Wanna Work Out With Me?

The conversation started out with me announcing to Smilin' Vic that I no longer had 10 lbs. to lose to reach the dreamt of pre-pregnancy weight that has eluded me for the last 9 years.  

Smilin' Vic:   "That's great news, Babe."

Me:  "Noooo, that's not great news.  It's now closer to 20.  I'm way past the Doha Dozen*.  It's depressing.  I'm running again, I'm trying to do f#<&ing pilates ... obviously the signals aren't getting through to my butt.  This sucks."

Smilin'  Vic:  "Don't use foul language Babe.  It's the wine, hot dogs and s'mores from the RV trip.  Oh, and you should stop smoking.  You'll see, it'll come off in no time."

I smile sadly as I silently curse Dr. Vic in my head.  Why would he think stating the obvious would help?

I turn back to the computer. 

Smilin' Vic:  "Whatcha doin?"

Me:  "I printed out a weekly menu planner.  I'm typing out my weekly objectives.  Then I'm organizing all my recipes and the shopping list.  Tita L. always wants to help me cook, so I've decided I'm finally going to give in and tap into that.  I'm relinquishing my control in the kitchen.  These are all heart healthy and low-cal.  I'm determined to get back into roaring shape by December.  Slow and steady wins the race."

Smilin' Vic:  "Have you noticed 'Me'?  Not bad, eh?"  (He flexes an arm and sucks in his abs for effect.)

Me (thinking "that's just the motivation I was looking for"):  "Yeah, you look great."  In fairness, he's lost about 10 lbs. since getting back from vacation.  His approach to losing weight is thinking about it;  somehow it works for him.

Smilin' Vic:  "Well, I don't know about 'great', but definitely down from last week.  I've been working out harrrrrrrd!"  (He growls, flexes and calls out "youwaaaa" for emphasis.)

He relaxes and goes on:  "You know, if you cut down on the carbs it's a lot easier?" 

Me (thinking manicotti sounds like a plan right about now):   "Is that the thought that motivates you when you eat 6 peanut butter sandwiches as a 'snack' after work?"

Smillin' Vic doesn't appreciate my sarcasm.  "You shouldn't ask for help if you don't want it." 

I'm confused...  I asked for help? 

Objectives # 1, 2, 3 and 4:

1. I will run and/or walk at least 20 minutes at least 5 times a week.  
2. I will do pilates at least 20 minutes at least 5 times a week.  
3. I will make sure I log at least 20 km running a week.  
4. I will do a combined run/pilates of more than an hour at least 2 times a week.

I take a break from writing and go run 4 km on the treadmill.  27 minutes.  Not bad!  

I do 45 minutes of the new pilates "Rip Your Own Abs Out and Feel the PAIN" dvd I just bought.  

I still can't do a stupid roll-up without anchoring my feet under something.  When I mention this to people, they look at me like I've got four heads.  I imagine them sharing this with a spouse or a friend afterward:  "Can you believe it?  She can't even do a friggin' roll-up!  And all this time I thought she was fit!"  Cue evil laughter:  "Hahahahahahahahaha!"

I always fight the urge to qualify my inability to do a roll-up with a statement about how I was blessed with natural washboard abs 'til I gave birth so there was simply no reason to exercise those muscles and expend unnecessary energy.  And even though I'm shallow enough to think that way, I have to wait 'til I lose the "hamburger patty between two buns" abs or else I'll look quite the fool.  So I suffer silently.  

Objectives # 5, 6 and 7:

1. I will allow myself a glass of wine on weekends only.  
2. I will only eat what is included in my daily menu planner.  
3. I will log EVERYTHING (foods eaten, activities, cigarettes smoked, wine drunk).

Anyhow, after a decent workout and a shower, I come back downstairs, pour myself a glass of wine, enjoy the piece of pizza Smilin' Vic brings me (I'll log it later, I need to concentrate right now) and re-focus on typing out my low-cal recipes. 

