tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37962874034888230832024-02-07T04:54:09.382-08:00Happily Married to a Biker(currently bike-less but not for long!)Olga K.http://www.blogger.com/profile/16795443226150161399noreply@blogger.comBlogger171125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3796287403488823083.post-11214280431107684422011-09-26T05:47:00.000-07:002011-09-26T05:47:17.164-07:00The blog has moved!<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">Thank you for visiting!<br />
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After receiving constant complaints about readers not being able to comment on the blog posts I have decided to move the blog to wordpress, below is the new address:<br />
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<a href="http://happilymarriedtoabiker.wordpress.com/">http://happilymarriedtoabiker.wordpress.com/</a><br />
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Please pay me a visit there :)<br />
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From now on all new posts will only be published there!</div>Olga K.http://www.blogger.com/profile/16795443226150161399noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3796287403488823083.post-49421965156989774642011-09-06T05:41:00.000-07:002011-09-06T05:41:08.451-07:00Capturing the moment<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">I have the immense pleasure to introduce to you the work of a wonderful photographer (and a friend) who specializes in family sessions, maternity shoots and capturing little bundles of joy on camera! If you fit into any of the above scenarios do not hesitate to contact her and book your session immediately! <br />
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To familiarize yourself with her talent please visit the following Facebook page:<br />
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<a href="http://www.facebook.com/AnanastaseyaPhotography" target="_blank"><span style="color: windowtext; text-decoration: none; text-underline: none;"><span style="color: #0b5394;">http://www.facebook.com/AnanastaseyaPhotography</span></span></a><span style="color: #0b5394;"> </span><br />
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With any questions or requests you can email her at: <span style="color: #0b5394;">anastaseya@hotmail.com</span><br />
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And now…here is a gigantic dose of cuteness for you: <br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2QJ-GyTAGQWwGYBwX72zOg5_H6k1yrUvsinfr9KNiK4ibl-N95pTBShCC6ZwiRu1rKUfp6YPz3l6Y-KLmbGn8cuYHtfFC_bKPDVoTn-VkGWDWbfPZrignR90CBPkRJmN5VejDiKjBxas/s1600/285530_186448528088643_108420995891397_484997_7135825_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212px" nba="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2QJ-GyTAGQWwGYBwX72zOg5_H6k1yrUvsinfr9KNiK4ibl-N95pTBShCC6ZwiRu1rKUfp6YPz3l6Y-KLmbGn8cuYHtfFC_bKPDVoTn-VkGWDWbfPZrignR90CBPkRJmN5VejDiKjBxas/s320/285530_186448528088643_108420995891397_484997_7135825_n.jpg" width="320px" /></a></div></div>Olga K.http://www.blogger.com/profile/16795443226150161399noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3796287403488823083.post-64550324727651296792011-09-04T01:09:00.000-07:002011-09-04T01:10:16.822-07:00Baby shower, shower.<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div class="MsoNormal" closure_uid_n0h9a3="219" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I am very fond of the idea of having a baby shower. What could be better than to gather with your closest friends and enjoy an afternoon spend together indulging in appetizers, chit-chat and unwrapping gifts! </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjICXHKol9vwDoyipTrQspbHTalhb76kQo2d4hnfAdsZoCunFohf7JBdHkKn8_kOqxlR2qfIY-iyvV3LcrR1BsTjqc6PjvJT9KRz_B3RuFR-2fDUvod9Y_8EUNDbzq0WAXtNqez63IuPF8/s1600/outdoor%252520baby%252520shower-resized-600.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320px" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjICXHKol9vwDoyipTrQspbHTalhb76kQo2d4hnfAdsZoCunFohf7JBdHkKn8_kOqxlR2qfIY-iyvV3LcrR1BsTjqc6PjvJT9KRz_B3RuFR-2fDUvod9Y_8EUNDbzq0WAXtNqez63IuPF8/s320/outdoor%252520baby%252520shower-resized-600.png" width="250px" xaa="true" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal" closure_uid_n0h9a3="218" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span closure_uid_n0h9a3="200" style="font-family: Calibri;">I would also much rather prefer to catch up with everyone before the baby is born instead of having dozens of people visit me at the hospital literally hours after I give birth- with all due respect, that’s exhausting. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">My Cynthia is currently in charge of coordination all the baby shower arrangements which is still a long two months away (but it’s never too early to plan, right?).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So this weekend we ventured into Mothercare hoping to get some information on their registration process. I was counting on a procedure that went something along the lines of: a give them a list of everything I need from the store and they share it with whoever shops for my baby shower. Pretty straight forward, right? </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" closure_uid_n0h9a3="197" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span closure_uid_n0h9a3="195" style="font-family: Calibri;">The <strike>tragedy </strike>conversation went something like this:</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span closure_uid_n0h9a3="193" style="font-family: Calibri;"><em>Me</em>: Umm, excuse me. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><em>(Both employees behind the counter continue pricing/unwrapping/picking their nose).</em></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" closure_uid_n0h9a3="194" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span closure_uid_n0h9a3="191" style="font-family: Calibri;"><em>Me</em>: Excuse me, hello? </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" closure_uid_n0h9a3="190" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><em>(Employees turn around with totally blank expressions on their faces).</em></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span closure_uid_n0h9a3="189" style="font-family: Calibri;"><em>Cynthia</em>: Do you do registrations for baby showers?</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" closure_uid_n0h9a3="188" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><em>(Blank expressions continue…)</em></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span closure_uid_n0h9a3="186" style="font-family: Calibri;"><em>Cynthia</em>: Baby showers? You know, like we want to hold a baby shower and we can register gifts so that the guests can chose from a list of items and bring them to the party?</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" closure_uid_n0h9a3="185" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span closure_uid_n0h9a3="184" style="font-family: Calibri;"><em>(Here employees’ eyes widen but nevertheless the blank expressions prevail).</em></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span closure_uid_n0h9a3="183" style="font-family: Calibri;"><em>UselessEmployee1</em>: We have this. (Hands us a Feedback and Comments Form)</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span closure_uid_n0h9a3="182" style="font-family: Calibri;"><em>Me</em>: No, no. Well you know, for a baby shower, I can chose some items and people can give them to me during the baby shower.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" closure_uid_n0h9a3="181" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><em>(A light bulb appears above the head of one of the employees)</em></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" closure_uid_n0h9a3="180" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span closure_uid_n0h9a3="179" style="font-family: Calibri;"><em>UselessEmployee1</em>: Aaaa… <em>(scratches head)</em></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" closure_uid_n0h9a3="178" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><em>(Exchanges confused glances with UselessEmployee2)</em></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span closure_uid_n0h9a3="177" style="font-family: Calibri;"><em>UselessEmployee2</em>: Baby Shower? Shower? Ohh shower? Ok!!!</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><em>(Both employees attempt to lead us to the shampoo/sponge/cotton balls/bath lotion section)</em>.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" closure_uid_n0h9a3="176" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span closure_uid_n0h9a3="169" style="font-family: Calibri;"><em>Me and Cynthia</em>: Nooooooooo!</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span closure_uid_n0h9a3="168" style="font-family: Calibri;"><em>Cynthia</em>: Not this shower, a BABY SHOWER!</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span closure_uid_n0h9a3="167" style="font-family: Calibri;"><em>Me</em>: Cynthia stop saying shower! That’s what’s confusing them!</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><span closure_uid_n0h9a3="165" style="font-family: Calibri;"><em>Cynthia</em>: IS THERE A MANAGER WE CAN TALK TO? </span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" closure_uid_n0h9a3="160" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><em><strong>Bow. Applause. Encore! Encore! </strong></em></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" closure_uid_i0ovkt="150" closure_uid_n0h9a3="160" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" closure_uid_i0ovkt="193" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglhR7wAAAu-WrVVxNCWZybIIrYZDKj1qtz-5z0pDmjcQohlY627JpEOSUDO2GjYSz0tQG3tt8-0UMiP_e2oFANIB1Bz6lXwvQaZR2eSsF1wKMlo8ON76GjqThwx8y1j2QMT0dhJNaIGXM/s1600/bad-customer-service-51.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320px" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglhR7wAAAu-WrVVxNCWZybIIrYZDKj1qtz-5z0pDmjcQohlY627JpEOSUDO2GjYSz0tQG3tt8-0UMiP_e2oFANIB1Bz6lXwvQaZR2eSsF1wKMlo8ON76GjqThwx8y1j2QMT0dhJNaIGXM/s320/bad-customer-service-51.jpg" width="244px" xaa="true" /></a></div></div>Olga K.http://www.blogger.com/profile/16795443226150161399noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3796287403488823083.post-2189361448674865792011-08-28T23:53:00.001-07:002011-08-28T23:53:58.449-07:00It IS like brain surgery!<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Miscarriage is still an extremely taboo subject in our society and age. Everyone seems to naively believe and convince themselves that it is not that big of a deal to have a baby. Whether planned or not…babies just “happen”. Well, I am here to burst your bubble people. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">During the course of my pregnancy I learned of three different people who lost their babies during pregnancy. Over these short 20 weeks, 3 different people I know had heartbreaking, unsuccessful pregnancies. That is a scary a scary fact. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">So I will probably unleash all my pregnancy hormones at the next person who tells me that pregnancy is not a sickness and having a baby isn’t exactly brain surgery. Coz it freaking is! </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Within the span of the 40 weeks of pregnancy a woman can find herself facing all sorts of demons, from an ectopic pregnancy, to an infection or having a premature baby that doesn’t survive. So damn it, have a little more sensitively please! I’ve had people actually tell me “there is no reason you cannot do that, you are pregnant- not sick”. