Love, From London

Movin

2009-07-27T19:07:00.003+01:00

I couldn't abandon blogging entirely, but it definitely had to change form to accommodate my changed form. You can now find me a A Life Unordinary. Enjoy and spread the word.

And then there were 4

2009-06-03T07:20:00.003+01:00

Once upon a time in a land far far away (well far far away from the OC anyway) a girl who had moved to The City for work found love. In the most unexpected place at a most unexpected time (I would have preferred it had been 5 cocktails earlier if I am honest) with a most unusual boy. Never before had Girl Friday met someone so kind and so quiet and so shy and SO into Cricket. The next day upon his request, she accompanied him to Lords to see her first ever test match (pre season of course). She drank pint after pint and sat in the sun all day and thought to herself, this is not bad at all. 7 hours later she realised it still wasn't over and from there on out vowed to bring reading material to any cricket match in the future. And so she carried on with Cricket Boy for a few more months until one day he announced that he wasn't grown up enough to be with Girl Friday. Sad that she had possibly misjudged this boy after all, she picked herself up and carried on with her adventures of work, travel and getting into trouble (the latter of which she was very very good at).
One day, Girl Friday received a phone call that indicated to her CB had a change of heart (or rather he wised up and realised GF was the best thing that ever happened to him). She met him for dinner at her favourite pub in The City and after much gravelling on his part, she decided to give him another shot.
Ne'er could a happier GF be found in all the land. For the next year and a bit she and CB were deliriously smitten and decided to shack up and live in sin. Although GF was very very happy, she was also very very busy and stopped writing stories as much (debatable whether this was a good thing or a bad thing). Then one day, CB and GF got some most exciting news, they found out they were going to have a little Cricket Boy or a little Girl Friday! They couldn't have been more pleased. GF was however, insistent on keeping this a secret for as long as possible and therefore continued on as if nothing was amiss. Stories took a back seat as she travelled the globe, baked herself into a frenzy and made up the most ridiculous excuses to explain why she wasn't the party girl she used to be (I am growing up was my very favourite. YEAH! That will be the day). After more then 12 weeks had passed, they went in to see a sneak preview of the little one and got a very big surprise. Not only were they having one little holy terror, they were having two! It was double trouble all around for CB and GF, but instead of fretting, they laughed, kissed a lot (much to the dismay of the very conservative sonographer) and started planning their future (WITHOUT an estate car).

So you see boys and girls, some stories do have a happy ending. I imagine this one will have a tired and fairly skint ending, but one with much more love and joy then anyone though imaginable. So with that tale of success in a world full of failure, I am going to part ways with you. This particular story of mine has come to an end and it is time for a new story to begin. Once that new story starts, you will be the first to know. I promise.

And everyone lived happily ever after. THE END.

Meat the Neighbours

2009-04-29T13:30:00.003+01:00

Before we moved to Chiswick, I had heard rumblings of a very very hot butcher from some of my single friends in the area. I wrote it off as a couple of girls who needed to get some and were clearly projecting 70's porn fantasies on to a poor bloke whose meat they wanted to handle. Fast forward to two weekends ago when CB and I decided to pop in to the local butcher in prep for a nice Sunday roast. To what did my wandering eyes did appear. Behind the rack of lamb and spicy pork sausages was a very very hot butcher and he was helping us. I looked around and realised I was the only one who dared bring a male counterpart in with her and also the only one who happened to actually be wearing her ring. We (or should I say I) bought 2x as much as needed and had a fine chat with said bloke. When we left the butcher I commented on the truth of the rumours. CB decided that he was either gay or secretly a trannie. You see no man could be that cute and that nice and be interested in women (according to my better half). Whatever, I don't really care. He's still hot. CB often teases me and calls me a vegetarian. I am not, I totally eat meat, but it's true that I prefer vegetables more times then not and I don't cook with meat more then 3x a month probably. Well, I didn't use to. I have since been into the butcher every other day and our freezer is full of meat that CB will have to eat when I am travelling for work.

I was walking down the street this morning and was greeted by a very enthusiastic, 'Morning! from the hot butcher. I knew it was going to be a very good day.

I suck

2009-04-20T16:40:00.003+01:00

I don't really have a good excuse for my lack of posting lately. Sure I could blame it on being busy (what's new) or traveling (see previous) or the sunny weather (ok, that might be a valid one if I didn't have a BlackBerry) but in reality, I just don't feel like anything of much interest has been happening lately. Living in sin is pure domestic bliss, but no one wants to hear that. I have literally turned into a combination of Martha Stewart (sans the prison record), Nigella Lawson (with not quite as much woman to love) and Rachel Stewart (maybe not quite as good as decorating fairy cakes) over night. It makes me want to vomit in my lovely creme brulee with fresh vanilla beans and organic sugar. So until my usual sarcasm and normal F*Off attitude resumes I'll stay quiet in the corner and let the more bitter of the bloggers manage the traffic.

Queer Eye for the Straight Guy

2009-04-08T15:02:00.006+01:00

Apologies all around for the lack of updates. I had 2 days in the new place after the move and then had to fly to the Middle East for 8 days for work.

I tell you what, the whole leaving a boy to sort out the flat thing...that was new. I am a control freak, in case anyone thought otherwise, and being in PR means I am good at organising. So, while I am often stuck as the organiser of things (nights out, group gifts, holidays, parties etc) I actually don't mind it. As I am a control freak, this way I know it's done and it's done my way. Simple. So leaving CB at the helm of about 1000 boxes was less then comfortable for me. Before I left we agreed that he wouldn't touch any box with my initials on it (clothes, bathroom stuff, general crap that has no home which I need to find a home for, you know THAT stuff) and we also agreed where he would hang certain pictures etc. We unpacked the kitchen entirely in the one day I had, so that was not a concern. On my nightly call with CB each day that I was gone, I got a running commentary as to what he had done that day. The conversation would go something like this:

GF: Hey there hot stuff, how are you?

CB: Yeah, I am good baby. I miss you, come home.

GF: I'll be home next week, you'll live. So how was your day?

CB: It was good. I hung the pictures in the hall, the pictures in the entry way, the pictures in the kitchen and also unpacked all the books and framed photographs and neatly arranged them. I was worried about unpacking your books, but I arranged them all (the travel books) by geographic region. South Africa and Asia are together cos there weren't any others to keep them company. Also I have finished all the unpacking, and done all the recycling....

And on and on the conversation went. EVERY NIGHT. Bless. He's so sweet and such a good man, he really really wanted to make sure everything was done when I got home. I actually one evening got a play by play of his weekly grocery shopping trip. From the way he had spoken, I genuinely expected to walk into a perfectly arrange flat that was spotless. Coming straight from the airport last night, I got home about an hour before he did. The pictures were hung and the recycling was gone. As for the rest of the laundry list of activities, I couldn't really see it. Each room was nearly done. Which meant each room had a distinct element of chaos and multitude of partially empty boxes. I hate clutter and I hate overcrowded spaces more then I can say. Aware that I didn't want to burst his "I did good" bubble, I very quickly picked up the lounge and dining room, cleared up the kitchen re-arranged a couple of wonky pieces of decor, hoovered and started dinner (we are talking like 30 minutes flat inlcluding multiple box moves). When he came home he said, "wow it looks great in here, I didn't realise just how much work I did while you were away."

PS: I LOVE our new neighbourhood. While the photo is probably circa 1940, you get the idea

And then there was one

2009-03-19T08:06:00.003Z

One more week until I move and I am surrounded by boxes. I am super organised but I must admit, I have done much less for this move then I would have normally done at this point. Usually I am so busy that everything is done really far in advance, but this time I haven't been as busy. So here I sit with one week left and about 20 hours worth of packing to do. Oh well. The popcorn and wine has been worth it.

Keep Calm and Carry On

2009-03-11T09:12:00.003Z

After a fair amount of anxiety last week about my inability to embrace change, I spent the weekend kicking and screaming like an insolent and rebellious toddler. Come Monday, I decided to accept my inner crazy and move along, nothing to see here folks. Subsequent to said decision I have been spending each evening indulging in all my SSB (Super Single Behaviour) which includes, but is not limited to:

-Eating nothing but popcorn for dinner complimented with a large glass of red wine

-Watching really crap telly (Mistresses, The Hills, Gossip Girl) when I have a million other things I should be doing

-Staying in my PJ's all day when I work from home

-Taking an obscenely long bath before bed with only a candle lit, because we all look better by candle light

-Gossiping on the phone, while doing my nails and stalking people on FaceBook

-Going to bed silly early or ridiculously late

-Sleeping on the sofa, just because I love it*

Like an addict, I know I can give these things up anytime I want to. I am not hurting anyone, I have it under control. No one needs to know about this, it can be our secret.

*Truth be told, this does usually follow several drinks at an undisclosed West End wine bar with a certain Irish Blonde. Genuinely, I do love to sleep on my sofa every now and again though.

Difficult

2009-03-06T15:11:00.006Z

I have this strange habit of staying friends with my ex's. CB can't understand it, although he's not too bothered by it. There are likely a million boring emotional reasons behind it. I'm sure a psychologist somewhere would have a field day unravelling it. Fact is, they hold a piece of my life in a capsule. The years I spent with each of them make up who I am today. With the exception of one who I am not really friends with, but am friendly toward when I run into him, they all treated me well and are good people. We just didn't make a good couple.

So during a particularly tough period in my life about five years ago, I was having a conversation with one of them. Let's call him LA Boy. I was dating, actually living with, Nature Boy at the time. We were really struggling and NB had explained to me that he loved me very much, despite the fact that I was very hard to love. So the following week in an IM convo with LA Boy (this is also the benefit of having ex's as friends, you can vet things with them that no one else knows about you) I posed the million dollar question, LA-Am I difficult to love? Was it a struggle for you to be in love with me? Oh the naivete of youth, I can't believe I even asked him that. LA Boy was shallow, is shallow. He lives in LA, it sorta comes with the territory. So naturally he replied, well, I don't know. Yeah, I guess. You aren't easy, that's for sure. You're definitely a challenge. I internalised this, marinated with it for awhile and then promptly left NB. I took a job in London and left my comfortable life behind in search of someone who didn't struggle to love me. Me. I realised at that very moment in time that if I had to ask the question, I needed to love myself a whole lot more before I could expect the same of another.

Fast Forward nearly 5 years, a lot of tears, a million smiles and more frequent flier miles then a Condor later and here we are. I did what I set out to do and I didn't let myself fall in love with another person until I felt safe in the knowledge that I could easily love myself. Now here I am ready to leap into what I see as a permanent step toward the end of my single life and well, I am freaking out a little. I have no reservations about the who this time. CB is amazing. He's everything I want; all things I didn't know I needed and then some. Quite simply I am afraid of failure. When I take those personality tests that Communications teams so often inflict, the one thing that appears constantly is that I will succeed in the face of opposition because my nature is to be anything but a failure. The tests also say I am Type A, overly sarcastic, hyper critical and rash; but who's counting? The thing is, I can't bear the thought of disappointing CB, but more then that, I can't bear the thought of disappointing myself. The Aries in me is screaming, DON'T SCREW THIS UP, so loud that I can hardly hear my poor little heart whispering, CB is a keeper GirlFriday, you can't screw it up.

Why can't I just be simple?

My life is boring

2009-03-05T10:36:00.003Z

I guess not in the traditional sense of the word boring; I mean I am rarely in the same country for more then 7 days and I live in Central London. By GirlFriday standards however, things are really not exciting at the moment. Outside of work my time revolves around moving in 3 weeks, packing for the next trip, unpacking from the previous trip (which I have a horrible habit of either doing immediately or leaving for as long as possible) and throwing away or using up bath, shower, face and body products. Like I have said before, rock and roll people, rock and roll. Its given me some time to reflect though and I have to say, I am not as sad about leaving my posh little neighbourhood as I expected to be. More then anything, after close to 5 years living alone, it's more of a shock to the system to think of relinquishing my own space. It feels a bit irrational given the amount of time that CB and I already spend together (5 nights a week usually). But as a fellow blogger pointed out, I am a woman and am therefore mental. Hopefully not as mental as the woman in the photo though, apparently she sat on a toilet for 2 years.

