Predicament.

Emphasis on the sound DICK.

Hiya, hope u'r having better tues, u'r mon sounded manic! Sorry to bother, but what were your thoughts on the hotel w-end? Take care, x

This is my text to Speed earlier today. Before Christmas, we had discussed going away for a weekend and there was one weekend in February that was clear for him. As I was in the airport about to check in for my Dallas flight, he called and said, please do go ahead and book a hotel for that weekend, I think we should go.

So I did when I returned from the US. In fact, I booked two, so that we could chose which one we wanted to go to. Call it a nod to the togetherness theme. One hotel is up north near were he went to school. I thought this would be fun because he could show me this area that he assures me has good memories for him, and see a new part of England for me, and one known for its food at that. The search for good food drives my life. Usually I have to cook it (and I derive immense pleasure from doing so) but sometimes there is a restaurant that creates such an experience too.
Because we are typical Londoners, we have seen each other three times since I left for the US on my Christmas holiday. Back and forth we went, out of each others flight paths, due to holidays and work trips. I have seen him in two phases, Phase One was pre my Roman Excursion consisting of two consecutive dates, and Phase Two being this past Sunday.

On day one of Phase One I mentioned that I had booked us a couple of hotels to chose that weekend. I told him this in the context of him telling me about his upcoming trips and him even inviting me to come along to some. Lovely, but monkey sees as monkey does. Upon mentioning the hotel up north, as well as one in the New Forest, he mentioned how he had a football match up there that weekend and that maybe that was the best choice, and I could come along and watch. Okay sure I said, thinking if it is only a half day work thing, that would not be so bad. I assumed work because this guy works in the world of sports commentating. If he had a football match, then surely that meant talking about it on radio.

Or not. Apparently, I found out on day two of Phase One that said football match was a school mate reunion match. I was in a pub with Speed and a school mate of his, and he suddenly brings up to mate that I had booked a hotel and I am going to come along and watch them. The words watch them made me perk my dainty ears and hear a claxon alarm go off? Mate looked puzzled and looked at Speed and slowly shook his head. I am not sure she would really want to be around all of us boys. Translate: it’s a mate's weekend, no girls aloud. And right enough. I thought he meant work, not oh, come along to my guys weekend.
The next day I left for Rome and he left for another trip thereafter. There was no more discussion of weekend. Uncomfortably, the plans were in a holding pattern. I certainly was not going to go and be the Don't Mind Me chick. And it seems as if he had double booked the weekend. There is only one answer when a double booking occurs: choose one, diss the other. It was the uncomfortable tension in the air. I was not going to tell him what to chose. If a guy has to be bullied into chosing to spend time with me, then he is not worth my time. I was certainly aware that a dating crossroads had been reached. Yet I couldn't tell if he was consciously aware of it himself, or if I was the only one with a A level in human relationships here. I did have the feeling that despite my younger years, I had much more experience.

Sunday's date was ending fast when the topic still had not been brought up. Sigh, I suppose it must be me, the usual suspect for "initiating". Armed with several phrases that I had test driven (to determine honesty, lack of accusation and passive-aggressiveness but with a dash of feminine wile), I said to him, "Oh, don't we need to speak about the hotel weekend? I think I mentioned I had booked two different places. Did you have a preference which one?" You see, this does not give him the opportunity to not chose weekend with me without a large hurdle. It isn't even an option inherent in the question. Nor is the tone accusatory or bullying. His response was, oh yes, well you are right we do need to talk about it; you see, Anthony (mate) was talking to me and since the game would be all afternoon, I really think going up north and doing both isn't really do-able. It is just trying to do to much in one weekend. What do you think?
This man is infuriating because he has yet to make a decision. He always turns it back to me. I said, "I think you are right, it is too much to do. Your time would be too stretched, and I am not too keen on being around for a guys weekend. You and Anthony hit it on the head. So, I guess you need to figure our what the best option for you is going to be." Silence. "okay, why don't you think on it, and let me know Monday, because I need to contact the hotels to confirm."
What I really meant by that last part was, I am giving you till Monday to pick going away with me or else I will not go out on a date with you again; and I need to know asap or else my credit cards get charged. (Asshole).

I sent him a brief email on Monday, hoping to be able to follow up. I got one of those "I am so busy it is such a horrible day" that didn't really invite witty banter. So I had to send this text today. I just heard my phone telling me I received a text. Let's check.
"Yep been thinking about it give us a call when u get out – had a good day today, x"
Is it just me, or do we all know what is going to happen?

