Working for the Weekend

I am not sure if this is a bit of a rant or if I am just being a bit too tough on myself, but I am feeling a little frustrated today. Well, a lot frustrated - enough to want to leave now and just head home, and try to work some of the frustrations out. You know, out of sight, out of mind and all that jazz. And oh, yes, definitely want the weekend to be here. Not that two days away from the office will solve everything but then again, it is nice to sometimes gain some perspective when not sitting in an environment that is causing some of the stress.

The thing is, it is all self-inflicted which is the nuttiest thing about my whole situation and makes me realize that I maybe need to loosen up a bit, calm down, and take some deep cleansing breathes (or perhaps, more in line with my style of being, go beat the ***t out of a punching bag).

Right now, there are two sides of me that is warring at work: the relatively independent side that wants to be able to get handed something, go off, get in done, and come back with the completed product. And then there is the other side of me - the perfectionist side- that is realizing that I am not as skilled as I would like to be, that I am still learning and don't want to muck it up (and I am really not reassured by the comments that if you do muck things up, it comes back half a year later to haunt you rather than right away) and so, I am constantly checking in to make sure I a not making a complete mess of the system.

And this is where the frustration comes from: we're a small team and growing, but at the same time, we are all quite busy. And when I am handed things that I am not as familiar with, I get on with what I can and need to check with someone about the rest. So I do; yet, I constantly feel like I am being a bother. Like I am just obviously too slow to get it since it is been three months and I am still asking questions. That I am maybe not suited for all this. And while no one has said anything of the sort (and most indicators seem to be that it is the opposite), I am feeling out of my depth and want to have some sort of structure and training and guidance so I can get to a point where I am all along, in my office, doing my work most of the day without requiring any help or guidance and input.

But I am not there yet. So, I am feeling lost (why, yes, there does seem to be a theme of this post). And not only am I lost, but now I am being asked to work with and train others. Perhaps I just need to have a bit more faith in myself and see this as a big shiny gold star from the bosses. But when I am feeling as though I am not on firm footing, I am not sure exactly what I am will be able (or capable) of teaching someone else. Any wonder I am just waiting for the weekend at this point?

Bad Day

I am having one of those days today. You know the one - where you think about all the things you've done and all the things you could have done. Where you can look back on your life and find the joy/humour/wonderfulness is random moments but then thinking about the present, about the now makes you feel a bit like everything is tinged with a whole lot of sad.

I try not to be the person who looks back, who regrets - who wishes things could be different, things could change, things could be anything but they way they are. But in all honesty, I think sometimes you just have to have these types of days. You need to feel sorry for yourself and feel unloved and just keep thinking to yourself "why me???" and hear the sounds of the violins (or whatever your string instrument of choice may be) well behind you and just wallow in the feeling. I want to say almost revel in that sharp tang of bitterness that regret and longing seems to bring.

But I have learned, the important thing is not that I have days like these, but what I do with these types of days. If I choose to stay feeling mired in the hopelessness of my current situation, not seeing a way to change the things I want to and wishing, wishing, wishing but never realizing. Or, whether, I can shake this feeling off. Look forward to focusing on the bright, the shiny, the happy. Even knowing that if I must persist in looking back, I can at least try to focus on the happy instead of focusing on the sad.

These Boots Were Made For Walking

I thought I might take things to a bit of a lighter place. And speak once more of my love for all things shoe (not to be confused with all things ‘show’ which would make me a completely different type of girl).

My latest crush is on a designer line for a thrift, mass market shoe store; and I am not saying those things like it is a bad idea – one of a kind and mass market can appeal equally. I am absolutely in love with this shoe – I had the chance to buy it but it was a half size smaller than I wanted and so I thought I would wait. But after getting home, realizing none of the shoes were available online, running to the store closest to me that might have it (they did not; they did not even get a shipment) and then the next morning – before the store had even opened – checking to see if they had my size (again, they did not), I am actually besotted.

I am plotting on how to get my hands on one of these pairs, so much so that I am calling today at the end of work just to see if they received a new shipment and putting a pair on hold (which I am then off to collect). If not, I am tracking down the pair that was a half size too small and asking them to hold it (which I am then off to collect).

It might sound crazy but the half size smaller might work because it is a pump shoe and I find that pumps in my size tend to slip off my feet when walking. I am not so besotted that I am about to plunk down money on a pair of shoes that will only cause me pain – not to say I have not done that, but only when I did not realize that they would cause me pain. I am not an intentional masochist.

Always Look on the Bright Side of Life

I have said it before and I will probably be saying it again: it is strange to be back here in Miami; to be in a place where I have so many memories and moments tied up together, to know so many friends from my time at university who have stayed here or like, me have come back here, and yet, to feel so lost in a strange land. It is the familiar and the unfamiliar all at the same time. And while I can ground myself with knowing the landmarks and the locale and the people and the culture, I am still sometimes so amused (and sometimes, alternately, so distraught) at the fact that I am, for all intents and purposes, a stranger in a strange land.

How can I explain this? I am used to wandering the world; I am used to traveling the road not taken. Perhaps that is why Frost's poem will forever speak to me. I understand about looking forward, about making decisions, and about not looking back (or at least, trying to do so very rarely). But in many ways, the last few months have been all about looking back. I am back in my old room, in the house I knew back when I was in Uni. I am settling back into old patterns, old feelings, and there are so many things that just seem to scream deja vu to me. And yet, it is all new in so many ways.