Resolve

2009-02-24T12:07:00.004Z

I've a few more weeks to go before the move, but am somehow oddly motivated to start making changes for long term effect in the present. For instance, working out. It wouldn't be a lie if I said I ran a marathon, closer to the truth, however, to say it was more then four years ago. Since which time my fitness levels have gone from decent to embarassing. I could blame it on a million things, but the reality is where there is a will there is a way. Clearly I have been lacking will for the better part of the last year, so I am open to give way a chance. That and CB has stepped up his game. He completely accepts me for who I am, how I am. He likes my soft bits (in his words) and prefers women with a little meat on their bones. I am, I realised this morning, verging on needing some bones with the meat these days though.

I am also working through socres of product in the bathroom which I don't know why I even still have. Well, that's not true, I do know. I am a product whore, I have an addiction. I have been known to wander the aisles of 24 hour Boots, Wallgreens, and Rite Aid's in my time. I am not really sure what it is, but all those products make me happy and buying them makes me even happier. So that leaves me with a linen cupboard which bears only one shelf of (very cramped) linen and the rest products which I either got bored of or never tried. It's embarassing to have 12 different 1/2 used shower gels and 4 different types of shine spray for your hair. It's not embarassing as I live alone, but it will be mortifying when CB sees the MASSIVE box labeled Bath during the move and opens it only to realise it's FULL of products. So I am using them, all and sundry in an effort to be left with nothing half full. Oh, I also like to take the travel size bottles from hotels. Not the skanky ones, but the nice ones. It's documented that I travel a lot, so you do the maths. That my friends is a lot of lube and bubbles.

She's come undone

2009-02-13T12:06:00.003Z

After traveling for work, a typical story from me usually starts: So it was me and 8 men... I have been in PR for nearly 10 years now (WOW, even I can't believe that since I am like, what 24?) and have always worked in tech PR of some sort, except when I was with a major athletic brand (rhymes with pikey if you are North American, Bike if you are English) and even then I did athletic technology devices. I have PR'd everything from Software to Micro Processors, Shoes to Vaccines; the common thread being innovation and technology. Unfortunately, it does still tends to be a very male dominated field. When I was a consultant, many of my agency cohorts were women, but now that I am in house, it's typically me and a bunch of sales guys, technical guys or engineers. I don't mind at all and if I am honest I actually tend to find men easier to relate to, it's probably one of the areas I struggle with most in my friendships with women.

So, last night I am at dinner with 5 men in Bucharest. 3 I work with and 2 work for a partner to our company. One of them notices that I am no longer wearing "the" ring I was wearing earlier. He assumes it's an engagement ring (it looks like one, although it's my birthstone and not a diamond, and I absolutely love it) and as I had mentioned my boyfriend earlier in conversation, asks how he feels about me taking it off. My response, it didn't match my bracelet. Ladies (and these days possibly the men, all things being equal) you know when someone is enquiring out of curiosity and you know when they are enquiring out of, oh how do I say it? Lust? The deal is, I always wear a ring on my left hand when I travel for work. I always have, even before CB. Some of the countries I visit can not comprehend and unmarried woman, so it's just easier and in others it wards of unwanted attention. So for the table of men, half of whom are likely still intrigued by a woman at a business dinner who is not a PA or an EA or something else with assistant in the title, it was most interesting. In their eyes I had the "luck" of finding someone who wanted to marry me, but myself was indifferent. Actually, they quite proudly concluded that I was a GD who required a ring for every outfit.

Who says a girl can't have fun on a business trip? As my girl crush once said, lying is the most fun a girl can have...without taking her clothes off.

The Beat Goes On

2009-02-09T11:35:00.004Z

I went to what can only be described as the tackiest, pikey "wedding celebration" ever this weekend. A uni mate of CBs got hitched on a tropical island over Christmas. In an obvious effort to milk it for all it was worth, he and his betrothed had a second wedding in the country over the weekend. I don't know if I can do justice in my descriptions to the levels of cheesiness that occurred at this event, but I will give it a shot.

We had an incling upon checking into the hotel that we may have romanticised the "country wedding" situation. Or at least I had.

Once in our room it became obvious to me that I am A. Spoiled and B. Germaphobic. CB commented that I was making use of the hotel amenities from go. In reality, after doing my spray tan, there was no amount of money that could have convinced me to walk around barefoot in that room. Not sure if the slippers were much better, but I gave it a go.

While I spray tanned and pranced around starkers CB sorted the lack of working telly in the room (there was rugby on dontcha know) and managed to end up with the shower knob in his hand long after his bathing was complete.

We made our way to the suite where the activities were meant to be happening and upon entering received our "complimentary entry drink." Going back to my point about being spoiled, it was once again confirmed. I don't like cheap champagne, I'm sorry Cava. I am not saying I don't like Cava or Presecco, sometimes it's lovely, but this was not. One sip and the glass was immediately left on a table.

A table with a pink paper cloth laid over it with metallic hearts in the form of confetti sprinkled about and a fake cake. Yes, a fake cake. It was plastic.

I met the bride and groom who were booted and suited in actual wedding attire. Her dress looked like something out of a bad 80's film and he was sporting a white suit with a hot pink bow tie.

We found one of our friends and entered the room where we found a square for "disco" in front of a DJ booth which had dark coloured felt draped over the front with Christmas tree lights strung across it. A disco ball above (hence our twigging that it was the dance floor) and a plastic banner on the wall hanging by a piece of cello tape, which said: Happy Wedding Celebration!!!

The average age of the attendees made it look far more like a funeral then a wedding and we quickly decided mass quantities of alcohol from the "cash bar" were going to be necessary.

On our way to the bar we spied a wall with a video projection of the actual wedding from Christmas in the Caribbean. Now, I am no genius, but I am pretty sure none of the pasty white guests (except me of course as I had California spray tan at my side) who trudged through about 20 centimetres of snow in 2 degree temperatures to pay £5 for a pint of John Smith's at a hotel charging around £100 a night for horrid accoms were all too happy to be reminded that the happy couple actually spent all their money on the initial wedding which was sunny, warm and had waves crashing in the background. I could be wrong though.

DJ comes on to announce that the buffet is open but that there aren't enough seats, so could people kindly stand at the bar and eat. CB went to get me a plate as I saved our bar table for 4 in the hopes that 8 of us could crowd round

He came back with one plate and explained that he didn't think I would really fancy anything at the buffet. I looked around and people had sausage rolls, egg rolls, wraps with cheese and pickle and fruit on toothpicks. CB guessed right, so I ordered another drink.

We all placed bets on the first dance song. Given the tacky factor we were hopeful that there would be some Westlife, or Boy Zone maybe even a little Take That. We were all wrong. Stevie Wonder crooned from the DJ box while the white and pink couple danced to "I just called to say I love you"

The rest of the evening was a bit more fun, but I reckon that was down to the copious amounts of booze we intook. We got into the cheese factor and danced to music I haven't heard since grade 8 socials. CB was approached by several older relatives of the groom who remembered him from Uni. I thought they were trying to set him up with nieces, granddaughters etc. Turns out they were eyeing him. I guess I am not the only cradle robber in the village.

Are you having a laugh?

2009-02-03T08:19:00.004Z

I am mean, I know. I can't help it. Once again, an entry contributed by my mate who is Matchtastic. I am sure she is not laughing when she opens requests from men such as the one below, but I am. Not at her, with her of course. Honesty is great, as is a realistic view of one's situation, but seriously?
You might as well hang a sign over your neck that says Will Date for Pity and stand on Oxford Street on a Saturday night.

Hi my name is XXX, I have been through a lot in my short life time which has made me stronger, more patient, dedicated and a hard worker. I AM NOT perfect but I try my best to be a great man. I am currently divorced which broke my heart, I had 2 beautiful children that I will never see again because they were not biologically mine but I loved them the same and I will miss them very much. I love children and would love to have 2 of my own someday, but not yet, they are very expensive which I found out from my marriage. So regarding that I want to make it through College first so I can actually be able to support and provide for a great family. Family is very important to me and I am very close to my mum, she is sick and not doing too good so I do like to check up on her from time to time. I also love animals, I had a Corgi but he died about a year ago. My parents had 2 white shepherds, a cocker spaniel, and another Corgi. I also had a Tobby the cat but he got stuck in a tree and that's the last time I saw him.

The Ex Files

2009-01-27T20:35:00.004Z

In preparation for the prospect of the end of my single life I as I knew it (also known as living in sin) I deliberated back in November over The Ex Files. Turned out we had to delay the move until March of this year, but never the less, the seed was planted. In the end I decided that one box wouldn't kill anyone but that I would go through the ex files this year before we moved and make a decision. I started weeding through some of it tonight and found more then just the cards and notes I had remembered stashing. I found ticket stubs and theatre programmes, long letters and foreign postcards, but the biggest surprise were all the photos. I made some observations:

In our youth, I don't think we realise our beauty. In contrast with age I think we overlook the beauty that comes with wisdom in an endless search for the boobs/legs/arse we had at 24
In the throws of falling head over heals one never thinks, when will this end
Love means different things to different people
I will always trust my instincts or at least try
I will never again forget who I am regardless of who someone else wants me to be
Love means learning how to say I'm sorry
Beauty is truly skin deep
A leopard never changes their spots
Laugh and the world laughs with you, one drink too many and the world laughs at you
People can come and go in life but you always take bits of them with you

Most importantly I genuinely feel that all of the heartbreak and drama, the does he doesn't he, the will he won't he, the tears, the anger...it's all behind me. In the best way possible, I feel like my single life as I knew is ending soon. For the first time ever I am excited rather then afraid of that. I think the Ex Files might be ready for disposal.

Train Rage

2009-01-26T10:54:00.004Z

Driving cultures have coined the term road rage, there should be urban slang for public transport rage. Look no further. Your resident expert with misdirected anger is on the case. I have what I call an "outburst" probably once every 3 months. It's transport rage in general, but it tends to unleash itself on the trains and tubes. Maybe it's because buses often necessitate being stuck with your fellow passengers for longer or maybe it's the series of events that lead up to my time on the train. This morning, for instance, after a string of mishaps in getting out of the house (coffee flying everywhere in the kitchen, stubbing my toe on the corner of the bathtub, mascara running out...you know the likes) I finally made my way to the tube. I am addicted to the new Snow Patrol and was bopping along to The Planets Between Us when some nanny with a massive pram and 2 toddlers in tow nearly mowed me down. Relegated to walking in the street, I then stepped in a massive puddle. Lovely. Once back on the sidewalk, I nearly slide on dog poo. Why people do not pick up after their dogs is beyond me. If you aren't responsible enough to save your neighbours from the threat of blindness you shouldn't be allowed to own a dog. I was then hooted and hollered at as I walked by the street works. It's like 3 degrees in London right now. I am wearing about 4 layers including woolly tights (which are now splattered with mud), scarf, coat....WHAT IS ATTRACTIVE ABOUT THAT? Huh? WHAT?! So, now I am in a right foul mood as I carry on through the barriers to wait for the tube. Super crowded this morning for some reason, so after grabbing a pole I was shoved and pushed from every angle. Made it to Paddington only to find that I had to hike up the 5 flights of stairs as the escalator was packed and I was already running late. Layers coming off now, I was sweating like a whore in church as I ascend onto the platform and saw that all 5 self service ticket machines were occupied by dumb, dumber and dumbest. Eventually got my tickets with 3 minutes to spare and dashed for the train. One of the massive disadvantages to being a tiny girl is that I get shoved, kicked and generally knocked about completely unintentionally. I think there are a lot of rude people, fair enough, but half of the time that I get smashed into, I am convinced it's actually an accident. Luckily I have the chutzpah of a 6ft tall line backer. So after nearly being knocked into the gap, I get on the train and breath a sigh of relief. I go to the quiet carriage where there are loads of seats. No sooner then I had sat down and begun to cool off, some very very large man stands in front of me asking to get into the seat next to me. I look around and there are empty seats everywhere. WHY my seat? I am in the back, not well located, clearly schvitzing and not socially acceptable to sit next to. He sees me looking around the train at all the other empty seats. He takes that as a sign that I am not going to get out to let him in, even though I am already standing up to try and inch out. He then starts to try and squeeze past me. ERM, Excuse me, Sir? Where is the fire? I am getting out if you will give me 2 seconds. Oblivious he carries on. ERM, SIR EXCUSE ME. He looks at me like I am the one who is being unreasonable. I get out he gets in, but the beast has already been unleashed. He gets in and is spilling into my seat leaving me about an inch of non contact space. Sod it, I thought, and got up to leave. You don't have to be rude, he shouts. ME? ME? I AM RUDE? Bugger off you prick.

