Kazakhstan Chronicles: Diary of a Two-Week Ex-Pat

Atyrau - Day Two

I couldn’t sleep. Maybe it was all the talk the night before about a place called ‘Renco’ or because I was nauseated from jet leg. “Tomorrow, we’re taking you to Renco!” My family teased. I had assumed Renco was a chic desert boutique that sold high-end designer camel-hair thongs. I salivated with anticipation. In reality, it was a hotel named the River Palace Hotel located on the western banks of the Ural River. According to my family, who has lived in Atyrau for two years, the “locals” don’t call the hotel by its real name. “Yeah, how pedestrian.” I thought to myself. The locals call the hotel Renco because of the Italian firm that built it. Regardless of what name you want to give this hotel, it is undeniably unique with its U-shape architectural design.

Once inside, I purchased a bracelet made in the Himalayas by Tibetan former nomads using hot-tempered Murano glass beads and designed by Atyrau artist Marzhan Marshall.

Kazakhstan Chronicles - Diary of a 2-Week Ex-Pat

Atyrau - Day One

I visited a camel farm approximately 15 kilometers from Dostyk Village in Atyrau, Kazakhstan where I stayed during my vacation. I will explain Dostyk in another entry. Most people just can't hop on a plane and vacation in Atyrau. First, you have to be invited by the government and have lots of paperwork or you will be turned away at the airport.

There were 600-700 camels roaming the desert. Zaru is an 85-year-old camel herder. She owns 120 of the 600-700 camels. She milks (I believe) all of the camels twice a day and has been doing this since she was 12. Her hands are like bricks. Her skin showed deep canal-like lines. She cries. And, the sun's rays have branded her tears within those deep lines, a permanent reminder of the harsh life and cruel heat. I didn't get to meet her on this day. But, was shown a beautiful mosaic picture that my step-daughter's husband created from photos he had taken. I wanted to meet her and think everyone who visits Atyrau must. In fact, it should be listed on some kind of tour guide.

One interesting photo-op that stood out on the camel farm was an ancient cemetery. We took photos and had a picnic.

The ex-pats who work for TengizChevroil live comfortably in nice homes at Dostyk, which is a secured gated compound. Residents have drivers. During my visit, I had a polite man named Zhanboolat drive me and my family to the camel farm. He spoke some English, but mostly Russian. He tried to teach me Russian, and I tried to teach him English.

Zhanboolat has been a driver since 1999. I knew this because he wrote the number '1999' in the sand with a stick. He wore a smile and a gold tooth. My first Russian word he taught me was 'choo-choo' meaning 'train' as he pointed to a train moving slow in the distance. It was hauling oil from the TengizChevroil field.

Then, a camel spit on me.

America’s Most Wanted Recipes by Ron Douglas

Written by Austin Girl

On Monday, September 14th, I wandered anxiously through Ron Douglas’s book “America’s Most Wanted Recipes” by Simon & Schuster searching for a fast food “copycat” recipe to make and blog about. The requirements were simple -- the recipe could only have a maximum of four ingredients and the fast food joint had to be in close proximity of my house. Luckily for me, Ron Douglas knew there would be someone like me out there who shudders at the sight of chicken bouillon powder and a floured cutting board.

I located my recipe on page 81: Dairy Queen Heath Blizzard. Who doesn’t like a DQ Blizzard on a “it’s-hotter-than-Megan-Fox-lighting-her-tongue” Texas day? The recipe called for two Heath candy bars (frozen), ½ cup milk, one quart vanilla ice cream and two teaspoons fudge topping. I used Marble Slab’s Sweet Cream for my vanilla ice cream. Fortunately for me, the recipe offered candy bar substitutes. I had four Butterfinger bars left over from a weekend cry fest, and they were about to meet their destiny.

The directions were shockingly uncomplicated. Place all the ingredients in a blender and blend until mixture becomes creamy. Pretending to be Hannah Montana lip-syncing, I held a spatula like a microphone, dancing gaily to Donna Summer’s disco song, “I Feel Love.” After the song was over, I poured the dreamy dessert in a glass goblet and delicately stuffed two Butterfinger bars as garnishment. (see photo).



I dumped the Dairy Queen’s Butterfinger Blizzard in a hand-painted Lolita leopard wine glass. Then, I phoned my neighbors and told them to get their fannies over pronto. John, a film student at the University of Texas and Kim, a lawyer, were the taste samplers. My hands became clammy as I pushed the real Dairy Queen version in front of John. Kim looked on with excitement and reminded me that our neighborhood was placed on water restriction. I nodded and smiled widely as I handed her Ron Douglas’s version.