People have gone on about their lives while I have been traipsing about the world, living mine. People are married, settled, having kids, buying houses - all the things that seem so grown up and very distant from my life. And that is the thing: I know these people. Or at least, I think I did. I knew them back when they were college kids just like me. But they are not anymore. And neither am I. I am looking at them, thinking there is so much of their life that is not for me - nothing I aspire to, but I am happy for them. And when they look at me, I am not sure what they think. I can sometimes hear it though: single, living with parents, no commitments or ties. Hmmmphhh.

And I understand, but I am angry too. There is so much that has happened between the girl who was living that life ten years ago and the girl living that life now. Not just the years; more than that. And there really is not a single person who can say they have been there through it all. Maybe that's the rub of being back here: I am trying to find familiar faces when there really are none. It is like seeing the rough outlines of the people around you - recognizing them, but not knowing them. Maybe some are more filled in than others, but it all gets strange in one way or another; just more unknowns when what I am feeling is that I should feel like I am home.

Better Now

Without fail, this always happens on a holiday weekend, when all doctors and
other forms of medical treatment options are closed: I develop symptoms that should or need to be seen by a doctor. Which means I inevitably end up in the emergency room. I think it is become quite the habit with me and one I am hoping to break at some point.

There have been numerous incidents: the boxing day I spent waiting at the ER for antibiotics because of a raging sinus/ear/throat infection while my mum and my brother went shopping all the great after Christmas sales. Or the Easter that I came home, barely breathing and no inhaler insight (really, I should know better as an asthma sufferer). I think the only reason a trip to A&E was avoided at that time was the intervention of a goodly friend who was also an asthma sufferer and happened to be a doctor as well (the proper kind; not the tweed jacket and leather elbow patches kind).

So here it is, another long weekend - one that should involve good times with friends and food and trips to exciting places, and I am stuck with my immune system having a field day and popping allergy pills like no tomorrow. I am flushed, but it certainly is not from a liberal dose of alcohol or from the attentions of a wanted suitor. C'est la vie, ne c'est pas??? If it is god, then he or she has a wicked sense of humour. But more than likely, it is just a physical wayof saying that I am not equiped to cope with too much free time: I am a girl on the go who plans to always be going places.

Rainy Days and Mondays

And in Miami, it seems there are always plenty of those - rainy days, that is. After all, Mondays only come once a week. It has been an exceptional wet and soggy week - the mornings always start out pretty brilliant - all warm and humid and sunny; perfect weather for hitting the beach or just being out and about and not for sitting in an office, staring at the wonderful day to be had.

But by the afternoon, the storms come rolling in and by the time it is quitting time, I don't really feel the urge to leave. Ughhh! Head out in that weather? Battle the wet roads and the pouring rain and the crazy thunder and lightening? No thanks! I can stay late and be an industrious little bunny......

Something Good

It has been a while and it has not been that nothing has been happening in my life. Or even that I am so hectically busy that I can't take the ten minutes out of my life to update this. In fact, if I spent even half the time on here that I do playing some game or the other online, I could have posts every day of the week. And then some.....

No, it is just that the past two months have been all about my life just slotting into place. I feel the same way I do these days as I did two years ago - in December of 2007. The job is starting to feel right - I am not feeling like I am constantly being watched to see just how wrong I can get it. In fact, if anything, I feel like I am starting to get a sense of things and wanting to really learn more. I love what I am doing and there is something to be said about finding the type of job in the type of environment that just really suits who you are.

And I like the environment. It has been sad to get there and see so many people go. Especially some of the people I got to know best before they left, but at the same time, it opens up the chance for other new people to come in and become one of the team. I am normally not a team player - I pick and choose the people who surround me with care - but I like the people I work with and I am finally getting to that stage where I feel comfortable getting to know them and letting them know a little bit about me. And I am willing to be open about some of the things in my life that are a little more personal......okay, I still have not told the Halloween story but then again, perhaps that story never needs to see the light of day.

And I am sorting my life out. I am doing all sorts of grown up things: making big purchases and thinking about my retirement plan and saving and health care. I am thinking about the long term - doing things like heading to the gym when all I want to do is go home, sit in front the telly, and spend quality time with Ben and Jerry. I am making an effort to get up and out on weekends - find something to do, entertain myself, and if in doing so, I meet some new folks in Miami. All the better - it is time to start rebuilding my friend network. It is all good and fine to have loads of folks across the pond I love and who love me back (and miss me) but I need a support network here. So, I am reaching out, making changes, taking chances. And I am loving everything about my life right now.

Connection Conundrum

These days, I am starting to feel the sting of the way in which the world connects more and more. Yes, that wonderful way of communicating - of reaching out and touching all and sundry - the internet. Don't get me wrong - technology has its place and I am glad to have it, rather than to be living without it (hell, without it, you would not be reading these words nor would I have a place to leave them as my mark on the world wide wide). Nonetheless, I think the casual way we connect means that somethings - especially common decencies in life - suffer.