Gym, Last Chapter

She was slightly surprised to see him in the area where she attempted to stash her stuff, cooling off a client with some trainer assisted stretches. So maybe he needed the ground area, but my stuff was behind a ficus plant. He could have said, please, I am going to use this space would you mind, she thought, but no such politeness issued from him. Predictably and annoyingly, her Socialised Norms voice started chiming in... but her single white female voice slapped some duct tape on the former.

His back to her, she walked up to the trainer. She glanced around, and saw that two other trainers were within ear shot but they didn't really glance at her. She thought, they probably are used to chicks coming up to this guy, as some might find him cute before they were exposed to his Me- So- Coolio personality. Okay, she was thinking, I may be hell bent on sticking up for my right to a polite gym environment. But my heart is still beating. And please don't let me stutter.

"Excuse me", she stated in an even, strong but not too loud of a voice. Actually, she was trying to speak without A Tone; that way he wouldn't be alerted to the verbal beating coming his way. He turned his head a bit towards her.
Yeeeh? (the Australian for yes, cute at times, but not this one)
"I believe earlier you requested me to move some kit from out behind the ficus. There in the corner?" She paused only until she saw some recognition in his eyes (for it was meant as a rhetorical question).
" I just thought I would let you know, that typically, in this gym, when a trainer addresses a Member with a request... typically they do so with the word Puh Lease to indicate politeness. Pu Lease. Politeness. You should try it."

She briefly searched the eyes of everyone in listening distance, saw that they heard and were mortified, not so much at the trainer's implied behaviour but that she caused a scene which might cause some one some uncomfortability. Then she issued a 180, tried to continue breathing, still her pumping heart, and walked away and down the stairs (please god don't fall now). Okay she thought, confrontation over. She began to scoot towards the lockers so she could hopefully grab her minus 25 kit and disappear from the gym without a further reminder of what she just did. The duct tape from Miss Socialised Norm's mouth had already fallen off. That salmon dinner clearly needed some wine now.
"Um, excuse me Miss?"
She barely had entered the dark evening waiting at the exit of the gym. Oh Fuck she thought, almost home-free without part two of the Aussie Confrontation. She turned around, attempting to have a face devoid of a Look. "Oh.... yes?"
"Listen, I am sorry you are right I wasn't thinking and I should have been more polite when asking you. I was mad that my client was late, and I didn't mean to take it out on you." She examined his face, wondering if this was a real apology or a try to not get fired one. It seemed genuine, because he looked like he was uncomfortable giving it. His Ass-ey attitude lingered but was was being tempred by mild humbleness. She tried to smile a relaxed, winning, no worries smile. "apology accepted, thanks". She tried to think of something else to say, but couldn't; she certainly did not want to apologize for demanding politeness. Searching again for a witty phrase, all she could muster was a lame "Well, I am sure I will now see you around quite a bit!, bye".

Several steps off she heard a "hey,". She slightly paused and turned her head, slowed by her massive fear of reacting in response to something that was not meant for her; yet another fear for which Miss Socialised Norm holds the whip. Him again. He smiled, kind of shook his head, "Look I uh, feel bad and can I make it up to you with a smoothie at the bar here sometime? "She forced her vision to refocus on him. Heretofore she had not really even looked at him in any way but as an object of scorn. Can he be translated into an object of affection? Her macrocomputer mind whirred away. Decent, decent, okay teeth, will give benefit of the doubt and say, "um yes, actually, that would be a civil way of making it up to me." Now something witty and timely comes out of my mouth she thinks. His coolio persona makes a small return, but he doesn't seem to be joking, just restarting his ego. "Okay great well…"

She takes the hint, "Here, let me get out my mobile and you can tell me your number." She decides that she does need to end this one on top, especially as somehow she just got his number and not the other way around. Without looking at him, feigning indifference, she says, "I'll text you my number. Bye". And walks away. Please don’t trip, please don't trip, its so dark and I can't see she thinks. Her trainer starts rolling on a large tree twig underneath but she catches herself. I hope he didn't see that, she thinks but I won't look back to check.

Of Gym and Gymboree

She walked into the gym tired and her skin felt frazzled. Her nerves seemed just numb. She placed her dry cold hands across her forehead and temple, in an effort to blank out the days worth of crap. The project she could not finish. The snarky email from her senior associate. The demanding pitch for no reason of her partners emails. The mistake she made in telling another associate that yes she had given him the document, thus showing him up in front of others and earning his hatred for life. And then there was the snotty coughy man on the tube from whom she will probably contract bird flu. She almost retched, adding to the torturous ambience of the tube car, when she saw the phlegm go flying.