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Well, I hardly think that doing something while having the flue can mount up to carrying out the same task while your blood pressure is low, your lower back is screaming in agony, dizzy spells reoccur and you hyperventilate after walking for just 3 minutes! </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I’ve had the most difficult time accepting that I am pregnant and allowing myself to be “happy” about it because I know that anything can happen along the way. When a friend with the exact same due date lost her baby at just 13 weeks, I was petrified. Alex kept telling me not to worry and that it will not happen to us, well I didn’t think my friends thought it would happen to them either?! It’s not something you even dare think about. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">So dear insensitive bastards (you know who you are) show a little more compassion when you meet a pregnant lady. Offer to help her out, open a car door for her or even take over some tasks so that she can go and take a nap. If your mommy didn’t take care of herself and act like pregnancy IS a big deal…you probably wouldn’t be reading this now. </span></div></div>Olga K.http://www.blogger.com/profile/16795443226150161399noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3796287403488823083.post-63817015530738916382011-08-27T05:20:00.000-07:002011-08-27T05:20:38.437-07:00I am 170 years old<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">This could turn out to be a raving/raging post (yet again) about hospitals in Oman but because I currently lack the energy to be angry…I shall refrain from typing in CAPS and cursing after every second word.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" closure_uid_ususr9="179" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><em>A disclaimer: a first-time expectant mother will worry about every little thing that doesn’t “feel right”. She does not necessarily need to be in agonizing pain or in a life threatening situation to be rushed to the hospital. Sometimes a light fever and consecutive dizzy spells are all that’s needed to seek medical attention. </em></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">So there I am (at work-that’s where) on Wednesday morning when all of a sudden I begin to feel a little feverish and simply “off”.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I also had a few other symptoms that should solemnly remain between me and doctor so that half the world is not grossed out.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>After fighting the sinking feeling that maybe this isn’t simple fatigue I caved and called a fellow doctor- who in turn told me to go to the nearest clinic and get checked out “just to be on the safe side”. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I seriously told my superior I will be back in an hour because I am going for a quick check up. (I should have said Inshallah at this point.) Alex picked me up and we went to the nearest clinic as suggested, the closest one being Al Raffah where I am currently registered. On my way there I kept on calling the operator to make sure there is a gyno there I could see. No one picked up. I called about 8 different times. Yes I had the right number- they just didn’t pick up! </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">As we stormed the lobby of Al Raffah hospital we soon came to learn that there was no gyno on call and my doctor would not be available until 6pm. Because…you know…doctors work in shifts.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Apparently it is perfectly acceptable not to have a doctor there for 6 hours at a time!!! They only had a GP- which would have helped if I had a bruise or maybe a sore throat…</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Suppressing our anger we drove to the closest hospital from Al Raffah- Muscat Private Hospital. Again, I called them on the way there the operator picked up (Hooray??!!) but the line quickly died when she was transferring me to the “correct” department. Ugh. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I quickly felt like I was having the most surreal déjà vu of my life when we learned that they too did not have a gyno on call because “the entire department was attending a lecture and will only be back in a couple of hours”. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Now, please note that both of the above hospitals have DELIVERY WARDS and possibly women going into labor that very instant- but who gives a monkey’s I guess? </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I began to feel quite anxious as by that point in time all sorts of nasty scenarios regarding the baby’s health ran through my mind. We did the only thing we could think of. We drove to Sultan Qaboos University Hospital. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>FIY (if you aren’t local) that hospital is 45 minutes away. Make that 1h and 25 minutes when you are driving there at 2:30pm just as about everybody in Muscat is leaving work and heading home. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Keeping a long story short- we finally found ourselves registering at the Accidents and we Emergencies department of SQUH and they quickly send me to get my blood pressure and temp measured (both were high!). The nurse (an attentive young man) was however very reassuring and told me that he marked my file as urgent so that the Emergency department makes me their priority. An hour and a half later we are still sitting there. Alex is dying for some water. I keep pacing the waiting area (which is divided into male and female sections). I “borrowed” the chair the security guard was using, by the door, and sat on it with Alex standing responsibly by my side. We seriously watched dozens of people come in and leave, leave and come in again…and we were still waiting. They reassured me that this was unusual and the emergency gyno department was having a rather hard day with 3 women coming in with bleedings and what-nots. Now, had I been in any serious pain or god-forbid bleeding, I am fairly certain they would have seen me sooner. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>About two hours into our waiting game we began to notice amusing details about the waiting room such as the “Welcome to the Accidents and Emergencies Department” poster- which Alex found hilarious and also the fact that my in-patient bracelet said that I am 170 years old. I thought about telling the doctor that my emergency is “old age” when she asks me what I am in there for. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">But other than that when we were finally admitted the doctor was lovely, the nurses were lovely and their approach was absolutely relaxing. Although they did kick daddy out at some point as he was being overly anxious. They did a quick check up, a whole bunch of tests and a quick ultrasound to check the baby’s heartbeat and movements. Everything turned out to be ok at the end. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">As we were leaving I received my registration card, neatly typed up to include my admission number, name and get this….”English People” in the nationality field. I laughed at this thinking that now I have a valid document to present to the British Embassy once I apply for my UK passport (because my hospital registration card says I am British- that’s why!). It wasn’t until we paid and received a receipt addressed to an Olga Mubarak (P.S that isn’t my actual last name) that I realized perhaps my dream of obtaining a UK passport might have to be abandoned due to my newly-acquired-obviously-Arab last name.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">A little bit of humor can get you a long way.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi37wd24gZPmR2dvJePGt-nypuUY_jL2rqom6kNrg6ZcVngLVYNeyIGZT71j35WGbrKA3ZZWWPleaZhzoJnyrOsfAOo3HCAZpkOEMKkNFNw4BwKU70K_4gk4zBIin4p_pIfOFAUuLTYB-g/s1600/cartoon14.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320px" qaa="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi37wd24gZPmR2dvJePGt-nypuUY_jL2rqom6kNrg6ZcVngLVYNeyIGZT71j35WGbrKA3ZZWWPleaZhzoJnyrOsfAOo3HCAZpkOEMKkNFNw4BwKU70K_4gk4zBIin4p_pIfOFAUuLTYB-g/s320/cartoon14.png" width="260px" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div></div>Olga K.http://www.blogger.com/profile/16795443226150161399noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3796287403488823083.post-30824895503293203222011-08-26T10:25:00.000-07:002011-08-26T10:25:27.970-07:00USF Store now on Facebook!<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">Just type in USF Store in your search box and become a fan! <br />
I plan to update constantly with new images, information, prices and upcoming milestones!<br />
Here is a little preview of what is on the page:<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNPofW9jmycjinl4mGixR9TOXa7mogIX6B3waBYpkNFjLiQdQhh_zwadr213IlDa5W1mFqQ42OHb1EQFIcom1Yigpkyp4M-qCSOKRZ3mieNIpqzOfh6ka6NuB9DVCd00ppx_SsrLgYGH8/s1600/DSC_0265.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" qaa="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNPofW9jmycjinl4mGixR9TOXa7mogIX6B3waBYpkNFjLiQdQhh_zwadr213IlDa5W1mFqQ42OHb1EQFIcom1Yigpkyp4M-qCSOKRZ3mieNIpqzOfh6ka6NuB9DVCd00ppx_SsrLgYGH8/s320/DSC_0265.jpg" width="212" /></a></div><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgo4oXSW15-V7FEmvsBABHzfKAAgpBbvrUISSjv2qpXSyeAipIaZPzOM_KXCAztwETmEscGBTYvkgbNLddrJ74GwUIy6trT-izIhyphenhyphenBNfFwamighOG5gFNRejlAwOwlKg7owQa5k_KQMTZc/s1600/DSC_0230.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" qaa="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgo4oXSW15-V7FEmvsBABHzfKAAgpBbvrUISSjv2qpXSyeAipIaZPzOM_KXCAztwETmEscGBTYvkgbNLddrJ74GwUIy6trT-izIhyphenhyphenBNfFwamighOG5gFNRejlAwOwlKg7owQa5k_KQMTZc/s320/DSC_0230.jpg" width="204" /></a></div>Join us on Facebook today! </div>Olga K.http://www.blogger.com/profile/16795443226150161399noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3796287403488823083.post-40171184696136264262011-08-23T02:56:00.000-07:002011-08-23T05:38:03.640-07:00A stroke of genius!<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I’ve had a lot of time to think about how I want the first artwork of the USF store to look like. It was going to be sassy but modest, chique but also relevant and above all…it was going to stand out. Given the opportunity, I expected to have at least a week to plan it out and collaborate with an experienced designer. Instead I faced a deadline of about 24 hours, a complete lack of ideas and extreme pressure. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I love it when magazines feature “behind the scenes” shots. On one side of the page you see Eva Longoria in glamorous high heels and a breathtaking gown, with her hair tossed just-right and a glimmer in her eyes. On the other side of the page the trendy editor would let you sneak a peek into the making of the photo shoot with racks of messy clothes, dozens of busy-bees huffing and puffing over Eva’s hair and make-up and the stressed-out photographer who has already gone red in the face. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">When I realized I needed to put together a photo shoot for the store in about 3 hours time I of course called my best friend to the rescue and yet again she saved my ass. Throughout the day I tossed around some ideas with Is This Serious, Yuliya and mom and we decided to recreate an image I found online earlier that day. It was simple, straight to the point and allowed the imagination to run wild. So, after a hard day at work I dragged by pregnant-self to the store and picked out a few outfits for Cynthia to wear during the shoot. Oh and the shoes. And the bags. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-align: justify;"><span closure_uid_lk2t41="171" style="font-family: Calibri;">You see…I didn’t want a page that simply featured a bag and matching shoes. We have enough of these. But I also didn’t have the time and resources to create an image that would fully convey the uniqueness and the style of the store. I wanted it to portray sexiness without seeming vulgar. Most importantly I wanted the image to be focused on the stylish items sold at the store. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-align: justify;"><span closure_uid_lk2t41="172" style="font-family: Calibri;">Two hours of trying on clothes, finding the correct shoe sizes, crawling on the floor trying-to-get-the-angle-right and two cans of Redbull later- we were stunned by the results. I shot over 100 pictures. They all turned out exactly how I wanted them. Not bad for a rookie huh? </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I will let you judge:</span></div><div class="separator" closure_uid_lk2t41="217" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMzWm6C3jqGa7hnJhMUr4GFPZfzP-1fJQ0Uc9CjuZpFBuC2Ol2_qp3BBXFA3a9PQEEcNvb9fRivYHUUkbibfmHW3lEV_14P15ZPcxDDzVyZc9Du5ioBpvu7ThIiAKSEijwHLfbw9CiBu0/s1600/USFv2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400px" qaa="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMzWm6C3jqGa7hnJhMUr4GFPZfzP-1fJQ0Uc9CjuZpFBuC2Ol2_qp3BBXFA3a9PQEEcNvb9fRivYHUUkbibfmHW3lEV_14P15ZPcxDDzVyZc9Du5ioBpvu7ThIiAKSEijwHLfbw9CiBu0/s400/USFv2.jpg" width="318px" /></a></div><div class="separator" closure_uid_lk2t41="217" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">We have received a lot of supportive comments and very positive feedback from friends and families regarding the final product. Personally, I am very happy with how it turned out, given the circumstances. </div><div class="separator" closure_uid_lk2t41="217" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" closure_uid_lk2t41="217" closure_uid_qn21dm="161" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I will now begin working on a Facebook page for the store where I hope to feature more images from the photoshoot to help spread the word! </div><div class="separator" closure_uid_lk2t41="217" closure_uid_qn21dm="161" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" closure_uid_lk2t41="217" closure_uid_qn21dm="161" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">During Ramadan the shop is open from 10am to 1pm and then again from 7pm to 11pm! Happy Shopping!</div></div>Olga K.http://www.blogger.com/profile/16795443226150161399noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3796287403488823083.post-12217930230371369892011-08-18T11:55:00.000-07:002011-08-18T11:55:59.183-07:00Ladies, new store in town!!!<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div closure_uid_d5bg7m="169">So Eid is coming up which means this is the perfect opportunity to add a few new items for your ever expanding wardrobe!</div><div closure_uid_d5bg7m="170">And now I have just the place...</div><div closure_uid_d5bg7m="170"><br />
</div><div closure_uid_d5bg7m="224">The USF store is now OPEN!</div><div closure_uid_d5bg7m="171">Looking for a fancy evening bag? Comfy shoes for the office? A summer dress or maybe a classy party piece? Look no further...</div><div closure_uid_d5bg7m="171"><br />
</div><div closure_uid_d5bg7m="171">The store is located in Zakher Mall (home to Pan Furniture, Omantel, Body Shop) in Al Khuwair. Venture up to the second floor and the USF store will be just on your right. Opening times are from 10am to 1pm and then from 4pm to 8pm everyday! There is a lovely lady managing the store who will be more than happy to show you around and help you find just what you are looking for! The clothes/bags/shoes were all handpicked in Italy by my mom and I have personally been wearing one of the wedges from the shop for over 2 months now and they are super comfy!</div><div closure_uid_d5bg7m="171"><br />
</div><div closure_uid_d5bg7m="171">Here are a few shots of what the store has to offer(excuse the quality, I was just very eager to get these to you as soooooon as possible!):</div><div closure_uid_d5bg7m="171"><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHztp87bqHPfyOC_viEsLSxSw0jKoVAyJyOxnTS_pvUrdNM8JOUjF_YGk99CyvLcQ9tuo7ANZu6W8ftcqtFzC9g_BYpIcQ8H49t8AaFzQ8AWTpoco9__iQQLsazpGdkCAqLvoQ8wLWTBo/s1600/IMG00463-20110818-2138%255B1%255D.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" qaa="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHztp87bqHPfyOC_viEsLSxSw0jKoVAyJyOxnTS_pvUrdNM8JOUjF_YGk99CyvLcQ9tuo7ANZu6W8ftcqtFzC9g_BYpIcQ8H49t8AaFzQ8AWTpoco9__iQQLsazpGdkCAqLvoQ8wLWTBo/s320/IMG00463-20110818-2138%255B1%255D.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><div closure_uid_d5bg7m="171"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiFsPY3rWRJls3LPn-uqFXWLObMSFPnxzoTAKcH7D0ejByWFbR4ODQaVTQmDAMX5Wr8syUbZgQ0_xJ0VIqUEOAstlPVbtJutovyizt3CPBGBeBpOEZFv0Myn7_tCm53Bd_fK19fuZvMsI/s1600/IMG00464-20110818-2138%255B1%255D.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" qaa="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiFsPY3rWRJls3LPn-uqFXWLObMSFPnxzoTAKcH7D0ejByWFbR4ODQaVTQmDAMX5Wr8syUbZgQ0_xJ0VIqUEOAstlPVbtJutovyizt3CPBGBeBpOEZFv0Myn7_tCm53Bd_fK19fuZvMsI/s320/IMG00464-20110818-2138%255B1%255D.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><div closure_uid_d5bg7m="171"><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQaZTx_4vmRJjRcU69bPfH0m9OLOhB1gQcrtXm-cBKP8aCPvenlDQoZMQqO2WmZLGRR4Jatf4J54MyJcaqWBzZ8gkEmNNCOBWeypCMwS-Fdfrtz4yErwR2pxY4MbdHT15LZ_e2RdbYWbQ/s1600/IMG00466-20110818-2145%255B1%255D.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" qaa="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQaZTx_4vmRJjRcU69bPfH0m9OLOhB1gQcrtXm-cBKP8aCPvenlDQoZMQqO2WmZLGRR4Jatf4J54MyJcaqWBzZ8gkEmNNCOBWeypCMwS-Fdfrtz4yErwR2pxY4MbdHT15LZ_e2RdbYWbQ/s320/IMG00466-20110818-2145%255B1%255D.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>More images to come soon, meanwhile please visit the store as I am certain you will find something you will fall in love with!</div>Olga K.http://www.blogger.com/profile/16795443226150161399noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3796287403488823083.post-48724418302397258472011-08-16T00:13:00.000-07:002011-08-16T00:13:31.436-07:00I am busy being pregnant...<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div closure_uid_xqmp9g="177">...at least I wish I could say that I was away from the blog because I was busy buying tiny pink outfits or drawing ponies on the nursery walls. But that wouldn't be true. It feels like I have no time to be pregnant these days. No, I understand that I am pregnant and the ever growing tummy is a huge (no pun intended) reminder of that but I just don't have the time to embrace it these days. Perhaps the most "pregnant" thing I do during the day is take my vitamins. Now Alex on the other hand was ready to put the baby bed up about two weeks ago. (Don't worry, he didn't). </div><div closure_uid_xqmp9g="171"><br />
</div><div closure_uid_xqmp9g="171">I am working full time and I think that is to blame for the fact that I sometimes "forget" that I am pregnant. Colleagues are constantly nudging me to stop carrying things or to walk slower and after I give them a puzzled look they say "because you are pregnant, remember?". Of course I remember! Especially since the almost-daily-deadly migraines have invited themselves into my life! But those are a whole different rant.</div><div closure_uid_xqmp9g="171"><br />
</div><div closure_uid_xqmp9g="171">I know that I need to slow down and enjoy this time as it is going by so unbelievably fast. We are half way there...we are just half way away from having a little one join our family. It feels like the weeks are flying by. Especially since I am at work pretty much from 8 to 6 everyday and I cannot seem to catch a break when I am home because something always needs doing (like dinner...because people need to eat!!!). Work has taken fancy to evening shifts the last two weeks so I end up going home at 9:30pm for the majority of the working week and only have enough energy to drag myself to the shower and consequently to my pillow. </div><div closure_uid_xqmp9g="171"><br />
</div><div closure_uid_xqmp9g="171">This is meant to the phase when the baby is able to distinguish voices and sounds so parents are encouraged to speak to the child and begin reading bed time stories and etc. It bothers me somewhat that I cannot seem to find the time (or the energy) to do this as I simply cannot bring myself to take half an hour to "rest"!!! And the truth is, I am very tired. Not in the same way that I was tired during the first trimester when any energy I had was drained out of me and I could physically not manage the simplest tasks. Oh no. The energy is back now and better than ever. I am just pressed for time and a little preoccupied with everything going on at work...so absolutely no time to stop and smell the roses.</div><div closure_uid_xqmp9g="171"><br />
</div><div closure_uid_xqmp9g="171">I have days when I stop and think that I absolutely cannot do this anymore - juggle work, being pregnant and running the house. Times like these, I begin to feel very sorry for myself and consider taking a few weeks off work or even hiring a housemaid to help me around the house more frequently. I have not even began thinking about maternity leave at this point. Everyone keeps asking if I plan to return to work immediately after the baby is born and the truth is...I have no "plan" yet. I am one of those strange people who immensely enjoy their job on a daily basis so leaving it all behind would literally break my heart. By no means do I underestimate how difficult it is to have a newborn and work full time- I just hope I can find my way around that somehow. </div><div closure_uid_xqmp9g="171"><br />
</div><div closure_uid_xqmp9g="171">We will just have to wait and see.</div><br />
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</div></div>Olga K.http://www.blogger.com/profile/16795443226150161399noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3796287403488823083.post-60902351469791053472011-08-05T23:39:00.000-07:002011-08-05T23:39:27.912-07:00Ramadan and me.<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div closure_uid_dqua0r="213">Last year I posted a modest explanation of how life changes around here in the holy month of Ramadan, please read it <a href="http://happilymarriedtoabiker.blogspot.com/2010/08/ramadan-kareem.html">here</a>. I thought it would be a good idea to shine some light on the traditional and cultural aspect of this month- especially for those reading this back home! This year is an altogether different story because I am pregnant, hormonal and hungry all the freaking time. So my routine has not really been effected by the fact that Muscat has succumbed to the sleepy, slow, quite days of fasting. </div><div closure_uid_dqua0r="168"><br />