Smilin' Vic:  "Watcha doin?" 

Me:  "Preparing recipes for Tita L." 

Smilin' Vic:  You're just like Michael (the little green monster with one eye from Monsters Inc.) in "Monsters University".  

Me:  "How so?" 

Smilin' Vic:  "You have lists for everything.  You know, like Michael in the movie ... "arrive at university - check; unpack - check; introduce myself to roommate - check;  attend orientation - check; graduate with honors - still working on it.  Haha." 

He makes a circle with his hands in front of his forehead to reproduce Michael's big eye.  He's like:  "This is so cool.  For the rest of our lives, I can make this sign, and you're the only one who'll know what I mean.  And we can laugh about it together, and it'll be our thing ..."  His exuberance peters off as he realizes I have turned back to the keyboard.   I type in ...

Objective # 8:

1. Stop trying to figure out how Smilin' Vic can be such an @$$ and so funny at the same time...
   

Seriously, I do NOT, in any way, shape or form, resemble Mike.

I turn back to Smilin' Vic. 

"A childhood friend told me my need to write lists stems from watching too much Sesame Street as a child (remember 'The Count'?).  Hey, we should start running together again." 

Smilin' Vic:  "It's kinda hard to tandem on the treadmill." 

Me:  "No, no, I mean outside, like we used to, at the park." 

Smilin' Vic:  "The heat index is 55C today.  And it's Ramadan.  No drinking or eating in public.  We'd die one kilometer into the run."

Me:  "But we could get up at 3:30 a.m., like when we were prepping for the 10 km run.  It would be fun." 

Smilin' Vic:  "We spent 15,000 QAR on a treadmill so we wouldn't have to wake up at zero dark thirty and listen to piped in 'bird chirping' and get sprayed with raw sewage when the sprinklers kick off, and now you're telling me you want to go back there?" 

Me:  "It was just a thought ... yeah, you're right.  Wanna do pilates with me?"

Smilin' Vic:  "Nah, Babe.  I don't 'DO' pilates.  I work out.  I run, I lift weights.  That's my thing." 

Me:  "That was harsh.  We just don't work out together like we used to."

Smilin' Vic:  "You're the one who suggested we stop going to the compound gym 250m down the road and set up our own upstairs.  You're welcome to lift weights with me." 

Me:  "I don't like weights.  They're heavy.  Whatever.  I'd rather work out alone anyways."  

I pour myself another glass of wine.  "It's the f*#&ing roll-up.  It's my nemesis.  It occupies every sleeping, dreaming, waking moment.  It will be my undoing, Smilin' Vic.  You mark my words.  I'll go completely f'in mad and then you'll wish you'd have taken the time to do pilates with me."

Smilin' Vic:  "Don't curse Baby.  What's is a roll-up anyways?  Show me your best." 

I lay my wine glass down on the TV stand.  I know he's taking me seriously;  he's actually paused the UFC match on TV to watch and listen as I flail miserably through what a roll-up should look like.  (Note:  I raise up to about the second vertebrae, grunting like a stuck pig the whole while, I jerk, my feet lift off the floor, I just barely avoid a toot, and pull up to a sitting position ... very unlike the zen breathing and smooth delivery my instructor walks me through on the 'torn and shredded abs' dvd.) 

Smilin' Vic:  "Ok, your abs are obviously REALLY weak."  He lies down and proceeds to do a perfect and effortless roll-up.  

WTF????  I have pretty much lost the will to live.  It finally sinks in that I have the abs of a slug.  

He instructs me to put my hands under my buttocks, extend my legs, raise them straight up and push up towards the ceiling.  "Do those tomorrow and every second day.  Do them until your abs are on fire.  You'll be doing a roll-up in no time, Babe.  Don't give up.  Those pilates are awesome.  The running's great, but the pilates are what will keep you moving, so we can retire and be like that couple you just discovered on that blog**." 