Then, I had John and Kim switch and try the other one. With a Butterfinger in his mouth, John gave Ron Douglas’ Blizzard a thumb’s up. Kim enthusiastically agreed as she answered her cell phone. Elated, I hugged them both and scurried them to the front door. As I shoveled the remaining Ron Douglas’ Blizzard down my throat, I realized this Texas girl could cook!

Operation Munchies

Popeye's Chicken is predicting record profits as legalization of medical marijuana has now reached 13 states.

"We're building over 250 locations within stumbling distance of the marijuana distribution centers in a project called 'Operation Munchies' rendering our company literally recession proof," said CEO Carl McLamb.

Customer reactions have been overwhelming. "It really cut down on the commute, plus, what was I saying?" said one customer who wanted to remain anonymous. "I used to have to drive like a really long way to satisfy my munchies. That really sucked. Hey, you gonna eat that?" said another customer, who forgot his name.

(this is comedic pastiche and in no way should be taken seriously.)

CANDY LOVE

Registration Number : 1357537

CANDY LOVE
by
Austin Girl

PROLOGUE

Rookie in a Red Raincoat

You can tell a true cowboy by the type of horse that he rides.
- Cowboy Proverb

1973. THE YEAR OF DISCO: Afro wigs, platform heels and strobe lights. I had to be different. I was still in the ‘60s with my beehive hair, cowboy boots and Wolsey tights. At twenty-eight, I was the first female rookie agent for the FBI in D.C. and let me tell you: when you’re a sassy cowgirl from West Texas who handles a Thompson Machine Gun better than her male counterparts, you can bet life at the Bureau ain’t easy.

In one day, I managed to obtain, from a semi-trailer bust, a crate of 100 extremely valuable first-edition Playboy Magazines, a raise, a pink slip, and a contract on my life. The magazines were a gift from my irresistible chauvinist boss, Jack Justice, for saving his life. The pink slip was for receiving the raise and the contract on my head was for the Playboys. But, I negotiated to get my job back, promising Jack I’d go undercover at Disco Disco Casino in Vegas and nab its owner, Cupcake, a rotten midget-mobster. I told him I’d be the slimy midget’s personal discotheque instructor without getting myself killed and tossed in a dumpster-shaped coffin. Only problem: I couldn’t dance to save my life-not then, not now. But, I’m getting ahead of myself.

DIARY OF A VAMPIRE

by

Austin Girl

“Dear Diary: His name was Jon. Jon without an ‘h.’ But, she called him Jonny. Jonny sounded like a sweet nickname a silly, young girl would give her high school sweetheart. She didn’t tell him her real name, so Jonny made one up for her. He called her Destiny – like meeting her was ‘his Destiny.’ They met online. She blogged. She wrote a fictional blog. It was pink. Pink background. Pink fonts. Jonny hated pink. He said so in an e-mail to her. ‘Hi. Pink, huh? I hate pink.’”

But, Destiny’s language captivated Jonny. The seductive way she wove the tapestry of her words. Her stories lured him into a deep sensual fantasy. Jonny visited her blog every day. He couldn’t escape.

Her body. Destiny’s body. Cheeks, collarbone, neckline, breasts. Jonny became obsessed. His lips kissing each delicious part, deep, deeper. He could smell her scent from half-way around the world. God, he wanted to know her. He wanted to have her. He wanted to possess her. He wondered, did she like boats? Sailing? He forgave her for the pink.

“I am a Vampire buried at sea, even the waves could not have awaken me. Your scent sends me to the shore. Your scent sends me sailing into uncharted territory. Your scent sends me searching for you with no map. I demand you accompany me to my castle on the other side of this world,” Jonny wrote her. Destiny thought he sounded kind of cute. She had never corresponded with a guy pretending to be a Vampire. She wrote him back. “We’re alone on a creaking wooden ship, two-thousand miles from shore. You are holding me captive at sea.”

(to be continued...)

CONFESSIONS OF A FAT BASTARD: #5

CONFESSION #5: Fat Bastards are stuck in the 80s. They are love-struck dogs hopelessly obsessed with donning Ray Ban’s and watching “Risky Business” in their white boxers. This warped obsession occurs when the parents have left for the evening and they have nothing better to do but raid the refrigerator and piss on momma’s brand-new carpet.

And, Fat Bastards’ dreams are always the same. Instead of going home, they dream of sneaking to their neighbors’. They ring the doorbell, but nobody answers. The door opens. The shower is running, so they wobble upstairs to check things out. Then, they will see the bitch.

So passionate with the ‘Love on a Real Train’ scene, Fat Bastards actually refer to themselves as ‘Joel’ and fantasize about Rebecca De Mornay, Porches and Guido the Killer Pimp. Why? Cuz, Fat Bastards rule!