Attempting positive thought, she told her self the following: that is past and this is now, in my snug warm gym about to do something for myself and no one else...don't dwell, as she willed herself away from the days horrid events. Snug in her bubble, she focuses on breathing, to banish the tension. This is going to be good, a smile creeping in around her lips, daring her eyes to go along with the trend. She sits down in a corner almost hidden by the atrocious fake ficus plants in the gym, and begins to take off her swaddling of outerwear. And just a little later she thinks, a massive bowl full of salmon and broccoli, the ultimate detox dinner. In a way that goes beyond the pleased for yourself demarcation line that she wasn't supposed to cross, and into the smug zone, she couldn't help but feel a bit superior to everyone around her; she really knew how to treat herself.
Jacket and Lined Track bottoms nestled away, she began to rise from the bench and that is when she heard,
"could you put those in a locker?"
Her attention drawn up she looked into the eyes of this male gym trainer with an attitude enriched aussie accent. Her little bubble deflated so fast she heard a sonic boom. He was standing with his legs in a vee shape, arms not exactly crossed, and he wasn't smiling; in fact, she thought his demeanour was aggressive and sharp. If he was a girl, he would have been labelled a BITCH immediately. Perhaps he has ASSHOLE sewn in the labels of his clothes she thought. Taken aback, and taken aback that she felt taken aback, her immediate response was the look. The what the fuck are you saying to me look with a dash of are you really this stupid for some spice.
"Um (pause) What? (pause) Why can't they just go Here?" she said with equal attitude, motioning behind the ficus.
"Because people work out in this area so you shouldn't put it there. That is what lockers are for".
She continues to give him the look. No waver. One part of her mind that isn't communicating with the speech part right now has noticed that despite ass-ey attitude at no time have the word please left the offender's mouth.
" well, you can put them in the Assessment Room right there if you want", with a belligerent emphasis on the last few words.
Then, the look away. No, that’s okay. She thrust her chin out to communicate an equal amount of belligerence and non-acceptance of the request in name. She almost sighed but could be heard to swallow it as well. Her aggression couldn't be more passive. Decidedly and decorously slowly, she turned her body to the right and gathered up her things. She did so with a lingering precision, each fold and movement being a silent protest to her now clearly forced movement. She could be forced to move her things, but she refused to be forced to look at the trainer as she was doing it. Ignoring was bliss.
She got up and slowly, head straight, and hopefully without swagger (if she swaggered she knew the fates would make her trip) , walked off towards the lockers to restore her kit. Inside, she was a furious. Why is a jacket and a tracksuit behind a feaux ficas in someone's way? I always leave my kit tucked away and no one has ever said anything. This guy is new and I suppose he is just trying to play boss around me. What an attitude. And then the simple truth hit her. He never said please. What an Ass erupted from her lips and a few of the gym goers surreptitiously looked at her, because that is how you glance at a gym. No wonder I reacted so violently. He didn't even phrase his request, nay, his demand, with a polite P L E A S E. Arms horizontally yo-yo-ing furiously on the elliptical, she began to list out methods of revenge. She coordinated this with self-chastisement on her inability to be wondrously witty in the moment, ala Dorothy L Parker, instead of after, or way after, The Fact. The madder she got at herself for not issuing fabulous biting remark, the more biting those remarks became.This lasted well into the Kelly Clarke vs Ashlee Simpson MTV battle of the videos. It was as Miss Independence ended that the decision was made. Right she thought, tucking tummy in, tits and ass out, and taking long brown hair out of elastics, I reckon that trainer with attitude needs to learn a lesson. Hopping off the elliptical, she went in search of a sip of water and a can of whoop ass.

Veni Vidi Vici

The returning day from my Rome trip, a melting of work and pleasure, saw me tired and hungover, as witnessed by the telltale lack of makeup and bright purple undereyes. You would never be able to tell my eyes were blue because the glare of my purple undereyes were akin to some Miami guy's neon blaring souped up Camaro. I left Thursday for work. We had a late dinner with all the international lawyers, and then one nightcap and off to bed. Last year saw me have multiple night caps and in bed very late, but solo, after having a long conversation with one of our international lawyers, Beglalux. Not this year. I had a presentation tomorrow which I had not prepared for but for writing bullet points on slides, and I wanted to avoid a conversation with Mr. Italian Playboy that would have ended with me shunning his advances and insisting that I had to be alone in my hotel room. Or not, depending on my mood. Truthfully, I just couldn't bothered to be seduced.

