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.

Disconnected in the ME

Unreliability, fickleness, irregularity, variability, change .... These are all constants in the ME.  As such it should be no great surprise that the Internet ​stopped at our house last week for no apparent reason. Nor should it be any wonder that my inquiries as to the malfunction are met with confusion, dismay, distress ..... but no solution in sight.  After endless calls to the Internet provider, with an agent on the other end walking me endlessly through ISN variations (what does that even MEAN????) and getting me to force log-off 42 times, it was finally determined that I would need a technician on-site to resolve the problem.  

Now I am normally a patient woman; Smilin' Vic ​will attest to that as soon as I start to get the half-crazed look in my eye.  But waiting for the phone company to show up here is akin to waiting for the snow to melt in Northern New Brunswick.  You know it will happen, it should happen in April, but on a bad year it might not be til nearly June.

 So by the time the repairman gets here, the chances are he may well be greeted by a half-rabid, near-mad creature who used to go by the name 'Gypsy'.

Chances are by then I will have gnawed through the upgraded, higher bandwidth, super-performing, ultra-fast fibre-optic cable we had installed a few months ago. I will have done this not out of sheer frustration, but more because it was something to pass the time while I wait for my "lifeline" to be re-installed.​

You see, I rely on the Internet for phone calls back home, for e-mail, for all sources of social media.  When the Internet is down in the ME,  I am down.​  Granted, I can use mobile access for a few things, but it isn't the most convenient of affairs given that I am working from an iPhone, with a touchpad roughly the size of a credit card.

This week it has also wreaked havoc with my blogging, and I find myself increasingly frustrated with the inability to just sit down comfortably and post at random on a slew of topics of varying degrees of meaninglessness.  How dare faulty code or wiring disrupt my litany of rambling and babbling?

So I decided tonight that I would.not let this tiny bump in the road stop me.  ​That I would write about nothing, just to prove a point.  And as I sit here, four hours after beginning this post, typing with the help of a toothpick on this teeny tiny iPhone screen, I feel strangely, oddly, wonderfully vindicated.  

And a little bit foolish.  ​There's just no way to look cool poking at a phone for that long.

But for now, at least, I don't feel quite so disconnected in the ME.​

'Needful' in the ME ...

OK.  Let's get this straight.  Before arriving in Qatar, the only time I'd heard the term 'needful' was in reference to Stephen King's "Needful Things".  

And even then, it was a weird word.  Because it came from Stephen King.​  And let's just face it ... Stephen King is decidedly weird.  But because he is who he is, and because I devoured his books shamelessly as a teen,  I accepted 'needful' as an adjective.

But in reality, it is a word that ​insinuates desperation.  As in:  "She is very needful."  Or "That is one 'needful' dude".  I'd just never heard this word in any positive, 'normal', 'day-to-day' conversation.  

Flash forward to Qatar.  The term 'needful' is used in the workplace at least 26 times a day.  ​

​My first experience at work with 'needful' was after sending a complaint to the maintenance department.  I had sent an e-mail explaining that we had a problem with a tree that had grown to the point where it was blocking our facility's extraction system.  

They wrote me back the following:  "Thank you for expressing your concerns.  Kindly do the needful and we will be happy to follow up."​

????​

Being extremely naive, I thought long and hard about this.  I didn't actually know what needful meant.  I thought they might have some strange insight into my character flaws.  Perhaps the Maintenance Department had recently hired on some psychotherapist to more fully understand the tormented demands of 'needful' individuals such as myself.  So I turned to my ever faithful, ever erroneous friend 'Wikipedia'.  (Let it be known that I turn to Wikipedia daily for unreliable information.)

Here is what I found:  ​

Do the needful" is an expression (considered archaic in some regions) which means "do that which is necessary", with the respectful implication that the other party is trusted to understand what needs doing without being given detailed instruction.

The expression is currently used mainly in South Asian English particularly (Indian English). The expression was current in both British[1] and American English[2] well into the early 20th century. In later years it was sometimes used as a parody example of contemporary South Asian English.

So there are a few fundamental flaws with this expression, particularly if you are applying it to me.  