One thing I am fast be coming the anti-fan of is the FB friend cull. I have noticed that friends left and right are dropping off of my page (just because I have not said so, does not mean it is not apparent) but the thing is - I have little time to devote to people who probably see it as "out of sight, out of mind". Someone once described the friend cull as the metaphorical dagger in the heart; and to me, that is a pretty apt way of looking at it. I am not one of those people with loads of friends hanging off their profile just for numbers sake; surprisingly, life is not a number game - it is quality, not quantity.

And to that end, all the people I have on my friend profile are there because I know them, I love them, and I want to share in their life anyway I can. So culling me (or anyone else you might be thinking of) says you don't value my friendship. Or you're just waiting to see if I am going to notice or care enough to mention it - send that message that says "was that a mistake? noticed you're missing". Perhaps I am too proud, but I refuse to send that message when I suddenly see a friendly face missing in action; if you wanted me gone, you made it clear. Which is probably why the dagger is still stuck in the heart.

I feel another downside of all this communicating is that we're so busy letting others know what we're doing, updating, putting out vague yet tantalizing statuses, or tweeting. We get so wrapped up in saying something without saying anything. I know so many people probably think that they know what is going on with me and my life based on my status updates and random snippets that are posted in public places, yet I still feel the need to take a bit of a break and write my friends individually to share with them. And it feels like a slap in the face (man, is the body metaphors being abused right now!) when they don't (or won't) take the time to reciprocate and let me know in turn how life rolls for them. Gone the days of letter writing and the importance placed on it, but sometimes, I miss those days. At least then missives from those you loved were treated with the reverance they deserved.

A Voyage Long and Strange

I have just finishing up reading this book "A Voyage Long and Strange: Rediscovering the New World" by Tony Horwitz and I have to say, it has been one of those moments in life where I find myself thinking an awful lot, sometimes related to the subject matter (which is all about who ended up in America between Columbus sailing the ocean blue in 1492 and the "first" English settlers arriving at Plymouth Rock) but also sometimes just related into the engaging and intriguing way in which the author has chosen to portray the subject matter.


In terms of the subject matter itself, I am finding weird coincidences that I did not quite understand before. Like the complete brain numbing night I spent last night watching National Treasure (both movies) back to back. And the second one was talking about 'Cibola". Suddenly, I got it (thanks to the book) and could even figure where the writers of the script had dumbed down the legend to play into their movie plot (what little of it there was, but still enjoyable for the actio-adventurey sequences). And how they got it wrong: I was left scratching my head why Amrican Indian treasure would be guarded by a riddle in Olmaec, which I thought was a language of South America, not North America. Anywho, it reads for a really intresting read about the history that has been forgotten in relation to America itself.

And that is the other thing that really has me thinking with this book: the way that the author has managed to highlight how history is fluid and personal. How history can be shaped by what people choose to believe. Or choose to share. I have heard said that history is written by the winners but that is not necessarily always true. History is something - that I think - is personally shaped and defined by those who are 'reading' it. The way in which the author highlights how various people(s) choose to interpret and believe historical evidence is intriguing. I have come across the way in which people can choose to believe or deny parts of history as suits their agendas (for example, Holocaust deniers) but most importantly, to me at least, is the way this book seems to track how widespread and ingrained the tendency is - to examine our history and reinterpret it. It makes me wonder: by the very act of iving my life, what personal history have I decided to reimagine in a way more suited to my present being?

Gears and Cogs

I seem to have many thoughts on my mind lately. While the everyday routine does occupy some of my time and thinking effort, I find that I am facing all the big questions recently: what do I want?; what am I looking for in life?; etc. etc. etc. And I really have no simple, straightforward answers to any of those questions. I guess all I can do is ponder on them and I thought I might include my friends in some of the pondering. The thoughts most recently and most frequent: what - or more precisely - whom am I looking for in life?

As of late, I have had a very fluid view of relationships. Willing to be in a monogamous or a polygamous relationship as it suits; willing to keep things casual or declare undying love as it suits. But being fluid means I am either trying to find what I am looking for or I just don't know what I am looking for. Or in my case, a bit of both. I have not done the whole dating and mating thing for very long - I may have been on this earth for many years, but my experience is shockingly limited. I was the one in the corner reading about life, instead of living it and my head has only recently been removed from amidst the pages of weighty tomes (sounds all gothic and grave, doesn't it?)

What I am finding is that I am looking for short cuts and cheats - the easter eggs of life if you will - in order to figure out how to find the person I am meant to be with. I have learned this much: for all my experiments and experiences of open relationships, I want one person that I can completely fall into; Someone that I can just lose myself in. And it is hard to lose oneself (in my opinion) when you're trying to juggle the affections and affectations of multiple partners. So, I am looking for 'the one' - for want of a better term, but a shorthand comprehended by most.