After a few fishing comments about whether I had to work on my presentation after dinner, to which I responded yes, IP left and I went to my room. I had a horrible nights sleep on a bed that had rigor mortis.

The next day at our stunning offices in Rome, which are old apartments still owned by Italian nobility, the seminars went on all day. Not being hungover this year, I found my attention solid and energetic. My seminar presentation went really well. The new French lawyer guy, hot but unfortunately married, came over to me at the end to compliment me on my delivery skills. It makes you feel very good when someone you do not know takes the time to deliver an honest compliment.

Having a glass of exquisite Italian wine on Saturday in a Ossteria with my friend Fliss who stayed the weekend with me, accompanied by her friend Tam who was in Rome because although she knew Fliss for years she was now the girlfriend of a German lawyer at the meeting, I had an overwhelming, almost tear flowing, My God This IS MY Life Thank You Jesus moment. It often happens to me when I meet people who are or are also related to PWDTWTL – people who do things with their lives. Wanting to be close to this scene was a reason for moving to Europe. Tam was a stranger to me, but she was comfortable catching up with Fliss in an honest way in front of me. I found out that she had gone to a three month sabbatical and travelled over the far east doing cleansing/spiritual/yoga camps; she works in Germany, is English, runs a firm in Germany and her parents are moving from one foreign country to another because they want to. I find this fascinating because I come from a place where people rarely contemplate life decisions made on this type of international scale. I did, which is why I moved. At times, walking across the Thames, I have London moments, where the absolute beauty and ambiance of this city hit my core and overcome the many negatives that work to grind you down, daily. This was an International Moment, where appreciation of the experience wells up in you.

To celebrate my Moment, I was inclined to purchase some sunglasses at Fendi: the really big kind with the bling on the side so that when I wear them I might be (mis)taken for a D list celebrity with a hangover. Here I come Dover Street Market! I also bought a black belt at Versace (or Versa-Cheese). It was a man's belt but the width is not really big. I liked it at the time but upon experimenting, I have not convinced myself. You have to be flexible to not be a fashion victim, but even the best of us have our Unfortunate moments.

Rome as a city has sensuality and passion oozing from the cobblestones; the same cobblestones that caused me to trip with a staccato like frequency even though I was wearing large square heels. Tripping is just a talent I have regardless of city. A trip to rome sans passion derived scandal would be like a trip to rome without some gypsy kid trying to sell you roses; not happening.

I was to go for a drink with the IP before my dinner with Flis. I found out the IP was having dinner with BelgaLux lawyer on Friday. But the IP didn't invite me. Or, actually he did but he conditioned it on just being me and I said that cannot happen because I am there with colleague/friend Flis for the weekend, and she and I were a pair not to be broken up. So he said oh well, it would have been nice to take you out. Read, it would have been nice to get some (amore). On Friday at the end of the session we are talking about meeting for drink and I say that will be nice, and by the way have a nice dinner with BelgaLux, I am sure that will be fun. Not being Anglo, he didn't have the ethics to look abashed but just said I didn't want to go out to dinner with the other people in your group. I said, it is only me and Fliss, not the other. But then, you never asked me IP, you just assumed. Hours later I meet him for a glass of wine near hotel, get my quota of compliments, and then we parted, he leaving to meet his other group consisting BelgaLux, his friend and some Italians. but we weren't invited.

I had spoken to BelgaLux who wanted to see Fliss and I at some point. He was staying the weekend and a male friend from his home had joined him. Reading between the lines, the two have relations. Both of them also have female partners and children. The next night after a text dialogue, they meet us for dinner, the booking having been made by the IP on my behalf (I also got bought a bottle of wine to take home, so at least I received some perqs for just being me). The four of us have a great time, and I find out the IP, after leaving me, picked up his Italian girlfriend who snuck away from her husband. Scandalous. That night we consume bountiful amounts of wine, grappa and then cocktails, and marvel at the scandal (without judgement) that they are together but also keep down full time jobs, parenting and heterosexual significant others. Because I want to be everyone's NBF when I drink too much, and they are not enamoured of my city, I offered to show them London next time they visited. The next day upon arriving home, I had a text from BelgaLux saying how much fun he had, and he hopes to see me in London soon. As with my Versace belt, I may have made an oops. This is one area where I don't want to experiment.

