Save me from myself

Illness does odd things to one's mental stability me thinks. Although I am now feeling much better, I have spent the last week in some odd over sentimental state of being. Yesterday I told an editor who I have worked with for the past couple of years that I was "proud" of his accomplishments. He works at a lads mag, nuf said. Earlier this week I called my friend in the US who I usually spend xmas with just to tell her I love her. Erm, luckily she wasn't home. It's not right I tell you. The headaches, the chills, the fever; those I can handle. The squishy, sappy, touchy feely BS on the other hand, THAT is enough to make me nauseous.

In other news, the days are narrowing for our trip to the family's for xmas. I have stayed away from writing about this, because quite frankly I am absolutely terrified. CB and I are going to his parents for a week for Christmas. Don't get me wrong, I am very excited about spending Christmas with CB and am over the moon that his family is welcoming me with open arms. None of that, however, can diminish the fear that has washed over me at the prospect of spending a week with someone else's family. My aunt gasped when I told her and then aptly said, "does he realise you haven't even spent a week with your own family since you were about 10?" Yep, that's the vote of confidence I got. Not to brag, but I am great with parents, that's a fact. CB has assured me to the best of his ability that all will be fine and that his family will adore me. A week just seems like a lot of time for them to uncover the less then perfect aspects of GirlFriday. The aspects that their son adores because he is brainwashed by the mist of love. Well, the mist of love or the mental stupor that comes with being ill.

BLEEEEHHHH

Well, that about sums it up, glad I got that off my chest. After months of touching wood that I hadn't gotten ill given my insane travel schedule, work commitments, social commitments and well, living in a dirty germy big city in winter. It happened. I still believe I could have avoided it if I wasn't in love. Damn love. Since Oct, CB has been staying at mine more then he stays at his (when I am in London) but last week he went back to his and looked after his flatmate who was poorly. I hasten to use the word Flu as I think it's used too liberally to describe general illness, but he was sick with fever, body aches, the works. I knew in my head that I should tell CB to stay home for a few days instead of coming back to mine, but I couldn't do it. Even after knowing him for a year and a half, I still miss him the minute he walks out the door. So I rolled the dice and well, I got sick. I fought it for a day, drank some whisky and said I was just "trying to get sick" but insisted I wouldn't. Then I went to a Chrimbo party on Friday night. Sat I was out for the count, except I couldn't tell if it was illness or hangover. I flaked out on CB et al who were going to the Rugby Sat night and instead curled up and watched the Strictly Semi-Finals and X Factor Finale. Klassy. Sunday I was feeling better and CB was feeling awful. So I baked and cooked while looking after the boy. I made Christmas goodies, soup, and even Sunday roast. Then I sat down. I'll skip the sordid details, but let's just say I showered about an hour ago for the first time since Monday morning. There are dishes in my sink that have been there since Sunday night and I am keeping the pharmaceutical company in business who makes Lemsip. I am a big eater, food is my thing. I think I can count on one hand the number of meals I have had since Sunday. The number of tablets I have taken, tissues I have gone through, vitamins I have swallowed....that is another story. I am not a good sick person. I am a good busy person, I am a good too busy person, I am not a good do nothing person. Whatever this lurgy is, you feel fine until you do anything remotely resembling something. It hurts to think. I get dizzy when I stand up or walk even the distance of my shoebox sized flat. My skin feels like I have a sunburn and it's about 2 degrees outside. Woo Hoo. Like I said before people, Rock and Roll. We leave next Tuesday for a week away with Mum and Dad CB. I CANNOT be sick for my first English Christmas. I simply can't.

Socially Inept Vasectomy Guy

My friends and I found this book yonks ago, Are You My Boyfriend? It's absolutely hilarious and provided (if I'm honest on a few nights after too much wine, it still does) hours of entertainment for the girls and I. I distinctly remember sitting round at mine with 2 buck chuck, a roaring fire and giggling until we had a side ache. The book profiles all the different types of men we have (or will at some point date). For instance: He's Not My Father Guy. It's Not You It's Me Boy. Mr Ladylover Man. Living For Tonight Dude. There is a sketch and then a lengthy description of suggested man, leaving only the question, Are YOU My Boyfriend?

Last night I received a note from a friend who is hot on the dating circuit. She got the following email on Match*

Match.com Message: cooking school invite‏

Sent: Tue 12/09/08 3:02 PM
From: Casanova

To: Large group of Match women who may be Desperate, but not Broody
Date received: December 9, 2008
Subject: cooking school invite

Hello

I am sending out this e-mail to any interested match.com gal's. Please review my profile first.
I am looking for " co - cook partner " to take in a Saturday night cooking classes or two with me.

Note: classes are at the seafood center in Some City USA 6:00pm - 9:00pm

If you are interested in seafood cooking school, we may have something in common. No offence intended, but if you are 35 with no kids - but definitely want 2 kids your clock is ticking. Fyi - I have had a vasectomy. Please let me know, so I can wish you good luck, and remove you from my circle. Other wise interested people please e-mail me so we can make plans and get on the calendar.

Thanks Casanova

I think we need to add a character to the AYMBF book: Socially Inept Vasectomy Guy.

*Names and places have been changed to protect the dating challenged and the innocent

My Exciting Weekend

Let's be clear, I needed a break. I needed to be looked after this weekend. Between travelling and some personal drama, Girl Friday was in need of some R&R. And that is precisely what I got. I tell you what, I am pretty sure CB is a 70 year old trapped in the body of someone born in the 80's. I dig it.

Friday night we went to my new local, the pub isn't new, but me claiming it as my local is. We sat by a very lovely and well decorated Christmas tree (I know this because I was sternly told not to hang my coat on the coat hooks next to the Christmas tree "in case" I knocked an ornament off. The barmaid, don't you know, spent all day decorating the tree) and I had my first mulled wine of the season. MMMMM. Friday morning on my way to a meeting I had my first Christmas Latte, Friday apparently was my December day of first. After said tipple, we got some sushi, a movie and much wine on the way home. There is a wine shop down the street from me that offers 3 for 2 on almost every bottle and they have some decent ones at that. So logic goes, you pick up a bottle or 2 and say, well why not one more, it's free. Then if you find another, the pattern begins to repeat itself. We left with a half case. Per usual I digress. We were in bed by about 11 I think and the highlight of our evening was Gavin and Stacey and the extra noodles in my Dynamite Miso (sans the polonium).

Sat, we were up at the crack, cos that's what happens when you go to bed before midnight. My toilet decided to stop flushing, which was fun. Especially with a boy in the house. I am not sure what it is about men, but they do something to toilets that's just not right. I fixed the toilet until a plumber could come on Monday and we headed to Starbucks. After which we headed off to the NHM to see the Wildlife Photography of the Year exhibit. This remains, year on year, one of my favourite exhibits. We skipped the ice skating as there were too many people. Sat night (wait for this, it's thrilling, you might need to sit down) we came home and the big decision of the evening was whether to watch the film we rented the night before or watch X Factor. I made a lovely dinner and we watched the film. Again, in bed by about 11:30.

Sunday morning I made a nice breakfast and cleaned the flat and we lazed about with the papers for most of the day. Late afternoon I made the grave mistake of asking if we could go get the Christmas tree. We did, but I learned a lesson. No one moves CB from his papers and Sunday afternoon laze without consequence. I decorated the tree, CB made a lovely stew and we watched Love Actually, which has become one of my December traditions.

Rock and Roll life people, Rock and Roll. It's tough being me, there is a lot of action.

