Ciao Bellas!

The time has come, the blogger said, to write of many things. Of long haul flights in economy, of Big Macs, and Queens. Ok, so I’m no Lewis Carroll – sue me! But the lowdown is the same nonetheless -- I’m heading home!

Chances are that by the time you have read this, I will be on my way to the Nairobi airport for my two-day trip back to Toronto (Have I mentioned that the flight from Dubai to New York is 14 hours long and that Hubby won’t let me upgrade?!).

I will try to blog regularly during home leave but probably not every day. Sorry. ☹ But keep checking in as I will be sure to share stories about preflight drinks at Mercury’s Cosmo night, that 14 hour ride in coach, seeing my family after another year away, shopping, my parents’ 40th anniversary, reuniting with Hubby when he joins me at the end of June, finally having Mexican food when we get to Illinois, shopping, meeting FIL 2.0, Vegas and its Mario Batali wonderfulness, shopping, seeing The Guys in Portland, and lots of other good gossip.

Please wish me a safe flight and I’ll be seeing you all soon.

Your favorite Blogger B!tch is outtie… for now.

Cute Shoes

I was going to blog about my brother, BBS, and his tough life: “I was at work last night in Paris, on the Champs d'Elysée for a cocktail party.” Then I was going to blog about how I don’t really want to go home because I’m a sap who is going to miss her sweetie… Oh, and I’ll miss Hubby too.

So instead of writing, I started chatting with ‘Ren online. (Yeah, her again.) After chatting about our usual witty nonsense, I asked her if bringing three pairs of shoes home with me was going over board. ‘Ren was surprised that I wasn’t going to bring more shoes and asked me about the shoes I packed. When I mentioned my cute Docs, she insisted that Doc Martins didn’t come in cute varieties.

And that’s when I found my next pair of shoes. *cue heavenly music* Aren’t they gorgeous?! Plus they come in a really pretty shade of brown. *happy girly sigh* Of course I have no idea how much they cost. Nor do I know if they even sell them in the States but… I want them!!! *sob*

One Hour Later: I found another pair of shoes. The second pair is also cute and slightly more formal. Maybe I can buy both pairs!!!

What do you think? Are these the cutest shoes ever to bear the Doc Martin brand? Or is it just me?

Explosion in Nairobi - Again

By now many of you have probably heard about the bombing, which occurred this morning in Nairobi. The explosion occurred downtown near the Ambassador Hotel during rush hour in a very busy area. My driver, P, in between calls from loved ones ringing to make sure he was okay, said that the matatu depot near there is always packed at that hour or morning.

As I write this, local news outlets are torn about who is to blame for the tragedy. Per this article, al-Qaeda has claimed responsibility. However, the belief locally is that the Mungiki Cult carried out this crime. By the time you read this, it is likely, and hopeful, that we all know more. In the mean time, we can only pray for the wounded and for the families of the deceased.

Explosion rocks central Nairobi

At least one person has been killed and several others injured in a blast in Kenya's capital, Nairobi, police say.

Witnesses say the explosion happened outside a cafe near the Ambassador Hotel in the centre of the city.

Initial reports suggest a suicide bomber carried out the attack but this has not been confirmed.

The area has been sealed off by police and the military. The blast was close to the site of the 1998 US embassy bombing which killed 213 people.

The al-Qaeda network said it carried out that attack.

Monday's explosion happened at about 0800 local time (0500 GMT) outside the City Gate Restaurant.

It remains unclear if it was a suicide bomber.

One eyewitness told the BBC from hospital that he was knocked to the floor by a man running away just before the explosion.

Robert Maritim said he had been having his shoes shined near the blast and believed the man killed was a street sweeper.

Another witness said a man detonated a bomb inside the cafe. Other reports said it was a grenade blast outside.

Shop windows nearby were shattered and the area has now been cordoned off as anti-terrorist police with sniffer dogs comb the scene for further explosives.

Police later said one person had been killed and about six others injured in the blast.

Torn pieces of the Koran were found near a body outside the cafe but at this stage it is not clear if they are linked to this attack, the BBC's Karen Allen in Nairobi says.

Last week, more than 30 people were killed in Nairobi during a three-day police crackdown on suspected members of the outlawed Mungiki sect.

