to cocktail, or not to cocktail...

Not sure if I'm up for a night out - got in at 1am this morning and was woken by my alarm at the usual time of 6:15am... it's a cruel life! Surviving remarkably well at work, however I think others are beginning to notice how little I am getting done. damn. Blame the flu!

Might get a second wind when I get home to some warmth and look in the kitchen and gaze fondly at the collection of alcohol in the corner :)

I am becoming quite the accomplished cocktail-maker lately. practice. loads of practice.

stood up!

A week or so ago I received a smart ass email about something written on my profile. The boy wasn't ugly, I was bored, so I responded in kind. Cue a week's worth of trading smartass emails, and he suggested we meet up, I nominated a day and told him where I worked... he picked the time and the pub.

So I get to the pub near work at about 3 minutes past 6... and realise it's a fairly spread out pub with tiny little rooms and alcoves. So I walk into one and call him number.... nice recorded operator's voice informs me it is not possible to connect to this number...

walk outside, sit under a heater, go through my phone trying to call and chat to anyone and everyone I know so that I can a) whinge about the situation and b) not look like nelly-no-friends

15-20min later I am out of phone conversations to have... and patience so I go home

by the time I get home there is no apologetic text message, log onto the computer and check my mail - no apologetic email either. Begin to type him a mail that says 'you stood me up you bastard!' and think screw it, I'm gonna try calling him again so I can tell him myself rather than type it... and *this* time his phone rings.

Phone conversation starts of with: Hi, you stood me up you bastard! (I am nothing if not direct)

turns out the computer system went down at work and he was delayed waiting for it to come back up. The (silly) boy hadn't put my number into his phone yet, so he couldn't call me and let me know he was late. When I'd rung him he was still on the tube. He got there 5-10min after I left. Funnily enough there was a blonde girl waving, so he walked up to her and started apologising for being such a wanker... until he realised she was waving to the bloke behind him. Then he tried to call me, but I was on the tube.

All in all a perfectly synchronised avoiding-of-eachother!

So he'd just typed an apolgetic email when I rang to abuse him - and true to form it arrived 30sec into our conversation... so I agreed to see him next week, but told him this time I'd make him come to my office building and call me when he arrived. sorted.

my single friend

I am now someone's single friend. Actually, I have been for a little over a week... Fabulous friend from touch rugby (and indeed half of my team) have been on it for a few months now and have been dating half of London... and it doesn't sound like the bad half.

So my profile is up, photos are uploaded and fabulous friend (who works in communications) has written a fabulous description of me, making me sound ever so sassy and date-worthy.

Trawling through the photos is quite fun. Really it's like shopping online for a boy, with pictures and a brief resume before you even bother to think about purchasing. After trawling through 70+ pages of boy's faces

(search criteria: London, employed, non-smoker, no kids, aged 24-32)

I begin to establish somewhat of an efficient system. Photos with a nice grin stand out. Extra points for dimples, however disappointingly enough there aren't many to be found. Photos where the boy has taken it of himself lose points. It's all about the extra photos - it's amazing how different guys can look from different angles! If he only has photos he has taken himself, he is dismissed. If he has photos with bunches of mates, he gains points. Many bonus points if they're hot. Photos where he has cut out an exgirlfriend also lose points. tacky. Although one bright spark edited his photo with a girl to include an arrow and 'sister!'. Funny. Shame he wasn't hot enough.

London is beginning to have an impact on me. I get snobby about jobs, I want an investment banker, doctor, or similarly successful-sounding career. Once the basics are perused, then and only then will I bother to read what his mate has written about him. Boy can cook - tick. According to everyone, their mate is the life of the party... although I can't take the piss too much cos my profile leads in that direction too - but in my case it's true! ;) Sense of humour must be evident enough to rate a mention. Sports-related hobbies and mention of althletic prowess also gain points.

Whilst flicking through men, I discovered one mate on there, nice photo of him - you can't tell he looks like an overmuscled hobbit at all. There is also no way of knowing he comes with more baggage than a transatlantic flight. I start to get a little scared.

Then I recognise another face - a boy from work. A *cute* boy from work... one I stare at whenever the opportunity arises. He has dimples when he smiles. He has them in spades. After reading his profile, he also has a very odd but cute-sounding nickname. Unfortunately he is 31 and looking for a girl aged 21-31 - loss of a massive amount of points right there. If he's prepared to date a woman a decade his junior, but not a year older than himself, I can only summise he's got that I-must-be-older-and-be-the-breadwinner mentality. He certainly has a decent career and probably would out-earn me, but I just don't like that traditional ideal. Besides which, I have a very strong belief in don't-screw-the-crew. Especially in this gossipy boys-club they call an office. But damn he's cute - dresses nicely too. His profile mentions martial arts. that's hot.