And just like that, he redeems himself.  Because in the end, he just 'gets' me.   

Objective # 9:

1. Stop trying to figure out how Smilin' Vic can be such an @$$ and such an inspiration at the same time...

Thanks, Smilin' Vic.  You keep me real. 

P.S.  Just to make me laugh, Smilin' Vic passed wind on his second roll-up.  Keeping it real.  Can't help but love him.

*  The Doha Dozen is a well-known phenomenon to expatriates living in Qatar.  The lack of pedestrian infrastructure, the overall unfriendly attitude towards pedestrians, the heat, the humidity;  all of these add up to a sedentary lifestyle that requires a conscious effort to get up and exercise.  Wine and lethargy often fill the active-living void, which eventually lead to packing on the pounds.

**  Last week I discovered a blog called Honey Did you See That?   Youngish, retired, fit, funny Canadian expatriates now living it up in a 5th wheel!  Since we've just come off an amazing Canadian RV trip, are Canadian, and consider ourselves funny, Shelley is the newest addition to my "You Might Like" list.  She inspired me to go back and give couples dialogue a try for this post (it's not something I do that often).  If you didn't enjoy what you read at Gypsy In the ME, check out her blog by clicking on the link below.  She is hilarious and will definitely be on The Ellen Show soon.  Thanks for dropping by.

Honey Did You See That?

Who's BeHeinz Me? (Tales from the Ultimate Conspiracy Theorist ...)

"Rumors of my assimilation have been greatly exaggerated ..."  (Captain Jean-Luc Picard, having been taken over by the Borg).

Have I mentioned I wanted to marry Captain Kirk when I was 7?

It wasn't really about the voyage for me, and I'm not a Trekkie per se, but I really did dig the whole "buff spaceman in a tight fitting uniform taking over the universe" concept.  

Anyhow, not really related to this post, but kinda...  there are many conspiracy theories linked to the original Captain Kirk (our very own Canadian William Shatner).  

Which leads me to the original premise of my post.... 

Last Friday, on our return from Canada, I tried to buy some of this: 

The best tomato sauce in the universe.  I've tried to find some every day since.  Checked all 45 shops I know (except Lulu's ... must try there tomorrow).  

Thus far ...

Not a drop to be found in Doha. 

I'll grant you that it's not a rare occurrence to find Doha shelves devoid of a favorite item: 

• Some brands in Doha are a lucky find, e.g. once I found Cheez Whiz, and Megarmart sometimes stocks Clamato juice (yeah my 2 faithful Canadian Readers, ya know what I'm talkin' 'bout!!!!!!! )
• Some brands in Doha are a hit and miss, e.g. your favorite flavor HP sauce.
• Some brands in Doha you will NEVER find, e.g. Kraft Peanut Butter.

BUT ... 

Some brands I actually thought I could rely on eternally.  

At first I wasn't too worried.  But then, as I visited shop after shop after shop, I started to feel uneasy.  How could ALL the Heinz Tomato Ketchup disappear from Doha supermarket shelves in the single month I'd been gone?   Something felt really, really wrong...

In the words of Spock: 

"Your logic was impeccable, Captain.  We are in grave danger.

Heinz Tomato Ketchup.  Thou art no more.  Where the Hell did all the Heinz Tomato Ketchup go?

I got it when turkey "ham" was removed from the shelves (it wasn't pork, but it WAS ham), and the fresh chicken shortage last year was chalked down to low supplies.  

There are cases where I've known well enough to prepare for the inevitable penury.  Case in point, I have 32 jars of Jamie Oliver walnut pesto in my cupboard because I'm trying to falsify demand to ensure supply doesn't waver.

BUT I NEVER DOUBTED HEINZ TOMATO KETCHUP!!!!!! 

And now the grocery supply chain gods have broken me. 

How will I ever explain to those who depend on me that I was unable to provide for their preferred tomato sauce needs?  