Countdown

We went in search of suitcases today. Hidden hither and thither throughout the apartment we finally found the collection of bags that will be joining us on our separate trips back the Real World: Hubby at the end of the month and me in just a few days. Yes, my friends, I will be back in the Real World by the end of the week. *bounce*

The only down side to my homecoming is the 14 hour journey from Dubai to New York – in economy. *sob* I called to find out if I could upgrade to business class and the kind lady laughed at me and told me that it would cost me oodles of miles and money to do so. Thus I will be jetting home whilst jammed into an economy seat for fourteen hours!! *sob* And with my luck, I’ll probably end up sitting next to someone to who smells, or snores, or worse, who wants to talk!

So please don’t hold it against me if I’m not looking forward to my trip home. I’m sure that the Real World is still the lovely place I left behind and that all of you are excited to see me. But until my magical powers kick in so that I wiggle my nose, bob my head, or snap my fingers to arrive immediately at my destination… Until then, my friends, I will go only resignedly to my airplane fate.

Justice is so Hot

At first it seemed that this week would end on a low note – Inmate #9818783 (aka Paris Hilton) had been released for “house arrest” to serve out the remainder of her sentence. Poor thing was going to be stuck in her private pad where, just hours after her arrival, free gifts, friends, and paparazzi were arriving to welcome her home. Thank god for Judge Michael Sauer!

The good judge, you see, had the wild and crazy notion that just because Paris a rich celebutante that she didn’t deserve to be let out of the punishment he had imposed. She went to Mommy (the LA County Sheriff) behind Daddy’s back. And now Dad’s pissed.

Yay Judge!!

Is it wrong that hearing she was back in jail made me so happy I shouted with glee? Is it somehow mean of me that the photo on the top of today’s blog makes me smile every time I look at it? I think that Lily Allen put it best:

“At first when I see you cry,
yeah it makes me smile, yeah it makes me smile
At worst I feel bad for a while,
but then I just smile I go ahead and smile.”

So while she’s screaming out, "It's not right!" and looking for Mama Hilton, the rest of us can look on in ill disguised glee and say, “Now, that’s hot!”

You're a Superstar!

I realize that crediting 'Ren as my muse two days in a row for could set a dangerous precedent in terms of her “fragile” ego. But this one is too awesome not to share with my favourite Devoted Readers.

Enjoy!

I Hate Plumbers

I cannot explain just how much the title of today’s entry accurately reflects my feelings right now. In fact, hate may be too mild a word: loathe and despise might be slightly more accurate. In case you haven’t already guessed, I had plumbers in the house today. That’s what they called themselves in any case.

*deep breath*

I wrote a blog explaining why I hate plumbers but at about page four of the diatribe I realized that I was being a tad verbose. Thus I have elected to regale you all with my tale of plumbing woe when I am less irate and can squeeze it into a few witty comments. Or at least when my anger can be condensed into slightly less than four pages of Times New Roman eight-point font.

Now then, since I believe that everyone should leave my blogging home with a free gift with(out) purchase I give you: The Helicopter Game. ‘Ren introduced to me to this addictive game and she learned about it over at our mutual home, ecfans. Play once and you’ll be stuck in front of your computer for hours.

You’re welcome.

Dubai Sweet Dubai

After several days of silence I have returned to the blogosphere with some real updates! In case you were worried about us or missed us during the silence, Hubby and I left last Thursday afternoon for a much-deserved weekend away from Kenya. Y’all know how much I love (most of the time) my life here in Nai-Robbery, but let’s face it – the need to escape into the Real World on a semi-regular basis goes hand-in-hand with living in the developing world.

During our trip, Hubby devised a new logo for our favorite Emirate: “Las Vegas for Adults.” Sure there isn’t any gambling and nakedness is generally frowned upon in the UAE but those aren’t the things that I really look for in a vacation spot. Dubai has it all: five star dining, first class shopping, and comfortable hotels designed to make you want to extend your stay for a day or two. Heck, we even found all-you-can-eat buffets that would put Vegas to shame! The final similarity would have to be the heat in this desert oasis. When your glasses steam up the moment you exit your air-conditioned hotel, you know it’s a wee bit humid outside.

One of the definite highlights of this trip was dinner at Verre, the Gordon Ramsay restaurant at the Hilton. Despite opting against the prix fixe we were still presented with a meal consisting of no less than seven courses. The meal opened with a selection petit fours, which included a truffle cream puff that was so divinely rich that I may or may not have stolen Hubby’s. From there we moved onto an amuse bouche of gazpacho, our individual appetizers and main courses, a “pre-dessert,” dessert, truffles, and then they brought us even more chocolate. The entire meal was not only expertly prepared but the service was attentive without being overbearing. By the time we paid the bill we were both slightly intoxicated and had sufficiently achieved what my Aunt T would call “an elegant sufficiency.”