We saw Warsaw

There is an exhibit on at the V&A right now, Cold War Modern Design. Irish Blondie and I drove by on Saturday during my whirlwind 72 hours in London and I commented outloud that I wanted to go. Blondie laughed and said, I would imagine there is a lot of steel, white and right angles.

I arrived in a very warm Warsaw this evening greeted by a very clean, efficient and sterile airport. A lot of steel, white and right angles. I don't think I need to go to the V&A exhibit now. I'm not complaining mind you, not in the least. It was a welcome change from the my usual landscapes. A clean airport and a nice cab driver and no middle class guilt (well not yet at least). Cracking evening as evenings go for me these days. I have 2 packed days of business meetings ahead of me, so I don't reckon I will get to see much, but I will give it a go.

Over and out.

The District Sleeps Alone Tonight

I left for Dubai in the early (snowy) hours of Sunday morning. CB had been staying at mine for a week and a half and, surprisingly, I didn't want to go. Aside from no one wanting to get out of a warm snuggled bed on a very cold Sunday morning, I also didn't want to leave him. A first for me as after a week and a half history would have had me bolting out the door quicker then you could say, Warm Weather and Duty Free Await You. Never the less, reluctantly I left and a mere 12 hours later (flight delays surprise surprise) I was stripping off layers to manage my body temperature on the way to the car from the airport terminal in DXB. I used to hate Dubai, soulless and plastic, it reminded me of all the people I left behind in LA. The people that I considered myself better off without. The people and the places that would crumble to dust if you scratched the surface of their pristine and shiny surface. I have come to enjoy my time here though and it never hurts to be in a warm climate. The airport in Dubai, however, always makes me panic a little. Partially because I am usually hand carrying far more IT then one should, but also because of the bodies everywhere. It's odd and I don't understand it, but the airport is littered with half covered bodies. Fully clothed except for shoes and socks, travellers pull a blanket over the entire top half of themselves and lie on the ground all around the terminal. There are so many migrant workers here building the towering structures that glint under the unforgiving rays of the constant sun. My assumption is that this makeshift sleeping quarter is a result of transient workers with no place to stay either en route or leaving the UAE. Regardless, it was particularly disturbing this time round. First, I landed in the early morning hours which might account for the particularly large numbers of floor patrons. Additionally, I nearly finished a book on the plane about Afghanistan's struggle for freedom over the last 30 years. The book was amazing, but to say the least it was very sad. There were numerous stories of refugee camps and people dying of starvation at best and by militia at worst. So when I walked through the airport, the images my mind had painted from the book, sprang to life in the stuffy confines of terminal 1.

I didn't sleep save for a couple of hours Sunday night. The book, the airport, the large empty bed. Nothing was missing and everything was incomplete. I drifted through my meetings yesterday in a haze of exhaustion and after a hot bath and 2 generous glasses of wine, poured myself into bed to finish the final chapters in my book. 30 minutes and a box of tissue later I called CB with a horrible case of middle class guilt (and maybe a little PMT?). I often travel to places where there is extreme poverty behind a thinly veiled facade of a city thriving. I travel for business, so I stay in hotels that are impossibly expensive for most of the people living in the country. I ride in taxis and eat at restaurants that insulate me from the reality of 90% of the population. When I can, I stay on in places and try to see the "real" side of the city, but this isn't always possible as my schedule can get really tight. I don't know if I am alone here, but I feel incredibly guilty for this. Yes, I am contributing to the local economy in a round about way, but why should I be afforded these opportunities when others can't afford to eat. The vivid pictures painted in the book of starvation, of fear, of desperation, of longing and of love; only served to reinforce this already existing sentiment for me.

I couldn't sleep again last night, so I logged on the read what Fweng had to say. I am not sure which was more disturbing, his post or my self imposed loathing of all things luxurious. I can't decide if it's my mind that won't let me sleep or the absence of the first person who makes me not want to be alone.

Co-Habitating

I realised today one of the downsides to cohabitation. I will spare you the long drawn out story, but despite last weekend being our intended move date, CB and I will not be moving into our new place until March. Not for lack of trying but several factors beyond our control necessitated that we put the move off. So in the interim, CB is spending a few solid weeks at mine here and there, instead of going back and forth. I work from home a couple of days a week and when I do I normally work very long days. Like 7:30 in the morning to 8 or 9 at night. It allows me to get loads done without the hassle and time of commuting. Also I can do a couple of things around the flat during the day like laundry etc. Because I work long hours and I don't have to see anyone, I don't really look so hot...if you know what I mean. It's rare that I even get out of my PJs much less shower or put make up on. So here I am working from home today and also fighting a cold (which means I am even less attractive) and I realised that I need to look presentable when CB comes home from work. What good will clean pants for him be if I look like pants?

WHY?

I just ate a bag of wine gums. The whole thing. Not a small bag. I feel really sick now. Why was it calling my name? Why did it look so lonely? Perhaps because when opening them my colleague asked if wine gums actually contain wine. The wine gums and I were equally traumatised.

1460

The number of days gone since I landed on the shores of this small island called England. It was the day after the worst political debacle of my lifetime (so far). I remember rocking up to the pub that night and being accosted straight away for being a septic piece of shit. All I did was order a pint, so I was appropriately taken aback at all of the hostility and pent up anger of a nation being unleashed on me. Also I had no idea what septic meant. Fast forward 4 years and I have somehow managed to win over the Brits. Well, not all of them, but enough. I now also speak more cockney then I would like (and more then CB would like for that matter) and I can throw down with the best of them. I coward away from the bar 4 years ago and slinked back to my table of colleagues. I didn't even relay the story for fear that something I had done had immediately zeroed me out. Ahh hindsight is 20/20. I now know that the only thing I did wrong was open my mouth. I spent the next year wondering what I had done and why I was in this rainy miserable country. The following year I tallied up the number of countries I had been to in 1 year, the friends from all over the world that I had made and the incredible fun to be had. That was the year I learned to love this rainy miserable country. The third year I went to Australia for holiday and never wanted to come back. I again asked myself what I was doing in this rainy miserable country. But I did come back and I met CB and I changed jobs and was never more grateful for the rainy miserable country I called home. That was nearly 2 years ago now. Embarking on my 5th year in London feels like an accomplishment, I am still alive and still have my original liver. Result! I have only been robbed 3x, had my bank account cloned 3x and had my identity nicked once. Oh and there was that brawl in the pub. Never mind. I think that's a stellar record for four years as a London Lass.

I woke up early this morning in anticipation that America had got it right this time and I could once again stand up as a proud American girl. While in the shower (I was too excited to turn the news on first) I thought of how much I have changed in the last 4 years. Some bad (I HATE when my commute is interrupted because someone has flung themselves in front of the Tube-On your own time people!) but mostly good. I love London and I love my life here, but for the first time in a long time I love that I am American too. We finally got it right.

In cognito and on a roll

Me and my new brunette self have been travelling the globe in disguise. I'm a closet American, a former blonde and a secret sleeper. Although to some my accent gives me away and well my general bimbo qualities quickly betray the brunette job. To be honest, the dark circles aren't quite deep enough to convince people that I get NO sleep either. I would guess they have me pegged for 3 hours a night these days. SUCKERS! It's 4.