(sigh)

Characteristically Irresponsible

I spent most of my even-more-boring-than-usual workweek last week anticipating the weekend... Saturday finally arrived.

- Mooch around the house eagerly awaiting grocery delivery (consisting almost entirely of cocktail ingredients): Check

- Manage a pathetically slow jog along the Thames: Check (PS never *ever* again without gloves on, what was I thinking?)

- Make lots of cocktails for the girls: Check and double check... triple, quadruple, quintuple check even!

- Head out to lovely local trendy bar for a spot of boy-hunting: Check

Weekend was going swimmingly - I was even uncharacteristically responsible and ordered water when we got out to the bar. Then I got characteristically irresponsible and started drinking bourbon. Kept drinking bourbon until I was rolling drunk - although I only remember having 3 drinks! I'm still a little confused... I didn't think I'd had more to drink than any of the other girls and usually by the time I get that drunk it means that all other ordinary women should be passed out - my once-legendary capacity for alcohol may not be up the to standards I thought.

Don't remember the lights coming on at the end f the night.
Don't remember falling over whilst exiting the bar. classy!
Don't remember pashing some bloke on the bridge whilst two of my other friends attempted to hail a taxi. At least, according to them, he was quite good looking. Shame I don't remember him - now, not only do I not remember the last time I got laid... I can't even remember the last time I kissed a boy. tops.

my mother would be *so* proud

Managed to get home, have unholy craving for tuna salad (?!) which I can't remember making or eating, but did succeed in spilling lots on the floor - then chewed some gum and then - the classiness continues - somehow it fell out of my mouth and onto my bed - managed to roll in it all night and get it on both shoulders of my PJs, pillowcase and sheets - thankfully not in my hair. I did wake up and wonder why my bed smelt of peppermint extra.

Woke up feeling godawful and felt that way for the rest of the day... plus feeling a wee bit silly.

I am just constantly disappointing myself! The next night I got a text from an english boy - who made no effort when we dated earlier this year - asking me out for a drink and for some reason I agreed - but said just coffee round the corner, so at least I wasn't going out of my way, but don't know why I bothered.

So last night I get a text at 8:15pm telling me he's had a shocker of a day at work and is just leaving the office - can we take a raincheck? The honest answer: nah, I really can't be arsed

I wished I written that. I didn't. I didn't reply at all.

good news is that my fabulous friend has signed me up for mysinglefriend.com and my profile just got approved and went live - so I spent most of last night cruising photos of boys online and watching them add me their favourites list and send the occasional message. Wonderful for the ego.

wish I could play with my profile during work hours... but the colourful website is just a little too obvious... and cruising for men online during work hours would surely be looked down upon. Shopping and blogging however...

I just hope no one notices

something occurred to me...

I can't remember the last time I got laid.

literally.

..not cos it was so long ago... just because I actually can't remember the night

tragic.

my friends find it quite amusing though.

I've silenced my inner critic and arrived at the conclusion that my friend and I definitely got our drinks spiked. Having drunk copious amounts of champagne since (purely in the name of research ofcourse) and survived to describe the night in detail, I just can't explain that night any other way.

In a way I guess I'm lucky I wasn't attacked, or didn't wake up next to a bloke who resembled the hunchback of Notre Dame - thankful for small mercies. It has been a tragically long time between getting any luvvin for me though, it'd be far nicer to remember it - although I guess I'm optimistically assuming I'd want to... never can be too sure with boys these days! there are certainly some one night stands I'd prefer I didn't remember...

A Fairy Tale Romance

so I'm back in the country, friends and family visited, wedding completed and (you'd have to hope by now) consummated... no dramas on the big day... no rain until we'd reached the reception - then the heavens opened (really very kind of them to hold off until the photos were done though)

My first effort as bridesmaid - quite exhausting really.

Bridesmaid-status was achieved not only by having been bestest-buddies with the bride since we were 12, but also by having the proud distinction of having set the happy couple up. It was a proud day for me.

Once upon a time...

It all started 5 years ago at a friend's house party... somehow the topic of blind dates came up and the bride-to-be fatefully commented that she'd probably trust my judgement if I were to try and set her up with someone. This got me to thinking... I worked with about 60 blokes, there'd have to be one that was at least semi-decent. And so I chose one for her, cited his favourable features of being tall, wearing glasses, and no doubt (knowing he had a computer-geek's natural aversion to exercise) skinny legs (the bride-to-be favoured the skinny academic look)

So she thought he sounded suitable and I had to embark upon Phase 2: convincing my ever-so-shy geeky workmate to go on a blind date. Hmn. Given that our office was more prone to gossip than your average knitting circle, I ever-so-cleverly messaged the boy via computer

you ever been on a blind date?
yeah, once
wanna go on another one?