I suppose that I can’t talk about our weekend in Dubai without mentioning the Mall of the Emirates where we gave my Visa card a healthy workout. They must pump drugs into the air of that mall because I bought several pink items insisting they were “cute and pink” – and I don’t even like pink.

The lowlight of our adventure was lunch at the Mall. Shockingly, I headed straight for McDonald’s where I ordered a Big Mac combo… That I hated! *sob* I could barely finish this ultimate sign of the Real World; and you all know I have been dreaming about it for ages. Yet my Mac tasted greasy and not quite like I remembered. Hubby said that it was a sign that I was maturing. *sob* Next thing you know, they’ll start calling me an adult and expect me to know what I want to be when I grow up. *sob*

The only other cool thing we did in Dubai was going to Wild Wadi Water Park. I wanted to go skiing but Pouty Baby said that he had never skied and really wanted to go down the water slides at this popular tourist hotspot. After a few hours of lazing in “rivers,” screaming down slides, and trying to drown each other in the wave pool, we finally headed back to the hotel. Best of all, Hubby didn’t even get a sunburn!

That was our weekend in civilization. And now we’re back in Nairobi and I couldn’t be happier. Like I said, needing to get out of town for a few days is natural around here but so is the pleasure of coming Home.

‘Tater Cool

I’m not normally one to post news from TMZ but this was too awesome not to share. The new “Transformers” movie looks beyond lame but this is one promotional tie-in that I may actually buy.

Mr. Potato Head on his own – not so much.
Mr. Potato Head dressed up as Optimus Prime – I am so there!

More Than Meets the Fries

Regardless of how well the upcoming "Transformers" movie does -- the real news is Optimash Prime -- and Mr. Potato Head.

The folks over at Hasbro have transformed Mr. Potato Head into the ultimate robot leader. The Optimash Prime action figure, like all of his Potato Head brethren, comes with mix-and-match pieces -- even a sweet Magnum P.I. moustache! Nothing strikes fear into the electronic soul of a Decepticon like a bad moustache!

Now all we need is a Megatater Decepticon for ultimate spud-on-spud warfare.

Birthday Time!

HAPPY BIRTHDAY, MUMMY!!

The Wrong Side

Ok, I’m going to say it flat out: I don’t drive and it isn’t entirely my fault. Let’s start at the beginning of this journey – my sixteenth birthday. Most of you will recognize this as the day that you ran to the DMV for your learner’s permit; I on the other hand spent that day and all the ones that followed wondering what the big deal was. My lack of interest in this supposed “turning point” in life continued for several years.

Not to pass the buck or anything, but my biggest problem was everyone else. Let’s start with my friends, many of whom had not only driver’s licenses but some of them had their own cars. Then there was my family who were willing (or unwillingly pressed into service) to drive me wherever I needed to go. The final problem was the TTC, or Toronto Transit Commission, which served my needs pretty darn well back then, getting me from home to just about anywhere for the price of a student metro pass.

Eventually I gave in and managed to barely pass my driving test shortly before my 19th birthday and just in time for me to leave for university where I appreciated the photo ID but didn’t have a car to drive. Shortly after my incarceration in University, I returned to Toronto where I had a job right on the subway line.

I didn’t really start driving until Hubby and I moved to DC where he was the lucky one who had a job on the Metro and I was the one driving forty minutes each way to work. The tradition continued in the Midwest where he could walk to class and I had another long drive to the office. It was during these years that I learned to enjoy driving to a certain extent – just my car, NPR, the road, and me.

Even during all these years of enforced driving I had rules: I never drove on the highway because other cars freaked me out almost as much as roads with multiple lanes did. Having grown up in California, Hubby had absolutely no sympathy for me and felt that if he dropped me off in the middle of the Beltway that I would figure it out. Would that be before or after I had a nervous breakdown?

And now I’m in the developing world where driving is a scary X-Games worthy contact sport. Both in India and here in Kenya, I’ve been lucky enough to have a driver so that I would never have to face my fears and get behind the wheel. As for which country has the worst drivers? In India we sat in the back seat and never really had to watch the nightmare too closely thanks to Swami. In Nairobi we sit up front and I have the privilege of prying my fingers from the door after every ride. They’re both bad and let’s just leave it at that.