Anyway, being a closet American who has been in more then 5 countries in the last 6 weeks I have had the pleasure (or in most cases the disgrace) of listening in on a plethora of observations on the US elections. Thankfully I voted (absentee of course) before I left London. My friend who is Dutch, but lives in New York, happened to be visiting the weekend I filled out my ballot. She mailed it from the US for me, saving me extra postage and helping her be part of the US democratic process. Everyone's a winner. I had this horrible dream last week in Dubai. I was made redundant and got deported. I was staying with a friend in the US and working at Starbucks. Even the short time I worked there (via my dream this is) I was already irritated at the stupid people who use needless adjectives to order. Dry? Extra Hot? Why do these things make your coffee better I ask? And ask I did, I think I was on the verge of being fired from Starbucks. Clearly I am even grumpy in my dreams. Anyway, Cricket Boy could not come and join me as McCain and Palin had won the election and clamped down on immigration. Plus my friends cat has a hard enough time being nice to me, I doubt she would adapt to someone who didn't sneeze violently everytime she was near. About this election, everyone has an opinion. And share they do. It's like a damn has broken when someone blows my cover and outs me as an American. Week before last at a dinner in the Middle East a Lebanese, Jordanian, Palestinian and Egyptian were sat with me. A Canadian walked by and ratted me out. They all started shouting (in the nicest way possible of course) asking who I voted for etc, but before I could answer they were all up in my face with their feelings on the election, the electoral college, the democratic process and McDonald's (don't ask). They got so distracted amongst themselves I never had to answer the question.

On a secondary topic, it's amazing how liberating it is to completely change your look in 3, erm ok 4.5 hours. I always love being a woman, but I especially love it now. Apparently I look really different. Multiple people over the last three weeks have said they didn't recognise me. SWEET! And while I am on the topic of hair, who told men they could wear head bands? In a business meeting. With a corduroy jacket. I won't mention which country this was in for fear of being mobbed by the crazy blog police who love certain countries and think I am bashing them. I'll give you a hint though, it rhymes with furkey.

Lastly and then I will shut up, I would like to make a small shout out/request. Can whoever stole my identity to buy an O2 mobile do me a few favours? Next time pick a nicer one. Seriously, it's embarrassing to have that piece of junk associated with my name. Also, can you put some money in the bank for me, call my Gran pretending to be me and pick up my dry cleaning? Thanks!

Just so you know, that's not actually a photo of me and my new hair. Just in case you were confused or wondering.

Repent

Guilt, the gift that keeps on giving. My very Catholic grandmother bestowed on me the gift that lasts a life time. And while I don't consider myself Catholic, or Christian or Jewish or anything really, I was reared in synagogues and churches of all the above. I also consequently was brought up in the school of hard knocks with the philosophy that Jose and Jack can pretty much cure all that ails and if that fails, head for Columbia. You see one side of my family was very religious. They didn't all necessarily believe the same things, but they all believed in God and for my mums best friend Challa bread as well. My father and his side of the family however could not have been less religious, which is where I was taught to rely on Jose and Jack. In fact dad's brother had a dog called Heineken. And no I am not kidding, they were classy like that. I don't talk about it much, but all of the above differences are what drove my parents from each other and ultimately from me in some way or another. But guilt, the guilt of all the beliefs has stuck with me through thick and thin. I even have the uncanny ability to feel guilty for what others should feel bad for but don't. I have severely digressed from my point, which was to say, that even though I haven't had a proper day without work since I was in Indonesia, I feel guilty that I am sat outside at Starbucks working rather then in my hotel. The weather is perfect in Dubai at the moment and I can't bear the thought of spending another day chained to my hotel room desk with the air conditioning blasting down on me. So alas, I am at Marina Walk with a very large iced vanilla soya latte working. And apparently getting distracted by updating my blog. And I feel guilty for that. And each time the prayers broadcast loudly with their melodic chorus and fluid rhythm, it reminds me that:

I forgot to pay my dry cleaners before I left
I forgot to return a DVD
I forgot what CB asked me to get him for xmas a couple of weeks ago
I owe my friend £5 from lunch a couple of weeks ago
We haven't had a girls night out in ages and it's my fault
I shouldn't have been so mean to that poor man who was shouting at me yesterday calling me useless. He was only expressing his feelings!
I shouldn't have eaten that hamburger on Wed
I should drink less
I should run more
I need to call my brother
I need to call my grandmother

From Islam to Judaism to Catholicism to Jose-There is always SOMETHING to feel bad about. Thanks Gram.

Mercury in Retrograde

I don't even know what that means aside from the fact that my life is loaded with indecision and deals hanging in the balance. I have several mates fasting for Yom Kippur and I have asked them to put in a good word for me. I am going to try to enjoy my last weekend in London before setting off for a few weeks of business travel. I am also re-branding myself this weekend. Girl Friday goes brunette. So this time next month I could be a whole new me. In life and in looks. Watch this space.

To Bin or Not to Bin

CB and I are planning to live in sin. Co-habitat. Shack up. It may take awhile for all pieces of the puzzle to come together logistically, but I am very excited about it. In contrast to the other times I have made this decision, I know it's for the right reasons this time and that we are working toward mutual goals and a shared future. I got to thinking a couple of weeks ago, about the ex files. I normally never even think about the small box of mementos I have kept from each of my significant relationships. When I say small, I mean seriously small. Smaller then a shoe box. I also have a massive (shoe size) box of cards, letters, theatre tickets, concert tickets etc which have nothing to do with romantic relationships. I am not a pack rat by any means, but I guess I hold on to these little things because they create a sense of history for me that moving about a lot can negate. So with each move, these have come with me and typically they get put up in a cupboard or on a bookshelf somewhere. Something tells me that I need to get rid of them now with the M word being discussed and the B word chasing its tail. Any burning thoughts on this?*

*I am not sure if anyone even reads my blog anymore, but I guess this will be a good barometer for whether or not I carry on writing. Although, who am I kidding. I talk to myself, I would likely write to myself even if I knew no one was reading.

Touch not, lest ye be judged

I watched this programme on telly last night that was so fascinating I couldn't even talk to my friend on the phone for fear of missing even one minute of the train wreck that was unfolding in front of me. When I say fascinating, that is code for FREAK SHOW AMERICAN RELIGIOUS MOVEMENT WHICH BRITS DID DOCUMENTARY ON. Just so that we're clear. Very well then, it was called The Virgin Daughters and profiled these people in BFE America who request that their children (daughters and sons) not so much as hold hands with someone of the opposite sex before marriage. Alright, I am not some big ho bag, but are you having a laugh? The movement was started by fathers (well one in particular, but we'll get to him later) who wanted their daughters to feel as special and treasured as possible. Fair enough, we all want to feel that way. Obviously this dude was taking it to an extreme. So said leader of strange underworld cult is interviewed throughout the programme, as is his entire family. 7 children from ages 20-3 and a weepy wife who endured 5 miscarriages as well. I guess I would be a sobbing mess if I had been knocked up 13 times too. These people believe that any relationship you have before you are married is cheating on your future spouse. I suppose they also believe there is ONE person for everyone. Right. Anyway, they also said that any emotional trials one deals with in their adult relationships are a direct result of having held hands with someone before you signed a piece of paper saying you would give them half of your assets if ever you decided to part ways. It was honestly so ghastly that I couldn't look away. And then I felt guilty for watching it as all it did was reinforce the stereotypes that all of us Yanks are barking mad. Well I guess we sort of are, but not as insane as those people. They didn't discuss masturbation, but I wonder if that counts as cheating on yourself?
Lesson learned, I don't watch TV for a reason. You can now return to your regularly scheduled day.