Who is responsible for this mess we're in? 

How do I make this RIGHT???????? 

Everyone KNOWS that everyone IN THE WORLD prefers Heinz Tomato Ketchup.  (NO, I'm not being paid for this ... there is a REASON only 8-10 people in the world know the actual recipe.)  

A house is simply not a home without Heinz Tomato Ketchup.  And we have less than half a bottle left.

I am not yet defeated ... but I fear the end is near my faithful readers.   It is all but a few oily red drops away .... 

And so, my ultimate expat challenge ...

"Tomato sauce:  the final frontier.  These are the voyages of a nutjob Canadian family.

Its three, NO five, NO seven, NINE year mission:

to explore un-Canadian flavors, to seek out Shawarmas and Falafel, to boldly reach for tomato sauce not mass-produced by Heinz.  

You know what?  If Captain Kirk and Doctor McCoy were able to heal the universe with salt shakers, surely I can do something with plain old non-Heinz tomato sauce...

Here's to trying new things!  "Engage!  Make It So!  Resistance is FUTILE!"

N.B.  I'll still swing by LuLu's tomorrow ... who knows, they might have a stash.

Mute Blasphe'ME' ....

1977.  

Grade 2.  

Escuela Las Morochas, Ciudad Ojeda, on the Northeastern shore of Lake Maracaibo Venezuela.  

A boy from T&T named Marcel asked me if I knew how to "flip the bird".  I didn't.  

But even way back then, I hated ignorance, especially in myself.  I sighed, put down Barbie and Ken, looked him straight in the eye, and truthfully answered "maybe" (I doubted he meant flipping an actual bird over on its back, but on the off chance he did I was fairly confident I could roll a feathered friend over if you laid it down in front of me).  

Thus began my introduction to blasphemous signs.  We sat there for quite a while as he explained the variations in technique, ranging from the plain old 'fist closed with middle finger sticking straight up', to the more complex and artistic technique of closing one's fist, with ring and index finger bent at the first knuckle, middle finger raised.  The latter obviously required a lot more flexibility, technique and practice.  I worked hard that day, determined to get it down pat.  I am nothing if not a perfectionist.

What he didn't tell me was that the sign would be considered highly offensive by some.  Eight-year-old boys suck that way.  

So, being the naive 7-year-old that I was, I skipped into the house that afternoon and proudly proceeded to artistically flip the bird to my mother.  Not with the left hand.  Not with the right hand.  With BOTH hands.  Over and over and over and over....  

This did not go down well.  

If I remember correctly, Marcel's parents and my parents got together and gave us both a very public and humiliating lesson on how NOT to become a moronic, useless, daft, ignorant member of society.  Insulting hand gestures being at the top of the list.

I've learned other such insulting gestures since, including the chin flick, the corna (fist with pinkie and index finger extended), the forearm jerk and the "talk to the hand", but always refrained from indulging (it's been hard ... I am French Canadian ... we 'talk' with our hands).  But that "talking to" in 1977 beat rude hand gestures out of me.  

Realizing that day that I remained ignorant despite having learned something new was a lifelong lesson.

Or so I thought.

... 

Upon moving to Qatar, we were briefed on a few things considered unacceptable, and were made aware of some of these things via online forums, blogs and local info magazines.  We knew not to show the soles of our feet, not to proffer the left hand, not to photograph locals, not to use profanity, and not to flip the bird.  We respected all of these and thought we had it down pat.

But the July 12, 2013 edition of the Gulf Times made it clear that we still have a lot to learn.  Apparently, every time I 'high-five' someone, signal 'ok' by making an 'o' with my index and thumb, or give a 'thumbs up', I risk offending someone. 

That's cool.  I get it.  Different cultures, different perspectives, different perceptions.  As I get older I realize my parents were right about most things.  

Now I just have to re-program my communication practices and learn how to sit on my fingers while holding down a conversation.  

