Day 7: Abdoun

Woke up to NO breakfast of breadsticks and cream cheese from the jar. Not that we're sick of the stuff, but today Raj's sister Layla is having a barbecue. Mainly for us, but a lot of other people will be there too. More people = more food, so even if lunch is at 2pm it's suicide to contemplate anything but water meals until then.

My two goals for this morning are to get my camera dust-free, and an appropriate level of pretty for the barbecue. It's still early, so camera first. I attack my Nikon with everything I have, including lens wipes I'd picked up in Sweffiyeh the day before, and James' hair dryer. Nothing, and nothing. That damn dust won't move. I'm seriously irritated by now and take the camera apart, zoom in, zoom out, dust in every which cranny I can get my greedy little fingers on, and as a result, break my lens. Well, "throw out of whack" is a more appropriate term since all I can see out of it now are strange, kaleidoscope-ish patterns.

My beautiful, dusty Sigma lens and the three-dozen rolls of professional film I bought before coming here have been laid to waste. Booyah. I don't know whether to cry or throw it out the window, followed by all that film to rain down on the goats grazing outside. I settle for packing it all up in my suitcase, and giving the bag a good kick. Well, a gentle kick. Expensive camera. I'll get it looked at back home.

Alrighty then, pretty time. I dress & accesorize myself, Raj does my makeup and James does my hair. How can you not love living with queens? Raj initially wanted to do my hair but interestingly enough, the fashion designer turned image stylist turned Middle East reality TV star is absolutely horrible with hair.

OPENING SCENE: BEDROOM/MAKESHIFT HAIR SALON, OCCUPANTS CRANKY

Me: Just simple you know, half up half down, something to show off the curls. Nothing fussy. I really mean that. Nothing. Fussy.

Raj: How about this?

James: The Carmen Miranda look really isn't her thing.

Me: Okay, I wasn't quite envisioning a coronet on top of my head.

James: You know, if we put some cherries on that...

Me: Let's try something else.

Raj: (twisting and gathering) What about this?

Me: Oh lord...

James: Fabulous. Now she's a Byzantine whore.

Raj: You people are too complicated!

Me: Darling, I thought when you were at the TV station you did makeovers all the time?

Raj: I didn't do any of the work myself, I told the hairdressers and makeup artists what to do.

Me: Well if only I had known this ten minutes ago. Hey Marco! Need some laughs?

(Marco walks in and in no time is reduced to fits of laughter over my slutty, curls-in-the-air hair)

Raj: For fuck's sakes! Fine, I'll try something else!

Me: Let's concentrate on simple... very simple... James, he's fussing! JAMES!

James: Honey, that looks like Spanish moss.

Raj: You don't like this either?

Me: The retired flamenco dancer look? NO!

Raj: Okay then I have another idea...

Very lucky for me, James caught my whimpering and wet puppy dog eyes. Mouthing "help" didn't hurt either. In one swift motion he scooped up a handful of hairpins and jerked me into the bathroom, away from Jose Eber's clutches. Ignoring Raj's shouts and trying to pick the lock, it took James all of three minutes to deliver exactly what I wanted. Who knew a chef could be so talented with hair? Oh yes, he's gay. Almost forgot.