That's my outburst done for the first quarter of the year.

The air I breath

2009-01-22T15:28:00.002Z

Everything is relative, I know that now beyond a shadow of a doubt. One person's nightmare is another person's dream, while someone else's worst fear is my joy. In my quest to enjoy life more and to slow down this year, I made a resolve to shorten the length of my business trips. I spent January testing this out. My conclusion is that it leaves me a bit worse for wear as I struggle to fit too much into too little of a space. I have hardly come up for air this month, I have been so busy at work. I am seeing two girlfriends tonight for a cheap and cheerful dinner and if I am honest it's the first social interaction I have had since NYE (save a quick sushi session with another mate a couple of weeks back). My perspective on luxury and necessity has become incredibly skewed as I spend more nights in hotels during the month then I spend at home. When I am back in London, some mornings I shake my head in disbelief that the newspaper hasn't been hung on my front door and that when I get home from work my flat is in the messy state it was when I left. HELLLO! I would like a new towel please and can someone at least dust for me? Fact. In London dust accumulates no matter how much or how little you are actually in your flat.

And so it was that fell into bed last night after the longest week I can remember and a dreadful flight back from the Middle East. CB was dancing and singing and generally being far too chipper in my opinion, so I attempted to end the hyper spurt by asking for "inside voices." He quickly reminded me that he hadn't done his teeth and gone to bed at 8:30 since he was a child. Fair enough I thought and realised that in my little world, it felt like it was as late as could be. That's the trouble with perceptions though, they are all relative.

Start as you mean to carry on

2009-01-02T15:24:00.004Z

When I read a book, especially a great book, it takes me nearly as much time to read the last few chapters as it did the rest of the story. If I'm really enjoying a read, I don't want it to end. I don't want the words to stop seeping into my conscience. Similarly when a year has been good, I hold on to the last few days with an irrational fear that ushering in a new year presents the risk of losing the goodness of the past year. I've learned, however, that it's possible for each year to get better and that all the positive experiences and disappointments from the previous years make the successes that much sweeter.

There are loads of conventional things that I don't believe in, New Years resolutions are one of them. I think commitments made in the wake of Decembers general over indulgences are bound to fail. My view is that goals should be set and checked continually through the year. I think the idea that setting New Year's resolutions absolves one of general responsibility for the remainder of the year is rubbish.

Last year was smashing by all accounts for me, but it went so quickly I feel like I blinked in January and I opened my eyes in December. Each year seems to go by quicker, but I guess when we were kids the adults always warned us that would happen. If I can achieve one thing this year both personally and professionally, it will be to learn to slow down and enjoy the here and now before tomorrow is gone. With the happiness that 2008 brought me I practiced this intentionally and willfully for the last couple weeks of the year. I ate, drank, slept and enjoyed the company of friends and loved ones. Great at the time with two weeks off work, but Monday was a bit of a shock to the system. That said, I am stopping to smell the roses more often. Well, admire the ice as it may be, it's really too cold to smell anything right now.

*Sorry for the lack of pretty pictures, something is wrong with Blogger tonight

Save me from myself

2008-12-19T10:29:00.004Z

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

2008-12-17T15:28:00.003Z

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

2008-12-10T09:17:00.005Z

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

2008-12-08T08:19:00.003Z

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

2008-12-01T21:59:00.003Z

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

2008-11-25T10:51:00.004Z

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

2008-11-17T13:49:00.004Z

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?

2008-11-12T17:52:00.004Z

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

2008-11-05T15:57:00.006Z

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

2008-10-27T21:11:00.006Z

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

2008-10-18T09:57:00.003+01:00

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

2008-10-09T10:05:00.004+01:00

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

2008-10-01T11:19:00.003+01:00

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

2008-09-26T17:42:00.004+01:00

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

2008-09-25T14:54:00.006+01:00

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

2008-09-17T14:28:00.004+01:00

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

2008-08-18T15:09:00.003+01:00

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

2008-08-11T08:52:00.004+01:00

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

2008-08-05T07:53:00.005+01:00

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

2008-07-29T13:05:00.005+01:00

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

2008-07-23T11:37:00.001+01:00

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

2008-07-21T13:43:00.004+01:00

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

2008-07-15T11:58:00.003+01:00

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

2008-07-09T16:23:00.005+01:00

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

2008-07-03T21:04:00.003+01:00

****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

2008-06-30T14:34:00.004+01:00

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....

2008-06-19T22:26:00.003+01:00

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

2008-06-16T13:18:00.004+01:00

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

2008-06-12T12:08:00.006+01:00

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

2008-06-10T12:45:00.003+01:00

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)

2008-06-06T11:13:00.005+01:00

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

2008-06-05T16:08:00.004+01:00

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

2008-05-23T10:50:00.003+01:00

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

2008-05-19T14:59:00.004+01:00

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

2008-05-15T14:22:00.005+01:00

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.

Judgement Day

2008-05-09T11:31:00.003+01:00

I am judgemental, it's true. There, I said it. I can't remember what show I saw it on (Maybe SATC) but there was this line when one of the women said, we judge, it's what we do. Lest ye be dismayed, know (if you don't have first hand knowledge) that magnifying glass with which I scrutinize the world is 5x stronger when turned it on myself. Oh yes, I am my own worst critic. Neverthless, yesterday I had a few observations (magnifying glass firmly in place) that I noted down and thought I would share.

Does anyone else find it odd that so many people do not seem to dress for their surroundings? I know I had a go a couple weeks back re: Casual Friday's, so my angst is well documented. This, however, goes beyond dressing for work into dressing for...oh how do you say it, life? Yesterday, our fine city was the recipient of this lovely thing called sun and its friend, warmth. Now sun and warmth don't visit Blighty all that often, so I can kind of excuse people for not having the best fashion sense when they do. However, I reckon it's only common sense to NOT wear a cashmere jumper with a long sleeved collared blouse underneath when temperatures reach 25. This was also the person who was whinging that it was hot on the train. Blimey luv, take a look outside before you get dressed next time. The man next to her was wearing a puffer. Sheesh. I don't know which is worse, the people who come to work in a wife beater and mini denim skirt because presumably these are the only items of clothing they own for warm weather, or the folks dressed for Antarctica

What's with the shouting that goes on when people are talking to one another in public surrounded by a bunch of quiet people. Do you not know that you are shouting? Or are you so self involved that you think everyone else wants to hear you and your friend banter back and forth about the events that led to you finally finding one another after hours of trying to connect. "And then, I was like, a'right, so now what" "yeah mate and that was when you called right!" "yeah, and I was all, you a'right! and you were like no mate, I'm lost" "Right mate and then I was like, I'm lost too like, where are you lost?" "a'right, yeah, I was lost and so were you. Where were you lost?" "Mate I don't know, I was lost like, right?" I kid you not when I say that if you could even call this a conversation, it continued on a very quiet bus for a good 20 minutes. In case you're in suspense, I'll tell you how the story ends, they remained lost and realised they were standing at the same place the whole time after 2 hours

Men: Has the hoot, holler, whistle and suck tactic of attracting a woman's attention ever actually worked for you? I'm going to go out on a limb here and say that I'm doubtful you are pulling any quality tail with those methods. Yet, you continue. I'll let you in on a little secret about us women, one comment, whistle, up and down look can be a bit flattering. A 30 second stream of calamity in a public place (ie Street, Club, Train, Restaurant, Bar) is embarrassing and will get you nowhere with anyone you would want to take home. Be warned what other things you might pick up if you pull a bird in this manner. I'm just saying

Personal hygiene is even more important when it's warm out. 'Nough said

Washing anything that you may consume in public toilets is disgusting. Washing your fruit and then eating it in the toilets is even more appalling. Worse still is walking out and offering that same toilet fruit to your colleagues. I am not taking the piss BTW, this really did happen. I saw the whole thing

This edition of judgement day was brought to you by the letter N. N is for Negative Nancy.

Mixing Business and Pleasure

2008-05-07T16:41:00.003+01:00

YUCK. Honestly, nearly 24 hours after the incidents and all I can say is YUCK. Last night I attended a black tie awards ceremony at the bequest of my employer. I did it for my job, my career, nay some may say the call of duty, but not by choice. If you aren't in a schmoozy industry, then you may not understand when I say this, but those things are not really "fun." They should be. There's good food, lots of wine and typically a really great band or singer. Plus everyone gets dressed up and it's nice to see people outside of work. But you see, it's still work for me. In PR, you are NEVER "off." You are permanently upholding the corporate reputation of whoever pays your bills (clients if you are agency side, mothership if you are in house) whilst those around you crumble like houses built of sand the moment the champagne is corked. And don't get me started on some peoples interpretation of Black Tie. If I did open letters like Cherry, I'd have one for someone last night: Dear woman whose hoo hoo I could see due to her dress being more "tie me up and spank me" then "black tie". Anyway, as usual, I digress.

I was sat next to a very nice (and I am sure well intentioned) journo who I happily chatted shop and more with all through dinner. Despite the very overt offers he made as to marrying me if I were single (bless) throughout the lovely 3 course meal, I couldn't help but notice one of our very senior VP's practically snogging his PA at the table just directly in my eye line. The evening wore on and the wine took effect and the act hit the stage. This was the tipping point. The point when things happen that you just can't take back. For snuggles at the next table it took the form of calling in a favour to get a room by the hour at this rather posh hotel. Cept, they couldn't seem to wait till they got to the room and proceeded to very publicly display their apparent admiration for each other. Did I mention they are married? TO OTHER PEOPLE. My tipping point was the extended hand of above mentioned bloke who declared he wanted to "take things to the next level." This happens to me quite often at these types of things and I am quite sure it's for 2 reasons:

1. I am actually a decent person who enjoys conversation with others, especially those involving: cooking, travel, wine, food, art, theatre. I think this often gets misinterpreted as flirting as I can apparently be too nice.

2. Because I would never ever flirt whilst working (call me uptight) I tend to stay off the booze for the most part at these functions. Don't get me wrong, I have some wine, but I am careful not to get pissed. Others however get very pissed and then what could have been misinterpreted as flirting becomes a full blown invitation to "get closer."

Lucky for me I have an agency now and shot the girls a look so fierce they knew they had to follow us to the dance floor and quickly rescue me. As for the PDA couple, I can't say the outcome was so rosy. As I have said before, my company is VERY corporate, their new found fondness for each others bodies was not well received.

May Day

2008-05-02T14:44:00.003+01:00

Yesterday was polling day in the UK as the country assembled to vote on local issues, local candidates and city reforms. I received my mail in ballot from the US last Friday. My state is one of the last to vote in the primaries which means that we don't really end up counting for much as most of the votes have pretty much decided as to what candidate each party will choose for the November ballot. Still, if I ever want to move back to America (the results of this election pending) I can't in all good conscience repatriate into a government which I had no hand in choosing. I mean that is after all why I left. Among the nearly 50% of Americans whose votes were ignored in 2004, I resigned myself to another 4 years of the Bush administration. I'll be damned, I thought, if I am going to wait it out here. That's me off to London and my "I'm from a blue state" mantra falling on deaf ears ever since. Fast forward nearly 4 years and I feel obligated to participate, but feel a strange disconnect from the US at the same time. Given the absolute state of chaos surrounding the elections there, it's probably a good thing, but never the less odd to be voting on issues and people that feel foreign. So I did what any good London Lass would and voted along with the country people of my current residence choosing yesterday to fill out my ballot.