First of all, you are assuming that I will be trusted.  Ummmhummm.​

Secondly, you are assuming that I will take on whatever responsibility I have asked you to assume in the first place.  Ummmmhummm.​

Ok, just for the record, even if I only have the nerve to say it in my blog, which NOBODY actually reads, but I don't care because I actually get to vent:  "NEEDFUL is NOT an actual WORD!"  "Got it?"  "NOT a WORD."  It is a weird alien concept concocted by Brits living in India who were thinking "Let me invent a word to totally screw these guys up while actually sounding like I know what I am talking about."​

​But seriously folks, NEEDFUL is NOT a WORD!!!!!!  And take it from me, if you ever want to advance in your career, do NOT use "Do the needful" when responding to your boss or to any colleague who has half a brain.

I have studied languages.  Don't get me wrong ... often I have to look a word up.  But trust me when I say that if I don't get it, I don't use it.  Or at the very least, I look it up... in depth.  Believe me, when your google search turns up only "Indianisms" or "Wikidictionary" as your source, chances are the term had not gone viral or been popularly accepted in the Oxford English Dictionary.

I Hate ('hate' is the 'h' word in our house ... technically, as a mom, I'm not supposed to use it ... if I do, I'm supposed to put a coin in the jar ... but let's assume that only applies to verbal utterings and not the written word ...) ... where was I?  

Oh, yes.  I Hate "Doing the Needful".  Because It Means Doing NOTHING!!!!!!!!!​  Or doing something that I may assume is required without actually understanding what is required.  Or doing something that is not required when it actually wasn't, but I assumed it was so I did it anyways.  Most often, it ends up being doing something which no one else was willing to understand or be accountable for.  And I will end up being crapped on for it.  Really, no matter what, I avoid doing the "needful" because it is most certainly going to end up being the wrong thing, something which was none of my business to begin with.  But mostly, when I end up doing the needful it is because neither the author of this request or me truly  understand what needs to be done.

Case in point:  I  tell you the tree is blocking our ventilation system.  You tell me to "do the needful".  So what exactly am I supposed to do?  Pull my chainsaw out of my handbag and chop it down?  Spray it with the handy weed killer I carry around with me 'just in case' I encounter tangle weed on my commute to work?   Zap it with my Zombie spray?  Call the gardner and tell him to stop watering the damned thing and just let if f&()ing die?  Get staff to pee on it as a show of ultimate disrespect?  Host an annual office picnic under its shaded branches?  Dance Gangham style outside our building, holding up a poster warning visitors of poor air quality in our building?

Don't go there, don't ask me to 'do the needful'.  I'll most definitely go postal if you push it.  ​

Most days I simply reply the following:  "Thank you for your insightful direction; it made all the difference.  I have done the needful on my end.  Kindly reciprocate so that we can consider the matter closed."

More crap, but you're dealin' with the best here.  I will not be left dangling and needful in the ME ...​

​All the things in this store were crap that no one actually needed ... 

So Many Options ... One That Pleases Me ...

So I was asked to attend a Qatari wedding again this weekend.  Truth be told, I'm actually starting to enjoy them!​  (Check out the post on Weddings in the ME.)

I was a little disappointed.  Because I can't attend.  

Why?  Because my weekend schedule is fully booked.  

My 7-yr-old is registered for a triathlon tomorrow.  Entirely non-competitive, confidence-boosting, socially-energizing and self-validating experience for a 7-yr-old.​

For a 42-yr-old mom this translates into energy-sapping, frustrating, early-weekend wakeup.  I hate that good things have to happen so early on a weekend morning.

But my fun doesn't end there.  Nooooooo.  

Immediately following the triathlon I will embark onto a fun-filled Brownie overnight camping adventure in the desert, filled with all the requisite camel spiders, hard sleeping surfaces, boiling over toilet facilities and  para-military moms (not all of them, but there ARE a few).