But how to find him (and this is one thing I am not questioning - it is a him; sorry to disappoint all the ladies :-D)? I have realized, examining my past dating history, that I don't seem to fall into anyone very easily. In fact, I rarely seem to fall. Fall into lust? Very easily - after all, I understand about attraction and desire; about being intrigued by a person or a statement, a look or a comment. But to fall into love; that I have only done the once - the kind that leaves a mark on you and haunts your dreams, well after the love is gone. And I think there are people I know whom I could be in love with, but how to be sure? My experiences are so limited, and my self so restrained that I refuse to infer or once inferred, refuse to act on it lest I be wrong. I let moments linger in my mind, but refuse to act on opportunities. I say everything without saying what is fundamentally so important and wonder if love is something that went the way of the dodo birds. If modern humans, myself included, are meant to fall in love or if the most one can hope for is a connection that isn't as fleeting as the latest viral video. And the cogs keep turning ever on...

When Are You Enough? *

I thought about writing this note after having shared a recent conversation with someone I had liked and ended up kissing. It all started by an innocent question of is there a particular hair type that is lusted for in general - a sort of informal survey. I shared my story of how a guy I knew had said his ideal was someone slimmer than me, taller than me, and blonder than I am (err, which also probably means paler given my ethnic background).....it made me a bit more cautious to say the least and I was not surprised when things fizzled quicker than they had started.

But it got me to thinking. I have never been someone who fits the 'ideal' mold - whether it is society or even sometimes, my own ideals. When I look back on pictures, I can see that there are slight changes here and there but you can always recognize me, no matter what age. Which means I also have my share of comments guys have made, thinking they were being nice. I can't tell you how many time I have heard 'you have a pretty face, if only you lost weight' or 'what are you?' (errr, a girl??? always asked by someone trying to figure out my racial heritage). I have had guys tell me I would be the kind of girl they would like to sleep with but not date (errmmm, thanks but no) or 'I would be perfect if only I were...(insert characteristic that cannot be altered without some drastic surgery and sometimes involving sex reassignment)

Not surprisingly, my confidence has taken a knock after years of being told that somehow I just was not good enough as I am. It's hard to stay objective; it's hard to say it's them and not me. And yes, I have had moments where my heart broke because someone thought being honest did not equal being mean. How do you not cry when there are more failed romances or missed chances than honest-to-goodness love stories in your past? When at any given moment, there are more people telling you that you need to change to be successful in life, love and everything else that matters instead of the fact that you're perfect as you are.

My most poignant moment was when I sat across from a friend and love of years and listened to him break me down bit by bit - listened as he told me why I would never find love, true friendship, and happiness. Why no one wanted me and never would. For hours, I sat there over a cup of coffee and took it all in. I am still not sure now why I stayed, why I listened, why I did not say anything and looking back, I wonder how someone could be so close to you and think such poisonous thoughts about you and of you but in the end, perhaps it was for the best

At that moment, I realized I could not keep looking outside of myself for the answer. I could not keep asking others if I was enough for them, if I was finally enough. looking for validation. I had to answer that for myself and be content, no matter what. And yes, I do try to be enough for myself. I want to live my life, happy in the knowledge that I have no regrets or second thoughts about what I do. I want to hold on to the idea that I could be loved for who I am as I am and if I change - for better or for worse - I can still be loved. I will never be lighter though winter makes me paler; I could be thinner but I enjoy a good meal out and pints with friends too much to be that person who only orders a salad or drinks water; I could be blonder but I love my dark hair, tinged with auburn in the right light. I love all my exotic features - my almond eyes and pouty lips and everything else that makes me me.

I could lie and say I always feel that I am enough. But I don't think anyone ever feels like they are enough all the time. I have my days where I wake up and feel like life would be better if only I could change some imperfection, imagined or real. I sometimes wonder what it would be like to walk into any shop and just pick anything I want off the rack. I wonder what it would be like to walk around with all eyes on me no matter where I go, but in the end, are those people any happier than you or I? We all have our insecurities; even the most perfect men and women in the world wish they could be someone else I am sure. While everyone strives to be them, they strive to be something else. So in the end, perhaps as long as you're enough for yourself, then you can be enough. You can walk around, comfortable in your own skin and happy in your own thoughts. And maybe if just a few people say they truly are enough - lumps, bumps, and all - then others will be inspired.

*An oldie but goodie, given some of the recent posts

DD Revisited

I thought this was a topic worth revisiting as for various reasons, I have had dating and mating on my mind - in one form or another. And not necessarily for myself, either. It just seems there is a lot of spring fever going around, so why not think a little more about why I am not experiencing a spring in my step yet....

I was talking to my best friend about the recent blog I had written about reasons I seem not to get any play when I am in the United States. And she had some thoughts to add. For one thing, she mentioned that one of the issues which I identified - my preference for interracial relationships - she identified as perhaps having more to do with how hard it is to classify me. That is not a derogatory as it sounds; rather, it stems from the fact that I am multi-racial and my looks do reflect that. Something I am quite proud of. But as she mentioned, it makes people harder to figure out who I am and how to relate to me. As she put it, I am so exotic that I scare them off. Especially in a city like Miami.

Her solution? Probably the only city that would work well for me in terms of dating is New York. Sounds crazy, right? Perhaps not so much. On further reflection, I do remember there were more overt romantic gestures and interest in me when I spent three months living in New York. Of course, maybe with more time than three months, I would have been able to have actually done something with the interest. Ahhh, wasted chances and opportunities I guess.