Fortunately the boy manned-up and agreed. Unfortunately his boss and another co-worker were reading the conversation over his shoulder at the time and the impending date became the subject of much speculation and merriment throughout the entire office.

Realising the narrow chance this had of ended happily ever after, I gave the boy what I thought was the most genius get-out-of-this-with-ego-intact escape clause. Look, I told him, if she doesn't like you - don't be insulted, she has this *terrible* habit of only falling for absolute assholes.

he contemplated this for a second, then said: ...so what does that mean if she likes me?

to which I replied - well then, it means she's grown some taste!

(can you believe that I don't work in marketing!?!)

so the date went ahead - a triple date, my (now ex)boyfriend and I, my friend and her boyfriend, and the lucky couple-to-be.

[Carrie, Sex and the City: "I believe there is a curse put on the head of anyone who tries to set up their friends"]

and my selfless cupid-like act came back to bite me big time.

The bride-to-be had rung me and told me that it just wasn't happening for her - he's a lovely bloke she said, but the magic wasn't there, there was no spark.

No worries I told her - not like I expected you to marry him!

The groom came to visit me at work soon after, perched on the edge of my desk, and with eyes positively glistening exclaimed "Thanks so much for setting me up with her! ...I'm eternally indebted to you! She's wonderful!"

I thought ohhh my lord... he's going to cry when he finds out!

So the bride-to-be had planned in detail how best to break up with him when he came round one evening. He came round with a dozen long stemmed red roses. The plan went out the window.

and the rest... as they say... is history :)

Viva Las Australia

It was a weird feeling, showering Wednesday morning and knowing that it was my last shower for at least 2 days

No, I wasn't going trekking somewhere exotic, I was going into the office, then going straight to the airport and flying to Australia

it's a long long way from London

2 tube rides
3 plane trips
1 train ride
and a short car trip later and I was home

flew out Wednesday, arrived on Friday. Thursday was lost to the world... passed in a haze of boring movies and novel pre-packaged servings of food

Slept most of yesterday and was wide awake at 4am this morning. After eating 3 chocolate bars for breakfast I managed to run 5km, go for a swim in the pool, go shopping with friends, visit my Dad (and commandeer overnight use of his car), attend my friend's fitting for her wedding dress, and after I have dinner with Mum I will drive an hour and a half north to visit a friend. It's his 4year old's birthday, but I'll get there too late to say hello to the little man.

I am redefining exhausted. Hopefully I'll live to blog again.

Here's to me, Mrs. Robinson...

Had gotten a nice message from the boy one morning wishing me luck with my exam the next day, but remembered that he was unwilling to cross a bridge for me and didn't reply. I am all that is womanly restraint ;)

I was still planning on going to his comedy gig, and was princessy-enough to plan to dress especially nice that day and touch up my makeup before arriving. The goal was to look effortlessly attractive and entirely unattainable - confident-office-sexy-chic. I'd also realised that another boy I used to date (the former title holder of boy-who-made-no-effort) who had messaged me out of the blue the other week conveniently lived up the road in that direction... it would be very fun to invite him along.

fun... but not worth the effort. A deliciously evil train of thought though - I liked it.

so me and my darling-friend-and-flatmate went and checked it out - stand-up comedians trying out their new material - one guy was pretty good, two of them seemed absolutely wasted and were terrible, but even when the jokes bombed it was still kinda funny. Perhaps that had more to do with the copious amount of wine I'd consumed and less to do with the jokes though. The boy got up and performed (glorious double entendre right there!) and wasn't brilliant, but wasn't cringe-worthy. Fun night, definitely worth the effort.

Had chatted briefly with the boy and he was nice enough to ask how my exam went, but he wasn't falling over himself to come talk to me during the intermission or anything. I said goodbye before I left and mentioned I was away for the next month.

Walking through the door at home and my phone starts ringing... it was him asking if he could drop in for a visit. Again I asked what he'd be dropping in for, again he said just coffee... he mentioned his friend would drop him off so I asked how he was planning on getting home. He said the night bus... I asked what number... he couldn't answer that and I laughed at him. I told him he was an odd little creature for inviting himself over last week and then deciding he couldn't cross a bridge. He agreed he was an idiot, I reminded him that 'massive dork' were the words of choice.

I wish I could remember exactly what was said cos I was rather happy to pull off bemused and condescending rather than narky-woman-scorned. Yay me. Somehow I successfully conveyed my dismay at his complete and utter lack of effort because he said he'd start reading up on chivalry... I agreed that was a good idea. There's my effort educating the youth of today. I'd rather it was a lot more like sex-ed, but hey.

