In an episode of "Sex and the City," Charlotte refers to a turning point in her life. Apoint when she realizes things will never be the same again. A point when she understands that she's not young anymore and no longer has her whole life in front of her. Charlotte calls this point her "scary age." It's different for everyone and very personal. It can mean having accomplished (or not) a certain set of tasks, like educational or career goals. It can mean reaching a point of self discovery and knowledge. Or it can mean, as it does to Charlotte, having a certain structure to your personal life, such as a husband, 2.5 children, and a white picket fence.
I never particularly identified much with Charlotte. She's a bit of a prude and tends to be too ridgid and judgmental for me. However, on this point, we agree. I too have a scary age. I established it back in my late teens/ early 20s as a signpost for the progression of my life. My scary age was 30. On August 25, 2008, my 30th birthday, I sat down and took stock of myself and my life. Educational goals? Check- I have a two BAs and an MA. Career goals? Check- I have a job I like and am pretty good at. Self doscovery and knowledge? Check- I've been to a shrink and am working out the kinks daily, so I can usually tell if it's someone else or if it's just me. Personal life? Um...not so much.
There's the chink in my armour. My personal life is in a sad state. I'm not dating anyone seriously and haven't for the past two years. My last committed relationship was only a committment on my end and my longest relationship was back in college, almost a decade ago. I spent some pre and post birthday time furiously scrambling to "fix" my personal life. I went out. Met new people. I dated a bit. Still nothing. I took heart that the ladies of SATC did not despair. Except for Charlotte; she was always in despair about something! They were all comfortable where they were scary age or not. They kept hope of finding love, but took solace in their friendships with one another.
That's the ideal, made for tv version of how the story plays out. In reality, my scary age is scary for this reason: no matter how happy and well rounded I seem to be, at a certain age (30 in my life) people expect you to be attached to someone else and on the road to marriage and if you are not on that path they begin to apply pressure in hopes of getting you there. I thought my glamourous, nomadic lifestyle exempted me from this expectation until this point. I'd say, "No, I'm not seeing anoyone. It's hard for me because I travel so much and move so frequently. I never know how long I'm going to be in a place, so there's no point in getting too serious with anyone." People would listen and nod secretly wishing that they too could be the jet setter that I am.
My father would brag about me in church adding the requisite parental yeast to stories of my adventure travel. People would compliment him on rasing such a fine young woman. Then the questions would come. "When is she getting married?" "Does she have someone?" No and no were the answers my father was forced to mumble as he added something about how busy I always am. However, he took it as a personal failure and has recently set out to find me a mate. For several months now he's been telling me of a young man at church who travels for work just as much as I do. Yesterday I pointed out to my father that I don't actually travel much for work at all. I travel for pleasure and it just so happens that I don't work in America, but I digress. My father has attemepted to lure me to church with tales of this man's professional success and exotic travels to far flung places like Chicago, Detroit, and LA (no offense to those of you that hail from, or live in those places, but in reality they are not actually exotic to me). I have yet to meet him as our hectic travel schedules have not yet put us in DC at the same time. However, my father mentioned again yesterday that he's spoken of me to this man and that this man is eager to meet me. This most recent mention from Daddy stems from my very awkward Monday night "date," if you could even call it that.
My mother, who I thought was always on my side, has also joined the ranks of the marriage pressure-ers. It seems that she too thinks I'm a pathetic, old maid at 30 and unable to get on marraige road without some assistance. As a result, she arranged an introduction for me when I got off the plane Monday night. It was supposed to be dinner at the Cheesecake factory with she and I as well as her friend and her friend's nephew's former college roommate. Such a contrived situation mae me anxious and uncomfortable from the mere mention of it. To add more discomfort to the mix, my mom was also traveling that day, so she could not pick me up from the airport. My dad came and got me, then joined us for dinner. The poor guy; he never even saw it coming!
To get you up to speed on the background information, my parents dated for a couple of years before I was born. They lived together and contemplated marriage, but my mom backed out at the last minute. My dad moved out after I was born and I've never, in my recollection, lived with both of them. My father married about 11 years ago and is living his happily ever after. My mother also lives her happily ever after alone. Getting them in the same room at the same time sends me over the moon with joy until the fight breaks out. They seem cordial for the first half hour or so, then they start with the snide remarks and personal jabs that make everyone uncomfortable and me unhappy. Needless to say, dinner with the two of them requires a referee.