The other reason I may not be hot to trot compared with my time in London? Apparently, I am not willing to slut myself out (I know, shocking, right? Well, for those who know me well!!! LOL), But she is right; Miami is a young, hot, vibrant city and if you're a young, hot, vibrant person, dating is easy. I, however, am hot but I am no longer that young and I am only quietly vibrant. Not outwardly so. Not outwardly in the sense of microscopic minis and v-neck tops that drop down to my belly button. So I guess I will take my hot, quiet, older self off to a corner and sit quietly contemplating the dating scene, but not jumping into it.

Scar Tissue

Somehow, I seem to be more accident prone than normal. I was recently giving my body the once over (especially as it is warmer weather now, which means more baring of skin) and realized that I have got loads more scars than I remember. There are scars of the inevitable spills, bumps, and cuts from having an active life as well as the scars that are a little deeper and longer to heal.

For example, I hate wearing shorts or skirts unless I am wearing tights underneath. I have eschewed anything short in favour of wearing jeans and trousers for the last nine years - all because I have a scar - right below the knew - that I consider noticeable that I care not to share with the wider world. To me, it is a bright neon sign that something was massively wrong and so I hide it when I can. But in company that I consider more intimate, when I have had to bear this particular (and to me, grossly obvious) defect, few have noted it or made any comment. Strange how we imbue our defects with a much larger power over us than they actually have....

I have also got scars from injuries I am proud of because they speak of a life lived; some scars, like the one of my left arm looks like a cat scratch but actually came from negotiating some stairs that I did not know well, in the dark, after a night out with friends. Bumped against the concrete banister and as they say, the rest is history. Recently, most of my scars seem to be scrapes and cuts from arranging the shelves and closets in my space and bumping into wire shelves and sharp edges. But a tidy space is a happy space (at least for me) so I battle on against the choas.

I, like many people, have some scars so old, they have faded and I would not know where to find them anymore, even if I looked. And yet, the scars are indelible: all of them. All a reminder of a time and a place and an event and a moment that has happened to make a mark on me. After all, is that all scars really are?

A Decent Night Out

I have to say that I am normally not the type who likes to spend a weekend night out and about - the noise, the crowds, the prices. But it has been a while since I saw my best friend and considering I have spent the last ten years being separated by massive travel distances from her, spending time together when possible is always a good thing. Add that to the fact that we had plans for Wednesday that had to be canceled, and I was ready to head out with my best girl and have some fun. Luckily, bgf* is just my speed: she had work in the morning, so no overly late night and she understands about my 'not even a sip' when I am driving, so she does not try to harass me about not drinking.

We decided to spend a quiet night drinking at Sunset Tavern. The last time I went there was about four years ago; it was myself, bgf, and two of our friends, Vasco and Tony. We then proceeded to spend about six hours there, with the three others drinking beer and myself drinking diet coke. We were giving Tony a good send off as it was a)his last night in Miami and b)he might have been subsequently shipped off to Iraq when he got back to England. We managed to make an impressive collection of beer bottles on the tiny table, also made friends with tables near to us (and got bought pitchers of beer for the guy about to do 'his' country proud - they obviously could not hear the Scottish accent that well in their sotted state) and there were some hilarious moments -the kind that only occur when you're the sole sober and the drunken antics are beyond crazy. So the plan was the spend an evening there once more; not necessarily to remember old habits, but more to revisit old haunts.
I managed to also touch base with a couple of people and one of our friends from Uni was going to be going out in the neighbourhood anyways, so planned to pop by where we were before his other brthday celebrations and then head on over. I gave him the time of eight o'clock as when we aimed to be at Sunset Tavern, but for various reasons we were late. Some of these included the fact that I have not worn high heels in about three months to go out, much less driven in high heels in more than three years. So, as I jumped in the car, I had to take the driving a bit more cautiously than usual because suddenly, there was a massive obstacle whenever I exerted force on the gas and the brake - namely, a four ince heel (the thinsg we suffer for fashion). Add to that the sudden showers of rain after Florida had been in the grip of a dry spell since the beginning of the year, and slightly slicked roads were another reason to play it more on the cautious side. But I made it to my bgf's house in good time, only to find she was not ready, as coming home from work had been a nightmare. So tack on some exra time for getting ready to vamoose, travelling cautiously to the rendevous point, and then finding parking, and we were at the Tavern by nine.

We sat and chatted, had some drinks in the warm night air, and just generally caught up (the three of us). Then Raf mentioned that he had to get moving to his next birthday shindig, and invited us along, which we decided to spend a bit of time at. It was at a bowling alley called "Splitsville" - you know the kind that has been springing up recently: only for adults, with loads of lethal cocktails and 'gourmet' fare to eat. We settled up at the Tavern (well, Raf did as he would not allow us to pitch in) and then walked on over to the bowling alley. When we got there, the party with Raf's friend was in full swing. And from there, it just got fun. First it was round at the table of shots called "liquid Cocaine" - it apparently had Goldschlagger, Mint Midori, 151, and Jagger all mixed together. I understand the sensation was one of burning and instant drunkeness (at least, from what I could see around me). Then came the cocktail bowls (see picture to the right). Basically, thing a medium-sized fishbowl full of your choice of specialty cocktail. It was a bit like passing around a smoke at the table or something, which each person taking a sip and passing to the left :-D