CONFESSIONS OF A FAT BASTARD: #4

CONFESSION #4: Fat Bastards write poetry. They enjoy squatting and squirting out a “big one” on their neighbor’s freshly-cut manicured lawn while jotting down a ‘love poem’ about dating, doo doo and doggie bones. “Wuv and paws. Oh, how I wuv your paws they are so dirty. Come closer and let me lick them. Wuv and paws.”Fat Bastards know that with the most romantic poem, they too can rendezvous in Hound Hotel playing footsies with Ms. Frenchie Poodle aka Bitch. Rolling around on dirty blanket and drooling in poodle fur turns Fat Bastards on.Fat Bastards write poetry during every shit session. There’s nothing else to do but wait. Wait and think. They think about the dachshund that barked at them for no reason down at the mailbox. The dachshund that wore blue and white skimpy sleeveless tee: ‘My Dog Can Beat Up Paris Hilton’s Dog.’Fat Bastards are lovers. And, dang good ones. They have big ‘tails.’ This is mandatory. They are ladies’ dog. Sexy and desirable. Fat Bastards wear glow-in-the-dark buttons during their evening walks that blink, “I binged my next-door neighbor’s bitch.” Why? Cuz, Fat Bastards rule!

CONFESSIONS OF A FAT BASTARD: #3

CONFESSION #3: Fat Bastards sniff panties. Fat Bastards were bred for hunting desirable, attractive scents and are considered expert sniff hounds. Because they have a keen sense of smell, Fat Bastards can easily sniff out thongs, bikinis, boxers, cheekies and hiphuggers. When it comes to underwear, Fat Bastards generally do not play favorites. They will devour cotton or lace. Color and size are never an issue. Fat Bastards are unique animals. These particular hounds do not run with the pack. If other dogs are around a Fat Bastard, the conversation usually centers on the panty collection. “Check out my new hot pink Chantilly lace boxers. They’re so ass slimming. And, I got them on sale.” Fat Bastards are leaders, not followers. Scrawny runts desire to be like them. Why? Cuz, Fat Bastards rule!

Austin Girl & Fat Bastard's Top Ten Twitter List for 2008

Fat Bastard @fatbastardrules helped compile the list along with @austingirl. Austin Girl & Fat Bastard adore each Twitter for various reasons. If you didn’t make the list, please direct anger at Fat Bastard. Austin Girl still loves you!

#10. @AlohaArleen – http://www.AlohaArleen.com because she is the Twitter Goddess of the Internet and enjoys Austin Girl’s humor & writing.

#9. @mtgibson – because he didn’t think cleaning the fridge would get Austin Girl’s fire lit.

#8. @fishdogs – http://www.fishdogs.com because he said Fat Bastard is awesome and gave Austin Girl Tweetadvice… “Branding is like writing, keep editing and remove anything not essential to the message.”

#7. @lordlikely – http://lordlikely.co.uk because he is astonishing and always wants to buy Austin Girl’s drinks.

#6. @rippleon – http://www.ripplecentral.com because he makes a difference & gave Austin Girl advice on her Fat Bastard book: “Self-publish. Stay in control of content and make more money.”

#5. @VegasBill – http://www.finehomeslv.com because he is “Mr. Vegas.” And, he warned Austin Girl of ‘space cadets.’

#4. @luge – http://www.thepitandthependulumdvd.com because he e-mailed Austin Girl film budget links in French and his short animation film won like 5 awards.

#3. @DenisCampbell – http://www.vadimuspost.com because he educated Austin Girl with the Dutch word ‘sterkte’ meaning strength & the UK term ‘fluffing’, which is euphemism for (farting).

#2. @TourDeTweets – http://www.tourdetweets.blogspot.com because he allowed Austin Girl’s ‘Buddy the Beagle’ aka Fat Bastard @fatbastardrules decrypt a Lance Armstrong tweet. Fat Bastard’s decryption is vital to Lance Twitter followers. Fat Bastard hopes to one day save the world with his decoding of encrypted messages.

#1. @lancearmstrong – http://www.livestrong.org because Lance is an Austin superhero who possesses a special golden lasso like Wonder Woman and who can ride a bike faster than Fat Bastard @fatbastardrules can take a potty break or woof down a pig's ear.

FAT BASTARD MOUSE PAD GIVEAWAY

Tweet about Fat Bastard between now & Dec 18. Austin Girl will toss in a black ceramic dog dish with the word 'BASTARD' painted in white, all the names who have tweeted. Then, Fat Bastard will carefully paw out the winning name. Austin Girl will announce the winner on Twitter. Winner should DM Austin Girl with a mailing address for shipping.