Funniest first date *ever*

...unfortunately though, it belonged to someone else.

my lovely single mate just joined up to mysinglefriend.com and had her first date on the weekend - when I checked out the website I was really impressed with the quality of boy it contained! I think I'd actually consider it... the online dating thing seems kinda tragic, but then I've done the speed dating, and been rocking round every local drinking hole... don't really think any one thing is less tragic than the other.

the funny bit though - her and the boy she was meeting for the very first time were walking past a bar when a drunken aussie stumbled out in front of her, looked at her, and exclaimed 'you're STUNNING!'

...then turned to the bloke she was with and asked 'what's a girl like that doing with a guy like you???' Hilarious! You couldn't *pay* someone to talk you up any better on a first date! Gotta feel sorry for the guy... except it's just too funny to bother with that!

Death of a Toyboy

okay... so he was really only a *potential* toyboy - more's the pity!

...and I didn't have my normal Sunday catch-up with the comedian boy, but he has a regular gig up the road from me every Monday.

so he texted me afterward at 11:15pm

boy: You up?
me: Yeah, and my phone buzzing just scared the shit out of me!
boy: I'm on my way home, should I swing by?
me: Hmm - and what would you be swinging by for?
boy: A cup of coffee ofcourse
me: I don't know if I believe that... but if you're not gonna be disappointed with a cup of instant coffee... okay then
boy: Over the bridge now. I'll speak to you soon
me: You are a massive dork!
boy: Yep.

I shit you not. Geez I pull the good ones! He'll only 'speak to me soon' if I answer my phone..... very much thinking I won't bother. Although I do actually want to go see this comedy gig up the road from me, sounds cool... won't let that stop me

but even if he assumes I simply want to use and abuse him for sex (it was fun even just typing that!) it doesn't excuse the lack of effort he's shown... maybe he'd assume he could skip the three dates and the expensive dinners... but not even bothering to catch up unless he's in the immediate neighbourhood is *too* insulting!

I swear every guy I meet tries to out-do the previous with regards to just how little effort can be made to hook up with a girl - a few more dates and it'll be like playing limbo...

...how. low. can. you. go?
...how. low. can. you. go?

oh dear.

All in All a Big Weekend

End of season drinks with my other sports team started off tame, but I stupidly drank wine and I was fine all night then suddenly towards the end of the night I go from fine to spastic in the space of 5min (always the way). I found out my favourite gorgeous boy teammate has a girlfriend (I swear every time he smiles an angel gets its wings!), and then chatted to the next cutest boy and may've been flirty so my best mate got shitty cos she's slept with him before.

Don't remember leaving, and the next day I had a long and angry text from my friend about the boy... so I was checking my sent messages and saw I'd messaged the comedian boy - spoke to him later that day and found out I'd actually called him at 2:30am... and rambled on for a few minutes til he hung up on me... bugger. I never usually drunk dial!

My response to my friend's accusations of poor form (which I barely remember composing) was as follows:

What. I am lost. Rock on. Night night

...she said she looked at it the next day and laughed and thought "how can I be angry at that!" - it's good to be an amusing drunk...

Had also woken up with a sprained pinky finger and a small graze on my knee... looked at my favourite pair of jeans, and found that they had a nice little hole to match. Damn! Obviously I took an almighty drunken stumble... but can't remember where or when. Mortified. How many people saw!?! eek.

sloppy sloppy! Have been such a well behaved drunk lately but have totally lost form in the last few weeks!

Next day I had to rush to my mate's to make her cocktails for her 30th - am hungover and lugging about 6 litres of cocktail paraphernalia and spare high heels - hop off at Wandsworth Town rail station and am chatting to get directions to her house - found out that Wandsworth Station and Wandsworth Town Rail Station are two completely different entities! Who knew!?? I am still very much a tourist in this town. I have to train it to Clapham Junction to where someone is nice enough to take pity on the lost little Australian and come pick me up.

Arrive at hers, brain still barely functioning, make her a cocktail, walk into the other room to give it to her, come back to the kitchen and find that half a litre of vodka is missing - still mystified how one of her dodgy drunk friends stole so much so quickly... so with all my preparation I am out of vodka. Really kills the tone for the night and we go out to Oceania, a super-club with 7 differently themed rooms and lots of novely value, and despite sporty spiffy VIP arm bands... was just not feeling it. Very young club - felt like an absolute prude for not having my ass-cheeks hanging out the bottom of my skirt... seriously. Plus *no* hot guys - even the guys agreed on that one!