After that, the conversation, good times, and good music were in full swing. I was sober (I swear) but you know me well: I don't need alcohol to just have a rip roaring good time and joined in the various hijinks (see picture to left). I am not sure what I was doing, but this may have been around the time I was a bit puzzled when I asked someone if they minded if I borrowed their bum for a photo (I was planning to pretend smack that) and was told that the person (guy) was not gay. But there was dancing and lots of getting to know strangers, and all said and done, when we left around midnight (after trying to force Raf to take some money for the drinks and snacks, which ended with me sticking bills in his pants at various locations), we had a really fun night out. Hurrah! Oh yeah, and the upside: I actually went somewhere that I got checked out at. Huzzah times two :-D

*bgf means 'best girlfriend'

Talking About a Good Ol' Fashioned B*tch Slap

I am annoyed. Clearly, someone in my life needs to get a good bitch slap or something akin to that, in order for me to feel less annoyed. But it is not going to happen, so I am going to share with you folks why and what can annoy me.

There was someone in my life a while ago that I did not feel that friendly towards anymore, and for good reason. I did not plan on spending time with this person, taking their phone calls, or even being social if encountered. And because I share mutual friends with this person, I decided to limit the amount of information that this person could learn about me and my life since they had been relegated to a position outside the sphere. And it seems to have worked fine for the last year or so. There were times when I had conversations with mutual friends, that I knew things made its way back to them; But I also was more guarded with people who knew the person better than they knew me. I am an open person generally and stick to the motto of if you ask me, I will tell you. But being open with friends does not mean I need to be open with the whole world.

But I have noticed recently that some of the steps I took are breaking down. For one thing, technology is letting me down. Suddenly, what was a restricted zone to this person has become something they have access to; even more so, this person has started to establish a sort of interaction via the medium of mutual friends. And it annoys me. Because for all intent and purposes, I'm not interested in being nice. I have blocked them via various applications, I have had conversations that made it abundantly clear that I am not interested in any continued contact, and with a seemingly short memory span of about a year, the person is back. I am annoyed at the applications that fail me, I am annoyed at the fact that my words carry no weight, and I am annoyed at the idea of sacrificing friends to maintain the distance I sought.

It seems to be one of those days where anything just ups the ante on the annoyance factor, rather than lessening it. And it is not even five o'clock yet (not like getting to the end of the workday should matter, especially as considering I don't work). I am annoyed by friends who lie to me about the most insignificant and smallest things. Things that would be better handled with the truth; but instead, I am left wondering why I seem to value their friendship so highly if they seem to value me so little. I am annoyed by the things I know and wish I did not because, sometimes, it means having a clearer assessment of a situation than someone else does. And sometimes it means making hard choices about whether you let the illusion lie or whether you shatter the peaceful idyll. There are so many things that could add to the annoyance I feel, and yet only one simple remedy. The ability to bitch slap someone, but good, would solve all my annoyances. Maybe they won't disappear but at least it is a good outlet.

The Light of Love

I find that love has been on mind in the past couple of days. Not because I am professing to currently be in love and not because I am looking for love: I am one of those people who truly believes that love finds you, and you can't ever search for it. If anything, searching for love is the antithesis of getting what you're looking for. No, love has been on my mind because I have been discussing relationships and feelings with a variety of friends in my life - sometimes living vicariously through them, sometimes simply talking about what ifs and different paths had we stuck with this relationship or that one.

And one thing has stood out to me: a friend made the comment that when last he was in love, people noticed a difference without always knowing why. People pointed out a certain glow about him, an air of happiness and contentment. And I remembered that I myself had been one of those people. More than that, I reflected on the first person I fell in love with and how people used to say the same thing to me. Friends could tell when I had just talked to him on the phone (most of the relationship was long distance) and when we were together, there were certain situations that provoked some insecurity and anger on my part. And again, it was reflected in my countenance. It was just there - visible for all to see, should they care to look.

I have been thinking about that, because I am learning new things everyday about the relationships I have had. I am not sure if I can say that I have been in love more than that one time. At least, not in the same sense. I know that people have said that myself and others make a good couple; or that we look happy together. But that sense of glowing, even when not in the person's presence? I have not experienced that again. Well, maybe that is not entirely true. I have glowed in someone's presence; hell, I have glowed when simply speaking or thinking about that person, but without knowing how the other person feels. So I can't rightfully call i,t 'love'. Love to me means reciprocation and mutual understanding of the term. Sure, your partner may not be as in love with you as you are with them, but there should be the understanding that you are in love with someone who returns some of that affection and feeling.

In all fairness, I don't always think love is the end all and be all of every relationship. I have learnt something from everyone I have dated and I don't regret any of them for a moment. But, at the same thing, all this thinking about love has given me the understanding that it is what matters to me in a relationship. Finding, Falling, Feeling, Being in love. It all matters to me; it is the one thing that I can not do without in my life.

Dating Dilemmas

One of the things that I noticed a difference in once I got to the UK was that I was actually attracting and dating the kind of guys that I wanted to. I figured it just had something to do with my being a new single, finally having gotten over the heartbreak of a serious relationship, and being a bit more inclined to "play the field" - so to speak. In fact, I assumed I was attracting attention because I had started eating better (re: healthier and less) since having landed on Britain's shores and thus, weight loss was equal to new found uber-attractiveness when out and about.