Which brings us the biggest problem I face when I return to a Real World filled with people offering to let me drive their cars. You people drive on the wrong side of the road! That’s right, I said it. I’ve lived with right-hand drive for two years now and that is now my “normal” direction. When I go home, I get into the wrong side of the car, look the wrong way into traffic, and, only once or twice, turn the wrong way into traffic.

My point in all this is that I don’t drive. Heck, I never really did unless pressed into it. So when I go home, please just offer to drive or drop me off at the subway. Don’t offer me the keys to your car because we could both end up regretting it.

Facing Myself

Thanks to She of the Gratuitous H, I recently found myself invited to join Facebook. Although I had heard of this networking site, I had never thought to visit let alone join. Some of you may recognize the name as Facebook received quite a bit of press last month as students at Virginia Tech used it to check on friends and mourn lost comrades.

I should note that I’ve been “on” Facebook now for only a few days so if you look me up (and I hope you will) please don’t mock my small number of friends. In fact, feel free to “poke” me (I’m still not sure what exactly that is) and take pity on my constant loser state by “friending” me. For the uninitiated, Facebook has a lingo all its own. Friending, poking, and gifting are only the beginning of the puzzling road that newcomers must traverse.

After hours (and I do mean hours) spent attempting to upload my picture onto the site, I gave up and decided to look for people I might know – that, after all, is the point of the entire thing. I started by looking up my high school and was shocked to see how skinny everyone was (*pout*), how many of them appeared to have children, and how many of these once staunchly feminist women were now married like me – the staunchest, most unlikely to marry of the entire gaggle.

The biggest problem I have encountered thus far is fear. Will So-and-So remember me? Do they like me? Did they ever?! Will So-and-So respond to my lame, loser-girl request to be friends and not ban me for life because I was that geeky girl with her socks pulled up to her knees in ninth grade?!

From what people have told me, the paranoia and instant reversion back to a high school clique mentality seems to be part of the appeal. You join networks and groups just like you were sixteen again. And, like then, you sit and wait for someone to acknowledge you. Some people, the popular kids who don’t have neuroses, aren’t worried – they know that someone will answer, tell them they’re witty, and the rest of us will wither a little more inside.

So what have we all learned from Typ0’s foray into Facebook? Yes, I’m really messed up and evidently have been for a very long time. Hopefully you have also learned that if you know my real name, are on Facebook, and want to take pity on me, that you should look me up and offer to be my friend. Most of all, we’ve learned that I can kill hours and hours of Internet time on just about anything. And that’s cool too.

Better Than the Real Thing

Long time Devoted Readers and our friends back in Delhi will likely remember that one of the things that Hubby and I loved most about our lives in New Delhi was Sunday Brunch. I’m sure that brunch as an institution was invented centuries ago, but rest assured that it took India to perfect it. In Delhi, the main theme of Sunday brunch in any good hotel was simple: all you can eat food plus all you can drink wine, martinis, or champagne.

Our favorite, as many of you have heard us talk about repeatedly, was at the Metropolitan Nikko where we could enjoy “all you can eat” sushi accompanied by “all you can drink” champagne all for the very reasonable price of 1500 rupees. A typical Nikko-themed Sunday included showing up to meet our friends for brunch around 12:30, consuming numerous bottles of champagne, leaving around 3:00 p.m. so that we could go home to pass out for the remainder of the evening. A perfect day by anyone’s standards.

Nairobi, on the other hand, has been depressingly devoid of alcoholic happiness on Sunday mornings. Until today… Last night Hubby had the inspired idea that we should bring back the joys of Delhi – only at home.

With that in mind, Hubby made pancakes while I grilled some blood pudding (which he wouldn’t eat). The highlight of his idea was the bottle of champers that I had purchased several weeks earlier on a whim. Initially, Hubby suggested making mimosas with some of the Ceres juice he had purchased the previous day. Don’t get me wrong, his well-meaning idea was sweet but I think that we all know that I didn’t bother diluting my perfectly chilled glasses of champagne.

While we didn’t have quite enough bubbly to perfectly recreate those lovely drunken days back in Delhi, we did our best. Cheers, folks!

