My July Habit

At the end of June I acquired a free T.V, and gift that resolved my inner debate on whether or not I should purchase one. Considering it would take a kind benefactor to buy one, I was quite pleased that I found a benefactor who was willing to give me one. For free. (This lady was leaving Dubai for good, and I received a whole bunch of free stuff as well. Yeah!) The television set also came with a DVD player and I was content enough to sit at home watching all the DVDs I brought from the states (or borrow the ones available for rent at my gym--that's right my gym where I exercise), but my landlord thought this was not good enough and arranged for me to get a box that would hook up to the satellite dish.

I wasn't too sure I wanted it. First of all, the satellite box-thingy was not free, plus I could easily see myself flipping channels for hours on end in the evening--not writing the blog, not reading good literature, and not going to bed on time. But the Tour de France was quick approaching, so I consented.

When the Tour began on July 4th, when you all were celebrating Independence Day with barbecues and ice cream, I had to go online to read the first stage--as it unfolded--on velonews.com. It wasn't the ideal way to watch my favorite sporting event, but better than nothing. I even figured I would fare quite well without a satellite connection after all.

Luckily for me, my landlord came through, and one evening a Pakistani gentleman not only hooked up my box, but he also found all the English language channels and moved them up to the front of the dial--as well as including a French channel for me--and deleted the surprisingly large number of porn channels. (It was astonishing since the country blocks Web sites like Flicker and other relatively harmless sites because there may be innapropriate images, yet they had not managed to get rid of the actual harmful content on the satellite. I guess that's harder to block...).

The very next day I was watching the Tour in French, and that day's stage was a mighty thrilling one to watch. Cervelo Test Team's Heinrich Haussler was in a solo breakway for a large portion on that rainy, hilly stage, which he was able to win by a large margin. Actually being able to see his face holding back victory tears as he crossed the finish line nearly made me well up with joy for him. Reading does not make up for watching moments like this.

I am pretty sure there are only about two of you who care about my Tour fascination, but I will write a little bit about this year's Tour anyway.

1. This year I officially stopped worshipping at the Church of Lance. Oh sure, I am very grateful to him for helping me love professional cycling, and his organization does wonderful things for cancer patients, but he's been gone from the peloton for a while and I met other cyclists that I prefer. And other teams with a lot less drama...

2. I got very annoyed with the goings on at Team Astana. Everyday Velo News was full of the latest "who's the team leader?" drama. First it's Alberto Contador, next its Lance Armstrong, then it's whoever is strongest. And then when the strongest contender (not Lance) exerted himself, it was all about that awful rogue Contador. Enough already! Go Bradley Wiggins! Go Schleck Brothers! Go anyone else!

3. The Schleck Brothers, Team Saxo Bank's powerful duo, were very entertaining to follow on the last week's mountain stages. I loved how they worked together. Sadly, they weren't strong enough to topple Contador, but Andy Schleck did get 2nd place and the white jersey (best young rider). He'll win the Tour soon.

4. Garmin-Slipstream is not responsible for George Hincapie not getting the yellow jersey. This was a seriously lame piece of drama. Hincapie misses out on the yellow jersey by five seconds and everyone wants to blame Garmin because they moved up to the front of the peloton. So what. The only reason it was such a big deal is because it happened to George Hincapie. If someone else missed it by five seconds, the media would have said "Oh well, tough loss, better luck tomorrow." But no, since it was Lance's supposed "best bud in the peloton" it became a major inconsequential issue.

5. Fabian Cancellara proved once and again that he is an awesome cyclist. He can time trial, he rides in the breakaways, and he can help get his fellow teammates (the Schleck's) up and over the mountains. And he's not ugly.

That's it. Now what am I going to do with my time?

This Is How I Make the Big Bucks...or Just the Bucks

I thought I'd share some photos of cakes that I've done. The one above was a going-away cake for a guy that was a total Metalhead. It had the looongest inscription I had ever written. It practically covered the top of this 12" red velvet cake. I drew a chain border on the bottom and added spikes to complete the heavy metal look. I am really glad the spikes worked out. Our frosting has a tendency to get a soupy the longer I work with it. Thanks to a whole bunch of powdered sugar, the spikes worked!

I didn't want to do this design, but the customer insisted. Since I wasn't at the bakery to put my foot down, I got stuck with it. Generally I try to avoid drawing people on cakes. Cartoons, yes. People, no. I searched for a long time online to find a really cartoonish girl with a shopping bag that could be pulled off without massacring the face. I found an all-black sillhoete, and improvised. I was happy with the results, but at the same time totally frustrated. Now I can't tell people "no" when they want a person on the cake.

This cake was for the birthday of one of Dubai's gossipy magazines. I hate icing rectangle cakes.

The birthday girl brought in a picture of this beach/sea-themed cake. I tried to follow her drawing exactly. I have done better aquarium-type cakes. I just don't have a picture of said cake.

I was worried about this one as well, because the lady who ordered it would not listen to me. I had to tell her five times that we didn't use marzipan, fondant, or airbrushes. Luckily she liked it!

Here's the top view of the map I made.

This little face belongs to Princess Lillifee. Yeah, I haven't heard of her either. I think she's a Central European cartoon character or something. This was also rather nervewracking because 1) it's a face and 2) all I had to go on was a 1" square image. Normally when I draw on cakes, I make a stencil and trace the image on the cake because I don't draw with pencils particularly well, and buttercream poses more of a challenge. This character was a series of stencils that when laid on top of eachother made the face of Princess Lillifee. I was quite pleased with myself over this one. And it marks the first time the customer called me to tell me how much she like it.

Anyway, that's pretty much what I do. Along with icing cupcakes, ordering supplies, tracking inventory...I don't have pictures of the rest of my tasks.

Wanted: One Kind Benefactor

Chef Aaron downloaded some new music that I want (Diane Birch), and he is more than willing to burn me a copy of her album, except there is one small little problem: my computer's disc drive refuses to open. I think this happened when my computer slid and fell off of the security table of the airport in Beirut. Sadly, the busted disc drive is just one of the many problems my computer is having: it gets tired easily and will just shut down mid-use; it doesn't want to play any form of media found via the world-wide web; and I can't access any document I have saved in Microsoft Word or Adobe (all of my recipes). So, I think it is time to get a new one.

