1970’s called, they want their manual traffic census back. Puh-lease.

Peoples of the world, I came across this today.

1^st of all, wtf is a manual traffic census in this day and age. And why is it been done in the middle of the only motorway in the city in peak hour traffic. Yes fine, that’s when they want the census for, I get it. But really, manually!? (For those not in the know, peak hour traffic is around 2pm, when work finishes, for some). Enough said.

So I decided to break it down for myself aaaaaaiiiiit.

Traffic: Vehicles moving on a road or public highway

• – a stream of heavy traffic

Ok fine. Get it. We’re not muppets around here.

Census: An official count or survey of a population, typically recording various details of individuals

• – population estimates extrapolated from the 1981 census
• – census data

Again, not rocket science. Just stick with me here.

Traffic census: No exact match found for your search ‘traffic census’.

Suggest or Ask for translation/definition

Other suggestions : traffic calming, traffic circle, traffic cone, traffic jam

See, even Google doesn’t have it it’s so old school.

Fine, not really:

1.       roads count of passing motorists: a count of the total number of motor vehicles using a street or road at particular times, used for traffic management purposes. The count can be done manually or electrically.
U.K. term  traffic census

Now this is my point, I am not trying to act totally stooopid. But it’s the 21^st century. This traffic census should be done electronically, surely? Seriously people, 1970’s called, they want their manual traffic census back. I’ve never experienced a manual traffic census in my life. It should not be an excuse to have a get together with your mates on the side of the road. Just look at the picture… gathering of peeps, cooldrink stand having a lekker jol and a fat chat and causing chaos and a mahoosive traffic jam because everyone wants to see what’s going on. Chaos my peaches, chaos.

This is what you’re looking for. Spelt out – EEE-LEC-TRO-NIC. Is that not so much easier!?

And yes according to your sign, your census is SLOW. Very damn slow. You said it. Bleh, I have nothing more on this. No more.

Over and out.

Miss M x

 

Age is but a number. Ya right.

OK, I have not quite been MIA, maybe just a tad. So much to do, so little time people! 1^st of all it was my BARFDAY! (and I was utterly spoilt, thank you special peaches)! This year I felt slightly awkward with the day creeping up on me and I did not want to have any form of celebration. Just so not me. Generally I luurrve a party, and especially in my honour! Um, not this year. Could it be because with each year the big THREE OH is getting closer and closer? Possibly. OK fine,  yes, that is the reason. Happy? I then I thought about it this week, post birthday. What’s the big deal anyway!? Age is but a number! Ya right. And here’s the best reason why.

Happy barfday to moi.

I decided to have a dinner with some of my beloved peaches, the weekend before my actual barfday. The Safari Rooftop Grill at the Grand Hyatt was the restaurant of choice. This restaurant never disappoints, the food and atmosphere is amazing and we needed to take advantage of the gorgeous weather in the desert and being able to actually sit outside before it will be scorching. Perfect choice. With this particular dinner comes an “all you can drink element”. Bottomless drinks. Oh dear.

Safari Rooftop Grill – stunning

And this is when it all dawned on me. The next morning when I opened my eyes, halfheartedly, I realized that age is not just but a stooopid number. Age is but a progression to literally the worst hangovers you will ever have in your life. A couple of whiskey’s, moving onto red wine later in the evening, and – FARK. On a level of 1 – 10, 10 being diabolic, I was at an 11. Panadol, shower, couldn’t even think of food, gallons of water, sleeping goggles over the eyes back in bed  and the AC flat out – I managed to get the 11 down to about a 4. And I wasn’t even cured yet.

Something like this, uurrgghh.

As if this wasn’t enough, on my actual birthday I decided to have drinks at the Park Inn Rooftop, which on Monday nights has a free drink of choice on arrival and free cosmo’s all night. Fabulous. For ladies. Sorry gents, you’d look weird with cosmo’s in hand, anyway. And this was a school night. What was I thinking!? Needless to say Tuesday at work was completely non-productive.  Completely.

Mmmm, delish.

When I was in my early 20’s I used to laugh at late 20’s peaches and call them old and chirping things like “don’t run with the big dogs if you piss like a puppy”. I’m still cheeky enough to rip the hell out of my friends that have crossed over to the other side and are just on 30, or 31.