I admit I'm a bit worried about slipping up.  You know, when the conversation gets heated, or things get exciting, and you just spontaneously break into a "high five"!

In the meantime, Smilin' Vic has suggested I order a pair of these on e-Bay ....  

Living my life in a perpetual state of "High Four-ing It"!!!!!!

He just might be on to something .... 

A harsh reminder that I'm not as culturally-savvy as I thought I was.  A wise woman once told me, "You've got to learn to admit that you simply don't know what you don't know." ...  (article extracted from July 12, 2013 Gulf Times, at http://www.gulf-times.com/qatar/178/details/359198/residents-urged-to-respect-qatar-customs%2c-values)

If You Asked Me Today About That Yesterday, One Year Ago ...

I started writing this post at 1:00 a.m. today, just another Wednesday here in Doha.  

May 29, 2013.

I started writing it today because I couldn't bring myself to write it yesterday.

Even today, I had to put it aside.  

I couldn't 'not' write it ...  and yet I couldn't quite 'write' it.  

I felt I had no 'right' to write it.  Maybe because I didn't own the grief.  Yet I shared in the grief.  We all did.  All of us, this nation of expats.​

It's now 11:35 p.m.  And I had to write it.

But please know that I couldn't write it right.  Because the whole story is just too wrong.

If you asked me today what I felt just yesterday, I would answer you this ...​

"Grateful"

• Grateful that I was able to spend the morning shopping for party favors for my daughter's "fake" birthday (since her birthday is mid-July, when all expats and their kids are gone, no one is ever around for the actual 'day', so we're celebrating in May).
• Grateful that my daughter got to spend the afternoon at her "first friend's" birthday party, laughing and dancing, and swimming and eating cake, and just being a seven-year-old.
• Grateful that Smilin' Vic walked through that door after a day's work and that both Kiddo and me were here to hug him tight.
• Grateful that I was able to spend the evening talking and sharing with fellow expat friends.​
  

Grateful because I am one lucky parent and expat.  

But I didn't start writing this post because I was grateful.  

I started writing it because I was

sad, mad, insane, grief-struck, guilty, angry, confused, frustrated, powerless, indignant, fearful, crazy, distrustful, ashamed.

I started writing because I couldn't shake the urge to cry; I started writing because I didn't feel like I was the one with the right to cry.  I started writing because today there was ABSOLUTELY NOTHING ELSE I COULD DO.

Because on that yesterday, just a short year ago, ...

it seems like only yesterday ...

I was at work when I got the news that a fire had broken out at a nearby mall, where my daughter's "first friend's" birthday party was to be held.  The mall was evacuated, all activities were cancelled, but the public was assured that all was well.

Shortly after, the rumors began circulating that all was not well.  

But surely it was all rumor and conjecture ...

My best friend, the "first friend's" mom, was the first to inform me that all was most definitely NOT well.  Lives, not flames, had been extinguished in the fire on that fateful day, that yesterday, one year ago.  Nineteen in all.  Thirteen children among them.  Precious souls, each and every one.

It most certainly couldn't be true.  I hung up the phone on my friend that night.  Told her that we couldn't spread false rumors.  I simply couldn't conceive that what she was saying was true.  We'd been told IT WAS ALL OK!  

And then I checked online.  And misguidedly clicked on a YouTube link.​

And saw an image I will never be able to erase from my mind.  Not if I live to be one thousand years old.  ​

The image of a seven-year-old girl being carried out lifeless.  ​

She could well have been mine.  

If you were an expat parent in Doha prior to May 28, 2012, chances are you had left your child in the play area in that mall where this beautiful, beautiful child drew her last breath.  

You had left them there for a birthday party, or to enjoy a peaceful hour of kid-free shopping, or just because the kids so loved it there.  They loved the soft play area, they loved the staff, they loved the fun and the giggles.  They felt safe there...

That beautiful seven-year-old girl.  She, and all the 'mall' children, and those who stayed with them, and those who tried to save them, are forever engraved in my mind.