However, I can't really afford a new computer, especially since I would really, really, really like to get a MacBook Pro. I am trying to save as much money as possible, but considering I still have to eat and buy toilet paper, as well as save for any future life endeavors, this whole saving extra money thing isn't going as quickly as I would prefer. I may have enough saved in about 5 years. By my calculations, that's about 4 years and 3 months too late.

So in times like these I think back to a nice book I read I've read a few times: Daddy-Long-Legs by Jean Webster. For those of you unfamiliar with the book, it's pretty much a series of fictional letters sent by an orphan to the kind benefactor who paid for her to go to school. Wouldn't it be nice for some mysterious person to provide for these material wants that I kinda would like to have. Or to pay my student loan. Are there any kind benefactors out there who could spare a few dollars for my technology fund?

If you've had a chance to read Daddy-Long-Legs you will recall that the book's heroine ended up marrying her benefactor. I am not looking for that. Just money for the computer (and possibly a new cell phone, which also doesn't work too well) would be plenty. However, if he just so happens to be in his 30's, tall, dark hair, fair-skinned, devlishly blue eyes, and a British accent...well, that would be another story.

They Come From a Land Down Under

Not only does she drive me to church, my home teacher's wife Oriwa (a lovely part-Maori lady) has also helped lift me out of my music rut. I love people who seek after good music. We bonded a bit over The Arcade Fire, and have been sharing music back and forth. I introduced her to Ryan Adams, Travis, and Camera Obscura. She is the messenger that delivered that fabulous Ben Taylor song below, along with several gems from her native New Zealand. All the musicians on her list were fabulous. But it was the song below that I couldn't get out of my head (along with the Ben Taylor song). I bought the whole album.



Charming, eh? The whole album is full of great songs.

Now, here's a little something for fans of Bret from Flight of the Conchords:



Any more great tunes from NZ, and my next stop on this crazy trip around the world just may be in Auckland. (No, I am NOT hinting at any changes in my address. It's purely dreamy speculation, influenced by good tunes. The same way FNL leads me to Texas and 3-week cycling races push me to France.)

This Would be Nice

Should I ever find myself in a situation where I am wearing a white dress and dancing with a handsome fellow that I just so happened to have married a couple hours prior to us dancing while I am wearing said dress, I would like it if we could be dancing to this little ditty:



This one would be nice too:



Or maybe I'll just listen to those songs on repeat for a really long time until they are no longer endlessly swimming in my head. Which right now, I kinda hope never happens.

Grocery Store Addendum

Last night I actually ventured in to the "Not For Muslims" room at the grocery store in order to buy pork tenderloin for an upcoming church activity. I probably won't go back. Even though that section did carry pork tenderloin, bacon, and pork n' beans, that section also had piggy tails and ears, dried squid rings, luncheon meat in a can, and cockroaches. The cockroaches weren't packaged as a food item. They roamed around rather freely. I may want to get a new grocery store.

Martha, Please Help!

I have a strange hobby--one that should have been mentioned in my birthday "about me" post--I like to go to grocery stores. I love looking at all the products and trying new things. Naturally, being in a foreign country, the first place I want to go is a grocery store. It satisfies my curiosity about what other cultures eat, but, in a completely OCD fashion, it helps me plan what I am going to buy fill my stomach. I'm kind of a picky eater, and I just need to know that I will find the foods I like to eat.

I live right on top of a highly patronized grocery store. My neighborhood is rather densely populated, and I think about half of the neighborhood is inside at any given time. Plus it has a huge "Not For Muslims" section, meaning a huge, separate room filled with foodstuffs that contain pork or are not halal. (Halal, for lack of a better description is kind of like Kosher for Muslims. I believe it has to do with a way that meat is killed.) Alot of families at church go to this store for the pork. Most of the customers are not Arab, but are Filippino, Pakistani, Sri Lankan, or Indian. Thus most of the products cater to them. While I have been able to find recognizable products like Doritos, Listerine, Vitasoy, and Cadbury, the vast majority of the food items are strange and curious.

The most curious part of the grocery store is the produce section. The UAE, being a dessert, does not produce very much--mostly dates. So pretty much everything else gets shipped in from all over Southeast Asia, Africa, Australia and the U.S. My basic produce needs are pretty well taken care of: apples, red peppers (or capsicum depending on where you are from), carrots, bananas, oranges, tomatoes (although I can rarely find one that is not wormy), and green beans. The rest of the place is stocked with crazy stuff that I have absolutely no idea how to use.

So dear readers, if you know what the following plants are and how to eat them, please send a recipe my way:

The item on the right is a banana blossom, I believe. Or a fancy artichoke.

Umm. I've actually eaten this. It's bitter.

No clue here.

And now a couple of oddities from other parts of the store:

Yummy dehydrated fish. Kidding on that yummy part.

Prawn crackers? Really? I'll pass.

I neglected to get a picture of the rice aisle, which is truly a sight to behold. I really don't think Americans (especially the WASPy ones) can conceptualize the vast amounts of rice varieties. And FYI to the health conscious: the store does not carry a single brown rice variety. (I actually found some at the more-expensive-than-Whole Foods health food store.) It's pretty amazing. And it goes to show that I am not in Kansas anymore. Or in any other state in the U.S. 'Cause I'm not from Kansas.

P.S. I have tried (and loved): mangosteens, jack fruit, and jasmine flavored water.

Admitting the Truth

I spent a few days this week getting some important immigration stuff done so I can be a full-fledged legal working resident of the United Arab Emirates. Paperwork had been sent in, passport-sized photos taken, and now it was time to visit the clinic for medical testing. Chef Aaron informed me that since I was a girl, it was a very quick and pain-free process--aside from the needle jabs and all--and I should be done in less than an hour. The process for guys takes a bit longer. Not because they have more testing, since there are so many male foreign workers, they just have longer lines to stand in.