But I am learning that I can not seem to simply sum up my attractiveness in Britain to personal qualities. Well, it goes beyond personal qualities as I am back in the States and I am realizing why I never really seemed to have as much success here as I did over there. For one thing, I have noticed that America still has hang ups when it comes to race. Oh, white guys in general don't seem to mind dating other races, as long as those races tend towards the fair (I am talking lighter skinned Hispanics and Asians here). In a sense, it is almost as though interracial dating is only okay as long as the other person can "pass" for white. There just seems something inherently wrong in that to me. Maybe because I can in no way pass for white; but also maybe because I am not interested in passing for something else. It is why I get upset when people in the States just assume I am African-American. I am not. I am neither African nor American and I am proud of all the heritage that I can lay claim to: Chinese, Indian, Portuguese, White and Black.


The difference was that being in an interracial couple did not seem so much of an issue when I was in London. Sure, when I stepped outside of London and realized that being seen in the company of someone not of my race - hell, being of my race and there - was something novel, I realized that maybe things were not that different in some respects. But still, in the capital, it was possibly more to my advantage that I did not look like over ninety percent of the population. I stood out - in a good way - and I was considered exotic for my looks, not somehow shunned for them. It made me feel completely comfortable in my skin for once.

And speaking of skin, the other thing that seems a detriment now that I am possibly looking to expand my life beyond the job hunt is that I have so much of it :-D I guess that is just a nice way of saying that I am "zaftag" or "rubenesque". Speaking plainly, I am overweight. Just like more than half of the American population. But I prefer to think of myself as curvy; not because I am trying to sugarcoat the fact that I am bigger than the average girl (well, actually not so much statistically - I am just bigger than the ideal), but because I am healthy and wear the extra pounds well as my friends can attest to. But here, in the States, trying to date when you're considered outside of that standard means few - if any guys - are willing to take the chance and look beyond the surface. I am sure that I am probably labelled as any number of unattractive adjectives because of my size. When I compare the state of things to my time in London, I just shake my head and smile. Being my size was not considered a detriment - instead, guys (friends and lovers alike) adored the fact that I had curves, and most importantly, that meant I had boobs (or jugs or knockers or the myriad number of things you can classify them as).

In all honesty, I miss the approach to dating that characterized English society: It was more accepting and straight forward in many senses. And I felt like I was on equal footing with all the many girls out there. Here, I feel relegated to the side lines. And while I might have been happy with my lot years ago, I now know differently through experience; I am not unloveable or undesireable just because of who I am. I am a complete goddess, in all the areas of love that count. And I have brought that sense back with me: that I am worthwhile, that I am an irresistable creature, someone completely at comfort in her suit of skin. That is why I find it sad that I know that I have so much to offer, and yet I am once again relegated to the status of second-best pick (if even that high). I am not willing to give up the sense of self I have found nor am I willing to take a year's enforced celibacy because American society still has its puritanical, prejudiced mindset. Hence my connection connundrum and my dating dilemma. Solution????

Blockbuster Summer

Well, summer is officially upon us as all the action movies are hitting the theaters - big box office blockbusters with budgets that seems to rival the bail out packages. And who does not want a bit of escapism in this day and age? So here is my quick review of the movies that are on my list, in no particular order (well, except perhaps release date States-side):

X-Men Origins: Wolverine - look to your left. Do I need any more explanation for why I would want to see this movie? Yum, yum. But other than that (and possibly showing just how truly geek I am), I have always preferred the origin story lines when reading comics (and I do mean comics, not that graphic novel crap that has become popular as of late). So this has it all: hot lead, interesting story arc, and hopefully some great action sequences. And this is one movie that I know I will definitely be seeing this weekend.

Star Trek - I actually did not think that Star Trek could get any sexier than Next Generation with Patrick Stuart but my god, do I love the new cast! First off, Simon Pegg (think Shaun of the Dead and Hot Fuzz) as Scottie??? Absolutely brilliant! Secondly, John Cho is one of my favourite actors - he is the very reason I have watched the Harold and Kumar movies, and he is a sibling to my favourite comeddianne of all times! So I am heartily looking forward to this movie. And the really sexy Spock and Captain Kirk make it quadrupally(?) worthwhile.

Angels and Demons - Well, I have read both books and preferred the first book to the one that everyone made all the fuss about ( you know, a little thing called The DaVinci Code). Just like the last movie, I want to go for the supporting actors. Sorry, but Tom Hanks really is not the kind of person I thought Robert Langdon would be. So, last time, it was all about Paul Bettany's Silas - there was something immensely sexy about some of those scences but that may be another topic for another time. And this time around, it is all about Ewan McGregor as a catholic cardinal. Which I would have to say is a waste of a hottie scottie. But absolutely bloody lovely casting.....

Another bit of casting genius is Christian Bale in Terninatior: Salvation. We all know he does brooding and dark well, and whom better to resuurect the franchise. I do think this is the one things I hate about summer: all the sequels and franchises get revised, for better or for worst. Yet this seems like a good way to go - after all, all the other Terminator movies focused on the robots as the main star and after about four of those, it really is time to root for the good guy; for the humans. And with all the publicity that Bale has gotten, this movie is sure to draw the crowds.

