you so much for pointing it out to me, up until this very moment, I had no idea an enormous pimple was erupting on my nose! Excuse me, everyone! [At this point I start practically yelling at everyone in the gym] Lindwell has a very important announcement for everyone, he would like to you all to know that I have a giant zit on my nose and that it’s obvious! Next time, I’ll make sure to circle it and put an arrow so you don’t miss it!”

Was I being a brat? Yes. Was I still bitter about being called fat/flabby? Yes. Serves him right.

Oh, and then later, I realized that I lost one of my Tokidoki earrings, which were one of my favorites... I lost the Sandy so now I just have a sad Bastardino earring that's lonely.

China Continues to Plague Me - Doesn't it Know We're on a Break??

The fact that the Johannesburg offices of the Bank of China are just one floor up from me is cause for endless amusement. Several times a week I am reminded of all the wonderful cultural differences between mainland Chinese and myself. So far there's been the guy who smokes in the stairwell and pretended not to hear me berating him in Chinese and pointing out the clearly marked "No Smoking" sign, the rude guy in the elevator who refused to make space for me (I pushed his shoulder a little) and the staring woman also in the elevator (I guess she must have been playing a variant of Beijing Subway). Today at Woolie's however, I encountered a particularly insidious Bank of China employee: the close stander.

I was waiting in the long line at Woolie's when I felt something brushing up against my back. I turned around to see a short Chinese woman holding a package of pre-cut butternut squash, which was what had been touching my back. I gave her a dirty look and scooted up in the line. Damn if that bitch didn't scoot up too, again touching me! Creepy! I turned sideways and pressed against the package with my arm and she didn't even move it! How odd! This continued as I moved up in line, but I started to be amused because I wanted to see how far I could "push" (literally) things. It got to the point where I actually pressed hard enough on the package that it caused her to take a step back, which I thought was quite a win. I would wait for her to move up on me, then start exercising a very slow push outward with my elbow. What a dolt.

Cable Theft of a New Variety

On Tuesday night the Cedar Lakes housing development experienced a blackout in the evening for about 4.5 hours. Only the development was affected and not surrounding areas. The suspected reason was cable theft, which is a huge problem here. This isn't cable theft in that your sketchy downstairs neighbors have hacked into your box to get free Skinimax, but rather theft of electrical cables that can be sold due to the copper content. The main issue that I have with this is that the traffic light in front of the Alpha Gate entrance is also tied to the development's power grid, so the traffic light was out, which caused a huge backup all the way to Witkoppen road, which made our commute about 20 minutes longer. Then, when we got back to the house, we realized we didn't have a key to get in, as we rely on the garage door opener. No power = no garage door opening. We then had to get our landlord to come and drop off keys for us while we ate at Spur next door (Spur is what would happen if being totally un-PC came back into style and someone started a TGI-Friday's esque place but with American Indian theme). We got back into the house around 9:15pm but the power still wasn't on. I was in the midst of boiling water for hot water bottles when it finally kicked on, which means that the oven clock is all off and the pool timer is messed up as well.

So, thanks a lot, cable thieves, for messing up everyone's Tuesday night!

Rise and Shine out my Ass

So my dad wakes me up every morning at 5:40am, which we have discussed several times already. Usually he just knocks on my door and says "time to get up!" but this morning he added a particularly insidious and irritating phrase that never fails to piss me off, "rise and shine!" Everyone knows I am not a morning person, but the usage of this phrase makes me feel as if I am being conscripted into someone else's sunshine, puppies and rainbows world of cheerful mornings filled with delightful warm breakfasts and leisurely paper reading. I feel as though I am being forced to conform with someone else's expectation of my morning demeanor. I have a similar problem with Caroline singing in the morning. I can hear it in my room and it is so terribly jolly that it has the opposite effect, plunging me into the foulest and most unpleasant mood imaginable. Caroline has a gorgeous, rich voice, and I absolutely look forward to hearing her sing with Global Sounds this fall, I just don't want to hear it when I wake up, thanks! Same goes for my dad: I think he's trying to put the best spin on a crappy situation (he doesn't like being up at 5:30am either) but seriously, dad, just knock and say "get up." The abruptness fits the shittiness of the situation.

Checkers Hyper Belongs in the 10th Circle of Hell Along With Carrefour Zhongguancuan

Some of you may recall the horrible experience that myself and others on the China trip had with the Carrefour market near the (evil) FX Hotel (also worthy of a declarative fatwa) in Beijing. Well, I have the South African equivalent right next door to my office: Checkers HYPER! Checkers is a supermarket that is in the Sandton City Mall, which is adjacent to Nelson Mandela Square. Checkers HYPER is kind of like a Wal-Mart Supercenter with food items and home goods items available for purchase. The store is messy, chaotic and lacks any comprehensive system of organization. Also typical to SA, the staff are somewhat indifferent and appear confused when you ask them for help (as if I have DARED to query them as to the location of a specific product in their store. How rude!).

I had to go in there on Tuesday because I needed to get a hot water bottle. It's just too damn cold here, so I have taken to using a hot water bottle when sitting and watching TV and then refilling and taking one to bed. Ahhh, bliss! But, first I had to acquire one. In news that may not shock you, there wasn't one section for hot water bottles, they had displays scattered about the store with various fancy ones. They had two different variations on fancy hot water bottles inside stuffed animals as well as some inside embroidered fleece covers. All I wanted was just a normal, basic rubber hot water bottle, but they didn't have it. I asked a staff member, and she said they didn't have it either, so I picked out one with a really tacky hot pink fleece cover with an embroidered fairy on it. So ugly! Of course, on the way to the checkout I found some standard, non covered bottles, but they were made of a cheap plastic similar to jelly shoes.