Death of a Tomboy

Won our final, went to the pub after, was a good night. Until I got home just before midnight and found the loo cistern was flooding the bathroom and the toilet wouldn't stop cycling water. rgh.

Too tired to care, I decided I'd deal with it in the morning and took myself off to bed. This morning my inner tomboy lifted the lid of the cistern, saw water pissing out from where it shouldn't, considered having a tinker, then a strange and unfamiliar thing happened...

I decided that I could almost certainly call someone to fix it for me, and that I shouldn't have to play with yucky toilet water before work (or necessarily any other time either)

my inner princess has conquered my inner tomboy.

along a similar vein, today I find myself emailing my gayest-non-gay-man-alive buddy and describing (on request) what I'm wearing to my friend's 30th this Saturday -

I am wearing a black satiny dress with white trim and a white cherry blossom design, cinched with a wide patent black elasticised belt worn high (how magazine-talk was that!) and am facing the eternal girly dilemma - big (nay, *massive*) night of dancing is on the cards, so do I wear the hot new boots that will surely cripple me, or the comfy boots that only look un-sexy upon close inspection (which will reveal they are a little old, out of fashion, and the ones I wear to work most days) or tempt fate and wear the new heels I ordered online that arrived yesterday (and seem to fit - joy!)

my inner princess has bashed my inner toyboy with her designer handbag, sprayed him with mace, taken off a stiletto heel and plunged it deep into his heart.

gotta run - ducking out for coffee with my work buddy, doubt I'll have the willpower to resist some chocolate cake accompaniment, but hey, that's life - I have the willpower of a fat kid in a candystore...

duh.

overestimating the depth of a male's thought process is something I try not to do too often... they're simple creatures and I understand that

...but I forget sometimes

my fabulous gayest-non-gay-man-alive friend is not native to Australia, but having inhibited my home country for quite some years he laments the lack of chivalry and attention Australian men will pay to a woman

this boy is no exception

true to form - I get a text message (bastard woke me up!) at 12:30pm Saturday night asking if I'm going to be round my area the next day, turns out he's going to be in my neighbourhood and he ends up dropping by. It's very convenient for him and he doesn't suggest lunch or anything imaginative, just ends up stopping by and trying to jump me on the couch

I am so embarrassed that I contemplated whether the age gap or difference in our earnings would phase him...

- he's a 24 year old bloke

- who I've already slept with (whether I remember or not, quite sure it happened)

he doesn't care about our different lifestyles, he doesn't care about much, he just wants a shag

duh.

...while he's in the neighbourhood anyways

...and he doesn't even decide this until after midnight and a few too many drinks

this is me not feeling very special. However this is also me after an absolute man-drought that's lasted the better part of this year. I can't help but mourn the gradual deterioration of the strong standards I used to have about which men I'd deem worthy of spending time with.

I rationalise that he's fun company, cute, a decent kisser, and it' not like I'm throwing out my schedule or anything...

----------------------------------------------------------------------------

Morale of this blog:

"Don't look for Mr. Right. Look for Mr. Right Now"

Christina Walters (Cameron Diaz) - The Sweetest Thing

The Perfect Man

4 years older, highly intelligent, successful, ambitious, relatively wealthy - he owns property... is athletic, works out... plays a team sport

single, happy, no skeletons in the closet... a couple of long term relationships under the belt - still great friends with both exes

sound like the perfect man right?

Except you should replace he with she

or more specifically - me

It's the strangest thing that I sit here wondering if the boy knows that I'm 4 years older than him, if he's figured out that I earn myself a very decent wage... and I haven't held back - the fact that I cruised through university on not one but two separate academic scholarships was revealed in a conversation we had...

and I can't help but wonder if he'd have a problem with it

stupid, isn't it? I can't think of any guy who's ever had to wonder if being slightly older, more academic and wealthier than a girl would be a cause for concern

it bites, it's sad, but that's the way it is. I need to wear a sign - insecure men need not apply.

toyboys who can cook are welcome :)

Champagne Cocktails are evil

it was a night to remember

except I can't - any of it really

Today I had a coffee date with a boy I don't remember meeting.

It could've been all my fault - spur of the moment urge to go out dancing, one fantastic rubber-armed friend who agreed not to stick to her resolve to spend the night in when she heard that I feared that I was officially becoming boring. So with one enthusiastic 'well we can't have that then!' the night was all on.

I made the champagne cocktails. I shouldnt've. One too many (who am I kidding, try 4 too many...) later and we rocked into a bar and my friend got chatting to some lovely but unattractive guy. I remember the trivia game, I remember him losing and agreeing to buy us drinks. And that's the last thing I remember.