Power Up

I just spent more hours than I think I’d like to admit to the entire Internet reading world watching cartoons. Ok, nothing new there – most of you know that I’m a 12-year-old girl with an obsession for all things animated. But this 26-year-old woman (with a penchant for fudging on her age by a year or so) has an even guiltier secret than just simply watching “Justice League” on DVD. You see, I like to pretend I have cool super powers.

Pretend might be too strong a word – it isn’t as if I have a spandex outfit in the closet complete with cape and mask. But it might be possible that I like to imagine that in a cooler world, I could fly, shoot lasers from my fingers tips, and have an incredible body complete with super strength. Who doesn’t play pretend every so often? *listens to crickets chirp* Fine, I’ll be the only one here who is willing to admit to their imagination fueled foibles!

Watching the JLU episode “Clash” made me want to share a few of my superhero related questions. First off, let’s say you’re the bad guy who keeps getting foiled by Super Blogger in Cool City. As a super villain, why don’t you try moving to a new town? Stay with me here for a minute: Lex Luthor keeps trying to take over the world from Metropolis where he knows Superman hangs out. It’s the same with the Joker and Batman in Gotham. Hey super bad guys, “Move!!”

The episode in question dealt very nicely with one of my long-standing ponderances of the superhero genre: the super fight. You know the ones: half the city gets torn up as cars are used to smash people’s faces and buildings lose their facades when people get thrown into them. Don’t the people in these towns care? And, who pays for the clean up? I mean, if I, as mayor of Cool City, kept seeing Super Blogger and Bad Dude wreck my town every week, wouldn’t I ask them to move out or pay up?

Which brings me to a disclaimer: I love superheroes. I wish I had cool mutant powers that extended beyond the ability to pick out the most expensive item in any store and love it. And I totally understand that Lex and Supes live in the same town because it is fiction, it moves the story along, and a comic book about Clark Kent mooning over Lois Lane would be far more boring than watching Lex trying to take over the world and defeat Superman through the use of Kryptonite.

And lest I spark a DC versus Marvel debate, I’d like to point out that while I have used DC references, I am, at heart, a Marvel girl with an X-obsession. But let’s face it, when it comes to cartoons, DC was much quicker off the mark to get their animated guys on DVD.

Which brings me to my question du jour that I hope some of you will actually answer for a change (Not that I’m being pouty about the lack of people commenting on this blog. Not much anyways.). Since none of us can fly, shoot laser beams from our fingertips, or lift small buildings as part of our daily training regimen, what are your real life mutant powers? (Oh, and if you can do any of those things, please tell me ‘cause I think that’s Super Cool!)

My Idol?

Had I felt like still being awake between 2 am and 4 am this morning, I could have found out “live” that Jordin Sparks had won the current season of American Idol with her rendition of the world’s lamest song: “This is My Now.” Surprisingly, however, I was asleep at the time and didn’t find out the unsurprising results until Hubby heard the news on CNN before he left for work. Luckily, they re-aired the show for we Kenyan sleepyheads during prime time.

Blake Lewis, the beat boxing cutie for whom the “Now” song was clearly not intended, made a great show of pretending to be shocked that he didn’t win. And the judges did a good job of setting up his loss over the extraordinarily tedious two-hour long show.

Oh well. Congratulations, Jordin. I hope that you manage to become more successful than last year’s AI winner Taylor Hicks who has sold even less albums than that “She Bangs” guy.

A Small Withdrawal

Remember when we were kids and we asked our parents for an “advance on our allowance” from the Bank of Mum and Dad? Or as I liked to call it, “Mummy whom I love and adore, may I please have $20 to go the movies?” Some parents made their kids work for their money. Others made their children justify the need for the money. The really nice ones gave their wonderful children the money realizing that they were good kids deep down and didn’t ask for money unless it was absolutely necessary – like seeing “Bram Stoker’s Dracula” on opening night.

In the developing world, even if you don’t have children you still get to be part of this long standing tradition of visiting the Bank of Mom - or, in this case, the Bank of Employer. Expats reading this know where I’m going but I’ll fill the rest of you in.

I dare you to find the expat who hasn’t been hit up for a loan by a member of their staff. In Delhi, both my sainted maid, Maria, and our driver, Swami, asked for loans at one point or another. I should note that they were both good about paying back these monies. I would also like to note that it was always the chump (aka Me) they approached first for their loan. I must look more gullible than Hubby.

Nairobi has been a continuation of the same. Our maid, V, asked for and received two loans before she had even been working for us for a month. (Ok, maybe I am the gullible one.) My problem is that I always feel bad… Stupid Catholic guilt!

