I woz rollin' wit Lorenzo in a Benzo

It seemed everyone in Jordan drove a Mercedes Benz

Hostel? Motel? Hotel?

Things were clearly lost in translation, because the sign on the balcony states that it is a hotel.

Teach Your Children Well

I'm pissed, Manpartner got me sick. To be fair, I did in fact get him sick first...but I was sick for 2 stinkin' weeks and got to feeling better just the day before yesterday. Woke up yesterday with the same sore throat/crispy chest/runny nose that started the cycle two weeks earlier. anyway. Last night, as I lay awake sneezing, wheezing, blowing my nose and coughing (choking), I flipped on the tube hoping the noise would drown out the sound of my lungs begging for oxygen that wasn't gonna come. I love late night PBS. It's when they play my kind of TV. Watched an hour of Jim Morrison's life. After that, an hour of Neil Young explaining his loyalty to the music, man. I love The Doors, but I already knew a ton about them....except I thought Jim was more of a drug addict than he was an alcoholic, sad either way. I got really sucked into the Neil Young tale. I am not going to get into all of that mumbo jumbo though. Google Neil Young, until then... listen to some music that takes me back to my childhood. I was born in the 80's, but my parents played this kind of music when I was growing up.

A Boy and a Donkey

This is Abo Sahber.

Abo Sahber and Hazeen. We paid the boy a couple of JD to let me take these 3 photos.

Abo Sahber and Hazeen again. Take note of the money in Hazeen's left hand.

I arrived in Jordan the night before these photos were taken. I was immediately overcome with emotion when I got there. I wasn't confident in my knowledge of the language. I was also nervous because I didn't know what to expect, I had never been outside of the United States. I didn't even know what I was supposed to do once I got off the plane, I figured I could just waltz outside and start looking for Manpartner. (he had already been there for almost 3 months, when I bought my plane ticket) (did I mention Manpartner is of middle eastern descent, specifically Jordanian? No? Well, he is.) Anyway, I got off the plane and followed the drones of people headed toward a lobby looking place, saw a bunch of locals getting in some line for Visas. I didn't look anything like the people in that line, so obviously didn't belong in it. (at this point I had no idea what a Visa was) I saw two swinging doors and headed for them, so I could find a familiar face, outside. Immediately, I was surrounded by armed military personnel, questioning me...Whoa! Que meltdown. I felt like running, knew I wouldn't make it far, sucked it up, mustered up the courage to spit out some of the native language, to tell them that I didn't speak the native language. (the first thing I learned to say was: "I don't speak Arabic", lazy American, but I thought it might be useful one day, turns out, I was right.) They told me, (in English, thank God!)that I needed a Visa to get into the country, and that I would have to pay for it. Okay. No problem, right? Would have been useful to know before I got there, but Manpartner never mentioned it, typical. I got to the Visa counter and they were quizzing me about where I was staying, (I didn't know), what city I would be in (I didn't know), Where Manpartners' family lived (I didn't know), How many days I would be there (I didn't know)...I had no way of calling Manpartner, my phone didn't have a signal. I didn't know it wouldn't work the ENTIRE time I was there. What? I didn't know!  I was thinking, sweet, they are never going to let me enter the country, they probably think I am some idiot American...and my phone doesn't work, I am screwed. They were right about the idiot American part. After about 20 minutes of quizzing, they stamped my passport and let me past the Visa counter. In actuality, I think they just gave up.
I chewed Manpartner a new one for not informing me.

Fast forward to the next day. Manpartner had planned some exploring through the city he grew up in. I had one agenda: ride a camel, and get a picture of me with a camel. In my eyes: proof that I had been to the Middle East. I got geared up, grabbed my camera, and we headed out.

En route to our destination, I spotted someone riding a donkey down the mountainside. I told Manpartner that I wanted to take a picture of it. He pulled over to the side of the road, and I started snapping photos. Manpartner yelled for the kid to come chat with him. As soon as the kid came closer, uncontrollable tears started to stream down my face. I was overcome with emotion. It hit me, he was just a child. His face was aged. His eyes were aged and appeared sad, despite the smile plastered to his face. I smiled at him through my tears, I am sure he thought I was completely nuts, crying, snapping photos of him. Him with his donkey, me with my camera, crying, snotting, and blubbering phrases to him in my broken Arabic, with an American accent. That was it. A few moments with a stranger...I tried explaining to Manpartner why I couldn't compose myself: All of these thoughts were going through my head of how privileged we are as Americans. Now though, looking back, I realize it was his eyes that had me behaving that way. Manpartner saw his eyes, and his face that day. I asked Manpartner to ask the boy what his donkey's name was. Abo Sahber, is what the boy told us. I never asked the boys name, but Manpartner gave him the name Hazeen. I asked him what it meant, loosely translated it means: sad face.

Food Junkie

This isn't a picture of food...but he is making the most delicious falaffel I have ever had, to date.

I quit smoking November 1, 2010...and have been starving ever since. Some pictures of food to get me by.

I went to the Middle East this past November, and have some posts scheduled that are from that trip...so prepare yourself for that ;) These pictures are from that trip.

Twenty Eleven.

It feels fresh; clean and new. Like a new pair of untainted undies.
That's sick, not the new undies part, but the thought of old undies and what did I mean, and why would I say something like that? What are your undies THAT nasty? No, shut up....I was just saying, there's nothing better than new undies. New undies make me want to prance around the house, leaping through the air, with a pillowcase cape.  I would be running through the living room bouncing off the back of the couch; my cape fluttering in the draft as my body weight throws me back down to the carpet with a hard thump, triggering man partner to yell from our bat cave, sleeping chambers (ie: the basement) "WHAT THE HELL WAS THAT?" and he would run upstairs to investigate the situation, only to find me trouncing around in my underpants like some crazed toddler."WHY ARE YOU RUNNING AROUND THE LIVING ROOM LIKE AN IDIOT???" He'd bring me back down to earth; take my cape and send me back to the bat cave to put some clothes on and act like a lady adult, because I am embarrassing him. But I would know what I had on under those adult clothes...new; fresh; untainted undies.
That's how I feel about twenty eleven. 

Things I expect out of myself and my new blog in twenty eleven.
1. Regular Blogging, totally open to suggestions...but as of right now I have a schedule of what I will be blogging about daily.
2. Being myself. Sometimes it is difficult in this type of setting. I am vulgar and unapologetic, I want this blog to be for me, and for you to see me as me, not someone I think you want me to be. I want it to be raw and real.... so since I am going to offend someone. Sorry? Take it now, because it won't be offered up once things are rolling.
3. I work on cars, and have a general knowledge of cars and the way they tick. I am a Girl. I am straight. Those things often do not go hand in hand. (btw. I have no problem with gay/straight/transgender and etc, individuals, just so we are clear) Those things make me different and I hope to bring some of my knowledge here to help others.
4. I plan on throwing in some girly girl junk to spice things up, and remind myself that I am, in fact, a girl. Manpartner says there is no question in his mind...but I still find grease, dirt and oil to be unappealing in the bedroom....let's leave that at work, huh babe?

Speaking of Manpartner

You can't tell from this picture, but he's got really nice buns, so, I keep him around.

This is both of us...you can tell from this picture, he keeps me in line...or you know, he tries.

I would say nice to meet ya, but we haven't met yet. I hope to, real soon. not in real life though...that's creepy.