</div><div closure_uid_dqua0r="168">Luckily no one in my office fasts (well except one guy who is on his annual leave now) so I have not locked up my snack drawer that is filled with Oreos, almonds, waffles and crackers. I munch away the entire day. We haven't even moved the water cooler from the room because my Omani colleague said it does not phase him- even when he is fasting. So, we took his word for it. </div><div closure_uid_dqua0r="168"><br />
</div><div closure_uid_dqua0r="168">I am however cautious not to eat or drink anything whilst I am outside (which actually isn't that often these days). This has proven to be difficult because my pregnant brain is always exploding with one stupid idea or the other, such as "Why don't you eat a tomatoe while driving from home to work?". </div><div closure_uid_dqua0r="168"><br />
</div><div closure_uid_dqua0r="168">And as far as silly situations go, my oven ran out of gas while baking a few pizzas at home and had to resort to asking one of my neighbors if I could perhaps use his oven to finish dinner? Now if this happened in the afternoon I don't think my fasting/Egyptian neighbor would appreciate the smell of two gigantic pizzas bubbling away in his oven...and it would also be virtually impossible to get the gas service to deliver during the day in Ramadan. </div><div closure_uid_dqua0r="168"><br />
</div><div closure_uid_dqua0r="168">Just this Friday me and <a href="http://is-this-serious.blogspot.com/">Is This Serious</a> were getting some much needed shopping therapy in City Center Seeb when we realized that we are frightfully thirsty. I also needed sugar. A chocolate of some kind. We ranted a little in one of the stores and an expat woman overheard us and offered her sympathy. Except we couldn't eat it anywhere! As a last resort we bought the goods and headed....to the bathroom. I sat on one of the sinks devouring my Bounty and gulping down my Ice Tea. Seriously, it was sad. I felt a little sorry for my pregnant self. That should teach me stay home till 6pm from now on!</div><div closure_uid_dqua0r="168"><br />
</div><div closure_uid_dqua0r="168">On a more pleasant note I was thrilled to find out that Oman Dive Center still serves beverages and food (not sure about alcohol!?). Alex decided to try out diving this weekend and I was a little worried about him getting a heat stroke or collapsing from dehydration- you know, because there is no food anywhere!!!! It turned out to be fine. </div><div closure_uid_dqua0r="168"><br />
</div><div closure_uid_dqua0r="168">Oh and after we were done with the shopping I sat in my car and ate a freshly baked baguette with some cheese...luckily no one was around. Either way that sandwich was absolutely worth going to jail for.</div></div>Olga K.http://www.blogger.com/profile/16795443226150161399noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3796287403488823083.post-49244741278930230812011-08-04T22:05:00.000-07:002011-08-04T22:05:13.592-07:00It's a....<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div closure_uid_io805x="175"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">For the past few weeks we have been anxiously awaiting our ultrasound appointment which was scheduled on the 3rd of August. This time around we changed hospitals in the hope of finding a doctor we were more comfortable with. Throughout the weeks I was unusually calm but as the appointment date drew closer I began to get nervous and excited. By then everyone around us was already convinced it's a girl, I don't think even heard anyone say "boy" out loud. </span></div><div closure_uid_io805x="175"><br />
</div><div closure_uid_io805x="168"><span closure_uid_io805x="173" lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">We headed for the ultrasound that Wednesday afternoon, with Alex taking a few hours off work to come with me as usual. Before we knew it I was lying on the ultrasound couch awaiting for the scan to begin. Now, here I must say that given that the baby was only 4cm long the last time we saw her- the ultrasound technicians must provide some sort of a warning, along the lines of " now a giant baby with appear on the monitor and it will look like nothing you have seen before'. Because I am telling you...I was not prepared for what was to come. Now, I dually youtubed " 15 weeks ultrasound scans " and watched dozens of babies do back flips on the monitor...but nothing could have prepared me for my own! From the second the baby appeared on the monitor Alex was absolutely glued to it with a giant grin on his face. All he could say was "It's really big, it's really big". </span></div><div closure_uid_io805x="168"><br />
</div><div closure_uid_io805x="172"><span closure_uid_io805x="174" lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Our baby was lying face down, on her tummy with her legs and hands curled up under her, snoozing away. It worried me somewhat that she wasn't moving but the heartbeat was strong so perhaps she was indeed just taking a nap. Unlike the last time where all that was visible was a giant head, a long oval body and two little dots instead of the feet....we could now see a well formed human being! We could clearly distinguish all her features...her spine...her heart...her butt. The baby was however in an unfavorable position to determine sex so the doctor suggested I should cough a few times and this might get her moving. Um, no. We then took a ten minute break during which I walked around the hospital, went to the toilet and generally tried to move a little to get the baby to change position.</span></div><div closure_uid_io805x="172"><br />
</div><div closure_uid_io805x="169"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">When we got back the baby has indeed flipped on it's back but the legs were still crossed protectively over the area that was of most interest to us. From what the doctor has seen so far she was saying "most probably a girl, yes most probably". At some point all we could see on the monitor were two little perfect feet and we could clearly make out every single baby toe. It was surreal. The baby became a little more active kicking around and lifting her arms over her head- although I still could not feel any of it. </span></div><div closure_uid_io805x="169"><br />
</div><div closure_uid_io805x="169"><span closure_uid_io805x="176" lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">In a moment she moved her legs out of the way and the doctor zoomed into what was " 99% a girl" . :) Oh and what a tall girl she is!!! Currently she is already 17 cm long from head to toe! Her feet already don't have room to stretch out so she keeping them bend at the knee and tucked in under her or just over her tummy. </span></div><div closure_uid_io805x="169"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Towards the end of the ultrasound she raised her right arm to wave at daddy or at least it looked like it. She was playing with her right ear and her arm kept on going up and down as though she was waving...a giant grin didn't come off Alex's face for an hour after that!</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div closure_uid_io805x="169"><br />
</div><div class="separator" closure_uid_io805x="261" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8BPK_4HhnOkQgl9MJG3agPD1A-FcLKhivEoQM_OLot2O0lCxQaOi1mzZ-iFzerYd5LTUKOwq_c2SvdQcTqDm9huEv9QT5aG2hYPUR1L0tIRaKuWWmxi8BZ5vI1O6RhKxDCGJdjDzrUuY/s1600/DSC_0144.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8BPK_4HhnOkQgl9MJG3agPD1A-FcLKhivEoQM_OLot2O0lCxQaOi1mzZ-iFzerYd5LTUKOwq_c2SvdQcTqDm9huEv9QT5aG2hYPUR1L0tIRaKuWWmxi8BZ5vI1O6RhKxDCGJdjDzrUuY/s320/DSC_0144.jpg" t$="true" width="212" /></a></div><div closure_uid_io805x="169"><br />
</div><div closure_uid_io805x="169"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">The doctor did advice us to come back in a month just to be 100% sure of the sex and to check up on the baby, but I am convinced because 99% is a pretty damn good chance and also the fact that everybody was guessing girl and last but not least...we could not come up with a boy's name all this time! </span></div><div closure_uid_io805x="169"><br />
</div><div closure_uid_io805x="169"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Our little princess on the other hand already has a beautiful name...Alice.</span></div></div>Olga K.http://www.blogger.com/profile/16795443226150161399noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3796287403488823083.post-13330491027979047702011-07-30T07:05:00.000-07:002011-07-30T07:05:55.928-07:00You’re at Joey’s!<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div class="MsoNormal" closure_uid_kkv2p1="165" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Now if you haven’t seen that particular episode of Friends then this post will not make much sense to you but I will try to help you visualize it with the quotes below. Here goes nothing: at Joey’s it’s ok to eat pasta off the floor. It’s acceptable to be messy. It’s perfectly fine to be a blob. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" closure_uid_kkv2p1="165" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-align: justify;"><span closure_uid_kkv2p1="167" style="font-family: Calibri;"><em>Here's the scene:<br />
[Scene: Joey's apartment, Joey and Rachel are eating spaghetti in the living room while watching TV and Rachel drops some on the floor.]<br />
Rachel: Oh, Joey! Sorry!<br />
Joey: No that’s all right. Don’t worry about it.<br />
Rachel: Oh but look! That’s gonna leave a stain!<br />
Joey: Rach! Hey! It’s fine! You’re at Joey’s!<br />
Rachel: Really?<br />
Joey: Yeah! Look! (He throws some of his spaghetti on the floor.)<br />
Rachel: I’ve never lived like this before.<br />
Joey: I know.<br />
(Rachel throws some of hers down.)<br />