I waited in the line for a long time, and then the cashier closed the checkout before I got to the front so I had to go wait in ANOTHER line. This made me late for the gym, so I ended up not having time to go. I blame you, Checkers HYPER, for my lack of stomach definition!

Woolworth's Pressed Clemengold Juice Tastes Like the Sweat Dripping off Satan's Choad

In South Africa we have a Marks & Spencer's rip-off called Woolworth's. This Woolworth's is not to be confused with the nickel and dime store in the US, as it aspires to provide both trendy department store offerings as well as quality food products with an emphasis on a lot of private label Trader Joe's type stuff featuring organic and locally sourced ingredients. Since there is a Woolie's in Nelson Mandela Square, where I work, I often end up going over there during my lunch break to pick up various ingredients my dad requests. This past Tuesday I was tasked with getting some organic orange juice. The Super Spar next door to our housing development usually offers freshly squeezed OJ that is quite good, but they only had tiny bottles this weekend and we ran out. So, off I went to Woolie's during lunch.

I arrived only to find that they were completely out of organic OJ. Jess, I think our new drop out of business school idea is supply chain consulting in South Africa. Almost every super market here has the crappiest supply chain management ever--if something is in stock, stock up because it likely won't be there next week. Instead of getting the standard Woolie's OJ, which is from concentrate and thus grosstastic, I decided to get the Pressed Clemengold Juice, which I assumed was pressed juice from clementines. It was clearly fresh, pulpy (we like it with mit fruitfleisch) and was a beautiful deep orange color.

My dad gives me some for breakfast this morning and I'm sad to report it was LIES! All lies! This stuff tastes like ground up vegetables. It's TERRIBLE. There's no hint of citrus or anything remotely orange-y at all. It tastes like carrot juice made from old dehydrated carrots with some dusty potatoes and a bit of rotten beet thrown in. It's foul and I hate it. I'm never getting this crap again, in fact, I want my whole ZAR21 back (about $3)! Rip off, I say!

Guess this means I'll have to brave the dreaded Checker's Hyper to get their freshly squeezed OJ. Ugh. Checker's Hyper deserves its own entry.

Cold Summers are like Cold Showers

I love you New York, I really and truly do; so much so, in fact, that this is my 6th consecutive summer on an island that is 12 miles long. I do not, however, enjoy the fact that it is June 20 and I still have my sweaters out because its too cold not to. Now, this will not kill me a la whacked out minibus drivers in SA, however, it is as annoying as a cold shower and i'm declaring a "non-religious-hence-no-one-from-my-bahraini-based-firm-should-pay-any-mind" fatwa against cold new york summers.

Wacky Wednesday

My work schedule is ridiculous regimented and annoying. I get up at 5:40am and leave the house by 6:10am. My dad and I drive from Fourways, which is a suburb in northwest Johannesburg, and drive to his office in Woodmead, which is a suburb in northeast Johannesburg. I then drop him off and continue on to my office in Sandton, which is south of Woodmead. I work from 7-4, then go back to Woodmead and go to the gym. At 6pm, my father and I depart his office and drive back to Fourways, where we eat dinner, clean up, watch an episode of House and then my dad goes to be at 9:30. I usually force myself to go to bed around 10:30 or 11pm, as I can't fall asleep any earlier. Thus, today's first fatwa is on regimented schedules.

As South Africa is a developing country, there is still a large population of urban poor who cannot afford to own their own car and must rely on a form of group transport, the minibus. Minibus drivers always drive beat up Toyota Siyaya vans which seat fifteen plus one passenger up front. There is a complicated system of hand signals which passengers use to flag down buses and indicate their destination; most hand signals are highly colloquial. Fares are on the basis of whether or not your Zulu is colloquial enough to make the driver think you know what you're doing. The minibus taxis would be a great resource with the exception of their extreme danger. Most white South Africans tell me that you'll get robbed or knifed on the minibus, which is unlikely. You will, however, be putting your life at risk to get into a horrible auto accident. Most minibuses are rented, so drivers have little incentive to keep up maintenance or even care about a dent or minor fender bender. Minibuses are notorious for taking as many road shortcuts as possible (i.e. driving on the right if traffic one way is slow, going the short way around the rotary [which happened this morning]) as well as stopping and starting randomly in traffic to pick up passengers. They also take turns indiscriminately from any lane and are in general a menace to society. So, today, I declare fatwa on dangerous minibus taxi drivers, especially given that I almost got hit by two on the way to work, one going the wrong way in the rotary by my house and the other who cut me off during a right-hand turn.

Italian Soccer Players = Thumbs Down

Team USA lost in a hard-fought match to Italy in last night's Confederations Cup game. The final score was 3-1. Two of the goals were scored by Giuseppe Rossi, a New Jersey born Italian American who has decided to play for Italy instead of USA. Bastardo! I curse you, Rossi! May your unnaturally glossy locks fall out and your overblown machismo wither!

So declared!

Since Matt won't let me buy the domain www.efatwa.info, I've decided to create a blog where we can all declare our comedic fatwas as so desired.

So today I am declaring an efatwa on:

1. American Airlines, who still has not delivered my luggage with all my winter clothes to Santiago.
2. The puppy that peed on my only sweater in Santiago.

I would also like to say that I bought a sweater tonight at Zara for $25. Now that doesn't sound so bad except I bought the same sweater in Mexico in January for $12.

I hope you all will find some pleasure in this blog and contribute frequently!