Okay, I will admit: this one seems a little not my speed given that I have been waxing poetically (well, not so much poetically as just waxing on and on about all the hotties in the summer season) about action flicks left and right. Yet I enjoyed the first one, so I thought why not give the second one a shot. And I do like Ben Stiller, even when all of his characters seem the same, no matter what the flick or th subject matter. And if I watched Tropic Thunder and managed to get some laughs out of it, how much worse could Night at the Museum: Battle of the Smithsonian can't be that much worse.

Dance Flick - because even if the spoof flick is merely drivel, I still find some fun in trying to figure out all the myriad films they are trying to copying. And the dance genre is just ripe for some parody and apeing.

This is where I am showing my age and the decade during which I grew up - this is the first of the summer flicks that harkens back to a simpler time, a time that I know well. I am so geeked to see Transformers: Revenge of the Fallen. I enjoyed the first one immensely and wish that I could go see this film with the same date I had for the last one. But arranging a trip up to Chicago just to see a film? Highly unlikely.

Bruno - Sacha Baron Cohen? Unanimated??? Apparently duped Paula Abdul (admittedly, that probably is not that hard)??? Must See!!!!! Oh, yeah, and we just love the gays...

Ice Age: Dawn of the Dinosaurs - I have neices and nephews, so this is on the list as a family choice. Something that I could go see - and something I am sure to be dragged to. But on a more interesting side note, I thought the Ice Age (with the woolly mammoths and all that) happened well after the dinosaurs had expired. My science might be wrong or I may have watched too many hollywood movies with cave men hunting sabers and mammoths but still, how can the ice age include the dawn of an extinct species?? Answers, please!

Another possible family favourite but the one that I want to see on my own is Harry Potter and the Half Blood Prince. If you might remember, I spent earlier this year finally getting around to completing the Harry Potter series and even read the last book in one night (thank god I was unemployed, right?) and so I am always curious to see how the movies diverge from the books and trying to figure whether the book or the movie was better or in the end, should be considered two seperate aspects of the same phenomenon - related, but should not be compared as being inherently similar. Plus, the actors are getting a bit older and so much hotter. Though a hotter Potter is still jail bait for me.

Another harkening back to the eighties comes courtesy of G.I. Joe: The Rise of Cobra - I think I have been hungering for this film since I first heard it was in production. I'm not normally one of the rabid internet denizens who follows movies through pre-production and beyond, offering commentary and insight and catching up on all the gossip. But I do love real American heroes and I absolutely believe that knowing is half the battle (don't get it? Don't go see this movie!).

Another sequel I am on the fence about, but would watch if I have nothing better to do and someone wants to pay for my ticket (hint, hint) would be Final Destination: Death Trip. The reason I have faithfully watched all these movies? Because the initial premonition ends up being so absolutely sickening that it is a thrill to watch. After that, the movie just tends to be a gore-fest but those first twenty minutes? Always entertaining and always novel.

Another two that I have heard some about - but not much - and still waiting to see the trailers in order to make a final determination would be District 9 and Inglourious Basterds. There are also a couple of indies that I would not mind paying an afternoon/matinee rate (i.e. cheaper) to go see, including The Ugly Truth, Rudi y Curci, and Julie and Julia.

An Anglophile living in Yankee Land

If you have been following this blog for a bit, then you know that it all begin because I got transplanted from what I consider my true home - the UK - to somewhere that I am willing to call home for now - the US. And I have been reflecting on how things are so different now that I have lived abroad and can proudly call myself an anglophile. Even more than simply being an anglophile, I am an anglophile who has actually been to and lived in England. Which probably takes me a step above being just a pretentious sod; after all, I have many reasons to share my love of all things English. And along the way, I am coming to realize there are many invaluable lessons I have taken away from my time in England.

For one thing, I came away from England with a healthy appreciation for portion sizes. I had not realized it, but having lived in England where a dinner plate is really meant to feed only one - and not a family of four - I got used to only eating so much. And not only that; I got used to feeling full after only having had so much. And now I am back in America, and realizing that I can live for a day or two off of one entree purchased when out. Which makes for some cheap dining out options (nothing to be scoffed at) but also makes for boring repetition as well as the taste of food that is never quite as good as when set right in front of you.

Another knack I came away with from having lived in England is living within my means. I am not too proud to admit that being a college student in America and the easy access to credit led me down some wrong turns. But when I left, I vowed to get smarter about my credit choices and my budgeting. And lo and behold, I managed it. And it was not due to some magic willpower gained from being in England - if anything, there were more temptations: more nights out to be had with friends, more glorious, gorgeous shoes to be bought. But gaining credit in Europe is much harder than it is in the States. And a year into living abroad, I started getting offers for credit cards and loans, and realized that I had survived the year fairly well and probably did not need it. Now I am back, I am finding that I like living within my means. Sure, it means I have to be responsible and decide what I need versus what I want. Yet I know it also means that I will reach my goal ever that more quickly when it comes to saving up and setting myself up financially.

There are so many other things I have taken away from England - too numerous to count. I am shaped so much by the choices I made there, as well as the ones I have made - and continue to make - here. But all of that, as they say, is for another time