A short story dedicated to Dark Candy

She was rushing to her tube station, walking as quickly as her heeled black boots would allow. Although a passing pedestrian would have quickly assumed that she must be late for work as the reason for her fast pace, her concerns lie not there. But with the letter in her bag. She had seen it that morning and new instantly who it was from, that it would maker her smile and just as importantly think. Her personality was such that she did not immediately open it. She was going to wait until she was on the tube going to work. Let them have their Metro, she had a letter from a far away friend. On the tube she was surprised at getting a seat, which she rushed into as if it was a velvet covered wing chair in front of a fire place next to a window from which the reader of the letter could glance at the damp grey world and feel happiness that the glass kept out the melancholia singing outside. Beginning reading the letter, which was addressed to her in the Magic Kingdom and was issued in the land of Oil and Gas, she began to laugh with honest amusement and appreciative kindness. A man several seats away saw her unfold the letter, look at an enclosed postcard and begin to smile. He saw her smile travel through her body not unlike the tube train snaking its way through the passage. In an instant her tired eyes looked less tired. She began laughing. Real laughter, not the feaux kind that is volleyed in a conversation, but the kind that has an integrity because it won't be answered back. He noticed several people look at her laughter, some appreciated, some thankful, a few persons resentful of course. This is London. He searched in his mind for a memory of his own laughter but the memory bank was empty. It had been heisted for a while now. He knew that despite his 29 years of age he looked older. His eyes reflected pain. His smiles felt false. I don't want to be here he thought. I don't want to be surrounded by people (their presence, its stifling!); let me just get to my office. His life that day flashed before him: walking out of the tube, and almost straight into his office, glancing at figures, making calls, writing documents and emailing the parties.
His numb eyes recorded that he was at his stop. He quickly got up and rushed off the train, glancing at the top of the letter girl's head. Keep smiling he thought. He wanted that thought to act like a lucky penny; if he made it perhaps in a karmic sense he would have a smile moment himself. He continued to step quickly, past the tills and into the greylight. Then into the building where he earns his paycheque.. The doorman of the office building saw him rush out then in, more furious than usual. He thought that the doorman probably assumed it was because he wanted or desired to begin his work day. But he just wanted to get away from the people, and maybe find his own smile.

Help, My Inner Rock Chick is A Pop Star

I was hoping for Amee Mann, or maybe Alison Goldfrapp.
However, odd coincedence, i have been told i even look like her at times. Shame i don't like her music, but whats my opinion against that of the populus of the US.

You Are Ashlee Simpson!

Stylish, unique, talented You're your own woman! "It seems like I can finally rest my head on something real I like the way that feels"

Who's Your Inner Rock Chick?

veuve o clock

Its Veuve O clock time. Having a sore head from last nights drinking, which of course went to excess for no reason in particular, i am getting ready for a night out with the girls. The spoonfull of sugar for this medicine is a crisp glass of the bubbly.

JPo's comment reminded me of an institution that is in sore need of a revival. BOL.
Bed Of Lights.

I used to have a cast iron bed that had faery lights wrapped around it for Christmas time decoration. It was also the perfect lighting for passionate romps with chosen victims.

I broke BOL once. I was having a fling with an intern at my law firm in the US. His name is Beer Nuts. We called him that because we went to see a concert with a group and he wore a tee shirt with the BN logo. Beer nuts being a popular bar nibble in the southern us. BN and I, casually would hang out while he was working for us, but finally when is assignment was over, we went out on a proper date and it ended at my place, my BOL. (fn1) Our throws of passion were so vigourous that the bed broke. BOL is a kind of code word for mojo, gettin' jiggy with it, a little sumpin sumpin.

I need those days back. The mission starts now: operation flirtility. And it calls for new blood (fn2)

footnote - it turns out that the guy had a girlfriend back where he went to univeristy and he and i were supposed to go out once more before he left but he blew me off. I revealed the affair at my leaving drinks to everyone's shock.

footnote. i sound like i objectify men to the extreme. i really don't. it just makes me laugh.

The eternal struggle

well, in retropsect the burgeoning fascination with Neo is quite silly and makes me feel like an inadequate school girl who can't controll her sass. Although the flirtility factor is off the scale, and he did sit down next to me post-class yesterday to talk about what i thought of the class so far, he sweetly but i hope not ingeniously saying that i was a natural (bless the guy, he has charm), where i am really going with this?