Well, look who’s the puppy now, tail between legs, I take it all back – I’m SORRY!

Karma is a bitch.

Miss M x

Baldy-locks

I met up with some girlfriend’s for lunch today. Right at the end of lunch, this amaze story crept out of the woodwork. Amaze.

This chica, let’s call her The Petite Ox, was in Dubai on the weekend. She got chatting to an Ozzie guy (Lord alone knows why, I’m not too much of an Ozzie fan myself). Banter’s good, few drinks later and getting their vibe on he lunges in goes for a little snog. Score. He was cute, keen and had good banter – so why not!?

AND THEN, he turned around, and although he looked perfectly cute from the front, from the back, he had a mahoosive bald patch!? Really!? Not what was expected. Instant fail. Now don’t get me wrong here. Bald men can be uber hot. Please see exhibit A:

Jason, you can stay.

And now for my personal fav, please see exhibit B:

Swedish footballer Freddie Ljunberg

And he does a bit of CK modeling on the side too, just to keep busy

Sadly for The Petite Ox, her Ozzie man was nothing like Statham or so hot right now, Freddie. He was more of a Friar Tuck hairline front end:

And bald at the back. I kinda have this vision in my head:

The worst is, her friend’s were baiting her to snog him again. Nice one. Mates.

Don’t worry sweetie, next time you’ll snog a belter.

Maybe business at the front, party at the back will be more acceptable.Not Baldy-locks.

Miss M x

 

MO what!? Branding fail!

On Thursday (which is Saturday in my world), The Accomplice and I were cruising around the mall ticking time over and avoiding boredom. We did end up purchasing some much needed essentials such as MAC make up, network cables to hook up Hulu on the TV (I’ve become so technical these days learning about all these things) and a backgammon bored. Score.

A couple of things from the hour-ish experience in the mall.

This is up 1st, for sure:

Branding FAIL!!!

What does that say to you? Mo Bitch Me!? That’s what I thought too my peach. I translated this to MO ME BITCH and  merrily waltzed around the mall with a little choon that I came up with, singing – MO ME BITCH, MO ME BIAAAATCH!!! I was quite pleased with myself, kept me entertained for a while.

Next up, trying to find a network cable in Carrefour. So typically The Accomplice men in general never want to ask for directions / help and will wander around for ages. So I went on over to the group of employees for the department, standing around doing nothing. I asked in my lovely polite manner, “Please could you help me, where could I find a network cable”? Typically the person would walk you over to what you were looking for. Not this douche employee. He just points me over saying, “by the laptops”. Well thanks for nothing. Head over to the laptops, still can’t find it, ask someone else and he was lovely enough to show us. Result.

Last, but never least is PAYING. There’s not 1, but 2 people standing behind the counter. You’d think, one to scan the item’s through, take your money etc and the other to pack the stuff. Um, negative. They take turns on job A: scanning items through and taking your money. And they alternate. Must be a fairly stressful job. Shame.

OK one last thing worth a mention, we won something!? So they tell us to wait and that it’s a photo frame or something along these lines. And we wait, and wait and wait. Eventually I just want to go, sushi is calling by now. But The Accomplice is too inquisitive and wants to see what it is. So we wait, for about 15 minutes. Eventually the guy comes back, “Sorry. Finished”. FFS.

I have nothing more. At least the sushi was good.

Miss M x

 

Red robot = stop. Duh.

Some things never fail to amaze me living in the Middle East. Today I was amazed. People tend to buy their driver’s license’s in this part of the world, I assume, because I have never come across such terrible driving on the roads. I felt safer on the road’s in India, so that says a lot.

This morning as I was merrily driving along to work, belting out some Groove Armada choons to set the tone for the day and I approached an intersection of traffic lights. The light’s were about to turn red. So I stopped. Duh. Seems that the guy behind me didn’t get the same vibe from the red robot (aka traffic light). No, no, he was planning on driving straight through me. I have an absolute fear these days of car’s smashing me up the rear as I’ve had a Baiza bus do this to me and it was not nice. Not nice at all. So I constantly have my eye on my rear view mirror, just in case.