The election here showed labour having its worst election in a generation (40 years by some news source counts) and mine proved a test in creativity. I have a theory. I don't think people who have been expats for more then a certain amount of time (maybe 2 years) should vote in local elections. Unless those people work for a company from the country which they hail, work for the government or aren't really living in the country where they reside (tax, health care, job. primary residence etc). I am ashamed to admit it, but I actually voted for one Senatorial candidate because he was called after I beer that I am keen on and a Mayoral candidate because his picture on line was rather fetching. I tried, I really did. I was even reading the online voters guide whilst I coloured in the little bubbles with a #2 pencil. Frankly, I don't care if the property tax brackets change in county X or if parking for more then 2 hours in county Y results in larger fines. All I cared about were the presidential candidates, but I didn't feel like I could leave the others blank.

After popping that envelope in the mail yesterday I am sat wondering if I should have skipped it all together and hoped for the best.

I am old

2008-05-01T10:04:00.004+01:00

Contrary to popular belief (likely due to my juvenile behaviour and very young boyfriend) I think I may be getting old. Without further ado, I present you with some recent evidence to support this suspicion. Laugh if you will, but this is serious stuff people.

1. I am starting to get my boyfriends mixed up. Let me be clear when I say "boyfriends" plural. I am no floosie, I have only had 3 of what I would call a "boyfriend" in the last 5 years. I takes a lot for me to refer to someone as a BF and typically there is some awkward social situation that ends in tears (theirs not mine) where I am forced to acquiesce. The other night NicB pulled a film out of his rucksack that he had borrowed from a mate. Hey, I wanna see this, it looks good. Yeah, I said, saw it, don't you remember? I went through that whole WWII phase and saw all the Hitler documentaries? Blank look from him. Uh huh, I daftly carried on, we watched that German one you have, then we watched the Dutch one then.....now I started to realise it wasn't him at all, it was someone else. Oh well anyway, uh huh, it's good. NicB stared at me in disbelief and then said, Girl, you clearly have me confused with your other boyfriend. Ha Ha I laughed, at least I got rid of him the other day. Cringe

I have begun to wear flats 1 day a week and almost all weekend except when I go out. I am more upset about this then the above misstep

Anyone born in the 80's seems young to me. The reality is some of them are 28 already (and that's older then NicB)

A friend called for a goss last night and asked if she had woke me up, it wasn't even 10. I lied and said no, I was reading. My grandmother is the only person I know who reads with the lights out and her eye mask pulled down

I wake up every morning at the same time, even if it's Saturday. This has been going on for about 4 months. It's infuriating

I am contributing more to my pension plan then I used to budget for food every month and only about a third of what I used to budget for booze

Today I am wearing tights (f'ing England, I tell you, it's bloody raining and cold on 1 May) and they have that extra support stuff on top. I'm not even ashamed

My big plans for the bank holiday weekend include: park, cinema,baking, shopping and lunch. Watch out, I'm out of control!

I took 2 naps last weekend. EACH DAY, not in total

I was a bit melancholy on Sunday and spent the day baking to cheer myself up. That's not the scary bit, the scary bit is, it worked

Something about Nothing

2008-04-29T13:28:00.004+01:00

I feel like this should be called "Redemption II" to redeem myself from a bad Friday post. Never mind. It is what it is and I stand behind myself, even if no one else does, during exciting times and boring ones.

Now that some time has passed, I feel I can be fair in my assessment of my recent experience registering with my local surgery (North Americans, this = local Dr's office. I have no idea why they call it a surgery when you can't actually have surgery there). Also for the benefit of anyone not in the know on the NHS (count your lucky stars) this is a necessary process before you can visit your local GP for routine things such as hay fever, cold, flu, girly stuff as opposed to urgent matters or emergencies where you just visit an A&E (otherwise known as ER in 'Merica). I did this when I first moved here nearly 4 years ago, so I am not new to the experience, but I apparently forgot how traumatic it is. Hence, in retrospect, why I remained registered with my Chelsea GP after I moved. Technically you are supposed to live within a certain post code to attend certain surgeries (especially in posh areas). I have heard that it's against the law for surgeries to turn away patients on the basis of post code, but since you MUST show proof of post code, I assume they would make something else up. We're all full, but thanks for coming down. Bu bye. Anyway, I digress. Registering basically just means you turn up in person and submit your details along with proof of address (council tax or utility bill), proof of residence in my case (Visa and National Insurance number) and Identification (Passport). You can't usually make an appointment to do this and the hours which they allow new patient registration are typically limited. For the people, by the people, of the people. Great.

So, I worked from home on a Thursday to take care of this. I turned up (during the allotted 2 minute window every month) with all the necessary information and identification, or so I thought. The woman was nice enough and took inventory of all my bits and then she called her supervisor over. The conversation went something like this:

Nice Woman to Supervisor: She has all the required forms, but I don't see an NHS number listed here, what should I do?

Bitter Supervisor: You can't register without an NHS number.

Me: Oh, is that different then my National Insurance number? If it is, I have never received it.

BS: Yes you did

Me: Erm, no actually I didn't. As you can see, I have all my ducks in a row, I am an organised person and wouldn't throw something important away. Who would it have come from?

BS: Your former GP. We can't and won't register you without it. I suggest you write to the health department and get it and come back when you have it. Then we can register you.

Me: Ok, well I took the day off of work (yes, this was a white lie, but whatever) and I travel often for work, so this isn't exactly convenient for me. Since I don't have it, but you say it exists, can you call my prior surgery and get it from them?

BS: No

Me: Ok, can you help me here? I need to register today, bottom line. How can I accomplish that?

BS: Get the number you need that you lost

Me: Aside from a long process of handwriting a letter, which I didn't even know people did anymore, what can I do? Can you problem solve with me here instead of working against me?

Now as I am sure you can extrapolate, I was getting frustrated. I was quite sure that any minute someone was going to scream, CRAZY AMERICAN at the front desk.

BS: Call your former GP and get the number, that's the best suggestion I can offer.

Me: Oh, ok, well why didn't you say that. Done.

I start to dial my GP, and BS stops me...No mobile phones in here miss. You can imagine the look on my face. Fine, I smiled, can I borrow a pen? Outside, I relayed the story to my Chelsea surgery who gave me the number but explained that it's totally unnecessary and no one ever actually has this number. She sounded sympathetic and it made me feel a bit better. Back inside, I waited another 20 minutes while some old folks tried to accomplish simple tasks of picking up prescriptions. Good luck I muttered under my breath and slowly regained my composure. Nice woman is leaving for the day now and it appears I am forced to deal only with BS. She looks at me and says, have you been helped? I wanted to shout, DUH you dumb fuck! You just read me the riot act, do you not remember? Instead I very snottily said, not really, do you not remember me. Blank look from BS. Ok, I need to register, here are all my things including the unnecessary NHS number you asked for. Spark of recognition propels her to remember to treat me like the low life foreigner I am.

BS: (Eyeing my residence visa) So this visa is new, you're new to London then?

Me: No, I have been here for nearly 4 years. I switched jobs last year and obtained a new visa.

BS: mmmmm, I see. When does it expire?

Me:Erm, I think 2012, but as you're holding it I can't be sure. You may want to check.

BS:mmm, I see. And where are you from?

I slowly looked around thinking she must be talking to someone else. Nope, she was talking to me. I literally looked at her, with my passport in her hand, with eyes that could sear through an iron wall. I didn't say anything. This line of questioning went on for about another five minutes and by the time it was done, I was 2 seconds away from pulling out a payslip and throwing it at her so she could see how much National Insurance tax I pay every month. GRR. Now I needed to make an appointment to have a Rx re-filled. At this point I had run out of energy, time and the will to live. BS turned the appointment scheduling over to a mental giant who couldn't figure out what day of the week dates in April fell on. Ie: shall we make that appt for Thursday the 23rd of April? Me: I think the 23rd is a Wed, I need to schedule it on the 25th actually. Oh right then, Monday the 25th of April. I will let you draw your own conclusions, but let's just say this back and forth took up another 10 minutes.

Now you can possibly see why I needed a hot chocolate from Starbucks and why the Tramp was even more entertaining. I now understand why imigration is such and issue here. It's people like me who weigh down the system.

Redemption

2008-04-25T12:13:00.003+01:00

Spring is an amazing time of year. Cherry blossoms bloom, rain washes away the grit and dust left over from the snow in the winter and the sun finally begins to peek out from hiding. It's also a time, I find, for reevaluating things in ones life. I have a good mate who "spring cleans" friends when she realises the relationship has reached its sell by date. I tend to take a good inventory of where I am at in my life, given that a quarter of the year has passed, and decide if I am on track for where I want to be by Jan of next year. If I am not, I reassess.

My last trip to Turkey was truly awful. In jest I blogged about the surface irritants, but in reality, it was a lot worse. Business was bad and I saw no light at the end of the tunnel for me achieving my PR goals in that region...EVER. Fast forward to last night when I arrived at Heathrow with a whole new outlook on Constantinople. This trip was good. Business was good, leisure was good and team building was successful. Result, Hurrah! It also reminded me how circumstantial the positive or negative perception of situations can be. In life, if we tweak a couple of things, can it make all the difference in the outcome? Or at the very least, the perceived outcome? Me thinks yes.

Bit too deep for a Friday, I admit. I think the barista spiked my soy latte this morning.

Rantings of the semi sane

2008-04-18T10:13:00.006+01:00

I am not sure where the last week has gone nor why I've not posted anything in 7 days! Some of the possible reasons might be:

The fluctuation between sleet, snow and scorching sun this week has messed with my Chi*

Despite fighting against it my whole life, I became very aware this week that I am "that girl" or rather NicB and I are "those people" You know, the duo you see on the tube who make you want to hurl? They are so besotted with one another they don't notice the dead guy on the floor who was just knifed by the granny who fled to the next carriage? Yeah, that's us. I am making myself want to wretch on a daily basis

The no drinking thing is going really well, but I must admit, I feel like an absolute tool ordering my 4th cranberry juice on nights out. I did this in the US when I was training for a marathon and it wasn't as big of a deal there. Here in London, I actually have bartenders trying to talk me into a drink, "com'on luv, one n'er urt ya."

My new neighbourhood is so posh that the rubbish collectors tip their hat with a cheery "good morning" when I leave for work. Not quite used to it, it's only today that I smiled back rather then reaching for my mace

I worked from home yesterday so that I could register with my surgery which of course only registers new patients from 2-3:50 on every 5th Thursday of months that end in Z.** Along with alcohol I have also given up sugar and processed food for the month of April. Like I said before, this wasn't a huge change in habits, but after my "experience" at the local surgery, I decided I needed a hot cocoa (soya of course) to smooth my ruffled feathers. There in front of Starbucks in my terribly posh neighbourhood was a disheveled tramp sitting at a sidewalk table. Her home was taking up 3 seats and she had one of those portable cassette players on the table broadcasting some bizarre self help tape. This scene in almost any other London borough would not seem odd, in NW8 it's a spectacle. The most entertaining bit was the way all the nannies pulled their charges to the other side of road in order to avoid crazy (who also by the way was in a bikini top rubbing Vaseline on her neck in the freezing cold)

I have to go back to Istanbul on Monday. Nuf said. I think I feel a bout of meningitis coming on
I am a human thesaurus these days. Because I work with agencies in so many countries, I spend a very good portion of my day thinking of synonyms for words that the people I work with don't understand. I say "publish" for instance and there is silence on the other end of the phone. Issue? Release? Send.to.news.wire.who.then.copy.press.statement.and people.everywhere.can.see.the.words? I actually got to the point yesterday where I stopped and said,"I'm sorry, I am plum out of words. I have no more words to describe what I am trying to say." It's not their fault, but it's exhausting

This was a lame excuse for a post, I realise that. But it's the best I've got. If anyone can either arrange to have my trip to Turkey cancelled, or for the sun to come out for a whole day, my creativity might return.