Another voice in my head says, why are you making up negative things when in truth you know nothing. fact, he is attractive. fact, you are a cool chick. fact, you know nothing about his single status or whether he would find you attractive. the end. so you do something funky with your life and meet a nice looking bloke. why am i giving myself a hard time about it and trying to come up with reasons not to have a fun crush?

But then i realise why i am trying to "talk myself out of" thinking he is attractive. Because my subconcious reaction whenever i am confronted with a guy that i think is attractive is to revert to myself age younger twenties; the myself that had no confidence and thought she was ugly. If we skip some chapters in the DVD, then we get to me now, who is very different. But there is always this fight that goes on between the insecurity devil and Me Now, as if it wants to be part of MN, and this beelzabub thinks it can get its foot in the door when i think someone is attractive.

I hate that i have this lingering insecurity baggage. I hate it and am going to do everything i can to banish it forever to the Hades of Emotions.

Can I get that for takeaway please?

i have a new "Watch This Space" drama to report. Lets recap the ongoing story lines, all about men of course, which I have:

• italian playboy (who i will see next week)
• G at work (there isn't anything there anyway but for verbal flirtage)
• Speed (we only will be in town for 2 days at the same time this month)
• and now, Neo.
• (i had to call security on polo player, chef playboy, doctor and architect but there is a small probability of architect making a return)

I went to my first martial arts lesson last night. When I got there I learned that although it was the all female night, 1/3 of the class would be male. This is because other than Neo the instructor, there were only 2 other women, the one not me being the owner. She has taken from Neo for 2 years and has some experience. Miss gl has none. I don't know if you can tell from reading this but what miss gl does have is this: inability to know right and left, an uncoordinated body, clumsiness, and fear of looking stupid. I really work on the latter characteristic, as I believe it is extremely detrimental to a good quality of life. That fear has caused me to miss out on so many opportunities in life. One reason to take this class is to refresh my work out and find a new calorie burn. The other is another avenue to beat the Stupid Fear.

I have not given one iota of thought to this kung fu teacher. I guess i had a barely preconceived notion of a short Jet Li ish person, and i knew his name was Neo. He is a few minutes late, and i am with the owner at the front of the studio, my back to the door, with grey lycra tights and a long sleeve grey tee on. strangely, she is dressed in same thing. We are discussing her studio, and her becoming a business owner. This is very interesting to me because I am mulling over entreprenuer ideas in my head, and so i am quizing her from a very practical angle. A cold damp breeze comes in and we hear a hi, so sorry i am running late, hope not too badly. English accent. Hi Neo she says and they euro-greet (dbl kiss). i turn around to say hello and begin to stare into the most loveliest pair of whiskey coloured eyes. Behold the best looking bloke I have seen since arriving in this country (i think, but short term memory not what it was). He has the most amazing smile and he smiles all the time. Even better, it is an intelligent without sense of wankerness smile. It is genuine and nice. He knows he is handsome but he doesn't think about it. Ruminating on it, i hope my smile is like that some day. To be ignorant means you are missing opportunies. To be full of oneself means your scope of enjoyment is too narrow. This was, as goldilocks says, just right.

I started off the class thinking, how absolutely american sitcom cliche can you be? do not have a crush on him, and just say no. not only is my instructor, but with that face and body and smile, the number of girls that don't like him is probably zero. how unindividual can i be?

That was my frame of mind. i was able for a while (30 minutes, brave effort i think) to put the "attractive" in a box and merely admire physical traits. And then, it happened. It was slightly subtle, but lets face it he is English so it generally wouldn't be anything but. She left the room to answer the phone, he and i were quite close having worked on hand blocks, so we stopped, but he didn't move away from me, stayed in my physical space, and started Flirting. He was sending out the signals, you intrigue me, i want to smile and talk to you and get to know you. I remember being a bit taken aback, and looking into his eyes and thinking (and smiling back) he is flirting with me!

Now, this really means nothing in a way. Men are men and they love to flirt, regardless of marital status. I once had a similar experience with my spin instructor from Texas, in fact it started very similarly, but he turned out to have a very on/off relationship with his g/f, and he would flirt or even take me out when off, ignore me when on (and now they are married). However, self preservation aside, i have now begun plotting my Art of War strategy which will culminate with him in my bed naked. Well actually, that will be the prologue of the culmination. so far, my game plan is such:

1. find out if he has a significant other
2. let him know i don't
3. promote an opportunity for us to leave the studio at the same time to further conversation between us, and maybe an opportunity for him to ask me out. Phase 3 is where i usually just say, listen and be on the lookout for opportunities, trust in fate and your ability to flirt and if it is meant to be it will. I wish i had something more concrete for phase 3.