I wish I could fake excitement.  I wish I could feign enthusiasm at braiding a friendship bracelet, leading a scavenger hunt, saluting the Brownie flag, taking on latrine duty on the 11th shift, scalding my hands as I scorch wieners over the campfire, wrestling with tent pegs and struggling to drown out the snores coming from Brownie moms who have managed to fall into a deep, dark sleep on the cold, hard ground.

But the truth is I will be out there with a few likeminded peers craving a gin and tonic, wishing I could sneak away for a smoke, dreaming of my bed and my Soldier's arms around me.​

I liken the Brownie camping weekend to Hell.  That probably makes me decidedly unworthy of anything worthy.  But it REALLY does suck.  

Yet my daughter dreams of it all year long.  It is a definite highlight.  She hyperventilates just thinking about it.  And the most amazing thing is ... she STILL WANTS ME TO GO WITH HER.

Other girls her age are quite offended to have their moms tag along.  My daughter begs me to.  She says it won't be fun at all if I am not there.  Check my blog next year to see if this still applies.  I am one of the lucky ones.  

And so my HELL becomes my REDEMPTION.​

I am faced with so many options this weekend ... yet only one that pleases me;  the one that displeases me the most.  To spend some quality time in the stinking desert with my totally amazing daughter.  To get to build some memories with her that will last a lifetime.  If not for her, at least for me.  

To watch her as she participates in something 'bigger than her' (see "Something Bigger Than Me"), and watch her eyes grow wide in amazement as she sees the older girls perform a skit around the campfire.  To see her eyes light up with wonder as we walk through a desert trail in the night, observing the constellations, wondering what lies out there in that vast unchartered landscape.  To feel her joy as she joins in in sing-along's she's practiced all year.  To sense her contentment as she lies down next to me at night, safely ensconced in her sleeping bag, head nestled on her princess pillow, knowing that she is surrounded by friends of all ages, all races, all cultures, all religions, all nations, knowing that they are her peers, her equals, her sisters from different mothers.

And I will spend a torturous and sleepless night.  And I will gripe about it; probably all year long.  My fellow cool Brownie moms who don't attend will thank me for it.  My husband will owe me for it.  My ​daughter will love me for it.  But in the end, I had an option.  And this was the one that pleased me.

In the end, we always have a choice.  And the choice makes the difference.  I've chosen to live my life with no regrets ... this always makes me think about my options and the choices I make.  One choice may give me immediate gratification and leave me with nothing in return.  The other choice may give me pain and hardship in the short-term, yet leave me with a lifetime of happy memories.  When you look at it that way, it becomes much easier to sort through your options.

Thank grodness I've got a galss of wine tonitgh!  It's the shrot-temr gartification that'l cronvince me that tomorrow's hrardship will leaf me happy!​  LOL!

Cheers!​

Crossing the Finish Line - Triathlon 2012!​

​Daisy Scout Campout 2012 - Al Shahaniya

​Setting up the tent ... Al Shahaniya 2012

​Daisy Scout Fun ... 2012 Al Shahaniya

Only Half a Lunch for Me ... (a truly horrific tale of lunchbox letdown)

Anyone who's read my post on New Year's Resolutions realizes that I'm trying to live healthier and to be more accountable.​

I'm exercising regularly, setting out daily menus, keeping a food journal, really trying to live a healthy and more accountable life.​  Unfortunately, on occasion this turns me into a rabid beast.  Not grumpy, not slightly disconcerted.  No, it actually makes me 100 per cent, absolutely, totally, undeniably, rabidly INSANE.  

Exercising means getting up at 4:00 a.m.  Not good.  I am NOT a morning person.  But I find that I do best if I exercise in the morning in the ME.  Unlike Canada, where returning from work would be a welcome invitation for a run, what with fresh air, bustling crowds and cool hilly outdoor venues to lure me back out of the house, I find myself depleted of energy when I return home after a day's work in Qatar.  

So instead of looking forward to a run at the end of the work day, I drag my @$$ out of bed for it 2 hours before the sun is even thinking of showing its face.  Note that I am NOT a morning person.  I'm not happy about getting up when the moon is still bright.  But I do it.  Because no matter what, after a run, everything does seem a little bit brighter.