This oke just wasn’t stopping, so I started driving, into the intersection for fear of him ramming me up my car’s poepol, until he eventually stopped. Well that was just it. I’ve had enough of this bafoonery this week and I stripped my moer. He was parked behind me in the intersection, I got out of my car and walked up to his window, slamming my hand on his closed window I asked him WHAT THE FARK ARE YOU DOING!?!? He rolls down the window and looks at my like I’m a muppet. Um, excuse me guy, you’re the muppet, you can’t drive through stationary cars.

Now wait for it. JUST WAIT FOR IT. His response was that he couldn’t see my car because it’s dirty. Say WHAT!? I drive a BRIGHT bleating red car. Are you kidding me!? Granted my car is slightly dirty (note to self: need to take it for a wash before I get a 1000 Ronds fine) just don’t tell me you couldn’t see it. In a rant I told him that he’s a liar and to take his eye’s out of his poepol and focus. Enough said. I was done. Woooosa. Got back into my car, robot turned green and by this stage I sped off, and he kept his bloody distance, didn’t he.

Bafoonery. That’s all.

Miss M x

 

Stalking 101

When you live in a foreign country, you expect foreign things to happen to you. That’s a given. But what I came across this afternoon is just too foreign, even the man on the moon would ask you “WTF is this”!?

I was given the privilege of seeing this:

Now this is real life peaches. This was sent from a male to a male. A “Stalker” saw an “Acquaintance” in the City Center here, stalked the cutie pie guy on Facecloth and sent this message to him. Man on man. Eeeeuuuwww!

At the time of sending the message the “Stalker” had a profile, clearly his stalking tactics are not great. Go pick up your stalking 101 pal. You clearly need it.

So whoever can guess who the so hot, so niiiiiiiice cutie “Acquaintance” is wins a fab date with the “Acquaintance” – aaaaaannnddd GO!

Miss M x

My perfectly blonde opinion on the “unrest” in the Middle East

As I’ve mentioned before, politics don’t fall as number 1 on my list of top interests. I’m aware of  what is top news (or rather top trends on twitter that make me aware and I choose to read what I want to read), not necessarily interested. I’m not one of those peeps that get’s the paper on the weekend and flips through it at a coffee shop with a cuppa looking all uber intelligent. I’ve always fancied being one of those people, but I’m not. Politics is one of the topics of conversation that is never to be raised at a dinner party or braai in my blond opinion. The other being religion. These types of topics always end up causing the conversation to go round and round in circles and in the end it’s a case of agreeing to disagree. How fantastic. People believe and support what they will. Just leave them alone with what makes them feel peachy.

Sho, I’d read his newspaper…

As I’m sure everyone is aware there is a lot of political “stuff” unrest going on in the Middle East and North Africa as we speak. Egypt was scary but the people’s voices were heard and finally resulted in Muburak stepping down – tick. Well done Egypt. He was a muppet dictator that ruled for 30 years, suppressing dissent and protest, and jailing opponents (jeez, what a nice guy). I wonder if Egypt will now become a truly democratic country? Here’s hoping. Next up was Libya which is just crazy? He doesn’t care how many of his people get killed. I mean, you really deserve to rule a beautiful country Gaddafi, you really are a keeper. Dick wad. Then there’s Bahrain, Yemen and now… Oman!? I repeat Oman.

Is this oke for real!?

Suddenly politics become number 1 on my list of interests, because I live here. Although it is not quite the same as trying to chuck out Gadaffi and Muburak (The Sultan is a lekker oke and His people do love him), or about religion as in Bahrain it seems as if the Omani’s have chosen to jump on this band wagon and start up shyte. I feel quite sorry for the Sultan to be honest. Here’s a guy that has transformed this country for his people for the last 40 years and this is how they choose to say thank you after the fat bonuses that they all received last year for the 40th celebrations, copious amounts of holidays and being just generally looked after!? They’re protesting for more money. Nice one Oman.  Nice. In the real world you work for your beans, not get them handed to you.