Joey: All right, don’t waste it, I mean its still food. (He picks it up and eats it!)</em></span><div class="MsoNormal" closure_uid_kkv2p1="165" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">And this is what the first three month of pregnancy have done to me. They turned me into a Joey. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-align: justify;"><span closure_uid_kkv2p1="173" style="font-family: Calibri;">Normally I am <strike>(irrationally)</strike> somewhat organized. I do the dishes. I cook everyday. I don’t let laundry pile up. I am a neat person. Now My Cynthia would dramatize and tell you that my house looks like a freaking museum and that I throw tantrums if the groceries are not placed in the right order at the check-out counter- but really, who would you believe me or her?</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-align: justify;"><span closure_uid_kkv2p1="175" style="font-family: Calibri;">It would be fair to say that Cynthia was a little baffled <strike>(freaked out)</strike> when she visited us a few months ago- there was crap all over the place. You could not see the surface of the dining table. There were three day old dishes in the sink (!!!). This was my “the-kitchen-is-the-enemy” stage. Alex left for work to the desert for about 10 days and I am not sure if I ate anything during that time. He was shocked to come back and find the fridge (and all the contents) absolutely untouched (rotten but untouched). At that point (was that May or June, or both?) Alex did the dishes all by himself and was a little <strike>(utterly)</strike> surprised that they pile up so fast (basically every time after you eat). He must appreciate me a little more now. Back to the fungus. Have I mentioned the fungus yet? Cynthia rescued me from the filthy claws of the mess. Her boyfriend did my dishes. They literally came over to help me tackle the kitchen. They also later reported that something purple was growing on one of the plates and they are pretty sure they saw it move. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Perhaps a few months down the line I will be embarrassed that I let the house go so much. But back then (and pretty much still) I didn’t give a crap. Week 6-12 of pregnancy have been a nightmare of dizzy spells, nausea, headaches and sleep deprivation. So what if we ran out of mugs or clean forks? So what if I haven’t set foot in a supermarket for over two weeks and we were living entirely on instant noodles and French fries. (Not me, I had my constant supply of fruit-don’t worry).</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-align: justify;"><span closure_uid_kkv2p1="176" style="font-family: Calibri;">My biggest priority back then (and pretty much still) was to take it an hour at a time. The notion of not being able to stay awake or even have enough energy to shower terrified me…trust me…dirty dishes or a few pieces of pasta on the floor just don’t measure up to Morning Sickness. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-align: justify;"><span closure_uid_kkv2p1="177" style="font-family: Calibri;">Letting go a little was actually beneficial for me. I now know that I can suck up my OCD and let Alex do the grocery shopping once in a while. And who cares if he gets whipped cream instead of sour cream. Boo ya. So what? Apparently once he gets bored of eating pasta three nights in a row Alex is also perfectly capable of cooking and actual meal…who would have though? </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">This baby is bringing out awesome qualities in my husband.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I am so proud already!</span></div></div></div>Olga K.http://www.blogger.com/profile/16795443226150161399noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3796287403488823083.post-83021857031285091682011-07-18T00:50:00.000-07:002011-07-18T00:50:14.824-07:00Prenatal and Postnatal care in Muscat<div style="text-align: justify;"><em>Disclaimer: The opinions stated below are those of an excessively worried, picky and downright demanding pregnant woman and may not reflect the experiences or thoughts of other (calmer) patients of the said health-care providers. </em></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">I have certain expectations when it comes to healthcare. I mean, apart from the hospital being credible, sterile and equipped for emergencies I also want it to provide a personal healthcare service and to genuinely “care”. Would it be too much to ask for of the doctor to remember my name (without looking at the file) and the reason for my visit (again without looking at the file)?</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">We are expecting our first child and obviously have a lot of questions and concerns. As any parents do, we want everything to go smoothly. We expect our doctor to take her sweet time doing our first (and any consecutive) ultrasounds, to listen to my concerns and to at least look at the reports concluded by other doctors. That’s why I am not so happy with Muscat Private Hospital. </div><br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">We had our first scheduled appointment when I was 6 weeks (and 4 days) pregnant. My doctor asked if my home test was positive and a few other standard questions. We then proceeded to a small dark ultrasound room and heard our baby’s heart beat for the very first time. It was out of this world. Routinely, I was then prescribed folic acid and novidoxine (to ease the morning sickness) and we were sent on our way. Being in a slightly shocked and ecstatic state that morning all the questions I had completely flew out of my head. I wanted to ask her if I am allowed to have a back massage, if there are any foods I should I avoid eating and if I should perhaps give my cat away (toxoplasmosis). Looking back at the first appointment, I would say the vibe we got from the doctor pretty much summed up to “It’s only 6 weeks, come back when you are a little more pregnant”. Or to put it more bluntly “It’s still very early…anything can happen”. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">I had slightly different expectations of what my first prenatal appointment would go like. I know for certain that the doctors back home would shower a pregnant woman with advice (Don’t lift anything heavy, drink plenty of milk, don’t change the cat litter). However, in Muscat Private Hospital the appointment felt more commercial than personal. Needless to say I threw myself into speaking to other expecting women and mothers to get a little insight into what kind of a treat I was in for. (And we gave away the cat…) </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Fast forward exactly a month. It was extremely difficult for Alex to find the time and come to the next appointment with me because he was booked on a flight to Salalah exactly an hour after our appointment was due to start. However he was very excited to see the baby again and he knew that the <a href="http://www.babycentre.co.uk/pregnancy/antenatalhealth/scans/nuchalscan/"><span style="color: windowtext; text-decoration: none; text-underline: none;">Nuchal translucency (NT)</span></a> scan we were about to do was extremely important so he did the best to reschedule his work trip (but his phone still rang every 15 minutes). First of all we had to wait for an hour for our doctor to find the time to see us. Second of all when we finally had her full attention she checked how far along I am (10 weeks and 4 days) and declared that it’s too early for the NT scan as it will not show until the baby is at least 12-13 weeks. I swear I could hear and see the smoke coming out of my husband ears. Why in the world would they set an appointment to specifically do the scan if it was too early? (It’s a rhetorical question, I know exactly why!). </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">She immediately saw that we were uncomfortable with her decision and Alex proceeded to calmly (<em>ahem…</em>) explain that an entire oil-drilling site in Salalah was stopped for a day because he could not get on the place because she said we would be doing the damn scan. In her defense the doctor said that she did not say we would be doing the scan but that we would during this appointment schedule another appointment to do the scan. (So let’s get this clear, I am paying 20 OMR for an appointment to just set another appointment???). </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Seeing that Alex was literally turning red at this point she sent us down to the ultrasound ward where a pleasant woman reassured me that she would do her best to perform the scan (even though we were two weeks early, yada, yada). Ha! Little did they know that we are currently growing a very progressive and super-developed baby who in week 10 could show them exactly what it was “by the books” too early for them to see. So it is moments like these where I love that Alex is strong-willed, a little (<em>ahem…</em>) pushy and very convincing. Not only did the scan show that the baby is developing very well but we were also able to see it kick around and throw its arms over its head and bounce around in its little protective bubble. Mesmerizing. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">What left me worried however is that my doctor did not even ask to see the report of the ultrasound and when we are back there in a few weeks time I doubt she will even remember that she sent us down for a scan. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">I am seriously having second thoughts about Muscat Private Hospital now even though I know they are probably the best place to deliver a baby in Muscat, it’s the prenatal care that is leaving me feeling a little abandoned and “used”. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">So please share any good/bad experiences you had at Muscat Private, regardless if it was for delivery related or not. What other hospitals provide excellent prenatal and postnatal services? If anyone has actually been with Muscat Private for their entire pregnancy and delivery please let me know! If you don’t want to share your private health stories publicly please email me at <a href="mailto:happilymarriedtoabiker@gmail.com">happilymarriedtoabiker@gmail.com</a>. I would greatly appreciate any piece of advice at this point!</div>Olga K.http://www.blogger.com/profile/16795443226150161399noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3796287403488823083.post-67700893085140097532011-07-15T23:26:00.000-07:002011-07-16T06:06:41.029-07:00Almost famous<div style="text-align: justify;">Keeping my identity anonymous was never really considered as an option when I began writing this blog. I was then following just one blog that was dedicated to home management/financial savings and frugality and I still follow that blog to this day, find it <a href="http://blog.wantingwhatyouhave.com/">here</a>. I remain a dedicated reader because I am able to relate to this real family and it always helps to put a face to a blog. Then about a year and a half ago I was introduced to the blogosphere in Oman-where most of the bloggers prefer to remain anon. That is understandable since most of the topics often cover both political and national views of the bloggers- maybe they feel safer not disclosing their true identities. <span style="font-family: Calibri;"><em>(<a href="http://muscatconfidential.blogspot.com/">Muscat Confidential</a>, <a href="http://thelinoleumsurfer.blogspot.com/">Linoleum Surfer</a>, <a href="http://www.muscatmutterings.com/">Muscat Mutterings</a>, <a href="http://theomanibrit.blogspot.com/">The Omani Brit</a>,<a href="http://is-this-serious.blogspot.com/"> Is This Serious</a>, <a href="http://angryinoman.blogspot.com/">Angry in Oman</a>). </em></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">This blog is quite different. Since we have a lot of relatives and friends abroad, keeping a blog for them to follow made a lot of sense for us. It's a family affair really. That is why you will rarely be treated to my opinions on Omanization, the glorious ruling of HM or even to a discussion over religion. Now, keeping that in mind I must say that Alex is also a very private person and he often reminds me not to put anything too revealing on this blog. So, finding the balance is often hard to do. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">I need to give this blog huge credit for helping me communicate to <em>(what seemed to be the whole of Oman)</em> the masses that our Honda XR was stolen earlier this year. Up to date we are still approached and asked if we have found the bike yet ( the answer is sadly, no). </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Just last week we were attending a house party and were introduced to a crowd of expats we have never met when one of the men said "You are Alex aren't you? The one who's bike was stolen". Turns out he reads the blog and recognized Alex from one of the pictures. And this is not the first time this happens. More than once when being introduced to someone I am baffled to hear "Yes, I know, you are Olga, I read your blog". It's seriously flattering but catches me off guard everytime. The exposure this blog has seriously surprises me at times because even though I know it's out there for the world to read- I am still surprised that people actually do! <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">So here is my questions: Dear fellow bloggers who keep us guessing- why did you choose to operate anon?</div>Olga K.http://www.blogger.com/profile/16795443226150161399noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3796287403488823083.post-24686691824049911282011-07-10T00:21:00.000-07:002011-07-10T00:25:47.243-07:00On my mind...<em>This is a re-post of an article I recently read, I hope you will enjoy it. It is Tina Fey’s Hilarious Prayer for Her Daughter. All those things are on my mind these days (and so are sushi, Mexican food and Italian pasta):</em><br />