Coupled with this dubious and decidedly un-delightful activity, I have included menus in my daily routine.  As such, I plan out a weekly menu, and a set lunch every day.  Lunch is prepared the night before, ready to be placed into my lunchbox as I head off to work.  It is a balanced and sensible lunch, with dairy, grains, fruit/veg and protein.  It is the highlight of my work day.  As meager as it may seem, by the time 12:00 noon rolls around, for me it is as desirable as a 3-star Michelin meal.  I know exactly what awaits me when I open that teeny tiny little treasure trove of calories.

Which would explain my disenchantment last Thursday as I opened up my lunchbox.  In the small container that should have harbored 6 thin slices of Hillshire Farms turkey breast, 1/4 cup shredded cheese, and 1/4 cup green pepper, I found ​1 slice of turkey breast (these are paper thin), barely a teaspoon of cheese, and the requisite 1/4 cup of green pepper.  My slice of bread was still intact, I still had a Tbsp of mayo in my container, but I was decidedly short in the meat and dairy container.  

Could I have been that tired the night before as I put lunch together?  Could I have miscalculated somehow, or gotten distracted as I pulled together this integral part of my day?  I actually thought long and hard about it.  Then I realized that 'no', there was no way I would have skimped.  And I re-tracked the events of the past night.​  Where could everything have gone so wrong?

And a lightbulb went off in my head.  I placed a call to Smilin' Vic, who was in a meeting at the time. ​

Me:  "Can you talk for a minute, it's really important."​

He:  "Sure, I'll just step out.  What's up?"​

Me:  "Last night, you went to bed after me.  Did you happen to have a snack?"​

He:  (silence)  "I might have had a bite to eat.  Why?  What's up?"

Me:  "Well, 3/4 of my lunch is missing; I have enough to feed Barbie on a diet.  I'm just wondering if maybe you picked in the Tupperware container marked 'Gypsy's Lunch - DO NOT TOUCH' in bright red marker?"​

He:  (silence)  "Uhhhh, well, yeah, uhmmm, I had a bit of turkey, and then I realized it was really nicely packed, and then I thought, uhmmm, maybe this is your lunch, and then I put it back.  But I SWEAR, it was only after the 5th piece of turkey, and then I thought 'something's not right, I shouldn't be eating this'.  And I stopped eating then and there."​

Me:  ​"And you never touched the cheese?"

He:  (silence)  "Uhmmmm, well, yeah, uhmmmm, well I kind of rolled the cheese in the turkey, and it's really good that way, and, uhmmm, but I SWEAR, on the 5th piece of turkey, as soon as I realized that this was probably your lunch, I stopped."​

Me:  "Seriously?  Seriously?  ​Do you realize I am sitting here looking at a slice of bread, one paper-thin slice of turkey and 5 shreds of cheese?  Seriously?"

He:  (laughing)  "That's funny."​ (more laughing)  "No, seriously, that's funny!  Baby, I feel really bad, but did you seriously pull me out of a meeting for this?"

Me:  (foaming at the mouth, nostrils flaring) "You're an @$$.  Karma's a B*%($.  Don't ever touch my lunch contents again Soldier.  You'll regret it.  I love you, but I'm telling you now, you will rue the day you ever touch my processed meats and cheeses again."

I hung up.  Enough said.  ​100% absolutely, disconcertedly, rabidly INSANE!  

We haven't talked about this incident in our home again.  While I think Smilin' Vic tried to convince himself that my reaction was really cute and funny, I believe somewhere in his core he is afraid.  (I know I scared myself.)  I think he's realized deep down that you just don't touch a dieting woman's lunch.  You just don't go there - to do so is mad.  Next time, just reach for the peanut butter and jam.  Leave the pre-packed lunches untouched.  Or risk the wrath.

I can handle tight deadlines, a 7-year-old's meltdowns, flat tires, bad hair days, boardroom drama, bounced cheques, spilt milk, hot flashes, a burst water pipe.  But NOT lunchbox letdown.  Let it be known that every single shred of cheese counts.  I don't do well with only half a lunch.  

Don't mess with me and my lunchbox ....

Lunch as it should be ....