Arturo, one of our new bakers, and I hopped in a cab Monday morning and set off for the clinic with mild apprehension. Not necessarily for fear of needles...it's just that if the clinicians find something they don't like--hepatitis, for example--we would be on the next flight out of town. This happened to Arturo's brother. (Funny story--after said brother received further testing in the Philippines, it turns out he doesn't have hepatitis.) Anywhoo, we arrived and saw a massive line of Middle Eastern and Southeast Asian men waiting to get their blood drawn. I warned Arturo that this may take awhile and asked if he wanted to borrow a book. He declined, so I gave him cab fare for the ride home and said that I was not about to wait for him.

My only line was to get the bar-coded papers that I would take to each section of the clinic corresponding with the tests I needed: x-ray and blood. Papers in hand, I was ready to get poked and prodded. I was immediately directed to room #6: urine, spittle, and stool sampling. Peeing in a cup is pretty standard procedure world-wide and I was glad that I pre-hydrated. I handed the testers my papers, and he pointed to some plastic cups and said one word: "Stool."

Surely with his thick accent, he actually said "urine." Just to verify I queried, "Excuse me?"

"Stool." I began to panic. One little thing about me (something that I did not mention in my birthday post) is that I don't really like to admit that I have bodily functions. Peeing yes, that seems normal and not entirely icky, but I don't really like to admit to the others (feminine issues as well) unless we are really close, tight friends. Seriously, it took a very long time (I think my college years) until I was actually able to admit to girls that I did in fact get a period. So, in this clinic, not only did I have to admit to this complete (and male) stranger that I indeed did have bowel movements, I also had to admit that they didn't come very regularly and I couldn't just produce the requested sample at will.

Plus, Chef Aaron never warned me about this. Immediately I sent a text message hoping there would magically be some way of getting out of this situation. And there should have been. My documents only requested blood and chest X-rays. I would have gladly given urine as an additional measure, but they were not getting my pooh. Especially not that day. I argued that point with the worker, and he stated that since I was a food worker I had to have the test. I further pointed out that none of my coworkers were subjected to this form of cruelty, but he just shrugged his shoulders and pointed to the cheap plastic cups and told me to come back another day. My thoughts: "how 'bout I just get on a plane and never come back." For the record, I have given such a sample before on my mission. But when one may have parasites, it kinda comes with the territory. I don't have parasites--I think--so that precludes me, right?

I begrudgingly took a plastic cup (please note that the clinic didn't offer any shovel-type instrument with which to retrieve those samples. Another reason to reject this test.) and off I went to the other tests. I had my chest X-rayed. Interesting story as well. There were posters all over the place warning about protecting unborn babies against the dangers of X-ray radiation, so I was fully awaiting the question, "Are you pregnant?" and "Are you sure?" (oh am I ever). Instead the technician asked, "Are you married?" I assumed he wasn't going to ask me out so I felt comfortable saying that I was single, and then awaited the follow-up "are you pregnant" questions, but he never asked. I thought about suggesting that he should continue with that type of questioning because, sadly, in Western culture the lack of a spouse is not exactly an indicator of a pregnancy-free life, but thought I should just keep quiet in light of my pooh-test arguments.

Next stop: the blood test. The needles gave every appearance of being sterile, but although the lady holding them gave every appearance of being able to find a vein, she didn't do a very bang up job. No, I take that back. She did do a bang up job because I have some nice bruises on my arm from her attempts to find a vein. My veins are not too hard to find. I generally don't watch the needle go in, but in sort of a vampirish way, I like to watch the blood. However, I saw no blood. I did see a needle go back and forth and around in circles trying to find a vein. Trying not to panic, and trying not to scare other patients with the look of horror on my face, I calmly suggested the other arm. She did, and instead of gently sliding the needle in, she jabbed hard. I could not mask my face at that moment, and apologized to the nice Filippino lady watching the scene. I tried to tell her it didn't really hurt. I think she knew I was lying. Fortunately the needle-lady didn't have to dig too hard to finally produce some blood.

I left the clinic knowing I had to go back again. Chef Aaron had a good laugh at my expense for not being able to go #2 at the clinic. I have to admit, it is rather humorous and embarrassing all at the same time. Also problematic, as it turns out. The following day I had to attend a class, and the day after was Chef's day off. I didn't have time to go on any other day. Chef suggested I take my cup to the class and just swing by the clinic afterwards--if I was able to produce a sample, that is. I really didn't like that idea. Who wants to carry their own feces around with them, especially to a class on food hygiene? The irony of the situation was a bit hilarous, and Chef and I joked about how to hide my sample. He suggested a bag from our bakery, with all of our company branding. I was pretty sure our boss would not approve. Then I pointed out a good-sized box. I could surprise the clinic with a generous sample. Other speculated recepticles: ziplock bag and/or Big Gulp cup. The best part of the conversation: Chef Aaron was holding a Giant Cupcake cake mold to his chest in way that made him look like he had breasts--one of which resembling Madonna's pointy Gualtier outfit. I had tears streaming from my eyes from looking at him like that.

The following morning I did indeed have to go--right before it was time to leave for my class. Not really convenient, eh? I complained to Chef Aaron, and he suggested I get my sample and leave it in the office, away from food, obviously, and go to the clinic afterwards. I did, and informed the Chef where my sample was. As I informed him, "I don't want to lose my pooh." At this point all barriers of embarrassment about human functions were down since all my coworkers were aware of my little dilemma. And I was getting asked how my sample was coming. On the ride to our class, I informed one barista, Ivy, that my sample was complete and that I would be taking it to the clinic afterwards. "But Chef," she began, "the clinic closes at four, and we won't be back until five. Your stool will be no good." Of course. Why would this go smoothly? I prayed that our class would end quickly, but in the end I learned that the clinic closed at two. My attempts at getting the worst test done were useless. I was stuck in class on hygiene, and oh so ironically my pooh was at the bakery becoming entirely useless. I got back from the class, asked chef to "hand me my pooh" so I could throw it away, and went home to have another cup of laxative tea. (It's the only way I'm regular.)