Our driver, Pedro, recently went the radical route of asking Hubby, in writing no less, before mentioning anything to me. And now he needs money again. Did I mention that it’s been about two weeks since we agreed to loan him a small fortune the first time around? And now Hubby is out of town, which means that I’m stuck with Catholic Guilt which says, “Give him the money;” Expat Logic who says that I have to, “Say no or I’m setting a wickedly bad precedent;” and, finally, Real World Common Sense which dictates that, “He needs to give me something in writing from the people who need the money to explain what’s going on.”

Sadly, I’ve never had much common sense and I’ve only been an expat for two years, whereas I went to Catholic school for 13 years. I knew education would work against me eventually!

After weighing my options, I finally told Pedro that I would have to wait to talk to Hubby. Yeah, I’m passing the buck but let’s be honest - I’m not good at giving people bad news. In this case bad news would either telling Pedro no, or telling Hubby that I gave him the money. I hate being a wuss but I would hate it even more if I found out that the generosity of the Bank of Typ0 was being abused.

Book Club

My book club meets in two days and I’m on page 86. I should be reading instead of blogging and chatting online. Plus, it is the middle of the night so I won’t get any more reading done until tomorrow, which means that I now have only one day to read the remaining 300+ pages. Oops!

Oh well…

Ladies’ Night

Boys may want to stop reading now. No, honestly, stop reading. Fine, don’t say you weren’t warned because tonight’s blog is about: periods. I knew that would get rid of the last of the male stragglers.

Seriously though, a world without ever having to have a period is a world I could deal with quite happily. I realize that there are people who say its unnatural and unhealthy, but they’re probably all men.

Read for yourself and see what you think. Are you going to join me in a tampon and pad burning ceremony? Or are you going to go the natural route and stick to being grumpy and bloated thirteen times a year? (Stupid lunar calendar!)

First birth control pill meant to end periods poised for approval
The Associated Press

TRENTON, New Jersey: U.S. women looking for a simple way to avoid their menstrual period could soon have access the first birth control pill designed to let women suppress monthly bleeding indefinitely.

The U.S. Food and Drug Administration is expect to announce approval Tuesday for Lybrel, a drug from Wyeth which would be the first pill to be taken continuously.

Lybrel, a name meant to evoke "liberty," would be the fourth new oral contraceptive that does not follow the standard schedule of 21 daily active pills, followed by seven sugar pills — a design meant to mimic a woman's monthly cycle. Among the others, Yaz and Loestrin 24 shorten monthly periods to three days or less and Seasonique, an updated version of Seasonale, reduces them to four times a year.

Gynecologists say they have been seeing a slow but steady increase in women asking how to limit and even stop monthly bleeding. Surveys have found up to half of women would prefer not to have any periods, most would prefer them less often and a majority of doctors have prescribed contraception to prevent periods.

"I think it's the beginning of it being very common," said Dr. Leslie Miller, a University of Washington-Seattle obstetrician-gynecologist who runs a Web site focused on suppressing periods. "Lybrel says, 'You don't need a period.'"

While that can be done easily — sometimes more cheaply — by skipping the sugar pills or replacing birth-control patches or vaginal rings sooner, doctors say the trend is fueled mainly by advertising for the new options. They expect plenty for Lybrel's July launch, although Madison, New Jersey-based Wyeth says it will market to doctors first.

Analysts have estimated Lybrel sales could reach $40 million (€30 million) this year and $235 million (€174 million) by 2010. U.S. sales of Seasonique, launched last August, hit $6.1 million (€4.5 million) in the first quarter of 2007. Predecessor Seasonale, which got cheaper generic competition in September, peaked at about $100 million (€74 million). Yaz, launched last August, had first-quarter sales of $35.6 million (€26.4 million); Loestrin 24, launched in April 2006, hit $34.4 million (€25.5 million) in the first quarter.

Still, some women raise concerns about whether blocking periods is safe or natural. Baltimore health psychologist Paula S. Derry wrote in an opinion piece in the British Medical Journal two weeks ago that "menstrual suppression itself is unnatural," and that there is not enough data to determine if it is safe long-term.

Sheldon J. Segal, a scientist at the nonprofit research group Population Council, wrote back that a British study found no harm in taking pills with much higher hormone levels than today's products for up to 10 years.

"Nothing has come up to indicate any unexpected side effects," said Segal, who co-authored the book "Is Menstruation Obsolete?"