On that yesterday, one year ago, too many Doha expat families grieved.  On that yesterday, one year ago, an entire nation of expats grieved.  ​

And yesterday, the grieving continued.  Publicly for some, privately for others, but all of us, without a shadow of a doubt, at some point yesterday, remembered that day, one year ago.  And then, yesterday, we carried on.  

But that yesterday will forever be today.  For the parents, for the loved ones, and for this nation of expats ...  

May 28, 2012

is forever etched in our minds.

Children, spouses, parents, friends and the misguided illusion of safety were taken from us that day, that yesterday, one year ago.  

My heart goes out to all the families and loved ones today.  May you all find the strength today to survive that yesterday, one year ago.

I pray you know that because of that yesterday, one year ago, a nation of expats will forever feel guilty about feeling grateful today.

I pray you know that a nation of expats are with you in spirit, supporting you, struggling to make sure that that yesterday, one year ago, never becomes someone else's tomorrow.​

I pray that you know that we all realize your child could have been our child.  Your children could have been our children.  And as we grieve for you and your loss, we feel horribly, horribly ashamed and guilty that we are grateful that our children were not there on that yesterday, one year ago.  We all know they could well have been.  

I pray that you let us carry the shame and the guilt.  Completely.  Let us at least carry that.  I pray that you relinquish the guilt forever, and leave yourself that space solely to grieve that yesterday, one year ago.​  

That yesterday, one year ago, has become today, tomorrow, and forever for all the families who lost their precious, precious loved ones in that fire at the mall where we all left our smiling, happy children.

I pray I have not hurt or offended with this post.  But I'm allowing myself to be grateful today, and I'm accepting that I feel ashamed about it.  I'm ​allowing myself to grieve today, for that yesterday, one year ago, and I'm accepting that I feel guilty about it.  Because I don't really have the right to grieve, do I?  Or do I?

The fact remains that if you ask me today about that yesterday, one year ago, all I can say is this ...

"I grieve..."

​N.B.  The words below are not mine, but I thought they conveyed really well the thoughts shared by many fellow expats yesterday.  We cannot forget, and every day we are reminded.  Please know that we remember.  The words were retrieved at http://www.memorieshonored.com/?page=non-denominationalprayers

We Remember You

At the rising of the sun, and its going down,
we remember you.
At the blowing of the wind, and in the chill of winter,
we remember you.
At the opening of the buds, and in the rebirth of spring,
we remember you.
At the blueness of the skies, and in the warmth of summer,
we remember you.
At the rustling of the leaves, and in the beauty of autumn,
we remember you.
At the beginning of the year, and when it ends,
we remember you.
As long as we live,  you shall live too will;

for you are now a part of us, as we remember you.

Grey smoke blowing to the song "I Grieve" from the 2002 album "Up".

ASD - Show of Compassion - May 31, 2011

(teachers and parents of the American School of Doha encircle students in a moment of silence for the lives lost and those who lost loved ones in the May 28, 2012 fire)

DUST IS A MUST ... IN THE ME (a return to blogging)

I started a blog when I moved to the Middle East.  In 2006.  

I started working.  In 2007.  

MSN started sending messages in 2008.  

That they would delete my Myspace account.  

I found out in 2009.  

Too late.  My recorded memories were gone ...

.... NOT.  Here I go again.  In 2012.

Tales of a Canadian workabee, trying to make it and survive in the Land of Sand.  

You have to watch out here, or the sand will coat everything.  Your words, your memories, your belongings.  

So an occasional dust is a must here.  You can't run away from it.  Your resilience is dependent on your ability to wash away the sand.

In your mind, color the beige.  Make it blue, red, gold, green.  

Color the desert a rainforest, imagine the sand dune a pine-covered mountain.  See the oasis growing in your back yard.  

And never, EVER, let the dust encrust you.

An occasional dust is a must.