Both me and my friend both don't remember the night - but I didn't feel shabby the next day so I'm half suspicious our drinks may've been spiked, but it's hard to claim that when I know we both deserved to be pretty bloody drunk anyways.

So I don't remember getting home, but I woke up in the early hours of the morning, jumped out of bed and wrapped a towel around me (oddly enough not questioning why I was sleeping naked) and popped to the loo. Got back to my room, hung the towel up, turned round and got the shock of my life. There was a boy in my bed! I took a closer look, and he looked familiar, something made me relax a little, not sure what my train of thought was or if I was capable of logistical process at that particular point in time, but I just crawled back into bed and snoozed.

Some time later there was rustling and I wasn't brave enough to open my eyes and attempt conversation while he threw his clothes back on. There was a little bit of time that passed then a brief peck on my not-quite-awake face and he was gone.

but he left a note. His name (the only way I was ever going to know what it was) his number, and a kinda cute little message. All I knew about him was that he must carry a notepad round with him, his name, and that he couldn't quite spell acquaintance.

So I rang him and he was surprisingly easy to chat to, turned out he was a comedian (literally) and a fellow aussie - can't escape them!

but we caught up for coffee today and Mr Funny is a lovely guy... cute too!

First time I've ever had a second meeting with a one night stand. I'd told him on our first phone conversation that I remembered little of Saturday night, but today I came clean and told him that the sum total of all I remember of the night adds up to about 8 minutes. Doesn't seem to bother him - though it's the weirdest thing not have absolutely no memory of the first time you kissed a particular boy... let alone the first time you shagged him.

Definitely not one to tell the grandchildren.



oh - and the second time we kissed was fine :)

Nerds on the Pull

This - with love from my favourite ex-colleague (a bloke) in Australia, who scored an invite:

Google are doing the rounds up in Brisbane. I don't think they really want to meet me - I think its nerds on the pull. That's what I get from reading in-between these lines:

"we would like to issue a special invitation to the women attendees to join us for a pre-event cocktail starting at 6:30 pm. This would be a time for you to meet with some of the Google engineers in a more informal environment, and meet each other as well!".

I have never felt so wanted.

I can't believe they actually distributed that - so we can now surmise that theirs is a predominately male workforce, and the general corporate impression is that they need help meeting women. tops. way to pull, guys.

how embarrassment ;)

Mourning

...the sad and unexplained death of my ipod. This morning it just plain refused to turn on.

I can't turn anything on lately... not even my ipod. Oh the misery that is my non-existent social life. feeling it. Now I can't even distract myself with music!

but should I start to contemplate suicide, I shall remember these lyrics:

For billions of years since the outset of time, every single one of your ancestors survived. Every single person on your mum and dad's side, successfully looked after and passed on to you, life.

On the Edge of a Cliff - The Streets

In search of optimism...

blame my ipod, but does anyone else agree that these are just the loveliest lyrics ever -

How many times
Can a man watch the sun rise
Over his head
Without feeling free?

and this other verse almost makes me wish that there were many incredibly inappropriate men in my past whom I'd dated and fallen madly, passionately in love with...

- then I'd be able to read these lyrics with an ever-so-wistful sigh -

How many fools
Will I let unlock the door to my heart?
When I know that, I know that
They shouldn't have had the key

alas there are too few men in my past in general, only two of which have ever had the key to my front door... let alone my heart. Still, plenty of time to rectify that I guess!


(lyrics to Hot Tequila Brown - Jamiroquai)

I am a broken woman

first time I've been able to get to the gym in a while...

- it's been just over my week since I went public with my resolve to lose 2 kilos in 2 months

I hopped on the scales to discover not quite 2 kilos, but a kilo and a half - barely one week in and only 500g off the 2 kilo change in weight I'm hoping for

except that that is how much I've gained

I shit you not.

un-be-fookin-lievable

Swedish Meatballs

alas, I am at work. No nordic modern-day viking insisted that he and I sail off into the sunset. Bugger.

Actually, there was a complete and utter lack of gorgeous blonde-haired, blue-eyed anything - men or women. Seemed to be a lot of kids though - either they grow up ugly and brunette, or (my personal theory) they leave the country to become the exotic and envied gorgeous international students at universities the world over. Perhaps, as one friend suggested, it's only the blonde, blue-eyed nymphomaniacs that get the passports.

we'll never know.

Always the way

the 'couple' of drinks I decided to have with the work crew turned into many and many more, first at one pub, then a visit to my favourite cocktail bar to reacquaint myself with my favourite cocktail (it'd been far too long!), then traipsed all the way up to Angel for more drinks at a pub with some of my friend's RBS workmates.