Austin Girl's Top Ten possible tweets:

1. Fat Bastard rules
2. Fat Bastard's gas will save Antarctica
3. Fat Bastard suckered punched Insult the Comic Puppet at Trump Plaza in Vegas
4. Fat Bastard fired from Dominoes for woofing down their all-meat pizza
5. Fat Bastard ran away with Paris Hilton's bitch
6. Fat Bastard works as a refrigerator repair dog
7. Fat Bastard the Beagle should be on the Fat Bastard wine label
8. Fat Bastard warns Fat Bastard wines: "Put my face on your wine label."
9. Fat Bastard has his own Facebook fan page!
10. I love Austin Girl's Fat Bastard
* Or you may inject your own humor, comedy, originality
The more you Tweet, the more chances you will win the one-of-a-kind Fat Bastard mouse pad from Austin Girl

Please drink responsibility while tweeting. Good luck!
www.twitter.com/austingirl

Duct Tape Saved Austin Girl's Relationship

Last night, the temperatures plummeted to an irritating 51 degrees. In Texas, this is damn cold. Yes, I'm a predictable whimp who craves hot chocolate during *wicked winter months. Noting I was out of cocoa, I sluggishly poured into my favorite tight jeans and artfully arranged my French beret on top of my blonde hair. The beret was red like my coat. This is not a coincidence.

I struggled inside my SUV. I struggled because it was an irritating 51 degrees and the vehicle was cold, kind of like my love life. I drove eight miles north, meandering on a narrow country road. A buck dodged in front of me. I slammed on the break, pushing my palm on the horn. "Effin' *mating season!" I arrived at Barnes and Noble Bookstore, home of flirty geriatrics and out-of-shape mommies armed with baby strollers. B & N makes the best hot chocolate. I ordered mine with an extra delicate cloud of whipped cream on top.

With cocoa in hand, I curiously strolled the relationship book isle. A baldheaded dude in an obnoxious orange 'Keep Austin Weird' T-shirt eyed me. He smelled of cologne and too much. He stunk. We exchanged glares, then he darted to the cookbook isle, leaving me alone in the love/romance isle. This isle is where losers go seeking out knowledge to either enhance or just land a friggin' love life.

There were relationship books on how to be a better bitch and how to be a better lover. I suppose I could be a bitch in bed, maybe that would land me a love life. I thought about it for a few moments before moving on to the next book entitled: 'When Duct Tape Just Isn't Enough.' My eyes lit up like a horny, geek boy watching porn for the first time. Wow, duct tape improves the romance? I asked myself, as I reached for the book with semiconsciousness excitement. I nervously looked around for that baldheaded dude. I did not want him catching me reading about duct tape. Gawd, how gross, I thought, thumbing through the unexpected love manual.

This so-called romance book written by Popular Mechanics for quick fixes for everyday disasters was misfiled in the love/relationship isle. Disappointed, I squeezed the book back on the shelf between sex and marriage, and trudged out the door. I sipped on my hot chocolate, it was cold.


* Freeze-your-ass-and-tits-off cold.
*Horny Texas bucks chasing after Bambi on narrow country roads.

CONFESSIONS OF A FAT BASTARD: CONFESSION #2

CONFESSION #2: Fat Bastards fart. Like most overweight mixed breeds born with a fat ass and an obsession for dog shit and Dominos all-meat pizza, they are combustible and extremely gaseous. Their asses contain high-levels of methane and sulphur gases. According to experts at Chevron, a Fat Bastard’s gas can heat up to 15,000 homes across the United States. And, Chevron has pledged two billion dollars to further develop a top-secret invention called the ‘Fat Bastard’s Anal High-Pressure High-Volume Linear Osmosis Conversion Valve.’ There is an assumption that if pet owners change their Fat Bastard’s diet to say, organic, the ozone layer may be saved. But, this is false. Fat Bastards are cunning and savvy. When their owners are preoccupied, entertaining guests, cleaning house or yapping on their cell phones, Fat Bastards sneak into the kitchen, open the refrigerator and help-themselves to the “goods.” This is their modus operandi.

- Austin Girl

CONFESSIONS OF A FAT BASTARD: CONFESSION #1

CONFESSION #1: Fat Bastards eat shit. It doesn’t matter if the hot feces is theirs or another bitches. They love waste matter. Enjoy the taste & the smell. Fat Bastards can tolerate it. Why? Cuz, they are drooling wicked badasses who hump Victoria’s Secrets big-ass pink and white polka dot dogs. When you’re a Fat Bastard like Austin Girl’s Buddy the Beagle, you can chomp down, inhale shit and no one is gonna mess with ya.

- Austin Girl

5 Things You Don't Know About Austin Girl

1. I once rode a bull for 7 seconds;

2. I have a black belt in karate;

3. I trained at Quantico;

4. I busted a post from 2 feet away with a Buffalo Rifle at age 4;

5. I speak Russian and Mandarin.

* Disclaimer: Austin Girl is a fictitious character in my novel. This is her background folks. Not mine. One of my newer girlfriends called me, "Oh, hey, I didn't know you were FBI." I answered her back, "Yeah, ya know, in my spare time."