Most doctors say there's no medical reason women need monthly bleeding and that it triggers health problems from anemia to epilepsy in many women. They note women have been tinkering with nature since the advent of birth control pills and now endure as many as 450 periods, compared with 50 or so in the days when women spent most of their fertile years pregnant or breast-feeding.

Barr Pharmaceuticals of Woodcliff Lake, New Jersey, whose subsidiary Duramed already is developing a lower-estrogen version of Seasonique, said its research with consumers and health care providers indicates they feel four periods a year is optimal, said spokeswoman Amy Niemann.

Wyeth obviously thinks otherwise.

"It allows women to put their menstrual cycle on hold" and reduces 17 related symptoms, from irritability to bloating, based on one small study, said Dr. Amy Marren, director of clinical affairs for Wyeth Pharmaceuticals.

Marren said Lybrel contains the lowest dose of two hormones widely used in birth-control pills, ethinyl estradiol and levonorgestrel.

That might cause too much breakthrough bleeding, already a problem with some newer pills with low hormone doses, said Dr. Lee Shulman, a Chicago obstetrician-gynecologist who chairs the board of the Association of Reproductive Health Professionals.

In testing of Lybrel, 59 percent of women ended up with no bleeding after six months, but 18 percent of women dropped out of studies because of spotting and breakthrough bleeding, according to Wyeth.

"You're now basically trading scheduled bleeding for unscheduled bleeding, and I don't know whether American women will buy into that," Shulman said.

Bored…

Hubby is leaving me again – this time he’s headed back to Ethiopia until midweek. He likes to go to Addis because, as he says, he can’t possibly spend his per diem no matter how much injera he inhales. Plus we have good friends there so he won’t be bored. Then there’s me…

In a rare repeat of last week, I’m actually busy several days this week. Between two days of meetings for the Association (Yay?) and book club (Should I start reading that book now?), I’ll be well and truly occupied for at least a few hours. The best part is that with Hubby temporarily out of the picture, I can enjoy some yummy Typ0-friendly fare for dinner. On tonight’s menu is Steak Esterhazy, the recipe for which my mother kindly forwarded me last week.

Since I don’t have anything terribly insightful to blog about today, I’ll leave you with this thought:

“No one can make you feel inferior without your consent.”
- Eleanor Roosevelt

Tired

It is currently late Saturday evening and I’m rather knackered. It isn’t that I’ve done anything particularly active or even tiring today, but I think that the cider that accompanied dinner this evening has finally caught up with me. I know, I’m a lush, but when you hear about the “everyday” gourmet dinner we created this evening you’ll be jealous that you weren’t here to share it. (And hopefully you’ll forget the whole “Typ0’s a lush” thing.)

After months of being promised ostrich at various restaurants in town, we finally found it at the local butcher shop! So earlier today, Hubby and I purchased 660 grams of lovely lean ostrich steak for the equivalent of $15.00 USD. I realize that sounds like a pretty penny but there was very little fat on these strips of meat and there was honestly enough meat to feed the two of us and, if we had been so inclined, another two or three people to boot.

But I did say that we decided to make this meal a wee bit “everyday.” After looking through cookbooks and checking out online experts regarding cooking methods, we came to the swift agreement that we both felt like having fajitas – ostrich fajitas. After a nice seasoning shower in freshly ground sea salt and rainbow pepper, we marinated the meat in a nice sweet and spicy sauce for about two hours.

To accompany the fajitas, Hubby made homemade Mexican Rice from a recipe he made up as he went along. I must say, that although I’m not usually a huge fan of Mexican Rice, this was even better than any I had ever tasted before in an “authentic” Mexican restaurant. After finishing up the rice, Hubby then moved onto grilling the chapattis, which we used instead of tortillas.

Ostrich meat, in case you were wondering, cooks up incredibly quickly. Even raw, I was able to cut it like butter, which made us doubly careful about not overcooking this incredibly tender meat. I stir fried the ostrich, marinade, and all, in less than seven minutes and was rewarded with perfect medium-rare yumminess. Maybe the next time you visit us in Nairobi, I’ll make you some gourmet fajitas. Maybe!

So yes, I’m rather sleepy at the moment, but I think that creating a gourmet meal that even the most finicky eater would enjoy warrants me a good night’s sleep. I have to go put away the leftovers and climb all the way upstairs to the bedroom. Good night…