Don't call it a comeback

I know it's not October yet, but I just couldn't stay away any longer. I missed blogging. No one in real life listens to my nonsense on a regular basis and it feels wrong to not get it out somewhere. So I am back with nothing in particular to talk about, so I'll update on my trip to Indonesia.

In short this holiday was really nice. My good mate from the US and I met in Bali for what has become our yearly trip. She usually comes over to London and then we venture off somewhere from here. This year, all things considered (me working the whole time while she is in London, Bush royally screwing America for yet another year meaning the dollar is worth like 2 Pesos and the fact the we haven't had a proper summer in Blighty for at least 2 years) we decided to pick a new destination. Last xmas we discussed Costa Rica or Indonesia. We each researched one and together we unanimously decided on Indo. We travel really well together, but amazingly have a lot of interests that don't converge. I am sporty and have far more energy then any one person should have. I like to hike, bike, run, surf and do anything that involves risk and adventure. She doesn't, so where we go needs to make us both happy. We do both enjoy good food, good wine, nice beaches and cheap spas. All of which Indonesia had plenty, except the wine, which Bali Hai and Bin Tang served as suitable substitutes.

We travelled all through Bali and then stayed on the Gili Islands for 5 days. We had intended to go to Lombok as well, but too much faffing about regarding anti malaria tablets changed our minds. We met amazing people along the way, I think that was really the highlight of our trip. Well, that and the cheap massages. I am pretty sure we only went 1 or 2 days of the whole 16 day trip without some sort of body indulgence. It was like we stumbled on spa heaven. But back to the people. Balinese people were all so very friendly, kind and open. In addition, we met a crazy Dutch girl (don't worry S, you're still our favourite Netherlander), a really fun group of Kiwis, a marine biologist from Kenya who was studying the bleaching of the coral reefs and a few nutty Italians. We were pleasantly surprised that there weren't nearly as many obnoxious holiday makers as we had expected, but then I guess we mostly stay off the beaten path.

During the whole holiday we did loads of "romantic" things that we both laughed about. We would be watching the sunset on the beach and just burst out in laughter at the irony of it all. The last hotel we stayed in was our big splash out hotel. It was really expensive and included all kinds of things that we would remind ourselves of when we were in the dodgy villas with no fresh water or electricity that only worked for certain hours of the day. Welcome drinks and welcome massages were just two of the perks on offer at this special hotel. When we got the our last hotel, somewhere between nowhere and no mans land, we quickly realised that this was a destination resort. As in honeymoon destination. After we nearly wet ourselves laughing, we milked it for all it was worth. We bathed in the tub for 2 with flowers and bubbles whilst toasting with champagne, we raced down to the private beach to grab the "love bed" for sunset (see photo below) before the honeymooning couples and then we collapsed in a heap on the plush bed and watched E! all night. I have always loathed those people who go on holiday and eat food from their country, watch telly the whole time and only visit very touristy places. But alas, at the end of the trip all we wanted was de-salinated water, towels with no holes, soap by the sink, fruit we could eat and wash clothes. E! was merely a bonus.

We had a really lovely time, but I was happy as a pig in poo to be back in the Big Smoke, despite the dreadful weather. I did a lot of soul searching over in Indo (sunrises, sunsets and salt water showers will do that to a person) and it was nice to come back and start implementing some of the changes I had put my mind to making. So September (whilst the end rather then the beginning) is a good time for setting good patterns, I am determined to do so myself. This despite the fact that I will be gone for 75% of October. Oh and I have been back for 2 weeks and haven't actually done any of the daily things I promised myself I would. But, I appreciate what I have and that which I luckily don't have, a whole lot more.

**Yes, I took that starfish photo. It's one of my favs

Missing: Girl Friday's Creativity and for that matter her mind

I know I said I was taking a break which probably delighted most readers to no end. A pause in the mind numbing drudgery of my every day life and a respite from the dull prose that only rainy London can inspire. Well, I just thought I would pop my head in say hello. Thanks to a few glass of vino in my favourite London pub last night, my mind isn't nearly as sharp as it should be. Rather then attempt to put all the rouge countries I manage in their place, I thought I would share some recent observations instead.*

• There is a thief on the prowl in London I reckon! After the several wines last night, I noticed that the amount in my vodka bottle was significantly lower then when I bought it. It was also open. Also all my tonic was gone. I hate when that happens


• Why don't people flush the toilet all the way when do a OO (that's said out loud as double oh)? I am not sure if this is common in men's toilets as I stopped frequenting them after that one arrest and restraining order, but it's very common in the women's toilets. Especially at work. Really? Can you NOT flush twice if everything isn't gone the first time? Do you know how disgusting that is?


• I waited all year for summer to come in London, we had about 10 days of sunshine, spread out over 3 months. I am moving.


• I think I am boring now that I am smugly coupled. Not boring as a person, but boring as a writer. Any suggestions are welcome


• WTF is going on with the American election? Seriously people


• How is it only Wednesday? I think this is going to be a long week given my lack of working for the last 3 weeks while on holiday
  

*My trip to Indonesia was amazing and I will do a proper entry on it as soon as have more time as currently I am working round the clock to stop my tan from fading.

Just Breath, Just Believe

There was a song out about 5 years ago, I was going through a really difficult time and I listened to it incessantly. When I hear that song still, the emotions, the smells, the tastes the feelings from 5 years ago flood over me. Similarly when I encounter difficulties or situations of the same caliber, the words to the song ring through my head and become like a mantra to soothe my tension. This time, however in contrast to the others, I have someone to lean on. CB is amazing at the best of times, but now I know he's incredible at the worst. I suppose it is true that you only know someones strength when it's tested. This week is a mad scramble to get things done at work and at home before I leave for Indonesia this weekend for 2.5 weeks. Couple that with aforementioned situation and that's me done for a bit.

So I am signing off for awhile. I may blog during my travels in Indonesia, but I'm so looking forward to shutting off and spending quality time with my friend, that I can't promise anything. I hope to be back in the blogging world by October. Until then, Just Breath. Just Believe. Just Breath. Another Day.

American Girl

Nearly four years on in the UK and I firmly feel that home is a state of mind. Home is where the people you love are, home is where you don't have to try, home is a place where you can let go of all that worries you and focus on the important things. Because I travel so much, a safe haven-a home, is very important to me. I don't think I have ever felt more at home in London then I did this weekend.

Work has been difficult lately, making my personal time even more precious. Pair that with the instant patriotism that the Olympics brings about and home became a very important theme to me. The weather was crap so much of the weekend was spent indoors with the Olympics on in the background. I cheered for Great Britain, I cheered for America, I cheered for Australia and in certain events I even cheered for China.

We hosted two of my girlfriends Sat night when our picnic concert was rained out. We had a carpet picnic instead and the topic of culture featured slightly, as it always does. One of my friends who is from Great Britain often gets mistaken for American. I remember a lengthy conversation between us recently where she philosophised on why Brits can be so bitter at Americans sometimes. Her theory was, for so long America had been put on a pedestal as the land of milk and honey, a place where anyone could become someone, a country where the sky was the limit. Fast forward to the 21st century where the realities of life in America are far more publicised, far more complicated and far less glamorous then once thought. Her supposition was that people were angry that their fairy tale wasn't all that happy in the end, that the concept they once held of this Land of the Free and Home of Brave wasn't all that true.