Was ever so close to actually sticking to my resolve to just have one sociable drink and then go home and pack for the next day's trip to Stockholm. Politely refused a drink when offered... but then caved. Had my arm twisted. Damn rubber arm.

I was rocking around carrying a rather heavy belated birthday present - nicely boxed delivery of white wine and chocolate truffles that I had originally planned to consume for a less-than-healthy dinner. I love chocolate at the best of times but consuming them whilst drunk on the tube ride home and *oh* - they were manna from heaven!

Mind you, the cornish pasty I'd had earlier the night was also an absolute culinary delight to my alcohol-sozzled tastebuds.

I have no idea what a cornish pasty tastes like when you're sober.

Home at 1am and was still too drunk to even consider packing for Stockholm... however I did manage to remember to stick the bottle of wine straight in the fridge

some things you just do on auto pilot :)

New Topic Required

seriously.

need to get out of this food/weight-focussed mentality. need to get a life!

I'd best work on that one - the worst thing about trying to cultivate a vaguely interesting blog about your life is that it brings to your immediate attention that you may need a life that's vaguely interesting.

Maybe I'll just start making stuff up. When Mark Twain decided that truth was stranger than fiction he mustnt've been writing a blog - or at least reading this one.

Anyways, the reason for re-visiting this weighty topic (unforgivable pun, yes) a well-meaning-workmate has this horrendous habit of repeating a little belief of his - actually, much to my annoyance he repeats many of his beliefs - people so opinionated and set in their ways disturb me, but that's another rant.

Why he feels the needs to repeatedly enlighten me with the gem of information that 'all these women who want to be size 0s have no idea that men prefer women with a bit of weight on them' I can only guess at. So I do guess. I guess he imagines this is a shocking revelation that will make me happy. So I can only infer that he doesn't mistake me for a size 0 and is ever so subtly trying to convince me that it's okay to carry extra weight. joy.

Note that I have never complained about my weight or the increasing tightness of my jeans to this boy. ever. not my style.

It's like once upon at time in an office years ago, when a co-worker (who I always imagined would be an exact replica of a human-pig hybrid should ever science create one) casually remarked that I was stocky. That I wouldn't want to take up swimming because a stocky build like mine would get muscly. No woman wants to be described as stocky. ever. there's a tip from you to me.

Oh, the joys of working within the IT industry and the ever-so-suave men it attracts!

The thing is, I'm either the most arrogant and delusional woman alive (possible) but I am (usually) fine with my weight. 5 foot 3 and a half... 60kg, aiming for 58... a standard size 10. I don't hate what I see in the mirror - but then I don't see stocky - or someone carrying extra weight (unless I'm silly enough to breathe out and turn sideways!)

Thanks boys.

Hunger

The reason I sit here contemplating my dietary habits is that I'm bored at work. I rush for my morning coffee, then count down the minutes til lunchtime, thus ensuring that my entire day revolves around food. I have to resist consuming an unhealthy number of tasty hot chocolate sachets that sit mocking me from the tea room. Only an intravenous drip filled with melted chocolate could offer a more efficient chocolate delivery system. hmph. I reckon weight is directly related to job satisfaction, if I were challenged instead of bored shitless I would have better things to do than dream of my tasteless-but-healthy pasta salad.

Rules

I've broken one of my rules.

I always swore that I would never, ever, under any circumstances diet. Ofcourse, when made this agreement with myself I was a svelte 22 year old with an incredibly large appetite and the metabolism of a racehorse.

My eating habits used to be the stuff of legend. During my university days my sports team would closely observe what I ate and inevitably some aspect of my edible conquests would make it into every post-competition write up for the uni magazine. My favourite trick was consuming 2 whopper burgers right before a game - I still maintain that I played better if I did.

The year I turned 23 I started full time office work. I do remember noticing that my gargantuan appetite quelled somewhat and I was ever so slightly pleased. Then I started gaining weight. Not so pleased. The disturbing trend continued... and all of a sudden I *got* why my inexplicable ability to consume horrendously large servings of food had made my teammates so envious. So *this* was why women dieted!

Thankfully I did stop expanding. Sumo wrestling was never seriously contemplated as a possible career choice. Although I still eat more than most blokes I know. You know those people that just eat as much as they want and never gain weight? Well, my theory is that I'm one of those people... or should be... it's just that I eat twice as much as any decent human my size should.

So back to the breaking of the rules. Lately I've spent so much time whingeing about how tight my jeans are, and squirming in discomfort at the cruel waistband that insists on cutting into my soft and deliciously pudgy tummy, that I decided that life would be a little bit more comfortable if I made an effort towards dropping a couple of kilos. Running parallel with my solemn vow never to diet was a solemn vow never to bitch and whinge about my weight like a girly-girl. I grew up being a tomboy you see, and am still coming to terms with some of the girly-girl tendencies I've been increasingly picking up of late.

