What's up... Dogs?

Seems like with time I've lost quite a whole load of my traffic and commentators. Maybe you guys got bored of what I had to say... the same whining and cribbing over and over. Maybe you guys already got to know me and there was nothing more left to hear or know.

Maybe you just don't like the fact that I'm happy. Maybe you just wanna go on hearing me crib and cry and bitch, without that, you may think The Qatar Diary sucks.

Let me break some news to you. It's hardly breaking news but what the heck - I care a fuck. Yep, I don't, really don't give two testicles to who comes to my blog, reads it, comments on it.

When I started off, I had none. For some odd reason, which certainly had something to do with me going to other blogs obsessively and leaving a piece of my mind and a pic of me over there, stupid people really started flocking to me blog, and now, again for some odd reason, there's a major slump.

I like it this way. Not that I was ever inhibited, but an audience always makes me a little nervous. I try not to show it, but I know it does. I project something I'm not in the act of trying to be cool, or extra cool, if you know what I mean.

My life's going good.

The past four days since I got back to Qatar have been a huge party. I've been sleeping on a really soft bed, one in which you literally sink in to. I mean, I actually lose myself in bed. A soft pillow, a really soft and comfortable quilt. Man, never ever thought sleeping could be so much fun.

That's my favorite past time now - Sleeping!

That apart, I've been scanning Doha road in a Pontiac Trans Am - the car which 'Night Rider' drove. It's John's, but now that we're living together we tend to do everything together as well. We just cruise along lazily, grooving to some Hip Hop or the Scorpions, and anyone who passes by doesn't stop looking at us till they get outta sight.

Last afternoon we spent at Mark's place. Mark, an awesome musician, who has equipment that can hold 87 bands together for a full fledged show. 87 is exxaguration by the way. But yeah, never seen so much equipment under one roof before.

We played, we sang, chilled out, had African food.

And at night we were supposed to go for a 'wedding'. And so... we dressed up. Like we were totally decked up, bigtime. At least I was, in a way.

Black trousers, a white woolen sweater, and a beige overcoat with hair pulled back in a pony tail, and of course the two huge gold earrings I've started to wear.

And guess what we entered into. Seriously, guess.

I hardcore, abso-fucking-lutely hardcore 'Black' party. The wedding had already been done in Kenya, this was just a post wedding bash.

I've never been around so many black people in my life. Still, it was fun. Even though there were some major assholes around who thought if you're not American (Afro-American in this case) then you're a testicle, we still managed to ignore the fuck outta them and drank up, barbed some chicken, cracked a few good jokes.

And drooled on some majorly HOTTTTTT black women, some of them who came up to me and said, "Thank God you ain't no Kenyan."

I can't get it, but apparently it's quite soothing to the eyes to see a somewhat, 'Different looking' person in a huge crowd - one who's wearing trousers and an overcoat when the rest of the crowd is dressed in tracks and shorts and's walking around with a limp.

Whatever.... i don't need to conclude this.

I love my life at the moment.

And now.... it's time to write a story. Let Qatar know, I'm back!