Because i dig the irony, i am going to try to use the principles that i am learning underscores Kunf Fu in my strategy, like balance, efficiency of movement, and center of gravity.. well, watch this space Grasshoppers!

PS- i woke up in the middle of the night after having a dream about kissing this guy. I am weird and need help.

Oh Baby, Oh baby O

My flatmate and I get along really well and rarely have issues with each other. We both are quite laid back, have high tolerance, plain speaking, and have few pressure points relating to our domestic geography. The one issue and discussion we had was last year, when she was inviting persons to our flat for dinner and such but not informing me. I would come back to the flat on school nights to find various friends over, and her using the kitchen and such, and I had no prior warning that there would be other people in flat. This pushed my button because I am a very private person and have an almost tangible sense of privacy (yet somehow i can blog quite openly? ponder the paradox, i am starting to...). I can feel people's energy and if I don't know them, and if they are in my domestic space, then that feels highly intrusive. It is as if my metaphoric hair starts standing on end. To solve, I requested that she send me a text if she was having guests over so that I could orient my expectations. I would expect myself to do the same for her, although she didn't reciprocate on this issue. However, she thought that the request was violating her freedom because it was "telling her what to do". Me asking her to text me if she was having guests, especially on a school night, she felt was being overbearing and telling her what to do. My argument was the flat is our space, and both of us have privacy rights, and if strangers were going to come over, fine with them being around of course, but please let me know in advance so that, basically, I could prepare. Or, perhaps call it, aligning my expectations. We had to go back and forth on this for awhile. But, we came to an understanding. Or at least she would then text me if she was having persons over.

Last night, I arrived at the flat a bit after 8 having gone to the gym. MF (my flatmate) had not been to our flat all weekend and I hadn't spoken to her for a few days. I opened the door slightly listening to determine if she was home. I was greeted by the loud, husky, repetitive sounds of her having an orgasm.
Nothing wrong with the Almighty O. I wish she and I were better acquainted. But its just not what I want to be hearing when I get home, low blood sugar and sweaty in a state of half gym dress half work dress. Turn head towards the bedroom area, and see that her door is actually cracked open 8 inches. Great, I can't then get to my room without passing a scene from an Amsterdam sex show. And of course the continuing screams indicating very good shagging; again yeah for her. But if she had texted me about her entertaining that evening, A she could have timed the shagging to be when I wasn't there and B I could have been better prepared to deal with the unexpected Too Much Information moment. But she didn't.

So, I turn left, go into the living room and kitchen area, quickly turn on some music, shut the door to the hallway and put my things down. My temper is flaring though because I feel I can't even go into my bedroom, where I want to go to dump stuff and change into comfy jammies. But I am, by virtue of wanting to avoid awkward situation, corralled into the western portion of flat. I start cooking dinner, finish dinner, eventually tippy toe to my room, put on more music, and go to bed. At no point do I see FM that night or this morning.
My Personal Life Agenda now has Meet with FM: to discuss last night on it. However, I am not sure really what to say. I need to avoid her button which is telling her what to do. I don't want to sound lecture-ey either. But I do want to bring up our agreement, and that last night made me feel really uncomfortable, kept me out of a portion of our flat, and that it could have been a much less awkward situation if she had let me know beforehand, or if she had asked when I was going to be back at flat. I am just not sure how to say it in a way that won't get an immediate angry reaction. How should I handle this? I need to step away from the hissy fit line, and into the humour playground. Please fill out your comment card….