The next day I went to the clinic provide my sample there. I remembered to grab a disposible spoon. I went to room #6 and the fellow working there remembered me. Not sure how I felt about that. He could have remembered me because I was one of the rare white faces in a sea of tan ones...or it could be because I was the first person he ever saw freak out over the inability to have bowel movements on command, and share the results with others. Thanks to some good tea, and a lot of prayers, my mission was accomplished. (Yes indeed. God does hear and answer all kinds of prayers.) I still don't know yet if I am parasite free, but I seriously better have a few bugs to merit going through that process.

Of course if I did, then I would have to go through the whole process again. Ick.

Clifford's Gonna Be a Thug

Back in the kitchen (at work), we listen to a lot of music to help the day move along quickly. The Filippinos we work with tend to reach the radio/iPod docking station before anyone else, and they obviously pick the music with which to start our day. I really wish I was the fastest person to the radio, but even if I was they would change the music the minute I take a nature break. We mostly listen to Jason's iPod, and I must say he has quite the range of music, however there is only a small handful of songs* that I actually want to listen to. He has a lot of Avril Lavigne, adult contempory, American Idol, the Tarzan soundtrack.... When we go on break so our dishawasher can scrub the floor, he changes the music to Josh Groban and other super sappy love songs. (He even has one CD that has snippets of the cheesiest of love songs, i.e the Titanic theme, "Our Precious Love"... tethered together with the same pop-synthesized percussion.) By eleven in the morning all that cliched, cheesy, gobbledy-gook makes me want to destroy the hearing mechanisms in my ear.

But I am not quite sure how to go about that process, so there is only one thing to do: purge the schmaltz-fest with something else. Since I know my music is not mainstream enough for their tastes, I reach for Chef Aaron's iPod and head straight for the rap section. After a few bars of anything from Eminem or Tupac I calm right down and enjoy my work a whole lot more. Interesting, eh?

Isn't it also interesting that the only girl in the bakery pleads for music that is at times offensive? Chef Aaron teased me this morning saying that with their music the guys in the bakery are trying to teach me that "women have feelings and are not objects. And you respond with, 'I gotta slap me some $#*#&$ and #($*#.'" (Insert deragotive vocabulary here...unless you don't what I mean because you don't listen to rap music.)

It is further interesting because I for the most part cannot stand rap music. For some reason I just really, really, really need to listen to it after hearing to the same Josh Groban songs. All. Morning. Long.

* Jason has a good deal of Journey. And I like listening to that.

Just Another Unsatisfied Customer

As many of you very well know, I decided to leave the corporate world and work in a bakery because I often had thoughts about owning my own little bakeshop. I have begun to reconsider this plan. As hesitant as I am to announce that yet again I have come up with a new career path, I just want you all to know I have very valid reasons for reconsidering this move.

1. I miss weekends, 8-hour workdays, and working 5 days a week. I am tired-nay-exhausted, and I want my life back. I just don't know how long I can keep up my current level of "dedication."

2. I'm not a schmoozer. My boss Dana is always chatting away with the press and telling everyone about the bakery. I'm not forward enough to talk to strangers and tell them about how awesome my stuff is. (I guess that's what PR is for--hmmm. I could at least write my own press releases.)

3. I have HORRIBLE, terrible, beyond shabby customer service skills. In my world, the customer is hardly right. They are annoying, picky, and generally have zero creativity. (If I have to write a red inscription on another pink cake...).

Here's a story to illustrate how I deal with horrible customers:

We have customers from a certain ethnic group (not local Emirati) who feel they can get something for nothing. I've not had much contact with said ladies since Chef Aaron usually goes to speak with them about their issues. But when he took a little trip to New York, I had to deal with probably the worst customer I have ever had to talk to.

Early in the week I received an email stating thus:
"Request you to please confirm at the earliest if this cake can be made. (2 kgs)
Please do not put the picture on the cake - do let me know if you cannot draw some parts of the t-shirt."

And the sender posted a picture of a rather cool polo shirt that made me a little nervous. (posted above.) I was also a little confused by the email. I am not going to even pretend to know what size a 2 kg cake is. She also gave zero info about what flavor she wanted, how many people to serve...or what parts of the t-shirt she actually wanted on the cake. I shot off a quick email, and waited for a response. She never sent one so I called her. We discussed varying sizes and flavors, and she asked if we photocopy pictures for cake tops (we do not), and finally decided that she wanted a quarter-sheet chocolate cake with the ponies, stripe and #3. However, she was not willing to pay the minimum AED 450 for the cake. (I warned her that with the decoration, it would end up being around AED 550. She folded; too rich for her blood.

Two days later she calls back because no one else is willing to take the order. So we went back to the nitty-gritty of the order. She verified again that we don't do photocopies, and asked if the cake would have cake sleeves and a collar. I informed her that we do not do shaped cakes just circles or rectangles. She said that was fine, but wanted to again verify that we could do the ponies, stripe and number. Yes, of course. We settled on colors, flavors, and then the price. I was feeling so excited about the cake, and that added a layer of unnatural generosity on my part, I only charged her the minimum for decoration and gave her a 10% discount, so AED 405 ($110).

Here's my interpretation of what she wanted:

Close up of the pony sillhouete.

The full cake. I am not too proud of the three. It is a little tilted. I should have used a stencil to make it straighter. (P.S. Don't admire my drawing skills too much. I created a stencil for the polo scene.)

A while after I sent the cake off with our delivery driver, I received a phone call from a very angry customer. It was the cake-lady and she was p-i-s-s-e-d. Apparently this is not what she wanted. She wanted me to draw the entire t-shirt.

Really? She exclaimed that she told me to draw the t-shirt and that she wouldn't pay AED 450 for something she didn't ask for. I don't like being yelled at by a complete stranger over something that I worked pretty hard on, so immediately I got a little crabby at her. I re-read her email--NOWHERE does it state that she wants the t-shirt on the cake. Even in our phone conversation, after telling her that we don't do shaped cakes, she never said draw the entire t-shirt. She was always focused on the ponies, stripe and number.