*If I was my Chi, I would hide too. Especially given that this is the first time ever that I have even acknowledged Chi in my life. Chi must feel very neglected

**This was SUCH an ordeal that it deserves its own post. I am however still too bitter to be balanced in my analysis and criticism of the NHS. Watch this space

Casual Friday

2008-04-11T15:49:00.004+01:00

In business, I am a big proponent of dressing for where you want to be, not where you are. I realise I am little more uptight about this then others, but hey, to each their own. My office is very corporate. Big multinational corporation type attire. Suits make up a large part of my wardrobe and my boss quite literally even wears a suit on Friday. I am less formal then that and tend to wear a dress with flats or something else that would likely be typed as "smart casual." And for the record I hate that term. I mean, do people expect that others will show up stupid casual if they don't preface it with smart? Anyway, as usual, I digress. Many of the people who work in my office seem to view Friday as an opportunity to infuse their personality or interests outside work into their wardrobe choice for the day. Some might take a fancy to clubbing judging by their outfit choice, while others seize the moment on Friday to not bother with clothing at all. These are the people who show up in their pajamas. The most entertaining however, are those who seem to really have special interests. Some women seem to be hookers after hours and another who clearly loves her Harley. There's one bloke who wears a turban during the rest of the week and on Friday mixes it up with different scarves and wraps from prominent companies. I am guessing he finds these for free at trade shows or something. I'm not quite sure.

In general, I run across at least 3-5 people a week, regardless of what continent I am on, or what country I am in who amaze me with their choice of garments. Now please understand that I am not claiming to be some fashionista who never gets it wrong, god no. I get it wrong. A lot. If I was famous I am pretty sure I would end up in Hello or OK! on at least a monthly basis with one of those red circles and a wardrobe malfunction. There are some things though, that should kind of be intuitive right? Like how come everyone that gets done for child porn or neglect of their 12 children by 11 baby daddies looks like someone who you wouldn't let near a dog, much less a child?! Jiminy, one of my new favourite bloggers, has a pretty good photo on his blog today that illustrates my point. His picture is way better then mine and more current. However, 1983 is making a come back, I can feel it!

In conclusion, I would like to say that I don't think I really have a point. But be kind and consider the people around you when making clothing choices. It's not as personal as you might think.

Abstinence makes the heart grow fonder

2008-04-10T10:08:00.004+01:00

In a vain attempt to reclaim some of what was formerly known as my health, I decided to give up alcohol, sugar and basically anything processed for the month of April. Strange combination of things one might think, but it was born out of the need to return to my regularly scheduled eating habits, whilst still not appearing a drip or a fussy Westerner during the many business trips that flank my weeks and months. Sugar and alcohol can be avoided in any country as opposed to things like dairy or wheat or whatever the fad "go without" of the moment might be. Also, living closer to a lovely park coupled with brighter mornings and longer days has reignited my motivation for running. So, with one fell swoop, I gave things up (for a limited time only), signed up for a Race for Life run (BTW if you want to sponsor me and didn't receive my email pleading for money, drop me a note and I'll send you the link to my fundraising site) and returned to my former ways of healthy thinking. Its been fantastic. I feel loads better already at less then 2 weeks in and have realised that the only major tweak I am making is the alcohol deprivation.

Abstinence is not a word I throw around lightly. I don't condone it when it pertains to most things (particularly in the traditional sense of the word) as I believe that moderation is the key to success, health and happiness. Who cares if your stick thin if you are a miserable twat who desperately needs a krispy kreme. That said, I knew that despite a short refrain from the wine I love, the vodka and soda that calls my name and most importantly the champagne with which I have built a loving relationship; they would still be there for me when I decided to be their friend again. As NicB has been staying with me, he has been cooking lovely meals. In addition to the lovely meals, he picks up after himself, goes out of his way to make sure that my life is easier and does nice things like run me a bath before I get home from work if he thinks I had a long day.* Ok, I digress, but you have to admit that's pretty amazing stuff and worth bragging about. Anyway, I realised how accustom my palate is to the compliments of wine with a good meal. The wine is the only thing I really miss. The boy actually caught me gazing longingly at his glass of vino the other night during Sunday roast. I think I have actually built up the pairings to a point where my expectations are unrealistic. While he was trying to enjoy his wine, I was pressing him to dissect the flavours, identify the layers and describe the body of the red I had chosen for him with dinner. So now I reckon my first meal with a nice glass of wine in May is going to be a let down, because the hype could be more then the reality. Sad Sad life I lead.

*Before you all say it, YES I know that all relationships are like this in the beginning and if we actually lived together things would not be all roses and chirping birds. BUT, I will enjoy it while it lasts and not look for the end. It's too good to spoil.

The price of love

2008-04-07T12:18:00.004+01:00

I am absolutely besotted with my new neighbourhood. I spent the day Saturday running along the canals, tooling through Regents Park and puttering around my flat. Feeling a bit peckish, I stopped off at the local gourmet deli, when to what did my wandering eyes appear? One of my favourite snacks from America, Wheat Thins and Light Cream Cheese. (I realise that none of my readers outside North America will understand what this snack is, but never mind, you'll get the point). Along with some other items, I purchased these snacks and headed home.

Later in the evening I popped in a newly aquired Entourage DVD and slumped into the sofa to have a good fix of home, WT & CC in hand. It was only then that I noticed the price tags and saw that I had paid the equivilant of $14 USD for a snack that would cost about $5 at most any store in the US. After I got over my initial shock, I started thinking of all the things over the years that I have spent obscene amounts of money on, just for the sake of comfort. Food, products, plane tickets. There is no price too high when happiness of the heart (or Tummy) is on the line.

In other lurve news, I had a lengthy conversation with a friend on Friday night, who also reads my blog, about the public image I have crafted for CB. She rightly pointed out that he is no longer the CB that I first wrote about a year ago. Therefore he needs a new name. So, from hereforthwitherto he shall be known as NicB (New, improved, cricket Boy). So NicB and I are playing house this week as he has a class in London and is staying at mine. Ahhh, it's divine. I do however have something hanging over my head that I need to come clean about this week and I am absolutely dreading it. Come clean is probably not the right expression, as it's not as if I have done something wrong that I have hidden. It's more a matter of being upfront about something from a long time ago that I don't readily volunteer with people. I would just as soon leave unsaid unspoken, but popular demand from my mates has brought the issue to the forefront of my mind and I now think I have to proactively bring it up.

Any tips* on discussing sensitive matters whilst not wanting to jump out the window before the person has a chance to respond?

*Yes I realise, my job requires me to teach people how to do this, but give me a break. I teach people how to do this en mass, not 1:1 when love is on the line.

Irritated in Istanbul

2008-04-03T14:10:00.003+01:00

Nothing against the Turkish people, but WTF? Are we not in the year 2008? Could you maybe try to catch up, I mean even to 2000 would be nice. Some thoughts and advice on how to bring Istanbul into the 20th century:

Smoking indoors isn't even allowed in the UK anymore and the UK isn't exactly progressive on the front of banning things. If you must smoke, inside, does it have to be DURING our business meeting?

Well done you for beating Chelsea in the footie last night. I mean, the Blues are rubbish this year, but nevermind. Rioting isn't really a socially acceptable pass time any longer. Especially when you are rioting because you WON! Get a grip people.

It's rude to stare. It's even more rude to stop, stare and then instruct all of your slimey associates to do the same.

I like that fact that you have metal detectors everywhere, but they aren't any use when you let everyone walk through them and only require that the bloke in front of me (who does not appear to be a police officer) hand over his gun whilst he walks through. Glad you handed it back to him on the other side. I feel so much safer now.

No kind taxi driver sir, I will not give you a kiss in exchange for my cab fare. Whilst your offer is tempting, I think that creeps into the area of prostitution.

The car horn has a purpose, figure out what it is. Even in New York people don't use it as an arm rest or pillow or bed or whatever it is that you are doing to cause a constant stream of beeping.

I know when you are talking about me! I may not speak Turkish, but I am not deaf. Ok, that wasn't exactly something that would bring Istanbul into 20th century, but it's also rude and not the done thing.

I'm too tired to whinge any more. Given the riots and beeping are all on my front doorstep, I'm sleeping even less then normal. I will say that of all the times I have been here I have come to love some things. I just can't remember what they are right now.

I left my heart in NY

2008-03-30T17:27:00.003+01:00

Amazing birthday? Check
Brilliant time seeing old mates? Check
Falling deeper into "like" with CB? Double check
Being ready to come home when the time came? Negative
I had no choice but to come back on Thursday as my movers were coming Friday to take me from Ghetto Fabulous W6 to Fabulous. NW8. Never the less my heart remained in NY with my friends and the boy and bagels that you can't get anywhere else. Going back to the US is always bittersweet. It reminds me of what I miss while the reasons I left stare me down with persistence. If I could have it my way, I would import the things I long for(whilst remaining firmly planted in LondonTown):A few key friends, Mexican food, stores that have everything negating the need to go to Tesco+Hardware store+post office +Boots, good cocktails and Happy Hour. That said, I did have a bit of culture shock (which quickly gave way to pleasantly surprised) at how friendly people are. I know the commonly held belief is that New Yorkers are rude, erm, whoever said that should come to London. I think it was even more evident to me being in NY with a Brit. For the first few hours we would just look at each other in amazement everytime a shopkeep, deli person or taxi driver would thank us and smile. Most impressive was the doorman at our hotel who genuinly seemed to remember and care that we had a nice day. No joke. At one point CB looked at me, smiled and said, "Your people seem to genuinly wonder how one is and that one has a nice day!" I quickly put his mind to rest by explaining that as a culture Americans tend to be enthusiastic about everything they say. I mean, I can't have him thinking that America is the land of milk and honey. I already had to convince him he couldn't work there after a fun night of the Knicks and Time Square had him querying whether we might be able to live there sometime for a few years. Apparently he and I are a WE now and without even living together are contemplating moving country? Sorry, No. Ixnay on the Moveay to Americanay any time Soonay. End of story.

Meet me in New York

2008-03-18T15:22:00.004Z

In case my 2.5 readers didn't notice, I am trying to spice things up by including pictures with my posts. I figure even people who can't read (ie the .5 in 2.5) can still look at peerty photos. Who am I kidding? I am actually trying to get 3.5 readers. The model photograph was step one.

Step two is to start taking personal trips in addition to spending 75% of my time travelling for work. That way I get to spend my own money, stay in hotels that aren't nearly as nice and am relegated to cattle class with the normal people on airplanes. Hurrah! I jest. Hopefully this will give me some more fun blog material and people can stop reading about work this, work that. All who know me will attest that I try and take just as many leisure trips as business, this year has just been extra heavy on the business side.

So first on the agenda is a trip to NYC for my birthday. Hurrah again! I have several friends there and one of my 'Merican mates from the West Coast is representing as well. And (drum roll please) CB is also coming along. Big deal me thinks, first holiday together and his first time in NY. I am very excited (72 hours to take off) and actually had a dream the other night that CB got kicked to the back of the plane where there was no catering or bar service while I was upgraded to First Class. God Bless BA! I mean, erm, what's wrong with BA? Here's the kicker, in my dream, I negotiated with the airline staff to get him up with me since I am flying on my birthday. Christ on a stick! I am negotiating in my dreams? Clearly work has taken a toll on me this year. Next thing I know I am going to be issuing press releases about my holiday. Wait, that's kinda what this is isn't it? This is bad.

Little Voice: Little Problem

2008-03-14T17:48:00.004Z

It's not normal, I realise this, but I have an OCD issue when it comes to music that I really like.

I download it or buy the CD and literally listen to it NON STOP for days, sometimes even weeks on end. Its happened with others, Sara isn't my first, but each time I am amazed at my own ability to listen the same 10-13 songs again and again and again. Like a compulsion. It's just wrong. On that note, Little Voice is great. Highly recommend it. Similar to Cherry I think she and I could be friends. I found out yesterday that Love Song was written after a record label told her she had to write a love song for her album. She's rebellious, I know we'd be fast mates.