<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTYO0-3iXWgQYYWleElt1vyIU5uQi9Bu6rCzH2zs42fSKloJq1I-Erq0RTvrw5bkoBHSPd85-If3FaCe4NfQDpdrlbqgFkrD7VtQe6CBr2U_BHJhpZeoY6WdCQ8GRrVhAcI-HHs_S6Rtw/s1600/tina_feyNBCi.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320px" m$="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTYO0-3iXWgQYYWleElt1vyIU5uQi9Bu6rCzH2zs42fSKloJq1I-Erq0RTvrw5bkoBHSPd85-If3FaCe4NfQDpdrlbqgFkrD7VtQe6CBr2U_BHJhpZeoY6WdCQ8GRrVhAcI-HHs_S6Rtw/s320/tina_feyNBCi.jpg" width="234px" /></a> First, Lord: No tattoos. May neither Chinese symbol for truth nor Winnie-the-Pooh holding the FSU logo stain her tender haunches.</div>
<br />
<br />
May she be Beautiful but not Damaged, for it’s the Damage that draws the creepy soccer coach’s eye, not the Beauty.<br />
<br />
When the Crystal Meth is offered, May she remember the parents who cut her grapes in half And stick with Beer.<br />
<br />
Guide her, protect her. When crossing the street, stepping onto boats, swimming in the ocean, swimming in pools, walking near pools, standing on the subway platform, crossing 86th Street, stepping off of boats, using mall restrooms, getting on and off escalators, driving on country roads while arguing, leaning on large windows, walking in parking lots, riding Ferris wheels, roller-coasters, log flumes, or anything called “Hell Drop,” “Tower of Torture,” or “The Death Spiral Rock ‘N Zero G Roll featuring Aerosmith,” and standing on any kind of balcony ever, anywhere, at any age.<br />
<br />
Lead her away from Acting but not all the way to Finance. Something where she can make her own hours but still feel intellectually fulfilled and get outside sometimes And not have to wear high heels.<br />
<br />
What would that be, Lord? Architecture? Midwifery? Golf course design? I’m asking You, because if I knew, I’d be doing it, Youdammit.<br />
<br />
May she play the Drums to the fiery rhythm of her Own Heart with the sinewy strength of her Own Arms, so she need Not Lie With Drummers.<br />
<br />
Grant her a Rough Patch from twelve to seventeen. Let her draw horses and be interested in Barbies for much too long, For childhood is short – a Tiger Flower blooming Magenta for one day – And adulthood is long and dry-humping in cars will wait.<br />
<br />
O Lord, break the Internet forever, That she may be spared the misspelled invective of her peers And the online marketing campaign for Rape Hostel V: Girls Just Wanna Get Stabbed.<br />
<br />
And when she one day turns on me and calls me a Bitch in front of Hollister, Give me the strength, Lord, to yank her directly into a cab in front of her friends, For I will not have that Shit. I will not have it.<br />
And should she choose to be a Mother one day, be my eyes, Lord, that I may see her, lying on a blanket on the floor at 4:50 A.M., all-at-once exhausted, bored, and in love with the little creature whose poop is leaking up its back.<br />
“My mother did this for me once,” she will realize as she cleans feces off her baby’s neck. “My mother did this for me.” And the delayed gratitude will wash over her as it does each generation and she will make a Mental Note to call me. And she will forget. But I’ll know, because I peeped it with Your God eyes.<br />
Amen.<br />
<br />
<em>Is it just my hormones or did this make you teary too?</em>Olga K.http://www.blogger.com/profile/16795443226150161399noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3796287403488823083.post-2517417679736466932011-07-02T02:48:00.000-07:002011-07-02T02:48:34.853-07:00Now I get it...(ugh!)<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">A few weeks ago, during one of my lowest most physically challenging battles with breakfast I decided to ground my child. In all seriousness I told Alex that our kid is not allowed to go to prom (16 years from now) because that is the punishment one gets for making mommy so sick. <br />
<br />
I have begged, pleaded, negotiated and downright bribed this child already- and he/she is not even born yet. You see, life is somewhat difficult at the moment. The other day I had to blow dry my hair while <em>lying down</em> in bed because I just did not have the energy to sit up. Here is a little overview of things I can no longer do (although sometimes I really want to): <br />
<br />
- Have a burger (meat and chicken are currently the root of all evil)<br />
-Sit next to someone who is having a cup of coffee (nothing smells more disgusting than coffee)<br />
-Have the said coffee<br />
-Go into the kitchen. I am beginning to forget what my faucets look like. <br />
-Take a nice long shower. See exhaustion above.<br />
-Go into a supermarket. All the smells! The smells!!!<br />
-Fit into my jeans. (That just makes me sad).<br />
<br />
And that my dear friends, is just the tip of the iceberg. Sometimes I sit and wonder "what was I like before all the morning sickness?. <em>Did I go out?</em> I think so. <em>Did I eat Burger King?</em> Surely I did. <em>Did I stay up past 9pm?</em> Yes, I can recall that as well. <br />
<br />
I have disappeared off the face of the planet for the last 6-7 weeks in particular. I kept on postponing coffee-dates with friends and politely refusing dinner invitations. Constantly saying "I am not feeling well" was getting too old. Now that my friends know they are a little more understanding of why I take more rain checks than there are days in the week. <br />
<br />
So what happened to me? It is a scary thing-not being in control of your body. Pregnancy is so sugarcoated. "Oh it's marvelous, pregnant people glow". Ha! I am sure some sail through the first few months without as much as a zit or a wave of nausea. However, I am feeling the full impact of this "miracle". <br />
<br />
But no matter how upset, sick or downright self-pitying I may sometimes get it helps to remind myself that it is all temporary and no amount of morning sickness is ever going to be "too much" because the outcome is just paramount. <br />
<br />
I have gained newfound respect for mother everywhere. To go through these 9 months so completely selflessly whilst enduring all the ups and the downs and still being utterly in awe once the baby arrives. <br />
<br />
That’s heroic if you ask me. <br />
<br />
P.S Oh and please vote in the Boy/Girl poll. :)</div>Olga K.http://www.blogger.com/profile/16795443226150161399noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3796287403488823083.post-85033215299105722512011-06-30T02:40:00.000-07:002011-07-19T02:53:54.495-07:00Big blessings...<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div style="text-align: center;">...Come in very small packages...</div><div style="text-align: center;">We are beyond thrilled to announce that we are expecting our first baby.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">This little miracle revealed itself on my birthday and I posted that I received the biggest gift I could ask for that day. Since then I have been on a rollercoaster both physically and emotionally. I reckon there is a reason women don't reveal their pregnancy before the first trimester is over- quite frankly few of them would have something positive to say about the experience. My body has been spinning out of control and I have not had an appetite for anything other than cherries, peaches and watermelon for the last 2 months. I can nap anytime and anywhere. I am still working full time and finding it a challenge to go through my daily routine as casually as possible whilst I am feeling nauseous and generally weak throughout the day. Did I mention the heat? It's not helping the tiniest bit. Another reason I have not posted about this earlier is that I was honestly in denial. I asked Alex if we should perhaps take the home pregnancy test once again after it revealed a big fat positive on the screen. I just couldn't believe it. We waited for a few more weeks to go to the doctor's and even then as my doctor browsed charts and gave me prescriptions- I could still not believe it. I didn't want to jinx it.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">But it's here. And it's real. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">The most recent ultrasound yesterday showed our little one kicking his/her legs out, stretching and waving its arms over its head. Life is a party. Alex is utterly smitten. He is in love with this tiny image on the screen which is sporting a healthy, incredibly fast heartbeat (167 beats per minute) and making our hearts beat a little fast in the process too. Alex is attentive and patient. I on the other hand am sick, difficult and somewhat exhausted-all the time.I catch myself thinking "why do I feel so dizzy" and then it comes to me...'oh right...the baby". I believe by nature mothers-to-be are somewhat stripped of "feeling" the whole intensity of the situation. To experience the full capacity of "love" towards this little beeing must be unbearable and that's why morning sickness exists. To make us a little numb to it. To keep us focused on folic acid, eating enough calcium, resting and making us capable of sleeping 12 hours a day. To keep us focused on our health. If I felt like my old self now (I remember I was once a fun and energetic person, I think) then I would be spending my whole time thinking and worrying. About every little detail. Instead while I have succumbed to feeling like a train ran over me twice-everyday- I have other people taking care of the details. My mom is constantly supplying us with meals (I gag everytime I step into the kitchen), Alex is doing everything around the house and takes frequent trips to the supermarket to buy-waterlons- and My Cynthia has already began shopping for the baby.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div>I expected to be worried. Worried about finances, the nursery, maternity clothes, gaining weight, maternity leave, baby names- but instead there is a residing calm in me. I have never been more sure of anything in my life- everything is going to work out just fine. As long as we are both healthy.<br />
<br />
Everything else will fall into place... </div>Olga K.http://www.blogger.com/profile/16795443226150161399noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3796287403488823083.post-72340332553116044622011-06-26T22:26:00.000-07:002011-06-26T22:44:31.318-07:00A teaser<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgn0B2sSG5mkXBSnCnYZ8O19v7qGOqG9vx_TQkM6up6RWru1xlCCr98ucp1ScCcSTfoEiAVViEaeRf3bpgBMhPiUI6muiyxncwuYRyQC_3y9hFB0ENGSFIKIAiKm5wMW5SmGETtfCT39Io/s1600/happy_place.gif" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" i$="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgn0B2sSG5mkXBSnCnYZ8O19v7qGOqG9vx_TQkM6up6RWru1xlCCr98ucp1ScCcSTfoEiAVViEaeRf3bpgBMhPiUI6muiyxncwuYRyQC_3y9hFB0ENGSFIKIAiKm5wMW5SmGETtfCT39Io/s1600/happy_place.gif" /></a></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