After explaining that to her, she continued to yell. What did I do. I raised my voice right back at the ______ (insert favorite expletive for obnoxious females here). Yeah, so in most customer service oriented businesses, it is not a good idea to raise your voice at a customer. Even if she was TOTALLY and COMPLETELY in the wrong. I remembered that standard operating procedure, and continued to talk to her with my inside voice, albeit a curt, and snippy inside voice. I explained that it was a miscommunication on both sides (which she disagreed with whole-heartedly) and if I understood her instructions there was no way I would have only charged AED 450. With all those elements, I could easily charge AED 550 ($150). She was even more upset about that and ranted about going to Mr. Baker and getting a 5 kg cake for AED 300.
I nearly suggested that she go to Mr. Baker instead, but I stayed quiet.

Now she didn't want the cake, and what was I going to do about it. I said, "If you don't want the cake, send it back." (Code for: you don't deserve that cake _____ (alternate defamatory word)!! Go to #*$#*& and #$#$*&# off!) I had to use code because if I actually said those things to her, she could have had me put in jail for as long as she wanted. Seriously.

In a huff, she hung up the phone and the disappointed cake made a sad journey back to the bakery. We scraped off the message in hopes that someone would buy it, but it didn't happen.

After my unproductive conversation with that lady, and a minor meltdown, I was able to clear my head a little and I finally realized what she really wanted me to do. She was simply trying to get another discount from me. This has happened on other occasions when other members of that certain ethnic group leave out a detail or two about their overly-designed cake plans just so they can complain and request a discount to counter the "shoddy" craftmanship. I was a little upset that I could have easily knocked a few dirhams off the price to avoid the whole scene. However, I was also pretty pleased that I didn't give in to evil plot. Her plan didn't work; she has no cake for the birthday party. Look who's crying now _____ (you know what to add).

It is true, I made a bit of a mistake on the order. I should have asked more questions about the design. But seriously, is the cake so bad that I need to turn myself into the CakeWreck blog?

I didn't think so.

This May or May Not Come as a Surprise

A while back I was "tagged" on Facebook for one of those "25 Things About Me" which are always fun, but sometimes requires a bit of thought. My cousin usually does something similar on her birthday, so I thought I'd take a page out of her book and do the same. Thus not limiting this exercise to 25, but I'll favor you with 8 extra items for a grand total of 33. This may be a bit of a challenge as I haven't even started to brainstorm which things I want to share. Some things may be well-known traits, but I hope to surprise a few of you as well.

1. I like clothes. I like to look at them in stores and magazines and imagine all the wonderful outfit combinations I can make, and what I would look like if I had those pieces. However when I try them on I think I look awful, so I have a pretty basic wardrobe.

2.I used to draw clothes on my paper margines in elementary school. I don't sew very well. I think that is because I shunned the hobby after being teased so much in junior high for wearing home-sewn clothes. Now I wish I was a better seamstress.

3. I don't like crowded spaces. When the bakery gets filled with customers I tend to feel really stressed out. How I managed New York, I will never know. Of course, I did avoid most of the tourist-faves.

4. Once I made a list of things that I liked/made me happy. Most of the things on the list were food items. I.e. Meyer lemons, avocados, pie, fish tacos... I think I managed to think of other things like flannel sheets and France, but it does make me a tad concerned over my relationship with food.

5. I tend to feel homesick for locations that are not always my home. This happens at telling moments too. I long for Texas while watching Friday Night Lights, Spokane during Thanksgiving, France during the Tour de France, and right now I would do anything to be in Italy while I keep up with the Giro d'Italia. I also tend to be England-sick for the rest of the time.

6.This is harder than I thought.

7. This is probably hard because I generally have a hard time expressing my feelings about people. I think my sister is not the only one with Asperger's in the family...

8. I have really inspiring friends and family. I am always in awe of their talents, whether it be writing, sewing, crafting, mothering, gardening, teaching. So many people that I want to be like when I grow up. I would mention names but that goes beyond my emotion comfort level. Let's just hope you know who you are.

9. I was going to dedicate a blog entry about this one--and maybe I still will. I've been thinking that this whole "what I want to be when I grow up" thing has nothing to do with a job, and more about a way of life. I'm wondering if I am headed in the right direction. Yep, a blog entry would be better for this thought.

10. I speak Spanish and French. However, I cannot seem to manage Arabic or Tagolog (the language of the rest of the staff here.)

11.Have I mentioned that I love professional cycling? It's an odd thing for a girl without a bike of her own to like, but I do. I think the whole thing is fascinating.

12. I like being quirky. Maybe that explains the cycling-love.

13. I am, shall we say...opinionated. Some people maybe label my opinions as snobiness. I have no problems being a little particular about what I read, watch, listen to and eat. This is my body and spirit, after all.

14. I am opinionated about music. This is no shocker. My music collection may not appeal to the mass population, but it is quality. No cliched love-lorn lyrics. No over-paid or over-exposed divas. (Maybe the Gallagher brothers could be considered over-paid divas.) Anywhoo. I love music that has new and inspiring lyrics, and I can't turn down a song with a driving bass line. I also like some instrumental rock. I'm really into Explosions in the Sky.

15. I don't drink as much hot chocolate as I used to. This is not just because I moved to the desert. A year prior to my departure I stopped drinking it. In the winter I would have about a cup a day. Now it's like one every four months.

16. Oh vey. Are you bored yet? Maybe I am not so interesting after all.

17. I can pick things up with my toes. They are rather dexterous. I may try writing with them. It's probably a good skill to have if I ever lose use of my arms.

18. I wish I was a runner. I could be a runner...if my knees didn't protest so much. I think I am going to sneak running into my exercise regime little by little until they don't realize that I am actually running.

19. I think my legs are my best body-feature. They are nice and long.

20. I'm also pretty pleased with the fullness of my upper lip. I think it makes them kissable.

21. I hate being interrupted, especially at work. When I am working on a project, I like to stay 100% focused. This, however, does not apply to packing or cleaning my room.