Why I Never Talk on the Phone

Are you like me in that you will chose not to answer your mobile or make a call in many, many circumstances, usually when you determine the "sound comprehension angst" is just too much? In other words, almost ubiquitously, I will either not call someone or will not pick up a call because the probability of having a unclear conversation due to background noise is very high. Fact, I cannot stand to converse with someone when I can't hear them. Fact, I detest repeating myself. Fact, I detest asking someone to repeat themselves (an empathetic reaction I think, as I would hate it in their shoes). Fact, I detest the blank pseudo I know what you said look with the accompanying "mmmm, yeah" response (ie the generic response for I am listening). Why do I detest these things (and the repetitive use of repeate and detest is already irking me!)? They make me feel awkward and uncomfortable. I don't even know whether I should be embarrassed or not; I am in social awkwardness purgatory. I was brought up to avoid these situations at all costs. Awkwardness is Evil. Just read the Muppet Book of Manners. So, I rarely use my mobile in terms of talking as opposed to texting. If I am at work, I am surrounded by people and out of a concern of privacy try to forego personal calls. And I can't use it at the gym, theatre, cinema, etc. Lets see, what else do I do with my time….dates, no that would be rude (have done it on date to be purposely rude and trash the date). I would use it out with girlfriends only if deemed required. If I am en via (aka using Transport for London), then I can't use it because I can't hear myself think not to mention speak and listen. And en flagrente delicto….wait, that is right, I don't even remember what that is! Here is a story from the trenches. I was supposed to call Speed who is in the US when I was walking to meet a friend, but due to bus reroutes I had to go an unfamiliar way, and walk a different way. Thus I needed my wits to determine where I was and where I was going AND it was raining miserably. I couldn't both talk to him on the phone and find my way. I did attempt to do sobut got lost and had to depart the call to arrive at my destination after speaking only a few minutes. It was either that, or catch cold number 599 because of prolonged wet exposure. Texting and email are great because they are silent. You can preserve privacy, or subdue someone in silence.

Miss goLondon*

It is annoying when you go buy a book and you don't end up liking it. I sometimes will finish the book anyway. I do this in punishment of myself. How dare i be dumb enought to judge a book by its cover and well-edited obseqious quotes; if only the book was edited as well as those quotes. Sometimes i relish in the luxurious and decadent freedom of leaving the book somewhere for someone else to have a try at (no this is not littering, its sharing someones idea of a decent read, and sharing is a Christian value). Not only do i get Baby Jesus Brownie Points, but i also feel like i have made a purchase with a black credit card. Who can just throw away books? I can.

I also find that Bookstore ADD is annoying. Either you go in a store when you don't have much to spend and you want millions of books, or you go and you can't find just one that you think will take your mind off all the grotty snot nosed, infested tube and bus travelers for who you are trying build a protective shield around. To save yourself from Cold Number 299. And when you do buy something, it turns out to be a demon of the second paragraph type.

And then, there are the magazines. Magazines are also known as Consumption Sluts. All they are good for is feeling inadequate, unintelligent, and frankly unsassy, whether because you don't have a pretty home, a pretty body, a pretty wardrobe no matter what your body type, or you dont understand the most signficant business and political topics of the last 10 years. For example, I love the magazine, Wallpaper*. First off the asterix is just sexy. it is a synonym for "i'm too sexy". In fact, i wish i could be know as Miss goLondon* (I may be cute though, but i am not that cheeky.) Second, it promotes a lifestyle that only 175 people in the entire world can sustain. Not even the designers and artists that the mag highlights can afford the Look At Me I Embody Wallpaper* lifestyle. Which is a disgusting irony. And it is unobtainable. Why? because no one who has that much money has that much style. And anyone who truly has that much style has such because they don't have enough money to ruin it with issues. Issues such as i am a trust fund kid, hear me roar with bling, or i am so wealthy but old so my thighs will never fit in that Cavalli outfit, or i am wealthy because i work and save and hoard rather than spend it uselessly on this consumption junkie trinkets. However, to the last person, i challenge: is an Eames chair, Reidel Glasses, Jonathan Adler vases, Poggen Pohl kitchen design and Brioni cashmere really junkie trinkets?

1 january 2006.

2006 seems to me like it is a blind date where you have a few expectations but a very positive attitude about your probability of having a great time.

I feel really optimistic and happy that January is here again. I don't feel old, or that I have insurmountable things to attain; i am not anxious or dreading my next birthday.

Last night i did nothing. I really had not planned to go out, but had a few plans if i really wanted to. However, due to borderline alcohol poisoning from the night before, i was in no shape to go out again. Which was fine by me.

so, in bed after watching a movie and three Sex and The City episodes, some writing in my journal about 2006 and how i feel, and i went to bed.

I begin this day, the first of 2006, in a happy, selfishly so, and serene place. I hope it is a state of being i visit often. I came across a photograph of a picture of me last autumn at a dear friend's wedding. In this picture, i looked very happy. I had a genuine smile on my face that seemed to be reflected in my whole body posture. However, i don't remember being as fulfilled or happy at that point in my life, as i am now. And i have had several friends comment to me that i seem down, that they are worried about me, and i am "pensive". Which is odd because i would have said that my spirits are high. Thus reaching out so that my glad, positive mood spreads to my face and body via smiles and overall body language, is what i will be concentrating on for the next month.