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<em><span style="color: #351c75; font-size: large;">Just a few more days to go...</span></em></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><em><span style="color: #351c75; font-size: large;">All shall be releaved in the Thursday post.</span></em></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><em><span style="color: #351c75; font-size: large;">Please stay tuned. </span></em></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><em><span style="color: #351c75; font-size: large;">XOXO</span></em></div></div>Olga K.http://www.blogger.com/profile/16795443226150161399noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3796287403488823083.post-65707609991961149242011-06-22T00:23:00.000-07:002011-06-27T22:18:40.301-07:00How can we ignore you today?<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">28/06/11 *** UPDATE<br />
<br />
It happened again today morning. I called them to get a number from a landline, the girl greeted me and said all her rehearsed lines smoothly, then played the number...in Arabic! I took a deep breath and called back, got a different lady on the line and asked her kindly for the number and to please play it in English, so the machine went "The number you have requested is..." Then the line went dead. Seriously. I give up. <br />
<br />
***<br />
<br />
I know I promised not to write until a little later, but this reoccurring event is just getting to me and I feel like I need to get the word out. <br />
<br />
<br />
1318. <br />
<br />
The Omantel directory. The most pathetic excuse of helpful experts I have ever come across. They make my blood boil quite literally. A minute on the phone with this silly bunch and I reach the last straw. Uff. I am convinced they are actually monkeys that have been taught to answer the phone and sadly that is the chapter their training ended on. It was not always like that, no. A while back Omantel used actual people to answer the phones- but that must have been costly and/or unreliable so they have decided to hire jungle primates instead. <br />
<br />
Every time I call them I get flashbacks of the movie “Planet of the Apes” and that makes me smile- right up until one of them speaks. <br />
<br />
Maybe its just me. Maybe they are mocking me. Is it because I am woman? Or is it because I am an expat? I prefer to think that it’s only because they are <em>actually</em> chimpanzees. <br />
<br />
My argument is simple- if real people worked at the 1318 phone directory, I would at least get the number I needed on the 4th or 5th attempt. Sounds quite reasonable, doesn’t it? <br />
<br />
Their welcome line used to “Omantel Salam Aleikum” but now it pretty much amounts to “Omant…slmakm…”. I then proceed with my request for “City Cinema, Dhofar Insurance, Pizza Hut Delivery” or whatever the hell else. I am usually asked to repeat the name of the company at least 3 times until they find it in the system. This is where things get real interesting…<br />
<br />
“Please write down the number and thank you for calling Omantel” they say. Then they play the number in any of the following variations:<br />
<br />
-“24 05….line goes dead” (Am I supposed to guess the other digits?) <br />
<br />
- Arabic equivalent of the number I requested. Seriously. Arabic. <br />
<br />
-or they hang up on me<br />
<br />
I often call back frustrated asking for the number of Company X again and begging and pleading for them to say the number back to me and not play it on the machine because I just cannot take the mockery anymore. Funny, yesterday I called them and got the number in Arabic again, so I called back thinking “Hey, maybe I sounded Arab to the nice man who picked up the phone”, but it happened again with a different guy. I called back and snapped. “Give me the number in ENGLISH not ARABIC I don’t speak ARABIC”. They have me close to tears half the time. <br />
<br />
I dare you. Call them. </div>Olga K.http://www.blogger.com/profile/16795443226150161399noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3796287403488823083.post-20103887833752071392011-06-19T05:04:00.000-07:002011-06-19T05:06:49.939-07:00I am still here…<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><br />
I've been sitting here, chewing my lower lip nervously and staring at the "new post" window close to 20 minutes now. <em>For the hundredth time this week. </em><br />
<br />
It’s not that I don’t know what to write about- I have plenty of ideas bouncing around one better than the other. It’s just that none of them are as epic or seem as entertaining as the topic I have planned for a later post. <strike>A much later post.</strike> To avoid giving anything away just yet, let’s leave it at that.<br />
<br />
Meanwhile, rest assured that I am still around and big things are happening as I type this. Huge things. Enormously gigantic things. Soon to come are a series of posts that will blow your mind and glue you to this excuse-of-a-blog for many moons to come. (A girl can hope right?)<br />
<br />
I absolutely suck at surprises so I am going to keep this post short to avoid actually blabbing it all out now. <br />
<br />
<em>Drum roll please.</em><br />
<br />
Are you all jittery and excited yet? </div>Olga K.http://www.blogger.com/profile/16795443226150161399noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3796287403488823083.post-62736074006349604162011-06-13T02:40:00.000-07:002011-06-13T02:40:09.651-07:00I am upset about…<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div style="text-align: justify;">1. The heat. The mind numbing-brain-melting heat. The other day I thought about skipping lunch because the thought of walking from the office to my parked car was a little unbearable. I am possibly exaggerating a little but I think the fact that I CANT TOUCH THE WHEEL OF MY CAR during the day is a sure indicator of the sun overdoing it. I tried going to the beach. Eating three scoops of Baskin Robins. Yet I have come to conclusion that I would prefer to take a nap until October.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; text-align: justify;">2. Two butt-ugly cats that my building has adopted. These skinny, vicious looking animals are lounging around all day long waiting for one of the neighbors to bring over a saucer of milk or grilled chicken breast for their satisfaction! My neighbors must be out of their minds because they have actually resorted to feeding these invaders! Now, now. I am all for “feeding homeless animals” but these two fiends look like something hell threw up. I have never been a fan of Omani cats. They are not lovable and they are not affectionate. Half the time they are missing an eye or a tail. They freak me out. Every time I walk past them I am under the impression that the tougher looking one will jolt up and sink his huge white fangs into my ankles. They growl. I am pretty sure they growl. </div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieJF3hrh0wU5pCra8OLmnTyPeTUG9IgHNK14IDV-3YaR8X5gq8Dv4ReCk3yZ1esZiP9TbX2wlFiKuhv_j33WZFtpAnwA7CZgL4LNJKcNFTsCG9Icy5Qix904rQeqbVqvU1AgTtFLGv3LE/s1600/77753317_65cec15fb1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320px" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieJF3hrh0wU5pCra8OLmnTyPeTUG9IgHNK14IDV-3YaR8X5gq8Dv4ReCk3yZ1esZiP9TbX2wlFiKuhv_j33WZFtpAnwA7CZgL4LNJKcNFTsCG9Icy5Qix904rQeqbVqvU1AgTtFLGv3LE/s320/77753317_65cec15fb1.jpg" t8="true" width="233px" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: justify;">3. The neighbor who bullies us. We lived in the same apartment for about two years now. Since the <a href="http://happilymarriedtoabiker.blogspot.com/search/label/Stolen%20Honda">bike was stolen</a> we resorted to a second vehicle, which is a norm around here. When we moved in the building was half empty, so we took the liberty of spray painting our flat number on the relevant parking space to ensure that we always have a spot under the shade. Ha ha. This gesture was rudely ignored by every Dick (and Harry..or however the saying goes). So I learned to live with that and we only park in the shade on a first-come-first-served basis now. Only when we have both of our cars parked there a grumpy neighbor blocks Alex’s car off with his and then endures being woken up at 6:30am with a pissed off Alex to move his car the fuck awaaaaay. This petty man ensures us that the shaded parking space is for 1 member of the family only. This happened twice so far. We refuse to adhere to any “rules” this man made up, because 1. He is not the landlord and 2. The next time he does that I will call the police on his annoying ass. </div><br />
<br />
4. Dunkin Donuts at the 18th November petrol station. Just this morning the thought of having a doughnut for breakfast helped me get out of bed. En route to work I stopped by the Oman Oil petrol station to pick up a few snacks and breakfast only to be cautioned “don’t buy those doughnuts madam, they are very old”. The salesman must have recently been elected employee of the month. So here is an idea Captain Duh, take them out of the little pink Dunkin Donuts fridge until new ones arrive, coz a strawberry/chocolate donut still looks good no matter how old it is. (Yes I did buy it, but no I didn’t eat it). <br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">5. The fact that we have still not been able to find an Omani employee for <a href="http://happilymarriedtoabiker.blogspot.com/2011/06/job-opportunity.html">my mom’s store</a>. Hence the store remains closed for the public. Of course we have interviewed about a dozen girls who all promised to “Call back tomorrow” or “Start on Saturday at 9am sharp” but they were never heard from again. What is going on? What pisses me off the most if that when the tale is told everyone rolls their eyes and says “Oh well, Omanis! What do you expect?” Damn it that is not an excuse and no that is not an Omani thing to do!!!! That irritates me! Can someone please prove them wrong already? The timing seems to be perfect as everyone is yelling right left and center about a lack of career opportunities and attractive jobs in the market. Well here is one! Grab it!</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">I am done ranting. At least for today. </div></div>Olga K.http://www.blogger.com/profile/16795443226150161399noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3796287403488823083.post-80362339495401526642011-06-07T23:03:00.000-07:002011-06-07T23:03:04.268-07:00Job opportunity!<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">Over the last few months my mom has been working very hard on establishing her own business. She is now the proud manager of a women’s clothing store located in Zahir Mall, in Khuwair. It is a very spacious, well lit, warm store that offers a range of bags, evening and casual shoes as well as dresses, pants and tops. The merchandise is from Italy, making it of a very high quality and certainly unique in Muscat- something we all welcome! It is a very well known fact that Muscat somewhat suffers when it comes to shopping extravaganza. So resist the urge to go to Mango/Zara/Gap the next time you are clothes hunting and visit the <em>USF store</em> instead! Only one little hic up there…the store is not open yet. Which brings me to my next point:</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMpFCgI0TSMI5NDZSU0gemQWkC5dAA3snxb78pt38yfkh8uuKs90yOLz_rZwhvAx8VApYOyGegD52nNe3jNaSVAHqWPwnH3BBgqmylzUaywYANN6t8GZoBswez6BiGBZmJqDHCRQPK8Sk/s1600/OPENING-SOON-funny-image2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="194px" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMpFCgI0TSMI5NDZSU0gemQWkC5dAA3snxb78pt38yfkh8uuKs90yOLz_rZwhvAx8VApYOyGegD52nNe3jNaSVAHqWPwnH3BBgqmylzUaywYANN6t8GZoBswez6BiGBZmJqDHCRQPK8Sk/s200/OPENING-SOON-funny-image2.jpg" t8="true" width="200px" /></a></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><strong>JOB VACANCY</strong><br />