Flirting with Disaster

2008-03-12T09:21:00.004Z

It's something we perfect from the time we are wee ones...or not. Some folks have the natural gift of charm and some struggle to keep the interest of a Jehovah’s Witness knocking on their door. Flirting is a harmless way for coupled off people to keep boredom at bay and a safe route for singletons to test the waters.

Last night as the evening wound down at a gallery event in London sprinkled with celebs and sponsored by my company; my boss, a colleague and I ducked to the champagne bar to sneak a quick glass of bubbly and toast the colleague's engagement. Glasses mid air, lips pursed to sip, we all three stopped mid way to ogle an amazing specimen of a man who was currently being photographed on the step and repeat. Visibly shaken the 3 of us, in unison said....who is that? Well it was more like WHO! IS! THAT!?. Never mind that he had an unearthly looking woman on his arm, we saw nothing but him. After completing the toast and investigating a bit we came to find out he was the new face of a top European designer.

About 20 minutes later and glass or so of champers later we stumbled upon him (sans ethereal female beauty) somewhere between the nude magazine covers of stars and the portraits of blue stockings. My boss (happily married) struck up a conversation with said hunk while colleague (newly engaged) and I looked on. None of us are sure how this happened, but somehow talk of "the industry" commenced. Now, let's be clear, when I say "the industry" I don't mean PR or IT which is what the 3 of us are comfortable in our knowledge of. No, when I say "the industry" I mean the modelling industry. Colleague and I pretty much stood there staring at the man, while our boss nodded in agreement about commonly held notions and the perils of being beautiful. In order to wrap up the conversation, my boss said we would see him later at the "exclusive" party that was meant to follow the gallery event. Gorgeous didn't know where it was so my boss deferred to me. I explained where it was and as we signalled our departure, I blurted out, Thank You. Thank you? What?

We walked away and my boss conceded that the entire conversation had been for my benefit. We also all agreed that the entire time she had been talking to him none of us actually heard what was coming out of his mouth. We were so lost in his appearance we couldn't even hear what he was saying. Everyone did, however, catch my THANK YOU! at the end. Shame. Just when the artful skill that has taken me years to perfect and is usually very useful could have come in the most handy, I failed miserably.

Probably for the best. I'm sure I would get tired of his chiselled torso, dreamy eyes and amazing cheekbones. Well, I say tired, but really what I mean is I would feel fat and ugly every day I woke up next to him. He would always feel intellectually inferior to me and between our travel schedules we would never see one another. Best that no one got hurt.

Deuchtland

2008-03-03T18:28:00.002Z

Ahh Bavaria. Pretzles, bier, beautiful clouds and weiners. What more could a girl want. One of the things I am coming to appreciate more as I travel frequently are repeat offenders. Coming back to the same city or same country means I have little things that make the business trips more fun. For instance, there is this Milk and Honey bath soak that is only available in Germany. I forgot about it until I went to the Apotheke today and saw it. Each place that I have been and revisit has something not matter how big or how small that makes being away from home more bearable.

Sunday Kind of Love

2008-03-02T18:42:00.002Z

Breathing is so much easier when you have a reason to slow down. The Soweto Gospel Choir was amazing last night and set a perfect mood for doing nothing but relax today. Breakfast, a walk in the still chilled winter sun, some jazz music, a Sunday roast and someone who misses me when I am gone. What more could one ask for in a perfect Sunday?

Stopping to Breath

2008-02-29T14:06:00.002Z

But only for a second. I was looking at one of those scales online that rates the most stressful life events people can encounter in rank order and I think I have ticked at least 3 boxes in the last 6 months. Thank god I am not married so I don't have to worry about getting divorced.
In any case, I had a brief respite from travel this week and am off again to Germany Monday, with a side trip to Derby this weekend. Derby you ask? Why would anyone in their right mind go to Derby? Well, CB planned a little outting for us to see the Soweto Gospel Choir and with my insane schedule, Derby was the closest city we could fit in. If you have never heard them, they are amazing. Listen before you judge me for treking up to Derby on my one free Saturday this century.
In other news, I made the leap to leave West London and signed a lease in St Johns Wood last night. I am thrilled to explore North London and comforted to still have a W in my postcode. I remember now why I move as infrequently as possible here, it's a bloody nightmare. Couple that with a very busy time at work, loads of travel and other things that have sucked the life out of me and that's me dead inside and outside for that matter. Good I still have chirpy birds and rosey glasses or I might be on the fast train to looney ville!

Sunset, Sunrise

2008-02-19T14:24:00.003Z

I have already covered my inability to sleep on planes, as a matter of fact it was my last visit here that drove this truth home. Being all "birds chirping, sun shining, life is just a bowl of cherries" as I am at the moment, I saw the upside on last nights 12 hour flight of not being able to doze. I got to see sunset over the English channel as we began our ascent and sunrise over the magnificent African desert as we concluded our descent. Something about Africa feels like home. I can't explain it, but two of my mates who have lived here knew exactly what I meant when I said this last year. It's not familiarty, or sight or smell or foliage or people. I really can't put my finger on it, but it's like when you make a new friend and you know they are meant to be in your life for a long time to come. There's nothing tangible to point to, it's just a feeling.

You know it's bad when

2008-02-15T12:29:00.002Z

-4 of your last 5 posts are about or involve the boy
-other, very attractive men stop seeming so attractive
-when you're hanging out with someone you should be excited about talking to (Oh I don't know, just as an example, Jamie Cullum) you are actually thinking that boy would like to meet said person as boy and said person share many interests
-boy is missed ( a lot) after not being seen for a week*
-tonight you could be hanging out with very fun cool group including musical star (no more name dropping in one blog post) but in your head you think a good nights sleep and a bath would be better so that you are all fresh and cute when you finally see boy again tomorrow
-a gift was purchased in Spain just because the boy was thought of when it was spotted
-hearing boys voice on other end of phone after very very long and exhausting week was enough to make you nearly burst into tears in airport lounge**

If anyone knows of remedy for what is clearly a life threatening condition we have here, please do let me know. I fear I may quickly turn into....I can't even say it....one of them...

*ok, if I am honest he was missed after 24 hours, but I couldn't really admit that until a week had passed
**to be fair I do tend to cry when I am over tired. I don't cry often from emotion, but if I get really really run down anything can set me off (CR, I know you feel my pain)

head and shoulders

2008-02-14T17:56:00.001Z

I spent the evening with Jamie Cullum and the CEO of my company last night. Not one for name dropping typically, but I have to say the evening was so bizarre (in a good way) that the players have to be mentioned. I should also point out that my company is in a massive time of growth and success so the CEO is a business name in many households.
In PR you frequently end up with the important people in an effort to repell or attract press. It's an occupational hazard or benefit depending on the people involved. I have often been told I have a good head on my shoulders. Although I've never really understood what this means. I do what needs to be done and I don't take myself or others too seriously. Life is too short to worry about the little stuff and pass up a party at Pacha making sure the CEO is enjoying Spain. If that makes my head different then others, well so be it!

slowly slowly

2008-02-12T10:59:00.000Z

So I think I'm finally coming round to the idea of CB being a full time fixture in my not so static London life.
I am at a massive mobile conference at the moment in sunny Spain. I've always worked in a male dominated industry and am accustomed to literally being stepped on given my height. This week as I have darted from one meeting to another barely looking up from my mobile device, I realised how blinkered we can be when we fail to take note of our surroundings.
Inventory commencing in personal life means more space for boy and less time travelling and working. Well ok, not to get ahead of ones self. Will ease into CB becoming my BF and then see about the rest.

me me me

2008-02-06T22:32:00.000Z

I like to think myself a generous person. I always offer my girlfriends a bit of hand lotion or lippy if I'm pulling it out, I always try NOT to step on the bloke sleeping in the underground tunnel, and I even offered to let my cleaning lady have an apple if she got hungry last spring when she cleaned my flat for 6 hours straight (no one should eat at Texa Fried Chicken). You can then imagine my surprise when faced this weekend with a most unusual situation, putting someone elses needs on par with mine. I mean don't get me wrong, I'm fine with thinking of someone else on the odd day, but not all the time. I mean, that's a lot to ask, right?
So this weekend I mention in passing to CB that I am basically gone from this weekend until the second week in March. He gets out his diary (for the Americans that means agenda/day planner thingy) and starts some sort of Q&A session on when I will be in London. Completely taken aback and immediately assume there is some type of stalker behaviour here that I failed to detect previously. I must have broken out into a sweat whilst visions of midnight phone calls and unexpected visits haunted me. GF? Hello? Are you in London (points to day on calendar) this day? If you are I have a dinner party I would like you to come to with me. Erm, well, yeah ehm, sure yeah. Let's talk about that closer to the time. CB=perplexed look
Me= self involved twat not accustomed to thinking of anyone else

Reap what we sow?

2008-01-30T08:40:00.000Z

I love London, truly I do. In fact I get highly annoyed with people who continue to live here and complain about it non stop. That said, this has been the most unimpressive 24 hour London experience I have had in ages. Sequence of events went something like this:

When I got home from work at 9 last night, something seemed amiss with Girl Friday's Bod. Sussing exactly what it was in a matter of minutes, I racked my brain to figure out if there was a 24 hour chemist anywhere that I knew of. No, course not. I mean how American of me to even ask myself this question. I proceeded to perform home remedy (will spare you the particulars) in an attempt to ward off imminent illness.
Woke up at 4:00am, body in full rebellion of non medical treatment. That was me, off to the A&E. Check in, no problem. Wait in waiting room with bums who clearly would have frozen to death sleeping outside, so logical best alternative is A&E. No bother. 30 minutes later (have I mentioned it was ONLY me and the bums in the waiting area?) a nurse called me in for in take. Just gone 5am now and GF's self diagnosed condition has gotten a bit worse, not unbearable but worse. After in take am put in another holding area where any and every sound emanating from beds in A&E is audible. Use your imagination, but suffice to say it wasn't pleasant. On that note I request to use the ladies. I am directed to the most vile and filthy loo I have seen outside of holes in the ground in some countries I have travelled to. Wee was everywhere and the sink didn't work but did have the lovely addition of blood splattered in the basin. Super. I take my seat again after seeking out an alternative sink to wash my hands in. Nurse approaches me again and says she needs another blood sample as she forgot to test my other one for ALL the required things. Me=puzzled look and brief to nurse in state of affairs in loo. "Ahh, shame" she says and then hands me another blood vile which I am meant to fill. Sweet. It's now nearing 6am. For maths challenged people I have been in the A&E for almost 2 hours now. Without over sharing, trust me when I tell you that what was wrong with me DID NOT require more then 10 minutes of a skilled professionals time. Dr. calls me and I hand him new blood vile explaining the need for a second sample. "Oh, you didn't need to do that, the test she mentioned isn't necessary, we know you have exactly what you think you do" Again, SWEET! 5 minutes later, that's me gone home to shower and be on my way to work with drugs and questionable advice from the Physician already ticked off this morning.
I get to Paddington early to hit Boots (again, I grew up in California and think that herbs and natural things cure ailments better then drugs, although I am taking the drugs as well) for some naturopath additions to my repertoire as well as some water. Again, the Cali girl in me pretty much thinks water can wash away a myriad of sins. Procure sought after potions and see a ladder forming in my tights. Rats. La Senza (sexy lingerie, but also practical stockings) it is. Sales girl would clearly rather be anywhere but here and lets me know that I am the bain of her existence. Scurry on to train and decide not to grab a seat as massive intake of water is already neccesitating loo trip. Train departs late (of course) and oh joy of joys, loo is out of order. Uh huh, ok...doing a dance and hoping the traffic from train station to office is not so bad. WRONG! I am sat in traffic just about to bust and happen to be keeping the company of a hot Argentinian man who likely wondered why I was sitting that way and fidgeting so much.
There is no moral to this story no knowledge to be gleaned by others. Perhaps the lesson learned is, don't get too comfortable in anything, if you do you may be punished.