So not only have I resolved to lose 2 kilos in the next 2 months, but I've actually informed a couple of my friends of this new resolve. I'm putting it out there. Not overly ambitious, but then I'm a healthy lass and not exactly obese. Now I'm also informing the 2 people who may accidentally happen over this blog post on their misguided way to somewhere else, but hey, by putting it in print I might have to read it in 2 month's time and realise I have all the willpower of a fat kid in a candy store.

Gay-man envy

Tripped over to Mykonos for a 4 day break this weekend just gone, and experienced gay-man envy for the first time ever. Have never aspired to be a gay male before. Have considered the advantages of being a bloke many times - physical superiority, no menstrual cycle, no pregnancy scares (not to the same extent anyways), statistically higher rate of pay, far less chance of having someone assume you're a bimbo... but given that I'm not particularly fashion-forward, theatrical, or even effeminate, the allure of the gay man's world has never been strong.

Then I saw the superbly sculpted, perfectly tanned adonis-like men sunning themselves on the beach at Mykonos - predominantly clad in teeny tiny man-shorts. I wanted in. Although I didn't fancy the hotpants. The tight-man-shorts may just be a general European thing - but the plucked eyebrows, handbags, total lack of body hair and absence of women lead me to strongly suspect that the gorgeous boys were gay. Why weren't any of the straight men that good! All I got was extroverted touchy-feely greasy Italian men!

On the upside, there was never going to be any lecherous behaviour should I decide to sunbathe topless...

win some lose some I guess.

Whoops

So I'm doing a fantastic job with this blog thing aren't I? At the very start and I'm already forgetting I have one. Actually, I didn't forget so much as I just didn't quite get round to doing something about it. Much in the same way I always intend to update my travel blog, post some photos on facebook, back up my hard drive... but never quite manage.

Did I mention I work with computers?

So half the month has passed and it hasn't been too boring.

For a start, I had my birthday. I'm now 28. You know when you're a kid you have an age that sticks in your head as your 'grown up' age. Everyone that age or older is definitely a grown up. I just hit mine, which slightly scares me. Not because I need to settle in my life, buy a property or focus on my career. Own property, have decent career prospects - will travel. It's just I've reached that scary point in my life where I feel a helluva lot younger than I actually am. Also, every random guy I strike up a conversation with in any pub or club is 23. It's the oddest phenomena. To the point where I was out in a club a few weeks ago (ever so slightly pissy) and met one 23 year old (half Egyptian half Italian, and had've he been 6 foot something, could've been a D&G model) and later when another boy sat next to me I was challenging my darling-friend-and-flatmate to dare me to just turn to him and state 'You're 23, aren't you?'. She didn't so I didn't but could've and should've - a little conversation ensued and true to form, the boy was 23.

Am I too young to start lying about my age?

There have been one or two 22 year olds thrown into the mix of late. Not that I should be complaining - were it the other way around and 43 year olds kept approaching me then I'd be entirely grossed out and seriously contemplating botox. I've always said that I want a toyboy that can cook. I figure that there are so many older men rocking around with much younger women on their arm that it is personally up to me to redress the balance. It's good in theory but not in practice. At best I've had a boyfriend that was a year and a bit younger than me.

My favourite trick is pretending to be insulted when a young bloke guesses my age at 23, and when I tell him to guess again and moves it up to 24. Cue best wide-eyed shocked look and indignant voice 'You think I'm OLDER!'

I love a dark club!

In the beginning...

In the beginning... I didn't really know what to write... Hopefully that will change with time and/or practice. Actually, who am I kidding? I can always crap on - it's one of my many talents. It's just that I suspect that in the beginning what I write will largely be crappy, and I hope that'll improve.

Why a blog? Why just the normal reasons... fame fortune scandal and a horrendously well paid book deal. That'd be nice.

Failing that (or in the meantime) this'll be a cheaper alternative to therapy... not that I really need therapy right now due to the overwhelming stability in my life. I am remarkably well adjusted. Nothing that makes for interesting reading yet huh? Surely something fantastically interesting will happen in my life soon, and even if no one else reads it or cares, then when I'm 83 and the only thing between my boobs is my belly button, me and my 43 cats can look back on this blog and have a giggle about how exciting/shallow/naive I used to be.

So why Cheeky Goddess? Well, it just sounded better than smart-assed and arrogant... catchier don't you think? I never really had a major nickname growing up (parental pet names excluded) and I think smart ass was as close I got - but I liked it - better that than dumbass I figured