<br />
<strong>A boutique is looking to recruit an Omani sales girl. Applicant must be hardworking and social. Previous experience in sales is a plus. Attractive salary and comfortable working hours. Salary on probation is 250OMR and will be increased once probation is successfully completed. CVs can be email to usfoman@yahoo.com </strong><br />
<br />
I am reaching out to you dear readers because so far the word of mouth I have spread amongst my peers has not been very successful, so if you happen to know anyone who may fit the profile described above- please encourage them to apply!<br />
<br />
More on the opening of the USF store will be posted next week (Insha’lla). I will also be posting a link to the Facebook page of the store soon- featuring dozens of pictures of the merchendise! </div>Olga K.http://www.blogger.com/profile/16795443226150161399noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3796287403488823083.post-82008638078703850922011-06-04T02:41:00.000-07:002011-06-04T02:42:46.408-07:00Can we be friend?<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div style="text-align: justify;">Apparently I look like someone who is in dire need of some good new friends. Not a week goes by that I don't find strange and somewhat disturbing messages in my Facebook inbox from men who seem to believe that they have what it takes to befriend me. Mind you now, I would understand if my Facebook picture was provocative or even the least bit sexy. Maybe if I was doing the spread eagle in a skimpy bikini "Lonely Wolf" might have reason enough to send across a friend request. Most of the time my Facebook profile picture is either or me and my husband in a warm embrace- but "SexyMan2012" still thinks its ok to seek my everlasting friendship. I do occasionally allow myself to pass judgement on girls who's profile picture is around 80% breasts and 20% face- now they have no right to reject "Lonely Wolf" when he comes calling for them. At the moment I am actually holding a puppy and hugging my brother on my profile picture- that could be my child for all these freaks know! So dear weird stalkers. Quit it. I am not going to have an epiphany when I read your request to be "long time friend" as I have plenty of real, well-intentioned and mentally stable friends. Thank you very much.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Here are some of the most recent proposals I have received and my proposed answers.(Don't kill yourself laughing):</div><br />
1. Al Yak****<br />
hello Olga<br />
how are u?<br />
we can be friend?<br />
thanx alot dear <br />
<span style="color: #e06666;"><em>Oh dear honey munchik sugar pie Al Yak***. Ofcourse we can be friend. We can even watch Kung Fu Panda this coming weekend. Or better yet, why don't we skip the whole "friendship" charade and rent a room for the weekend? Thanks a lot dear.</em></span><br />
<br />
2. Ali *** <br />
<br />
Hope life treat u good,, <br />
I'm half Omani man :-).. I lived most of my life outside Oman,,,,i'm back now 2 Muscat.. I love everything beautiful in this life, accepting life in all its glory and despair., Live for Love and die for it... I like to enjoy every second of my life and make it the best moment if i could.. i'm single and looking for a place for my heart :-).<br />
I would like to know u and hope if we can be in touch.. <br />
Yours <br />
Gentleman <span style="color: #e06666;"></span><br />
<span style="color: #e06666;"><em>Dear Gentleman, thank you for your heartfelt revelations. I feel like I have known you all my life. It is a wonder that you are single, seeing that you accept life in all its glory in despair- I used to think a lot of women out there do the same. Since you are back 2 Muscat why don't I show you around the city? I could probably take a few days leave off work and we could go on excursions and beautiful coastline cruises...oh how I can't wait to be "in touch" with you! Yours truly, Gentlewoman. </em></span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: black;">3. Massager</span><br />
<span style="color: black;"><span style="color: black;">hello how r u ...i am</span> massager from muscat ,,,u want good massage pls send mail .after i will give my number</span><br />
<span style="color: #e06666;"><em>Dear Massager from muscat, thank you for extending your services. The available 5 star signature spas and beauty salons are just not up to my expectations, you know? Sometimes I seek an edge or a thrill! And next time I do- I will be sure to give you a call and you can gove me a good massage! I look forward to our next close encounter dear massager and I just know your business will prosper in muscat!</em></span><br />
<br />
<br />
Now these are just the crème of the pie (or the pick of the litter) as I could not possibly bother to dig any deeper. I don't actually ever reply to messages like that as I don't want to spend even a second of my day on these weird, desperate, delusional people. <br />
I would be happy write to tell them to Fkcu Off and ignoring them works just as well. Weird. Freaks. <br />
<br />
What happened to meeting girls the old fashioned way?</div>Olga K.http://www.blogger.com/profile/16795443226150161399noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3796287403488823083.post-21916434353432672512011-05-24T23:15:00.000-07:002011-05-24T23:15:03.856-07:00I am hybernating<div style="text-align: justify;">Once a very cheerful outgoing person I have now succumbed to the limitations of my sitting room and rely entirely on my husband and the internet to entertain me. I probably wouldn't even go outside if you paid me, not even at night. You see...it has become unbearably hot in Muscat over the last few weeks. To give you a better idea imagine yourself in a tight tracking suit, running a mere 5-7km with no water or refreshment and then entering a sauna where hot air blasts into your face chocking you with all its humidity and thickness. See what I mean? </div><div style="text-align: justify;"></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">The two minute walk from my apartment to the car leaves me gasping for breath and the fact that the AC in the car takes ages to cool down doesn't help me very much. Luckily I live only about 10 minutes away from my workplace and only have to put up with driving a "steam room on wheels" for a short while. I am contemplating giving up my lunch break all together, just so that I dont have to make the short journey home. Once I do get home, the husband and I pretty much flip a coin to determine who gets to do "outdoor" chores such as throwing the garbage or driving to the nearest store for groceries. Its pathetic. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">The weather is pretty much all people talk about these days. "Did you see how hot it is?" No. Duh. I live under a rock and only crawl out in November when the temperature drops down to 25 degrees. Of course I know how hot it is. A well-wisher told me that his car thermometer showed 47 degrees during the day and only 41 in the evening. only.41.degrees.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Moreover I realize that this ridiculous weather pretty much sets my lifestyle for the summer. Probably up until late October. "Go to the beach and cool down" you must be thinking. Ha! The temperature of the water is 28 degrees! 28! I would rather swim in a bowl of soup-I am certain it will be colder than the sea water at this point. </div><br />
<br />
When I was growing up here, it was mandatory to go on vacation for four long months while the weather caused excruciating pain to everyone who remained behind. Now that I am all grown up and must fulfill my work responsibilities I cannot possibly disappear off the map for an entire summer. I have made peace (ha!) with the fact that I must remain under the scorching sun throughout the next few months and hence I will probably resort to writing mind-numbing blog posts as I put my life on stand by and begin my routine summer hibernation. <br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">Stay cool. </div>Olga K.http://www.blogger.com/profile/16795443226150161399noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3796287403488823083.post-1998433125837840312011-05-21T23:14:00.000-07:002011-05-21T23:16:32.981-07:00Happy Birthday to me!<div style="text-align: justify;">Last Friday, I turned 23. It was definitely a day I will never forget, for more reasons than I can elaborate on right now. I was feeling the love. The Facebook messages poured in by the dozens, international phone calls completely killed my telephone battery and my family and friends were there to celebrate with me. There was cake and there was champagne as early on as 10am. What touched me the most is how much of an effort everyone made. Have you ever received a gift and thought "wow this person knows me so well"? Everything I received that day was deeply personal. The highlight of the day however was definitely being surrounded by people who took the time to enjoy the day with me. It’s true that the best things in life are not things at all. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
Alex wished me a happy birthday as early as 6am, to make it a point that he was indeed the very first one to do so. I asked for my very own hard drive for my birthday and he got me an enormous one (apparently it has the memory capacity of 5 laptops) because I really need to get all my pictures organized as they are all over the shop now. So this week I am really looking forward to spending a few good hours with my laptop to do a much needed spring clean of the 4,000+ pictures that piled up and when I am done with that I will treat myself to one of the fantastic Spa gift vouchers that I received as gifts :) Oh, the good life. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">On another note, I must absolutely rant about THE HEAT. It is unbearable. I live and work just a few meters from the beach so every day I am exposed to sticky, thick and hot air that blasts from all directions. I am sure the temperature must have reached 50 degrees one of these days. It doesn’t help that I need to spend an hour a day outside as per my work description- so it’s no surprise at all that I got a massive dizzy spell last week and almost hit the ground. Seriously, it’s hot. Worse still- it will stay like that until September. Due to these treacherous conditions, the hubby now only works till 1pm- that’s right, he is home for the good part of the day. Whilst I am happy for him I cannot help but succumb to outrageous jealousy over his “long hours”. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">What career does one pursue if one enjoys the refreshing current of the AC and the occasional cooling cocktail during the day (oh and a dip in the pool would also be an added benefit)?</div>Olga K.http://www.blogger.com/profile/16795443226150161399noreply@blogger.com8