However in 2012 in Kuwait, I say they are insane… And I can hear the music! 😀
Life is all about those random moments you see and you wish you had a camera. Luckily for me I captured this epic Dancing in a mall and I would like to share it with you all so you can feel the insanity I talk about
How awesome would it be to have the life of a WAG? Well one fateful night in Dubai and we very nearly came close! We don’t just socialise with the lower classes, me and Jewsconsin. No we headed for the classiest joint in town, clad in our ‘New Look’ bargain bin dresses, with about enough cash for two drinks each max and swanned in like we owned the place biatch!
We don’t really pay when we go out, meself and herself. A blend of her bootylicious American ass and my bubbalicious Irish boobs, the combination of two white blonde gals and the fact that we’d entertain just about anyone’s tepid attempts at a chat up line just long enough to get a cocktail bought.
We outdid ourselves this particular night. Captain of West Ham United himself Mr Kevin Nolan came over for a chin wag. Lovely fella I have to say but he’s from Liverpool and with that accent and the pumping tunes of LMFAO blaring down her earholes poor Jewsconsin was having big trouble deciphering Kevin’s dulcet Scouse tones. Jewsconsin’s View
We then made our way to the dancefloor and met some fine looking Latino lovlies who double as cabin crew for Emirates. Ended up at a session at their house. All the men were topless. There was no explanation given for this behaviour. If that happened in Ireland I’d be hollering ‘Jaysus lads no one needs to see that, put it away fellas’. I tell you honestly, no such words needed to be uttered this night 😉
After partying till dawn, we got a lift home from a chap who offered to take us to Abu Dhabi. Merely a quick spin 45 mins away, who knew!? But since a) we didn’t know this dude and b) we were still dressed in our bargain bin dresses (minus the heels and with that oh so sexy ‘I’ve been dancing all night there’s a slight air of sweaty fuzz to my hair’ look) we decided to head on home.
It was 6am
We were in the limbo that can only be described as “drunkover” (not quite drunk but nearly starting the hangover). Breakfast, we thought. Breakfast will stave the hangover!
Dressed in our luscious pyjamas we headed on over to the dining room.
No one else was in PJs.
We knew it was time to go to bed, but we desperately didn’t want a hangover and we needed food. So we decided to bring the food back to the room… I’m gonna let Jewsconsin tell you the rest. It might be used against me in a court of law if I discuss it you see
So we napped. And because I’m a dumb blonde sometimes I thought Dubai was an hour behind not an hour ahead. We were 30 minutes late for kick off!
Seating is limited and we end up sitting on a table with two fellas from Dubai. (Dubanese? Emirati? what to call them?!) Nice chaps, got the beer flowing fairly lively and all but by christ, they would not stop chatting on! (remember the usual expat questions I mentioned? Well yeah like that but x20!) I left Jewsconsin to do most of the answering, throwing in a hmm and a haha every now and again to feign listening. Liverpool were getting beaten 1-0 I DO NOT CARE if Lads from Dubai have bigger “nuts and bolts” (his phrase not mine) than Kuwaiti’s!
Extra time happened a lot more beer happened. I vaguely remember meeting some Germans and singing ‘You’ll Never Walk Alone’ followed by tequila shots. I have a hazy memory of going to a nightclub. I have flashbacks of spending a good 20 minutes in the toilet cubicle on arrival to said nightclub. But you know when something dramatic happens and you sober up like that *clicks fingers* Yeah.. Jewsconsin brought the drama.
For whatever reason, I don’t think even she knows, she decided we needed to ‘get out of the nightclub right friggin’ now!’ So she catches me by the hand and we run. Literally run. We end up in a kitchen. Hmm pretty sure we’re not supposed to be in here. Under an arm we go, whipping past the steaming saucepans. We find a door. We go through it. We end up behind the bar. FML Jewsconsin we’re gonna be on the front page of The Mirror at this stage!
I spot the lift. Backtracking out of the bar, leaving the poor barman simply open mouthed we run for the lift and dive mid close. You know when that happens in movies it just about pokes you through and closes behind you because there’s someone chasing you? Well in Dubai it doesn’t. No it holds one of you in the closing doors, let’s you free your leg, opens the fecking doors and takes just enough time to reaccess any potential foreign body parts before closing again. Just enough time for the Dubanese to be standing in front of the closing doors with one hell of a ‘I totally thought I was getting laid you expat slut’ look on his face. We take a breath safely ensconced in the back of our cab wheeling the way back to our humble abode for the evening.
Jewsconsin didn’t remember a thing the next day. I gotta keep her away from that bootleg Mission Impossible if I’m gonna make it home from this trip!