22. Any discussion of dating and relationships takes me to the dark place. I hate discussions that don't change the current situation of a thing...like dating.

23. I lived for many years in fear of a man with a hook for a hand living under my bed.

24. I think I have an addictive personality. I get obsessed with things like Friday Night Lights and Keane. I do consider myself a recovering Chapstick addict.

25. I live with a Pakistani family. They are wonderfully kind and generous.

26. I am not a good swimmer. I hate putting my face in the water. I hate when water trickles down my face when showering.

27. Almost there. I wish I was a better writer. I regret all the dance classes I took at BYU when I could have (should have) been taking writing classes.

28. I want to retire in Villefranche-sur-mer. It's this totally charming village next to Nice.

29. I would marry an Englishman for his accent alone.

30. Probably not. I am actually a little picky. He would have to be attractive and have an English accent. (I would also accept Irish, Scottish, Australian, New Zealand, French, Italian and possibly South African accents.)

31. Since working at a couple of cupcake bakeries, I can now say that I have a favorite dessert. I like fruit desserts. OK, that doesn't exactly narrow it down to one specific dessert. But I know that if I had to choose between chocolate mousse and a lemon tart, I would choose the tart. I like the mixture of tart and sweet.

32. I think I would like to start my baked goods business at a farmer's market.

33. The last one. It has to be good. Really good. I can be a little stand-offish when getting to know people. I am a little guarded. In fact, previous roommates have mentioned being a little intimidated by me. I am partly proud of that achievement, and mildly concerned. I don't mind looking intimidating, but only if that wasn't because I struggle to find ways to start a conversation with new people. I keep a rather small circle of friends, even though I am constantly surrounded by people that I would like to be friends with, but I can't quite seem to make the connection.

Phew. That was it. Congratulations if you made it through all of them. (I won't be offended if you get bored.) That was the most challenging exercise of my 33 years. So, were you surprised? is there anything that I need to expand upon?

The Glamorous. Oh the Flossy Flossy.

Ever since my 28th birthday, I have felt the need to have some sort of exciting thing to do, whether it be a smashing party, dinner with friends, a concert, or moving to the other side of the country. This year, since I am still new to the country and have such a limited number of friends, I was afraid that this birthday would be a pity party for one with enough birthday cupcakes to soothe my wounded emotions. Fortunately, I remembered that Dubai is full of really unique activities...provided that one has enough money to pay for such diversions.

I haven't researched it yet, but I am pretty sure that I don't have enough money to go swimming with dolphins at the Atlantis Hotel (maybe next year), but a movie at a Gold Class Cinema is in my price range. When I looked up this option last week I nearly gave up on that idea too because the cinema was showing that Mall Cop movie. Umm. No. I am not going to pay 110 dirhams ($34) for a dumb movie. Sunday, I checked the Web site again, and with much elation I saw that one of the movies showing at the Gold Class was "X-Men Origins: Wolverine." I was so giddy that my friend Aaron was prompted to ask, "How old are you turning?" My response: "Twelve." Aaron couldn't go with me as he was working (suckah!!), but he recommended I invite one of his friends, Nancy, whom I am just getting to know. I was very glad that she was eager to go as well. Plus she has a car, and that meant I didn't have to pay cab far for the Mall of the Emirates.

The MOE, is probably the swankiest mall I have ever been to--that is, until I visit the new Vegas-y Mall of Dubai. I am sure many of you have heard about the indoor ski slope here in the UAE. Well, it is as the MOE.

The mall is about two stories tall. The 1st level is filled with stores that most of the common folk can afford. (Except for H&M, there isn't much I can afford.) The second floor is filled with the fancy stores like Louis Vuitton, Tiffany's, and Carolina Herrera, you know...the places you would visit if you needed something to wear to the Oscar's.

So, you are probably wondering what this Gold Class Cinema is all about. It's pretty much the best movie watching experience you could ever have. It's a little like watching a movie at your house, in a Laz-E-Boy recliner, a blanket should you need one, with state-of-the-art surround sound and screen. Oh, and a waiter at your beckon call should your ginormous cup of carbonated beverage empty before the movie ends. It's like that. No fighting over the armrest, no one kicking your seat, no sticky theatre floors.

Upon entering the theatre lobby, you choose what you would like to eat during the movie. I vascillated over having a burrito or a burger. I ended up going with a bacon cheeseburger because 1) it's my birthday and I wanted free-calorie fries; and 2) it is harder to mess up a burger than a burrito. (I learned that is not entirely true. Beef bacon is not bacon, and never will be.) I also ordered a Big-Gulp-sized cup of Diet Coke. It's amazing I slept at all last night.

Then I got myself all comfy in my seat and waited for the movie to begin. The recliners were so comfortable, and they reclined all the way back. Awesome. (Please note, that when eating a burger with ketchup and mustard "all-the-way reclined" may result in you getting said condiments all down the front of your only nice blouse.)

The movie was good enough, but the chair and service really made the cost worth it for a birthday treat. I pretty much only wanted to see that movie for three reasons: 1) it was not "Mall Cop"; 2) Taylor Kitsch (a.k.a. Tim Riggins on Friday Night Lights) plays Gambit; and 3) Hugh Jackman has a few scenes where he is not wearing a shirt. Good times.

Due to my long legs, I've always wanted to recline like this at regular movies. Too bad I can't afford this all the time. If the A/C was on too high, I would have even requested a blanket. You can't beat that.

The other thing I wanted for my birthday was a piece of berry pie. I went to this French cafe-type restaurant to find something that fit the bill, and I instead ordered a slice of rhubarb pie. It was delicious, and probably even more so since I hadn't had rhubarb in a while. Maybe I'll get a berry pie of sorts tomorrow when I join the ladies from church at Le Pain Quotidien.

So that was how I celebrated my birthday. Like a rockstar. Dubai-style.