Now this is where it really all becomes a bit interesting. Protests have kicked off in Salalah and Sohar. Now what really grates my carrot is that there is no credible news in this country, news is gate kept. You read what you are allowed to read. So everyone starts forming opinions based on hear say. It’s at a time like this that social media is down right fab. Blogs, Twitter, Facebook etc. Still not credible sources of information as again it’s not factual reporting but better than nothing is what I say. From what I have gathered from yesterday, the worst occured yesterday in Sohar as 1 – 2 people were killed by “gun shot”. Hold on. 1 -2. Is it 1 or 2 people? The law of averages most certainly can not apply here as you can’t kill half a person. Secondly, protests in Azaiba, Muscat. Again, hold your horse here boerewors, this is the peaceful happy suburban area that I live in. Not happening. The border to the UAE was apparently also closed yesterday. This morning I checked #Sohar on Twitter and Lulu’s has been burnt down, top tweet. Another place I’ve been going to fuel my new found political interest is Facebook. We have a friend that lives in Sohar, maar Boetie, dit help nie as jy in Afrikaans jou status update, die mense kan nie dit verstaan nie, ek se. What he was saying though is that basically Sohar is on fire, he could hear gun shots, cars and offices are being burnt down and it’s not looking too good. Yusses quite scary.

I read Mr Sythe’s blog yesterday and this morning, Muscat Mutterings, as when a whole lot of kak is going on it’s one place you can go to and read a summary of what is actually going on, and most importantly it is as factual as can be. Check it out: http://www.muscatmutterings.com/ He’s also updating in real time. Good job.

So here’s my take on it:

1. 1st of all, how did they get to organizing something like this. As the Accomplice mentioned last night they struggle to organize a que of 2 people in Lulu’s, never mind burning the building down.
2. Are we getting a day off work?
3. Is there enough red wine at home to last a few days in lock down?
4. Where’s the South African Embassy so I can go register myself as I’m not digging in these pockets to get me outta here if a time of crisis. Holidays to the Phillipinnes are far more important.
5. Do or I don’t I tell my Mom? Mom’s do tend to be a little neurotic at times and if they see what’s on the news (as it will be completely blown out of proportion) they’d be straight on the old horn telling you to get the fark out of there. I did BBM my old lady this morning  just to pre-empt any panic. She seemed fine. Good on you Mother Dearest – so level headed she is. Love you x
6. And lastly, if this unrest as they like to call it causes Jared Leto and his fab band 30 Seconds to Mars not to come to Muscat, this country will see a protest of note take place by this blondie. Nothing should get between me and Jared.

I’m at work today, there is enough wine at home, I still haven’t found time to get to the Embassy and my Mother is in the know. Now for what’s really more important, what happened at the Oscars last night!?

Miss M x

H & F… F for Fail!

On Friday I was walking around the mall with Scottish Lass after a delish lunch of quiche and banana smoothies at Lime Tree in Dubai. We popped into H&M to buy some new head bands (we both have this sick obsession with head bands and H&M has some great one’s). So we were looking around the hair accessories area and I came across this:

It can’t be. It’s a fail. Scrunchies are not making a come back.They’re just not.

I was traumatized standing there with an actual Scrunchie in my hand. The longer I stood there and stared blankly at them, the harder Scottish Lass and I cackled at the fact that there were actual real life Scrunchie’s in the shop.

I’m putting it down to a new intern Buyer at H&M that came to work with a fat hangover one day and somehow these slipped through to the shelves. And even if they are making a come back I would not be caught wearing one. Not now, not EVER!

Shame on you H&M, this is devastating to say the least.

Miss M x

Apparently I had a car accident?

This day was such a fail, from the word go. 1^st of all, It was just a  busier than usual day at work running around from client to client like a blue ass fly. In between all of this I jump back into the office to face 50+ e-mails. I skim through them to pick out what’s important and what’s not. I come across this:

Dear Miss M,

While taking the vehicle from the office premises consider others vehicles also.

Douche Bag.

Verbatim. Along with this mail I get an attachment of the following VEHICLE (who calls it a vehicle, it’s a car MOFO):

There were 3 pics from different angles, I sh*t you not. I stared at the pics, really struggling to find what I was looking for. I’ve only included one so not to waste your precious time, as this muppet did mine.

Now, admittedly, I am prone to a little car accident here and there, a little bumping and grinding of my car at times too. Since moving to the desert I’ve successfully written off 2 cars. Nothing to be proud of but what my point is, is that I know when I’ve been in a car accident. This time, it was not me. Nice of someone to inform me via e-mail that I had apparently been in a car accident, thank you so much.

Needless to say my fiery temper kicked in and before I could think, I saw red, bolted up the stairs and into this douche’s office and nearly people’s elbowed him whilst hurling absuse at him. Furious does not come close to it.

This is how you crash a car, douche bag:

 Write off # 1.