Or as we like to call it “Party Rockin’ Mission Impossible Style 3 day Epic drinking session”
So myself and Jewsconsin have known each other for roughly a month. Sounds like a fairly random idea to go away with her for a vacay, no? You see ordinarily I would’ve thought so. But given that we were both desperately in need of some liquor and seemed to have a similar train of thought when it came to most subjects (except for Paul Walker vs Channing Tatum) hopping on FlyDubai for 90 minutes with this crazy booty shaking Shakira lovin’ American gal seemed like a perfect excuse for a relaxing weekend by the pool with cocktails.
DISCLAIMER: There was no relaxing involved.
Arriving in Dubai a mere 7 hours before we could check in, we needed to occupy ourselves. So we did what the Kuwaiti’s have taught us to do, we headed for the Mall! I spotted a bookstore. We do not have such luxuries in Kuwait! I perused the store for probably an hour and me being me (blonde) decided without hesitation the only book I wanted to buy was a conspiracy theory book about 9/11… Yeah it’s all well and good me having an obsession with the topic, but being in an Islamic country and buying the book- clever I sometimes am not!
We also stopped by the Dubai Aquarium. You know, to see the penguins of course! I love penguins, you see. Spent quite a lot of time in the aquarium. Jewsconsin was getting a little peeved. She needed a nap. So back to the Hotel to check in we went and naps were had. Because that night was the Carling Cup Final and Liverpool were playing. And I was drinking beer 😉
My sister is 19. So given that I’m nearly 10 years older you would expect it to be me that gives her the advice on love, life and growing up. For the most part I do, and it would appear so far I’ve not done a bad job. However when said sister turns around and makes an observation on your life so apt that you can’t help but wonder ‘When the hell did my baby sister become a woman?’
My name is Tracey and “I’m in love with being in love” (So is Kim Kardashian, my sister informs me. Great comparison- a woman who’s second marriage lasted 79 days). Like any good addict, my obsession causes me pain and anguish but also untold pleasure and unexplainable delirium. I can pinpoint exactly when my addiction started but I cannot tell you when, if ever it will end. I’ve spent years staying in relationships that were so far past their sell by date they had become mouldy and started to smell. Staying with men that were abusive, both physically and mentally. Being involved with men who wore wedding bands, men who had serious issues and ones who had a ticking clock on the available time in the same country as me.
It would be funny if this wasn’t my story.
I don’t have regrets. I wouldn’t be who I am today had I not made the choices I have. And holy cow have I made some damn good choices (Lil’ sister also informs me that my ‘FWB’ looks like Channing Tatum– holla!) but I do also make really bad decisions (sleeping with your boss, it’s like dating don’t 101).
I guess, right now I’m not yet destined to be the stay at home Mum with the white picket fence, dogs and chickens. But I don’t want to be the lonely, nearly 30 year old nomad either. Can I just get a little in between?
To say my life for the last 10 years has been a dramatic one would be something of an understatement. Since I left the good ‘ol Emerald Isle when I was 18 I have had more ups and downs than the proverbial rollercoaster. So after one too many vomit inducing rides on said English ‘coaster, I decided to move to Kuwait.
Let me tell you what I knew about Kuwait when I signed the next two years of my life away… NOTHING!! Geography and Politics have never really been my strong point. Locating a city in Ireland was always something of a challenge, so trying to find a country like Kuwait on the map was damn near impossible.
A quick consultation with my good friend Google told me that it was bordered by Iraq and Saudi Arabia (not particularly appealing to a blonde, white girl) and that it had been bombed in my lifetime (I know I’m getting old like, but my lifetime doesn’t exactly span centuries).
So you’re probably wondering why I said yes? Well, the recession had hit the North of England bad, I’d had just about enough of English men, all my friends (even my usually dependable drinking partners- the gays) were getting married, shacking up, having kids… That sort of adult behavior that had so far escaped me. Plus there were upsides to Kuwait. Living in the tax free Middle East sounded like a dream, the job offered was a superb position that would’ve take me another 5 years hard work and ass kissing in the UK to secure, it’s sunny 90% of the year, oh and they did mention something about having to go to Orlando on an all expenses paid business trip for 90 days that might’ve swung it!
So on September 25th, after a marathon journey getting my visa processed between Dublin, Manchester and London- involving planes, trains, buses and a ferry thrown in for good measure, there I was sat in Manchester International Airport. I’d done many many tearful goodbyes, none more so than when I left my Mum sobbing at the departure gate. There I was sat in the Emirates lounge heart heaving from my cries with several fellow travelers wondering what the hell was exactly wrong with me. Sad, happy, excited, apprehensive. I’d really gone and done it now hadn’t I?