It's Good for the Soul

Dubai, like many Middle Eastern cities, has a few things in common with Utah. Well, mainly one important thing--a church on every corner. Of course, these two areas don't really share a common religion, but if you are looking to worship Islam here in Dubai, you are never a stone's throw away from a mosque. But if you want to worship something resembling Christianity, then things get a little tricky.

Due to the large amount of foreign workers in the city, Dubai has allowed said workers to practice their religion, and has set aside neighborhood for them. This neighborhood, Jebel Ali, is not exactly centrally located. Fortunately for this automobilely challenged blogger, my church's leaders requested to rent a villa in one of the Jumeirah neighborhoods for our small congregations, and the request was approved.

Attending church here in Dubai, and even in a villa for that matter, is a lot like attending church in any other part of the world. We sing, pray, have potlucks, and there is a large quantity of children. There are a few differences however. First, my branch is a very multicultural branch with families from the U.S., Canada, U.K., Australia, New Zealand, Fiji, the Philippines, etc.

And the second difference? Church is on Friday. For the Muslim world, Friday is their Sabbath Day. Businesses close and the weekend begins that day. In order for other religions to avoid conflicts with work and school, we just shift our worhip day to Friday as well. (Please note that due to the strong Catholic population in Lebanon, church was still on Sunday there.) Let me tell you having worship services on Friday really messes with one's head. I forget that it's Friday, and I wonder why people are emailing me from work on a weekend. I was Skyping with a friend on Sunday and thought it strange that she was headed to church that day. It's just a little bizarre, but I think you will have to try it to really understand how odd it is for a Westerner.

There are two LDS congregations in Dubai, one in nearby Sharjah, and also in Abu Dhabi. (These four congregations along with several others across the Arabian Peninsula make up the Manama, Bahrain Stake--a stake is kind of like a diocese.)

So far, I like my branch. Everyone is very friendly. I think they get rather excited to see a new face since not a lot of Mormons up and move to the Middle East. (Plus with the economic crisis many have had to leave Dubai.) Last Saturday I was invited to dinner at one member's house. They found pork and were having a barbecue. I joined three other families, brought some cupcakes, and had a really great time. I do miss my little branch in Beirut, but I am glad to have more people to associate with.

Don't Stop Believing

Some songs are just classics...even if they are sung wearing tight jeans and a girlie leopard print t-shirt.

Happy Thursday!

Last Tuesday I was granted a much appreciated day-off. I donned my favorite thrift store skirt, a light shirt and ventured forth into the "are you sure it's still not summer?" heat to discover new parts of Dubai. Like Beirut, my life and living situation are in such close proximities that I haven't had too many opportunities to see any sites of interest. The bakery is located in a more suburban part of the city that, although is very close to the beach, doesn't have anything interesting to note. (Well, except for fab British stores like Boots pharmacies and Topshop.)

For some reason, I like marketplaces: farmer's markets, grocery stores, flea markets, and here in the Middle East, I like souks. Dubai has quite a few souks. Some souks are just clusters of shops in a neighborhood, but there are also some whose wares are more item-specific like textiles, spices, perfume and gold. Those particular souks are located in an older part of town that has not yet (and hopefully never will be) been transformed into some new and exciting piece of architecture.

My first stop was the Bur Dubai souk which had, along with tons of typical souvenir shops, store after store of fabrics. I hear that there are tons of tailors in the city who make whatever desired item of clothing, so as I browsed the shop windows, I made a list of things I would like to have made. (Said items being loose, airy, and probably made out of cotton and/or linen for the fast approaching sweltering desert summer with coastal humidity.) Most of the textile shops had glittery synthetic fabrics, but I intend to search high and low for some nice cottons.

The Bur Dubai souk is separated from the other souks I intended to visit by the Dubai Creek. Fortunately for me, the Emirate's government has nice public transport across the creek for only a mere Dirham (approximately 36 cents).

This abra is one of the many boats who make several trips a day carrying people across the wide creek.

The creek is an important part of Dubai commerce and is pretty much the first port for Dubai. While there are now other major ports that welcome large cargo ships, the Creek is still active in welcoming dhows - traditional wooden boats - that carry produce from across the gulf and even from India.

Just across the street from the abra stop is the spice souk, which as you may have already predicted is full of strong, heady aromas of cinnamon, saffron and frankincense. Each little shop pretty much sells the same spices, teas and nuts. And I imagine the prices are pretty much the same wherever you go...depending on your ability to barter. Sometimes I am good at bartering, and sometimes I just don't care. I didn't care too much at the spice market. The prices were better than the grocery store. But I did talk the bag vendor down for the Mulberry knockoff I bought.

The most popular souk in Dubai is inarguably the gold souk. I hear the prices are very competitive, but since I am not in the market for any jewelry for the moment, I just looked at shop after shop of bangles, chains, rings, and really ornate necklaces. My goal is to eventually buy something at this souk--maybe a nice ornate bangle. Or one of these:

On the abra ride back to the other side of the creek, I was able to get a picture of an Arab in traditional dress. I think that is my favorite part of the UAE--seeing the locals in their native dress. Although Western traditions may see the black abayehs that the women wear to be rather oppressive, but I think they are beautiful, and nowadays they are designed to make the women look very regal. Of course there are odd aspects of women's costumes, like the metal face plate they wear. Not every local lady wears one, mostly just the ladies that live outside of the city, and probably the Bedouins since the tradition comes from them. (It is frowned upon to take pictures of local women with their permission. I will try some subterfuged photography later.)

It is wildly interesting that a country that still wears its traditional costumes is full of modern architecture and luxury, like the man-made islands, 7-star hotels, and the tallest building in the world.

The buildings surrounding the Bur Dubai building are really tall, but are dwarfed by that long, narrow edifice.

Here's a night view:

Since I haven't explored too much yet, I haven't had too many glimpses of Emirati luxury. I have seen the indoor ski slope and the outside of the Burj Al Arab (the 7-star hotel), but I really thought that this car exemplifies what one can do with enough oil funds:

All That I know is I'm Breathing

I should be searching the Web for flights to Dubai, but instead I thought I would catch up on everyone's blogs. Then I got inspired to write on my own little blog. I have no stories, but just a need to write something.