Full Circle

2008-01-25T14:07:00.000Z

London-Dubai-Frankfurt-Stockholm-London. Grey and cold to desert and sheiks. Design and style vs bling and exageration. Bier, Vodka, Shisha and £5 pints. It's not as glamorous as it sounds, not by far, trust me. I left a not empty bed on Sunday morning and for the first time in a long time, I really would have rather stayed.

One of the things I always try to notice when I travel is subtle cultural differences. Some are less subtle then others, in the Middle East people are rarely on time for meetings and think nothing of starting an hour behind schedule. Where as in Scandanavia everything is dependent on precision and efficiency. Often these observations lead me to look at the different cultural habits I have adopted as well. A Cali girl at heart, with a generous dose of Pacific Northwest thrown in and large quantities of British and European influences to round out. When I was growing up being different was a good thing to me and as I moved and travelled I became more eager to blend and not stick out. I think as travel has also taught me, most things end where they began. In some ways I have come full circle in my desire to be different. When I first moved to London the worst name anyone could call me was American (shock,horror)! Nothing has changed politically and in fact its gotten worse from a global point on view, but I now am proud of who I am. One of the people I work with who was in Sweden as well teased me frequently about being SO West Coast and another who was with me in Dubai insisted I was the epitome of a California girl. 4 years ago I would defended myself, this week I beamed and said to both, "Don't I know it!"

Breakfast will never be the same

2008-01-18T14:39:00.000Z

I am still not sure that I should be shouting this from the roof tops as it's such early days that the bottom could fall out at any minute, but alas I don't want to hold you in suspense for any longer. I changed my mind and decided that I didn't want cereal for breakfast at all anymore. No Fruit Loops, no Captain Crunch no Cocoa Puffs. Cereal is overrated anyway. Now the prizes were just taking up space and the sugar was making me stomach sick. I forgot that I had eggs, toast and a smoothie. Well the truth is, I thought they had reached their expiry date last summer. In reality they were just hiding and last weekend they found me and convinced me to take a chance and have a full breakfast rather then a sugary treat.
Eggs, Toast and Smoothie could also be interpreted as Cricket Boy. Turns out he was ready for a new chapter and also seemed to be ready to skip any awkward "getting reacquainted" malarkey. The best part about this is that he came to me, he realised he was a fool and he convinced me to give him another shot. Admit it! We have all wished at one time or another that someone we really wanted would come to their senses and want us too. Anyone who knows me understands that this particular situation is the stuff books are written about and classic romance movies are built on. The only other time I can say this has happened the person in his shoes had done horrible things that I never should have forgiven. CB just freaked out, told me he was freaking out and decided to take time to figure out what he really wanted. Turns out what he really wanted, was me.
Cue music and chirping birds.

Septic

2008-01-17T08:02:00.000Z

Thanks to all the idiots in the world, every once in awhile I have great material for my blog. On this fine Thursday, I bring you the top 10 things NOT to do when someone takes the time to tell you in person that they don't want to date you any longer. Let's all keep in mind that not returning calls and ignoring emails is still a popular method of telling someone to bugger off, even when we are grown ups. No one owes you anything and the fact that they are a big enough person to tell you in person should count for something.

10. It's not advisable to start criticising their appearance. Are you bloated or have you just gained weight isn't an acceptable question.
9. Telling the person that it wouldn't have worked anyway and proceeding to list why. Goes over like a lead balloon.
8. Are you mental? I don't really know what to add here, pretty much speaks for itself.
7. Verbally listing all the times YOU paid for something and claiming they owe you for those things. At least this one inspires a good laugh.
6.Asking if you have been waiting to tell them this ALL NIGHT. I think 20 minutes into the evening is a perfectly acceptable amount of time to work up the nerve. Especially given the reaction.
5. Asking if THIS is why you never had sex with them.
4. Telling them good luck EVER finding anyone who will put up with their shit. And by shit I think this septic bloke meant "busy schedule"
3. Claiming that even though you don't care, there's a good chance you will go home, drink yourself into a stupor and never wake up again. Yeah, cos suicide is hillarious to joke about.
2. Accusing them of not giving you a fair shot. I list this as 2 because you will notice that 9 and 4 came before this gem.
1. Ask if they can set you up with any of their single friends.

Barforama

2008-01-16T10:00:00.001Z

OK, I am making myself want to vomit. Birds are singing, the sun is shining, life is just a bowl of cherries. This morning I caught myself (GASP) letting people in front of me on the train, ignoring the smelly rude guy next to me on the tube and literally grinning at the bloke that pushed me out of the way to get through the ticket barrier. Plus, the worst part? I have 80's hair today and I'm not bothered.
I'm still not ready to lift the kimono , but be assured that as soon as I get over the shock of recent developments I will tell all.

0 to 60

2008-01-14T23:00:00.000Z

In the immortal words of Ferris Bueller "Life moves pretty fast, if you don't stop and look around once in awhile you could miss it."
I've stopped. Or maybe I've accelerated. At the very least I've gone out of bounds. You know what? Off course is fun.

the week that wouldn't end

2008-01-11T15:48:00.000Z

I honestly think this has to be the longest week of the year. Surely, someone somewhere in some almanac or official record has noted this. A prize to the first reader who validates this with a credible data point.

In other news, Friday's seem to have become the corporate sponsored "do sod all" day of the working week. Even the lovely canteen here in nether regions of England somewhere vaguley close to London but nowhere near any other food establishments has decided that Friday doesn't count. No fruit this morning, no yogurt bar, no smoothies. It's like a 3rd world country I tell you.*

And another thing, can you explain to me this whole friend request on Facebook thing? I actually said to someone a few months ago, " I am sorry X (read 20 year old boy who lives in Surrey with mum and day) I am not going to accept your friendship request because you are not my friend, in fact I don't know you." How is someone who WANTS to be friends with you in the same category on Facebook as the person who saw you vomit on yourself in front of the bloke you fancied after you kissed your best friends boyfriend with your fly down, back in Uni? Can someone explain this to me?

Can someone also expain who benefits from toasters with slots that are too narrow? Who only uses the toaster for bread the thickness of 10p? And why do all the umbrellas they sell in the places where you would need an umbrella most (shops in Paddington for example) cost £15 and fall apart within a week?

Alright, those are all the questions I can come up with in the 30 minutes of the day in which I have decided to do nothing.

Have a super weekend and wish me inspiration for more interesting posts soon which are not so offensive.

*Although I know that term is wrong on so many levels, there's nothing really as impactful in my vocabulary today.

rebellious

2008-01-08T08:28:00.000Z

When I was a child there was an understood rule that you weren't allowed to start one thing before you finished another. Ok maybe it was actually spoken. You know how you couldn't open the Fruit Loops (yes, for me it was granola and grape nuts, but you get the point) before the box of Coco Puffs were through or start on one hobby whilst still enraptured by another? I learned over Christmas that not all families were like this, but based on the discussions we had, I think the ones that weren't are the exception.
If I had a dime (well let's make it fifty pence since an American dime is about as useless as a vicker in a brothel at the moment) for every time when I was home that I got the "So, anyone special yet?" speech, followed by the expectant gaze...well let's just say I'd be somewhere sunnier and warmer right now. But the truth is, I'm not sure I want 1 special person yet. I think I want Captain Crunch, Fruity Pebbles and Graham Cracker Crunch. I'm not ready to finish one box before I start another. I want to figure out which cereal I like better before I commit to one cereal for the rest of the week!!! Is that SOOO wrong? ADD? Perhaps, but I reckon it's latent rebellion. Either that or Peter Pan syndrome. Maybe I just want to get the prize out of each and never actually eat the cereal at all!

back to life, back to reality

2008-01-03T02:47:00.000Z

As much as I hate to see it end, my 2 weeks of food, wine, friends and family has slowly come to an end. Back in the oh so familiar BA Lounge (honestly, it's the one place that is ignorant to country, culture or time) I look out and watch the last lovely Western sunset of my trip. As evidenced by my last post, this has been a trip of self discovery. Cathartic in ways, challenging many things I held as truths when I left London, this holiday escape from real life has served as a reminder of who I am and what I hold dear. But alas playtime must end and I must slip seamlessly back into the hustle and bustle on life in London. Still I can continue to daydream Californication style.

Love, From the US

2007-12-28T21:15:00.000Z

I've spent the last week and a bit on the West Coast of America. Home for the holidays and all that. Coming back always invokes an array of emotions and a review of life and inevitably love. If this time of year didn't bring that about all on its own, home is a sure fire catalyst. My life here was different for certain, but I don't know that I would say better or worse. Most of my loves originated in the sun, rain and snow of the West Coast. Food, wine, art, writing,music,sport,friends and men are all the first to spring to mind. Love of food and wine only improves with age and time. Musical infatuation builds on experience, while art and sport are dynamic by nature and therefore always evolving. The missing obsession from the list is travel. "Oh the Places You'll Go" was likely my first travel guide and therefore my preoccupation with new lands and languages was most probably incubated in the 714. Directly or indirectly. Friends and men,of course, being the wild cards have seen the most investment, loss and return. Two of the major men in my life are from here so all the places, faces, smells and noises remind me of my successes and mishaps in love, lust and everything in between. I have forged some of the strongest friendships here and learned one of the most devastating lessons of all. Losing a friend hurts much worse then losing a lover. Every trip back, which now seems to only happen once a year, inevitably brings out a side of me that indulges in all the things I could never entertain on a regular basis in my London life. Microbrew beers, great local wines, many late nights in succession, long talks over martinis and excessive flirting with men that could never break my heart. At least that's what I like to tell myself. There's rarely much reality in my trips, save the occasional runny nose or torn ligament from sports. This trip however has seen a mix of harsh reality and fluffy fantasy.
Harsh: My options (according to my mates mum) are having babies with my mate (who as it happens is a woman) and living happily ever after as a gay couple. Sans the sex of course, given that neither of us are actually lesbians. Not that there's anything wrong with being a lesbian, it's just not my thing.
Fluffy: 22 is hot. Enough said.
Harsh: Unfortunately not only boyfriends come and go, friends do too
Fluffy: Everything is half price! It's great!

So with the life review and a new year ahead, I am proposing that I remind myself (and you can hold me to it) that only certain people are worthy of being in our lives. The criteria are many but in the end the pay off is big.

uninspired

2007-12-18T08:54:00.000Z

The last couple of weeks have been mad busy, but somehow no good stories have emerged. Sure, there have been planes, trains and taxi cabs. There was Istanbul, Paris and everwhere in between. Boys and men and the occasional recall of an uber embarassing close encounter, but overall nothing noteworthy.
To fabricate would be cruel and to abandon lame, but I tell you there's not a tale to tell. I leave for Christmas holidays tomorrow and unless I am struck by genius, this will be my last post for 2007. Sad.