I will spend the majority of my day travelling today as I am in Istanbul all week. Turkey has been at the centre of a lot of my angst at work lately, so I knew I needed to start my Monday off on the right foot. I needed to "psyche" myself up for the week ahead. I needed some comfort and familiarity to start my day. I headed to Starbucks knowing that my latte would be exactly as I was expecting and there would be some daft bloke out front shouting into his blue tooth head set. I knew the person taking my order wouldn't look at me sideways for ordering a drink that had more adjectives then a Disney song and I knew that I would have a smile on my face when I came back home to open my computer. Grande sugar free vanilla, soya latte with an extra shot in hand, I stopped at the deli that specialises in Israeli and American imports. I picked up some crackers that I can only get there and a croissant. It's a small store and I go in there at least once a week, so immediately when I got to the checker, I knew he was new. He rang me up and while my card was processing, asked, "You're American, no?" I smiled and nodded. "You like it here?" I sensed he was Middle Eastern and possibly hadn't been here for long. I do, I replied, except of course the weather some days. I smiled and he said, "If I was from America I would never leave." Bless. Clearly he was from a country whose idea of America was still Elvis and JFK, Marilyn Monroe and Levis. But it made me feel good.

I walked out, with the smile I had hoped for and thought a bit on my way home. Where I am from may not be the utopia it purported to be 30 years ago, it may have foreign policies that are bad which I don't agree with. It may foster a culture of over indulgence that leads to mass obesity, it may have gun laws that are too relaxed, it may abuse its power and at the end of the day, it may be wrong, a lot. But it's where I am from and it's one of the places in the world that I call home. When it comes down to it, there is no hiding that fact that I am a Cali girl at heart and an American girl when all is said and done.

Spoilers, Heat and Whinging

I was at lunch yesterday with 4 girls, 1 English, 1 Aussie, 1 Lebanese and 1 Jordanian. It was a business meal, but we had been together for many hours in meetings and had grown tired of talking about work. So naturally the topic changed, to men. A passionate debate ensued over Larb and Basil Chicken about what kind of man makes the best partner. The Arab girls raved about the gifty nature of Arab men. Fathers, brothers, husbands, future husbands, future ex husbands all had one good quality in common-they liked to spoil their women-expensively and frequently. Fine for some! The Aussie, the English and me (all currently or previously with English blokes) agreed that for all their amazing qualities, Brits weren't the best with the gifts. Before you ladies with gifty English men jump all over me, we were not generalising. We were saying the English WE had dated were not particularly thoughtful or frequent with gifts. They were however (we all agreed) the most loyal, loving and devoted men we had met. There was no consensus at the table as we all 5 sucked down another ice tea and prepared to brave the Dubai heat for 5 minutes walking back to the office, but it was unanimous that every culture produces very different partners.

Summer heat in the Gulf countries is unlike anything I have ever experienced. It's pure humidity (if it drops below 42ish) to the point where you can actually see the condensation hanging in the air. I don't know what my point is, except to say that if I lived in heat like this, I might need more gifts as well to make me stop whinging.

Whinging is a funny thing. It bonds us to one another, it separates us from each other and ultimately it serves as a form of expressions. I think whinging, like partners is culturally specific. In England for instance the weather takes center stage, in America it's often money or taxes people complain about and in South Africa it's the load shedding. Whatever your beef, you can bet you'll find someone else who will share it with you. Am off to Istanbul tomorrow where whinging is a national pass time.

My favourite mistake

I once dated a man who stole my heart (and coincidentally my eyeliner and hairspray when we split) at our first kiss. Even today I remember sitting at that Japaneses table, cross legged and fidgeting with my skirt. After hours of flirting and even more dancing at our friends birthday party, he leaned in, cupped my cheek in his hand and gently kissed me on the lips. He was never good for me and I was never good for him. We brought out the very best and the very worst in one another. He's since married and its been more years then I can count, but I still recall the intensity with which we loved. My stomach turns when I think of the lessons we learnt at one anther's expense. I then moved on to my second big love who got the new and improved version of GirlFriday GF 2.0. We were best friends and as it turned out, little more. But nevertheless, we had a really great time together. We brought out the best in each other (most of the time) and parted ways kindly when we started to bring out the worst.

It's an interesting thing, past love, no matter how good or bad it was, time screws with our perception of it. When we are longing for that lost love, we often forget all together the bad bits. But in contrast some backwards glances yield only views of scorn and hurt. Regardless of what happened, it was good at one time, but it's in the past for a reason.

In talking with Cricket Boy about a business deal gone bad with past love #2, he questioned why I was still such good friends with him. Relationships are a funny thing, they really only make sense to the 2 people who are part of an unspoken alliance. Great loves are few and far between and when possible you want to preserve any good remnants of that piece of your past.

But moving on is the only thing that allows you to find your next great love. For me, I will always remember that kiss over the Japanese table, even if he was a make up stealer he was also my favourite mistake.

Space

Ones sense of personal space is highly, well personal, isn't it? It's also culturally relative, I do realise that. I reckon all those things considered, I still need a much larger amount of personal space in public spaces then many. I notice myself constantly backing up when people are talking to me or inching forward in queue when the person behind me gets too close. Is it me or is it unacceptable to feel a strangers breath on your neck in a non crowded environment. When I am having a particularly cranky morning commute or evening commute, which lets face it, is at least 2 days out of 5, I will stop dead in my tracks until the jack ass behind me realises that no two people who aren't trying to procreate should be that close. When I encounter a close talker, I literally want to draw out a square in front of me, like in Dirty Dancing, and say, this is my space, that is your space.

Ok, rant over for the day, but seriously..does anyone else have this issue?

Grace

Those who know me well know that I am anything but graceful. I have been called a bull in a china shop more times then I can count. It used to describe every facet of my personality. The take no prisoners attitude of my 20s, however, gave way to a less aggressive more considered woman of a certain age, but I still struggle to keep limbs in tact and anything breakable unbroken.

Luckily most people that love me can laugh about it, but I assume there comes a point when even the most long suffering person throws their hands up in despair. I remember one time when trying to sort out a problem with a good mates hard drive I busted the entire hanging rack (where the the CPU lived) off of the the desk. She was understandably irked. Most sets of things that I own which can break are incomplete. I have 5 dinner plates, 5 champagne flutes, 3 lovely tea cups from Turkey and as of yesterday 3 beautiful wine glasses from Sweden.

My mans was washing up and I was drying. The stem of the wine glass I was toweling busted right in half in my hand. I swear, I can't be that strong, I am a midget for crying out loud. Accustom to my mishaps he looked at me and first said, are you ok? After nodding yes, he removed the top and bottom of the glass from my hand, placed it in the bin and shook his head. "Remind me when we are properly together", he said "never to buy expensive stemware." I can only assume "properly together" means when he makes an honest woman out of me, which I hope is not dependent on my ability to stop being a klutz.

I hate that I am so clumsy, but honestly I don't know what I can do about it. I had a really good 6 months recently where I didn't break anything (and this included a move) or injure myself significantly. Then just within the last 4 months I have: Broken a bowl, broken a picture frame, sliced the tip off my thumb, crushed my toe causing most of my toe nail to crumble off, broken the blinds in my office at work (it now is sans the pull cord which means I have to manually roll it to about half way and wedge the bottom rod sideways between the metal window frame, hot!), spilled an entire glass of red wine on my beige carpet and broken my toilet seat so it slides any time someone sits down now. Don't even ask me how I did that, I honestly have no idea.

Is there like a vitamin or something that one can take for this type of behaviour?