The song currently on my iPod is Ingrid Michaelson's "Breathing." It is a gorgeous song, and 500 bazillion times better than the Titanic theme song that is being played at this internet cafe a.k.a. my second home. I must admit that I have repeated "Breathing" quite a few times. It is entirely fitting for the things flitting around in my head.

I am supposed to purchase a plane ticket to Dubai for March 25th. I am excited to be leaving the bakery here, but sad to leave a city I've only seen glimpses of. I am thrilled to go to a new work environment, but concerned that I will hate it there too. I guess with all jobs and places one leaps to, it will always be a gamble. It may not work out. I may have to go home with my head down and with a few more creases in my foreward. All the uncertaintity mingled with current disappointments is disrupts my sleep and confuses my thoughts. So I have to remind myself to keep breathing.

Part of me feels like I have totally failed here, and thus I am gun-shy about showing up at a busy bakery run by a friend. I don't want to fail there either. I am usually a girl who tries to make lemonade (or a nice lemon tart) out of the lemons handed her. But here my lemons were wormy and rotten. I salvaged what I could and made a few friends, saw relics from ancient civilizations, and got two rambunctious boys to sing a couple of Primary songs. That little bit of tangy lemon was so good, but it didn't outweigh the unusable mess of that awful bakery and I have to throw it all away.

So after all the meltdowns, I have to go forward, keep breathing, and try again. I hope Dubai will be better. I know I will probably end up working a lot more than I am here. But I also know that the bakery is run by much better people. People who are concerned enough about my welfare to make sure I have an apartment when I arrive--an apartment with actual appliances.

I guess I should go look for plane tickets now. I need to get out of this place because while I am trying to just keep breathing, I hate breathing in my neighbor's Marlboro fumes.

The internet gods are finally smiling on me!

In the following posts you will find pictures. Lots! More than one! Actually about five per post, as it is all that blogger will let me post. Yeah!

Now for some quick news. My job sucks and I will be moving to another bakery in Dubai by the end of this month. Provided that my boss doesn't find a way to subterfuge me into staying. (Which would be a horrible mistake. I have a knack for pushing people away and being just plain hard to be around.) There is pretty much nothing he could do to get me to stay. The week of Valentine's I had to stop being in denial and realize that working 15-18 hour days for a guy who discounted all my advice and opinions as fatigue, illness, and PMS; who forgets that his employees are humans and need lives outside of work; and breaks promises made in employment contracts is not someone I want to work with.

So the bakery creator, who is based in Jordan, is sending me to work with my friend Aaron in Dubai. I should be there for four months, and if things go well I will work at a new shop in Abu Dhabi. I will miss my church branch, and especially my primary kids. Fortunately, everyone in the congregation is supportive...even though that means one of them will have to work with the primary kids...

Anyway, enjoy the pictures! There will be more soon (now that I've managed to figure this out). This whole project has taken more than an hour. One hour sitting in a smoky internet cafe with power anthems and love songs from the 80's and 90's playing in the background.

The laundry room also known as my kitchen. Since I have no appliances that make food (my little single burner died shortly after its purchase) the room has become my laundry room.

I do make peanut butter sandwiches in there. So I guess in an itty-bitty way it is still a kitchen.

The bamboo room has the best views of the sea. It also leaks; hence the collection of bowls and buckets at the end of the room. We have had thunderstorms everyday for over a week, and I have collected a lot of water.

This is my empty living room. As you can imagine, I don't spend too much time in here. It's basic function these days it to be a long, wide hallway and to collect dust. It's sad, really. There is a lot of unrealized potential in there.

This is my bedroom and my bed. I spend most of my time in here, sleeping mostly. But I now have a DVD player in my computer again so I get to watch movies if I get home early enough. The bed is comfortable.

This is the view from the bamboo room. The buildings below are from the American University of Beirut's campus. The belltower marks the hour--every hour. It woke me up on my first nights in the apartment.

I like my apartment, but let's be honest, I hate living in it. Mostly because I don't live in it; I just sleep and shower. My boss said I would have appliances and furniture in April, but there is no way that is happening. It is just another promise he has no intention of keeping. It's one of the reasons that I made that decision to be transfered to another bakery in Dubai. I'll miss this little place, but I look forward to the chance of having a fridge.

This picture was taken in Ashrafiyeh, a neighborhood I got to know when I lived there for one month at my friend Kristin's house. You can't really make it out, but the glowing sign is for Dou Dou Chinese Restaurant. An eyebrow-raising name,but pretty good Chinese food.

I live about a five-minute walk from the Mediterranean. I have had time to go down there once, and it was at night. It was still nice to hear crashing waves, feel the spray on my face, and see what the downtown looks like all aglow.

I hope I can come home with a nice persian rug...like this one.

The old buildings are usually inspired by either Ottoman architecture or Islamic.

These quirky stringed instruments are called auods, and are heavily present in Middle Eastern music. The Walton's, my missionary friends, invited me to a concert that was all traditional Lebanese music, and the above instruments probably made up a quarter of the orchestra. The music was fabulous.

This is Hamra Street. I live pretty close to this street, and it is usually where I head for dinner. I like Bread Republic because I can get a nice bowl of soup (lentille citron is favorite) and some slices of real bread. So good. Maybe that's where I will go tonight.

Details from the fancy and beautiful mosque in downtown Beirut. It is lovely, especially at night. The blue strip runs around the perimeter of the building, and is a chapter from the Koran. This mosque is actually pretty new; it was commissioned by the assinated Prime Minister Hariri, and only opened maybe two years ago.

A street in a more French-esque neighborhood with a lot of tiny restaurants and bars. I ate here once at a nice pizza place called Margherita. The best Italian-styled pizza I've had...since my trip to Italy seven years ago.

Here's that Mosque. Somehow my pictures got all jumbled. I am glad the picture turned out.

Beirut sits on top of ancient Beirut. (Kind of like Seattle, in a way.) This is a picture of some Roman baths that were unearthed. I hear there is a place for Turkish baths around here. I will have to see about indulging.