Not like this:

That’s a graze pal, not even dented.

On top of this, I tell The QS and The Accomplice when I get home and I’m met with very hesitated acceptance that I did not do it. OK, so they know my track record and I don’t blame them. The new Maglite comes out (any excuse to use the new torch, I’ll admit it’s awesome tho) and they’re circling my car looking for evidence. Thanks for believing  me you two. I showed them the pic, and they were both in agreement that it was not me. Thank you kindly.

Moral of the story, don’t falsely accuse Saffa chica’s via e-mail. They will tell you right where to fark off to and might thrown in a people’s elbow too. Douche bag.

Miss M x

Yella you Aunty, yes YOU!

We decided to braai the other night. We don’t need any kind of occasion or reason to do it; sometimes it’s just what’s on the menu for dinner. Especially when The QS opens his pie hole  with a smart ass comment and is then forced to braai because I won’t cook dinner and Hookabrutha has been scheming all day sending out pictures of braai’s. And these 2 call themselves busy at work.  Anywho, I stopped off at the Shell station on my way home to pick up some stuffs.

The shopping list was: coals and firelighters. You’d think quick sticks in and out the “convenience” shop, 5 minutes max. Ya right, in the real world maybe. I jumped out my speedy red Ferrari, left it running nogal, gathered the coals and lighter fluidy stuff (these people don’t know how to braai, they have this liquid stuff) some water and a Chuppa Chups sucker. And we wait, in the “que” as there is no concept of queing here, of only 2 people but each with about 10 little Laban bottles, crappy take out coffee, biscuit type things and this cake slices that you buy in the stores here, plain RANK!

Now this Aunty behind the counter is so slow, if she was any slower she would be going in reverse. Beep, beep, beep, as she scans each and every little bottle of friggin’ Laban through (scan ONE and multiply it on your clever little cash register there, surely!?) FINALLY it’s my turn, and someone jumps in front of me. Now I’m not in the mood for games so I’ll politely tell them to take a TICKET AND STAND IN LINE MOFO! He moves (being blonde and a chica in the desert does sometime help).  

She rings the water, coals, liquidy lighter stuff and then she gets to the sucker. 1^st she asks me, “do you want it?” (now let me think about that, well, no, I just put it here on the counter so I can stand here and stare at it – of course I want it)! She scans it. It won’t scan. Aunty tries again. Still won’t scan. She says, “You can’t have it.” (Um, sorry what, I just told you I want the sucker!? Punch the bar code in ya lazy Aunty!) Negative, she won’t. So I take another one, and it scans. Result. We’re getting somewhere. I then ask, in my pure and clear South African accent, “May I please have a box of Marlboro Menthol.” Now what comes next happens EVERY TIME, each and every blessed time. They touch the Marlboro Lights and look at you like it’s a game. “No, Menthol please.” Touch the Marlboro Filter. By this stage my blood pressure starts rising – “the GREEN box”. And thank God we’re not colour blind, and we get a green box of ciggies. At this point I’m ready ravage the box and start choeffing away in the store. I can hold out, should be outta here in no time at all.

I give her my debit card. “No”, she tells me. What do you mean no. “No machine” she says. Are you fucking kidding me? She points me to the ATM. Off I go. Enter Aunty number 2 at the machine – we’re looking at 5 mins plus here to draw cash – card in machine, card out machine, card in machine, car out machine. And I wait, patiently. Eventually she moves along and I get some cash out.

Aaaaand back to the counter. And I have to endure the painful process again, minus the asking for the GREEN box of cigarettes, we now have those. I grab the coals and water, chuck the ciggies and lighter fluid in my hand bag and by this stage, her little helper friend is putting the Chupa Chups sucker in a plastic bag. Just the sucker. Oh dear GOD please help me. WOOOOSA. Deep breath. I grab the sucker, minus the plastic bag as it’s bad for the environment and exit the convenience store.

As I’ve mentioned before, living in the Middle East comes with the good, the fab and the ugly. This is just one of those naaasty little instances that makes up a good portion of day to day life here. I just wish that everyone could inject a little energy into their day, you know, get your MOJO on Aunty! Let’s get moving here, crack a smile, have some lust for life and get me the hell outta this shop!

What should have taken 5 minutes, took 25 minutes. True story.

 Miss M x