Destination Dating

My first 2 years in London were mainly spent on aeroplanes and cities other then London. Paris, Munich, Prague, Budapest, Athens, Istanbul, Zagreb, Brussels, Dubai...I could go on, but I shant. I developed a penchant for what I termed "Destination Dating." The men I was meeting at the time (the oh so wrong for me men) rarely lived in or around London. Typically we would meet when I was somewhere on business, or leisure in a few cases. We would go to dinner or have drinks the next time I was in town for business, or on that same trip if time permitted, and then we would meet up in a city for a weekend. Sometimes it was London, sometimes where they lived and other times it was a random city we would both agree on. Aside from the obvious dangers that DD can hold, it is mine field of unexpected circumstances that one must always have an exit strategy for. Why go through the trouble, you may be asking? Trust you me, it was this or commit myself to a monastery and accept my fate as a permanent spinster. Also I have to admit, at first it sounded very romantic and in fact for my friends, hearing the stories never lost its appeal.

So off I went on my weekend dates with, as it mostly turned out, men I couldn't have spent 2.5 hours in a West End production with, much less 3 days and 2 nights. On 2 occasions I fled the city early with no note, no warning and no looking back. Lucky for me the airlines always allowed me to change my ticket upon turning up at the airport. On one occasion, I fained illness and also pretended to be sleeping as often as possible. It didn't stop the boy from tapping me on the shoulder and in a voice that escalated from a whisper to a full on shout, ask "Girl, Girl, Girl GIRL...is it sleeping that you are doing? You see the other challenge tended to be language. We rarely had a common one that we both spoke fluently. Once, on what would have otherwise been a terribly romantic weekend in Amsterdam, an entire dinner was spent with the 2 of us trying to communicate our education levels. Another weekend ended in a row over me not properly converting the local currency to Euros/GBP and ordering a ridiculously expensive bottle of wine. C'est la Vie, said I. Adios, said he.

The moral of the story is, no matter how bad the date, be glad it's only one evening.

Fo Sheezy

Yeah, ok, so obviously I was the only one who found the Jive version of my blog so funny that I wet myself. So we will now return to our regularly scheduled programming. I had an eventful 5 days since I last posted, so thought I would enlighten the fine people of blog land on some of my observations

• Rufus Wainwright. I have several people that I KNOW are going to get angry with me when they read this, but that's a chance I have to take. I really like the Ruf, I do, but I did not like him in concert at Kenwood House on Sat night. It could have something to do with the fact that in a vain attempt to drop my body weight, I left part of my thumb at home, but I found him very depressing. I also found the couple next to us very depressing. It was one of those combos where you know the girl doesn't think she's dating a gay guy, but she's the only one who thinks that. I know you know what I mean.



• Dubai. That place scares me, always has, always will. Anywhere that has manufactured wind on the beach to mask the fact that it's hotter then hell, might actually be...SHOCK AWE..hell?



• Exhaustion. It makes you do crazy things. I blame my Blog last Friday on exactly that.



• Love. See exhaustion, well sans the bit about the blog.



• Movies on Planes. There's something funny about the mindset you are in when you watch movies on planes. I watch things on planes that I would never even rent. You are a captive audience. I do not recommend coming home and trying to convince your friends that something you saw on a plane is really really good and they should rent it. It's highly probable that it wasn't good, it definitely wasn't really really good and the only reason you enjoyed it is because you read the in flight magazine twice and were pretending that the battery on your laptop was dead.

That's all I've got for you today folks, I at least hope you enjoy it more then my jive translations. Slap mah fro. (you have to admit at least THAT part was funny)

Da bof us-Cos e'ry fool needs some Jive in da day

****Warning*****

Do not read this post if you are easily offended or culturally sensitive or have no sense of humour

Now that's out of the way. I will explain how this came about another time, but for now, just know that Jive is cool.

The Holiday

My mans an' I had uh lovely holiday dat wuz full o' chickn n` corn bread, wine, sun an' relaxation. The Italians iz uh fun bunch an' while we's had ta gesticulate mo' then normal ta be understood wiff most peeps, we's got what we's needed in da end. Da bof us didn't meet one other person who spoke English on da entire trip, it wuz great. Given dat we's had only one another ta speak wiff fo' 8 days, I wuz amazed ta find dat we's liked each other even mo' when we's came back. I would highly recommend da region an' I th'o't we's will definitely be returning.

Today

For da first year since I gots lived in da UK I will be celebrating da 4th o' July. I th'o't dis here may be da first year since I gots lived here dat I gots actually been in da UK fo' da holiday. Last year wuz Spain, I th'o't I wuz in da Middle East da year 'bfoe dat, Amsterdam in 2006, Barcelona in 2005. Am going ta da Rib Shack where we's will celebrate havin' uh bettah life here in da country which da US iz celebrating independence from. Then we all gots some tea. I'll definitely be havin' uh Budweiser though.

Misc

The ticket guy at da train station taday said he liked muh ma fuckin accent. Normally I would th'o't he wuz taking da piss, but in muh ma fuckin recent glass half full phase, I smiled an' said thanks. Accent might be code fo' boobs as I be wearing uh fine ass low cut dress taday. Next Holiday One o' muh ma fuckin pimp-tight mates from da US an' I iz headed ta Bali end o' August, beginning o' Sept. 2.5 weeks. I can't wait. We booked our flights ages ago, but iz just now starting ta book accommodations. I th'o't brothas needs 2 pimp-tight holidays uh year. One fo' relaxing an' recharging an' one fo' adventure. My mans keeps teasing muh ma fuckin dat I be naughty ta jet him fo' so long, but honestly I hope I can take solo or mate holidays now an' again- forever, even if I git tied down at some point. Slap mah fro!

No time like the present

Or in my case, no time in the present. I chose to spend the one day I had after returning from Italy, before returning to work, horizontal for 10 of the 12 waking hours in the day. I had no excuse. The holiday was relaxing and mostly care free, yet rather then checking off the list of things I wanted to accomplish on Sunday, I did nothing. Nothing including NOT updating my blog on the wonders of Valle d'Itria. I have no time today either, but in an effort to keep you interested, I wanted to at least share a few photos. Look for a full debrief in the coming days including how Cricket Boy and I fared with only one another to speak to for 8 days.*

*We are SO not those people that expect everyone to speak English wherever we travel, but alas we were a bit surprised that we didn't meet one single person on the trip who spoke any English. The Italians did think it quite funny though that I kept inserting Spanish words into my cobbled together Italian phrases straight out of the back of our travel guide

A day in the life of....

Alright kind readers, I'm off. I'll be back in July, tanned, happy and less cynical. Well, 2 out of 3 isn't bad is it? With that, I leave you with some Friday funnies from a jam packed week:

• Apparently in our 30's we are in danger of recycling our dates. I was talking to a friend today who is an active match.comer....she had someone contact her who she went out with about 7 years ago. This is confusing to me. Have we run out of men?


• Evidently I walk like an American. If someone can explain this to me, I would be most grateful. I was walking between meetings in the West End Tuesday and overheard this comment being lobbed in my general direction. There really wasn't anyone else on the street, so it was likely aimed at me. Not in a mean way, mind you, in more of a...hey look at her mate...nah mate, she's American, look at the way she's walking.


• There are never enough hours in the day to work and to have fun. If I had to pick, I think I would pick fun, but then I couldn't afford it if I didn't work. Shame that.