LF(not actually)L(but somewhere in Europe),
GF

Mecca

2007-12-03T16:15:00.000Z

I am in Istanbul at the moment and my room with a lovely view faces Mecca. How do I know, you might ask? The arrow on the ceiling coupled with the extra loud dose of prayer I am being issued. As my room faces Mecca, the loudspeakers on all the mosques seem to be broadcasting in full stereo volume as I work. It's as if the man with the sing song praying is right beside me making sure that I don't insert anything into the documents I am drafting or emails I am sending that might corrupt the souls of people more trusting then an old jaded PR girl. I needed a break and the melodic prayer got me thinking about Mecca. Personally, as I am not Islamic, I think that everyone has their own version of Mecca. The place or the time or the person that brings you back to who you are and what you stand for. Life gets out of control more often then not and something has to bring you back to reality. So fine reader (well I think it might be more then one now) where is your Mecca? Mine is my sister Julie. She's not my real sister, but we grew up together and she's like blood. Coupled with my little niece and nephew that she kindly bestowed on this world, nothing grounds me more then her voice. The laughter of the little ones is like coming home and her words always remind of who I am. It's over the phone most of the time, but none the less, they are my Mecca.

transport tips for London

2007-11-29T08:48:00.000Z

I know my recent posts have all consisted of lists (which let's face it, are a cop out) and for that I apologise. As soon as my world stops spinning out of control I will return to witty stories and cheeky observations, but for another day. This day I give you my jaded, 3 years in the Big Smoke, everyone but me is an idiot, top tips for surviving London transport. I can't,however,guarantee your sanity will remain in tact as a result of these tips. Better the devil you know, I say.
-most of the time (there are very few exceptions) there is no reason to sprint for the tube, hurdle your body-and your massive bag which you insist on rolling behind you for the 8 hours you will be at work-into the others calmly waiting on the tube. Everyone is already smashed like sardines and your lack of hand eye coordination creates a chain reaction of unwanted bodily contact
-please don't breathe on your fellow passangers. None of us wants to be there but your breath (especially if you smoke) makes the journey even less tolerable. Ditto for air that comes from places other then your mouth. Honestly, are you even remotely civilised?
-don't stare at people. In America we teach our children that this is rude. I think that rule should be international. And no being drunk is not an excuse
-if you are too cheap to take a cab to the airport and you have luggage bigger then some African countries, could you kindly plan ahead and not travel on Monday at 8am, or 6pm for that matter
-your bag/handbag/lunch/newspaper shouldn't have its own seat unless it also has its own ticket
-there is such a thing as travel karma. For every time you shove someone out of the way, you miss a train or tube

what I learned this weekend

2007-11-26T15:14:00.000Z

-I am bad at PR for the people I date
-Therefore I am actually concerned my mates may revoke my right to choose (my own dates that is)
-One day of doing nothing but lie on the sofa will not cure the virus of 2007
-With copious amounts of mulled wine, watching your friends ice skate can be almost as fun as doing it yourself
-30 is a fun birthday no matter how many times you celebrate it
-Thanksgiving is about gratefulness (yes I made that word up) not a country or a day or specific food
-When the temperature drops to -6 people react in strange ways
-Some people are afraid of cats, I understand not liking them, but afraid is a whole new level of crazy
-I know more then the average girl about George Michael. I still don't see anything wrong with this
-Jonathan Rhys Meyers has a 2" penis (flag at full mast)

This was brought to you by the letter D for disease which I believe has plotted my demise.

You know it's almost Christmas when

2007-11-20T16:50:00.000Z

Out of charity you agree to go for Sugar Daddy speed dating as a wing woman
The lights on Oxford Street make you tear up (OK, maybe I had too much champers)
It's so cold that wearing your glasses is the only way to prevent your eyes from involuntarily weeping when you dash to the train in the morning
Love Actually makes you tear up (hmm, again, wine this time, maybe there is a theme here)
You justify purchases for yourself in relation to the amount of money you have spent on others
You get so excited about the special holiday lattes that you miss your morning train
Planning a night on the town for 5 weeks away doesn't seem unreasonable
People start practising random acts of kindness**
You detox once a week rather then once a month in anticipation of the gluttony to come

Happy Christmas Season!

**OK, maybe not in London, but in a lot of other cities

34 to 1 and pocket pool

2007-11-14T12:18:00.000Z

When I boarded the plane from Johannesburg it was 34C (that's about 93 for the F peeps) and when I stepped off the plane in London it was 1C (about 33F). My body has refused to re-acclimate and my mind isn't far behind. I have been triple rolled in my duvet the last couple of nights in a vain attempt to ward off the cold cold air surrounding my bed. Lucky for me a friend met me at one of my favourite pubs last night. Twas a great reminder why I love London, even if I did nearly freeze. I also, as luck would have it, was the recipient of what seemed to be a quick game of pocket pool.
**Warning: I can laugh at myself and my partner in crime last night can laugh at me even more. The following story is not for the prude, faint of heart or otherwise humourously challenged.**

Let me explain. Upon leaving the first pub last night we wandered to a second for a top off to end the evening. When we entered, the smell was so offensive that we decided without even speaking to take our drinks outside (yes, into the 1 or possibly 0 by this time freezing cold air). Whilst discussing the meaning of life erm ok maybe it was more like the meaning of Chelsy and Harry splitting up, the bar man interuppeted us to ask if we smoked. He was collecting the ash trays, so the question seemed relevant.

No, we both answered.
How long have you been here, he continued.
Um, 10 minutes, we said.
No in this country, he stammerd.
He Scottish, I confused, looked at him and repeated 10 minutes.

My mate and I both expected a one person rant on the evils of America, Bush and everyone who happened to be born in the vast country also known as a world oppressor. Instead we got a very disconnected lecture on how we would soon start smoking in this freezing depressed desolate city otherwise known as London. Now is probably a good time to mention that the lower half of this very eloquent man was hidden behind a short fence and under the table. We finished our pints and left, probably a little faster then normal given the special friend we had clearly attracted. We got to the tube station and I noticed white splashes up the side of my knee high black boot, but only the left one. Splashes that looked suspiciously like the remnants of a one handed shuffle. It was quite possibly one of the most disturbing looking things to have been bestowed on me in over 3 years living in London (and trust me, this is saying a lot). Laugh and the world laughs with you, get a sticky white substance splashed on your boot and the world laughs at you.

Why?

2007-11-11T16:14:00.000Z

Didn't I meet him when I got here instead of when I am leaving?
Did it have to be someone who is a 12 hour flight away?
Did he have to be so incredibly different then anyone I have met in ages?
Isn't he over his ex?
Do I like the ones I can't have?
Am I a sucker for a big heart and soulful eyes?
Can't I sleep on planes?

Nervous

2007-11-10T17:50:00.000Z

I met a boy last night when I was least expecting it (of course). Product whore that I am, I quickly found the coolest little apothecary here in Jo'Burg. They do custom body lotions, bath melts, lip balms and other fun stuff. Needless to say I have spent more of my fair share (and money) there over the last 2 weeks. Last night I went in to pick up some of the things that quickly became favourites for xmas gifts, only this time the owner was there. Instant connection doesn't even describe the interaction that ensued. We talked and drank wine until I had to go to a business dinner and made plans to meet up tonight. He and his friend invited me to see a local band with them and they are due here to pick me up any minute. I am nervous. I rarely get nervous. I am unflappable usually. But I am sitting in my hotel room, palms sweating, 12 outfits later waiting to go meet them, not wanting to be early. Ok here goes.

Good at Something

2007-11-08T09:04:00.000Z

I was struggling to iron my suit this morning. The suit is silk and the iron kept spewing water everywhere. Silk and water don't mix. Now for anyone who hasn't been to countries where hired help is the norm, let me explain. It keeps people employed who otherwise wouldn't have jobs, they are treated very very well and in some cases become part of the family. In no way since I have been in Africa have I seen any of the helpers treated poorly, nor do they ever seem unhappy. They sing whilst they work and seem more then pleased to help with things. So I called housekeeping in a panic and asked if they could press it for me. Of course they replied, of course. I laughed and said "I'm rubbish, I tried and I can't do it, I'm sorry." She belly laughed along with me and replied, "That's already darling, you are very good at something else and that's what matters." Everytime I am down on myself for not being able to do EVERYTHING perfectly, I am going to remember this.

Does it make me a horrible person?

2007-11-07T13:06:00.000Z

I stumbled on an ex boyfriends "wedding site" a bit ago and had a less then favourable reaction to the story, photos, wedding plans, very large picture of the ring and oh did I mention the photos? Sorry I need to go throw up.

Recycled Air

2007-11-02T16:13:00.000Z

I can't really sleep on planes. I mean it's usually not the best sensory experience and the recyled air, well it's just wrong. I can, but the means by which I get there is not worth the end. Suffice to say with the distances I tend to travel, one has a lot of time to think. Well think and watch bad movies, but sometimes the bad movies make you think even more. Anyway, I am far far from any of the places I call home at the moment and the flight here was 12 hours. I had a lot of time to think and funny enough, it was all very superficial. Brace yourself reader ( I am pretty sure there is only one) becuase I am about to get blonde on you with DEEP thoughts.

So I did that whole signing up to a dating site thing for one very specific reason, I firmly believe it takes a date to get a date. It must be pheromones or something, but as soon as you line up a date (you don't even have to go on it) you will inevitably get another. So I made a few dates for when I return to the UK within a couple of days of being on the dating site. Like clockwork, 2 days later I got a text from Cricket Boy asking if I wanted to have a drink. Being away bought me some space to decide. Perfect timing as I'm not sure I want to open that chapter again. Quite sure he's not ready for a new chapter and there is only so much recycling one girl with so many dates can do.

sex lies and videotape

2007-10-30T16:59:00.000Z

Ok, that's a bit misleading, especially given I've not seen an actual videotape this century.Actually, that's a lie too as one of my best mates still "tapes" her favourite shows and watches them when she's bored. I digress.

While relaying the events of another thrilling "night in the life of a London girl" to my colleagues one morning last week, it hit me. P.A.T.H.E.T.I.C! Honestly, I'm in my prime (or at least all the Uni boys I date think I am) and look at me I am dissapointing couples who want to live vicariously! Wednesday night consisted of a bad relationship programme on BBC2, a skipped stop at the gym, a massive bowl of popcorn and sign up to a new trendy dating website. I was quite happy when chatting about my very enjoyable evening until I realised I was being met with looks of horror from my two very coupled work mates. It appears they depend on me for tales of drinking until the wee hours or a date gone awry; clearly I had let them down. Never one to dissapoint I awoke the next day with a renewed vigor toward my rather lagging dating roster these days. Unfortunately, on a Friday morning I had no where but the office to take all this new found motivation to pull. I therefore spent most of the day flirting with the camera man who was shooting a video for me. I am strict "no company pens in my ink" kinda gal, but

1. he does not work for the same company I do

2. I cannot watch any more of those pathetic shows

3. He was fit

So there you have it, that was Girl Friday's Family version of sex, lies and videotape. Oh and Lpeg.....London is fab. As long as you can party like a rockstar, like me.

Standards

2007-10-24T12:42:00.001+01:00

I read a statistic in the Metro on the way to the gym last night which made my long time strategy of remaining single seem extremely sane: 8 out of 10 18-35 year olds polled in London said they had or would cheat if given the chance. That's special. So special that I now feel very justified in my current no dates status.

Bitter is as Bitter does

2007-10-17T10:06:00.000+01:00

It's not usual for me, I rarely go there, but from time to time I hit a patch of bitter along the slick roads of life. I refuse to blame it on being single, because I reckon you can be resentful and angry regardless of wether or not there is a warm body next to you each night. Saturday I was having brunch with 2 girlfriends and with very little prompting heard myself launch into a tirade on men in general and a few in particular. I could hear my own insanity and realised that people at the surrounding tables were likely warning their children to stay clear of crazy in the black top with the eggs benedict. I don't even know where all that hostility came from. I would like to think it's me taking on the plight of every single (ok all 3) girl in my life, but in reality it sounded more like I had a personal vendeta against anyone packing their own travel size frank and beans. So disarming was my one person speakers corner monolouge that I turned to my friends once I ran out of breath and asked the all important question, "Am I bitter? I think I might be bitter! Or am I just realistic." They did as any good women in their (very cute) shoes would do. In unison they replied NO! of course you aren't. Well, yes, I think I am, but I also think a good evening of flirting will knock it right out of my system.

Wanted: Mojo

2007-10-11T10:09:00.000+01:00

Mine's gone missing. Positively, definitely, no doubt about it....gone. I do geeky PR, the kind where the men outnumber the women in most situations 3:1. Given the region that I cover, sometimes it more like 8:1. Last night at the T3 awards I couldn't pull for love or money and I think I looked pretty cute plus I brought the girls. The fit bloke seated next to me at dinner ended up getting lured by a lass who mysteriously switched her engagement ring to the other hand by the entree and started referring to her "boyfriend" as loudly as possible by dessert. There were men everywhere, straight men everywhere and not a one for me. The only semblence of male attention I got all night was when I was gratuitously groped by the very gay emcee when I went to accept our award. This leads to me to only one conclusion, my mojo has gone missing. It's happened before, about 2 years ago, and I can't remember how I found it again but I better sort it out quickly. Resigned to no attention and too much to drink I also made the mistake of digging into my goodie bag and eating cheese and onion Hula Hoops in the cab on the way back to mine securing my spot in loner ville for at least another 24 hours.