• Women need to understand what goes on behind them when they pair the wrong pants with trousers. It's not that warm in London at the moment, yet the birds are breaking out the white stuff. Black pash killers? Not a great match for tight white trousers


• Peeps is crazy

The One That Got Away

Inspired by an alcohol fuelled day of BBQs on Sat, loose lipped GF spilled the beans on some past suitors that have been, well less then suitable in the end. One in particular was the subject of this post and coincidentally he has been re-telling the story but turned the tables. Basically I told the dude I didn't want to see him anymore. This was on account of NicB resurfacing and my little heart knowing that it was all or nothing, I couldn't be half in half out with NicB. Septic wasn't the first bloke that lost his cool when I pulled the plug on a brief fling, but the other guy was ages ago. It came up in conversation with a mate from the US this week. She asked me if I had heard from Septic, I said I had actually and she asked if he went JP on my arse.

JP was a nice boy, a country mouse in the city if you will, who had more then a few life lessons to learn about love and relationships. I dated him on a break from one of my great loves who turned out to be a great liar. In any case, JP knew that I had recently split from someone significant. We met on a night out with friends and after enjoying some witty banter, realised that we were both going to the Modest Mouse show the next weekend. We decided to meet up there and see how things went. We had a great time, but then you would at a concert where not much idle chat is happening. We had a drink post show and agreed to meet up again for happy hour the following week. During the first martini, he was relaying a story to me about his week, how he had chatted to his mum and told her about me. Uh huh, yeah, not the right thing to say to someone who is gun shy to begin with, but also still reeling from the scorn of another. I high tailed it out of there and in a very mature 26 year old way, I just stopped returning his calls. We bumped into each other at a bar a few weeks later, I apologised and explained that my life was really complicated and that I would rather not involve anyone else in the drama. Ok, so it was partly true, but also I thought a nice way of letting the poor bloke off so he could get his deposit back on the church he had surely booked for our imminent wedding.

Fast forward about 3 months and I end up at a party which happens to be at his house (he had 3 housemates, 1 of whom had invited my friend who had invited me, and I didn't know he lived there as well). He proceeded to get extremely pissed over the course of the evening. Once he was well and truly sloshed, he thought it the appropriate time to try and re-kindle the romance that never was. He cornered me outside in front of about 30-40 people and demanded an explanation for why I jilted him. Sticking to my guns I reiterated that my life was complicated and that I preferred not to involve anyone else in the chaos. He then started shouting at me pointing out my obvious oversight of him being one of the good ones. A nice guy. A guy that girls want to marry. I'm still astonished that I let that one go, but I guess you don't know a good thing till it hits you in the face. Literally.

The moral of the story is, peeps is crazy, and it's always good until it's not. In love and break ups all is fair, but karma would say that your transgressions will come back to haunt you. Septic, I'd take back those false stories if I were you.

Things you should know about me-A caffeinated stream of consciousness

I gave a busker two quid last night simply because he was singing a Crowded House song and I really like Crowded House

• I claim to be environmentally aware, yet I use those household cleaning wipes with the bleach and antibacterial crap. I am sort of addicted to them because I am lazy. Well, busy, but whatever


• When I work from home, I work ridiculously long hours, but never get dressed and rarely shower


• I don't like cheesecake. This opens me up to all kinds of grunting, snorting and general confusion when I have to share it. When, you may ask, would one EVER have to share this type of info? Well, think about it. Does anyone you know NOT like cheesecake? It's often the dessert of choice at dinners etc as it's easy to make and everyone (but me and NicB coincidentally) likes it. I have never liked it, since as long as I can remember. So when I pass, people automatically think I am being diet conscious and start berating me. When I explain that I don't like cheesecake, they pester me into trying theirs as they are certain I will like it. You can see where I am going with this. I go to a lot of functions and parties. it happens at least once a month. I will never be one of those fools who claims to be allergic to something they don't like, so alas I continue in my agony


• I am an hounorary jewess


• I'm just an OC girl, livin in an extraordinary world. May the Sugar Shack live on, if only in our memories


• NicB needs a new name. That's not really about me, but more a plea for ideas. It has been mentioned that Cricket Boy was a much better name, although noted that he needs a new nomenclature. Talk amongst yourselves


• I don't think I can drink a grande latte any more without bouncing off the walls

Ciao Bella

I once had an Italian boyfriend, well he lived in Switzerland, but he was Italian. Like mafioso Italian. I mean not literally, but apparently his parents were big wigs. We travelled a lot together and we would literally be half way around the world and he would run into a family friend. I kid you not. One time it happened in front of other people and I was so relieved as they no longer thought I was making up stories. We lived countries apart and I think the only thing that kept me interested for more then a minute, was the way he said goodnight to me on the phone, Ciao Bella. Anyway, that actually has nothing to do with this post, but it does illustrate where my mind is...HOLIDAY mode. Per my reference in the last post, the Boy and I are headed to Italy in exactly 10 days. To most people that probably seems light years away, but to me (who has not had a relaxing holiday since xmas) it's practically all I can think about. Focusing on anything else is a chore at the moment. The picture above is the actual villa we are staying in, not even one like that or something sorta similar. THAT ONE. I think it may also be my first dignified holiday. What, you ask, does GF mean by "dignified"? Well, a friend and I were having a discussion this morning about my oldness, actually I had this discussion with 2 friends. One noticed first hand that I seem to be more mellow and the other picked it up from reading my blog. The truth is, I am far happier in my new sedated state then I was when I was out 3-5 nights a week and struggling to get out of bed most mornings. Some of it does have to do with NicB as he's a very calming factor in my life, but mostly it started with my new (not new any longer) job. Up until a month or so ago I was travelling so much that I didn't have time to hang out in a "pub or club" setting with mates. I literally got to see them like 1-2x a month, so quality time was really important to me. Wine and cheese at mine or a quiet dinner became de rigueur. When I was home for Christmas, I just decided I needed a break from the constant going out. I needed to recharge my batteries and focus on the things that I knew made me happiest. If going out fit in with that, great, but if it didn't the things on the happy list would win. So you see, I decided this morning that I am not old, rather I am dignified. On my dignified holiday, I am looking forward to, in no particular order:

• Wine tasting. Puglia is the region that exports the most wine in Italy. It's usually mixed with other wines, but apparently it's still quite good in its own right
• Olive Oil tasting
• Seafood. Coast? Italy? Need I say more?
• Cave Exploring
• Beaches. It's on the Adriatic Sea, so the beaches are meant to be tops and the water quite warm. NicB and I are both water babies, so I anticipate lots of time in the sea
• Nothing
• Read
• Not getting out of bed until I feel like it or until I decide to transport my lazy arse to sleep in the sun
• EAT! This region was conquered by every country under the sun, Romans, Greeks, Turks..so it has an amazingly diverse culinary landscape. The Boy has even decided to look into some local specialties and cook in a couple nights with fresh ingredients as we have an outside dining area and a BBQ
• Nothing
• Not go to bed until I feel like it or decide to transport my lazy arse out of the sun and into the villa

There are of course other things, but at the risk of inducing hurl reflexes from most of you, I will skip the "I'm so loved up I make myself want to vomit" things on my list. Also, I am dignified and dignified people probably skip the sweet stuff.

I am Old (Part Duex)

As a follow on to my first post on this matter, I bring you a continuation of proof that while I may look young, I am in fact old. Not old chronologically mind you, but old in my ways. It would seem that although NicB is considerably trailing in years, he's far surpassed me in old person behaviours. I blame him for my recent pensioners activities. These activities include, but are not limited to:

• Spending the better part of the last bank holiday weekend completing a Jigsaw puzzle. In my defence, this was NOT my idea. It was however addictive and I quickly got sucked in


• Booking a holiday that specifically met the requirement of seeing as few people as possible. Back in the day (erm, ok last summer) I used to book party get aways. 1 week in Ibiza, 3 weeks touring Australia with a pit stop in Singapore. When we sat down and looked at the criteria for where our holiday in a few weeks time would be, there were 4 important factors: Sun, Food, Wine, No other People. We decided on a self catering Trullo in Puglia, when I shared this locale with my friend in Milan, she said, Why so far from the people? Apparently it is known for being remote and secluded. I can't wait


• Reading an article that showed a wedding photo of Obama with the caption married in 1992 and thinking wow, he's newly married. Yeah, 1992 was 16 years ago. Somehow any year I can remember now seems like yesterday


• People have started asking me when I am going to have children. I am not married, I am not engaged and, unless other people know something I don't, I am nowhere CLOSE to either one of those things. When I responded with such to one of the women pestering me the other day, she literally said SO? So? I said. Yes (she's Italian, so this is really what she said), youa don't need be a married, this 2008, you hava a baby alone. Great, thanks. Just what I always wanted, to get knocked up and purposely set out to raise a child on my own. Even when you actually HAVE a partner it's a 50/50 crap shoot whether you will stay together through that child's upbringing. Anyway, the fact that people are asking me this leads me to believe that I am nearing a socially unacceptable age to be unmarried and baby less. Hrumph


• I have started noticing the price of things, like fruit. Bananas at X store are £3, while at X shop they are only £2.50. I do realise that the economy is tight everywhere, but still......


• I tried to be down with the kids on Wed and go out to the pub on a school night. I used to do this routinely, like 3 times a week, no biggie. I was the first person to leave on Wed at 11:30 and then spent all day Thursday in a hungover fog. I am not the girl I used to be


• I had to tick a box on a form yesterday that said 31+, there wasn't even anything else above that. 14-17, 18-24, 25-30 and then 31+....really? That's it, I am now at the end of my range. I am the OLD box


• I have a 5 year plan. The only other time I had a 5 year plan was in University, it was: finish


• NicB pinched the skin on my hand a week or so ago and exclaimed, isn't it funny how when you get older, your skin doesn't bounce back from a pinch as quickly


• He also (not on the same day), whilst trying to tell me in his special boy way that he loved all of me, threw in for good measure, even your chubby bits, I love them best. Right. Ok. I am a tiny girl and I am quite sure that up until a year or so ago, no one would have ever thought to include "chubby bits" on the list of things they loved about me


• Speaking of weight, I used to be able to shift weight by tweaking a couple of simple things. Portions or leaving out booze for a week or cutting out sugar. Now I have one day of eating poorly and it takes me a week to get back to normal, despite the fact that I am the most active person I know and run around most days like a chicken with my head cut off

That's all I have for you this week. Maybe I will start regressing soon and can write posts about how YOUNG I am getting.

I'm a lazy git

You know when it's nearing the end of the proper work day and you have to decide whether to

-start a new project, which you definitely won't finish in time to leave at a reasonable hour, or

-do bugger all for the next couple of hour and a half

Could be down to too much wine being consumed on a school night and staying out past curfew, but I think it's a common theme in my career. Although I tend to opt for the first one which is why I end up working 12 hours a day instead of 10. Bah.

99 in the Shade

It's like 2 degrees in London right now. It's cloudy and overcast and dismal. Ok, maybe it's not 2 degrees, but it's not warm. Monday I leave for what I am calling "GirlFriday does the Middle East" On the itinerary, Dubai, Doha and Abu Dhabi. All business of course. So I checked the weather today. It's meant to be 41 in Dubai next week. For you Fahrenheit folks, that's about 103 degrees. From what I understand Irish people cease to function at about 30 but can usually be cajoled to at least sit by the sea if there are drinks involved. Sure they whinge about the heat whilst getting plastered and sun burnt, but it's a raging good time. There will be no beach, no drink and no fun for me. I'm not Irish, but I am pretty sure I am going to have to cajole myself to function, I just don't know how yet. Any suggestions?

Tiny Bubbles

Friday night I met the girls for a cheeky tipple apres work. Unlike the Girl I used to be, working in London, staying out till all hours on school nights, showing up to work wondering if I was drunk still (this was only a few times, but it did happen), the Old Maid Me was only up for a couple and then it was home. Home to take away, comfy jammies and a boy who makes my heart flutter. My skirt was tugged and tugged to stay for a couple more, but this old Girl was tired and retired before things got messy. And messy they did get apparently. But that's neither here nor there. Saturday morning I packed NicB off to the cricket and packed myself off to be tortured (read: power pilates) with one of the mates from the night before. Indeed she reckons she may have still been drunk whilst being pulled and yanked from limb to limb. Pah, I thought in that smug way that uppity Aries do, glad those days are over for me.


Upon leaving pilates, I received a text from that hunky man of mine requesting my presence at the Cricket. It was in a box, so I figured, even if it's raining, how bad can it be. I was however encouraged to hurry as I was already very late. In my haste I forgot to eat. Well forgot isn't exactly accurate, it's all I could think about. Nothing suitably quick in sight left me with no option but to forgo. I rationed that spending the time to look good was more important then sustenance. Uh huh, yeah good call. You can probably already see where this is going. Fast forward 5 hours. The match has been rained out, but in our comfy little box with a bottomless glass of champagne, I didn't even notice. I was very well behaved in front of all NicB's work people though and brother and boss. No really, I was. It wasn't until everyone had dispersed that I really let go. Took my shoes off and walked home barefoot. I live fairly close to Lords, in a clean part of London, so this isn't THAT bad, but still very unlike me. Once in my flat, I lunged for the sofa and announced that it was bed time. It was 7:30. NicB, bless, ran me a bath and gently deposited me in said bath. At which point I began a regression to the age of 5 that took all of 3 minutes. Whilst splashing about I asked for a rubber ducky. I don't remember much more, except that I woke up, starkers with very mad hair at about 4:00am.


Payback is a bitch. When will I learn to keep my smugness to myself.

Say No More

Saturday I signed up for this personal training power pilates thing with a mate in a desperate attempt to be bikini ready before my Italy trip with NicB next month. Whilst filling out the forms which waive the company of all responsibility when you kill yourself or the trainer kills you (during one of many movements where your feet and hands are tied to opposite ends of a machine and the trainer is gleefully pulling your legs into an abnormal V shape), my mate turned to me and said, "who is your in case of emergency?" You, I said. Me? Yes you, your sister is a doctor, so I figured you could step up if I was in 100 pieces. Were you planning on telling me this, she says. I just told you didn't I? Look of utter indifference from her, followed by, "Well, you know I would tell them to pull the plug, you have a good jewellery collection even though your shoes are too big for me."

Fast forward to Tuesday night when NicB and I are celebrating his passing all these exams he's been doing lately at a new Italian restaurant in my hood. In the Italian mode we started jabbering about our trip and how excited we were. I promised not to work on the trip, but we decided that I had to bring my phone as it has GPS etc. NicB said he wouldn't be bringing his, but that we should put his parents/brothers numbers in my phone. In jest he laughed and said, wouldn't that be awful if the first conversation you had with my mum was to tell her I was dead? Uh huh, yeah, hillarious. Anyway, he then said the 6 words that I have waited my whole life to hear. You may laugh, but it's true. He may as well skip the whole ring/proposal thing, becuase this was way more important to me:

"I should be your emergency contact"

If my life were a movie, the poignant line would be: You had me at I should be your emergency contact.