The poor guy had the worst seat in the house. He sat next to me and my dad and across from my mom, who also sat next to my dad. He listened and smiled polietly as my parents told embarassing stories about my affection for my childhood toys, called one another old (they're the same age), fat (they might also be the same height and weight), and stupid. I wanted to melt into my chair. He took it all in stride and was the pinnacle of grace under pressure. I appreciated him for that grace and was impressed that he could handle the dynamic duo (a.k.a. my parents). However, I don't think I'll ever see him again. That might go down in the history books as one of the worst first dates ever and if you've read this blog you know I've had some doozies! It was certainly worse for him than it was for me as they are my parents so I knew what to expect. Despite that, he was extremely polite and chivalrous- held the door, helped me with my coat, gave me his card and said that I should email. A couple of days later I did email, but have yet to hear from him. I can't help but think that in the back of his mind he sensed the pressure, the desperation of these crazy parents to marry off their wretched child, continue their blood line, and be rid of the stigma and shame of having a healthy, beautiful, smart, kind, witty, yet tragically single, 30 year old daughter.
So 30 remains my scary age, but not because of what it means to me. I love my life and am perfectly happy being who I am. I'm not scared of being 30, or 35, or even 40 anymore. What I am afraid of is other people and their reaction to me when I tell them a bit about myself and for some bizzare reason it is still not enough.
Saturday, December 27, 2008
Saturday, November 29, 2008
Yoga Ettiquette
Thanks to Maya I discovered a new obsession. No, not Facebook, Bikram Yoga. It's a 90 minute, moving meditation in a 105 degree room. Some people find it the closest thing to hell. Here in cold, damp London, it's a little slice of heaven. I like it because: 1. My anemia keeps me feeling cold most of the time and this balances that out. 2. There are more hot guys there than in your average yoga class because guys think sweating is an extra hard core workout. 3. Topless men in booty shorts are good eye candy and extra motivation. 4. It keeps me healthy and fit. 5. I'm good at it.
Enough about the benefits of Bikram and more to the point of this post. I belong to a studio a couple of miles from my house and I tend to work out there 3-4 times a week. It's helping me maintain the 20 pound weight loss I achieved over the summer by working out with my trainer in addition to practicing this yoga. I tend to go to the 8pm class and most of the regulars arrive around 7:45pm. We all change and wait in the locker room for the 6:15 people to clear out of the studio. Sometimes we bust in there at 7:50 to give them the bum's rush and stake out a good spot (it's a bit cooler over by the windows and there's a great view of the park across the street). However, there are some rules once you get into the studio. For instance: 1. Be silent so as not to interrupt others in their meditation. 2. Only drink water between postures so as not to interrupt others in their meditation, concentration or balance. 3. Focus on your own eyes in the mirror. 4. During savasana (dead body pose/rest time) turn your head in the same direction as the rest of the class to give your neighbors some privacy.
This is my issue. A woman in my class has decided that she is a yoga master so she practices in the front row. I being pretty good, but only having begun in July, practice in the second row. We are usually 3-4 rows deep in class as Bikram is very popular here. The idea in a room so crowded is to stagger ourselves so that everyone can see her/himself in the mirror. You need the mirror to help you focus your meditation, maintain balance, and make adjustments to your form during the practice. This woman does not respect the notion of staggering.
She usually comes into class after me then proceeds to lay her mat and towel down directly in front of mine- end to end, corner to corner. It drives me insane and puts me in a foul mood. When she does this I try to drag my mat and towel over an few inches to the left or right so that I can get a space to see myself in the mirror. She typically pretends not to notice me moving and shifting behind her.
At first I thought it was because she couldn't tell where my space was since the room is dark as we wait for class to begin and I was lying down on my mat. To solve the problem, I started sitting up while waiting for class to start so she could instantly see that she was blocking me in the mirror. Nada.
On both Monday and Tuesday of this week she plopped her happy ass down right in front of me. Tuesday night was bad because the front row was virtually empty and she had about 3 feet of space to her left. We were thick in the second and third rows with only about 6-10 inches between our mats. When yoga mistress came in both me and the woman behind me had to shift our mats to be able to see ourselves in the mirror. The woman in the third row shot me a knowing glance as we hurriedly readjusted before starting the first breathing exercise while everyone else in the room was practicing being still and calm.
To add insult to injury, yoga mistress isn't that good. During the balancing postures she frequently loses her balance and falls out of the posture. Our teachers always tell us to jump right back in as the energy in the room is contagious and if one person falters or quits it poisons the well for the rest of us.
I inadvertently did it myself the other day. I came to class tired from a long day at work and was in the center of a bunch of newbies who were in their first few classes. When you first start out with this practice it's hard to maintain focus, balance, or concentration because all you think about is the heat. I spent many of my first few classes convincing myself that I was not going to die. In such cases your are encouraged to sit down and rest and watch everyone else. On the evening in question, I had the life sucked out of me by all of the newbies who were sitting and watching. My low level of energy made balancing WAY more difficult for me. Consequently, I fell out of my postures over and over again causing those around me to do the same. It makes for a very frustrating class when that happens.
Yoga mistress is like that everyday. She regularly falls out of postures and instead of jumping right back in, she stands (usually directly in front of me) and wipes the sweat from her brow or readjusts her clothes. It drives me insane because not only does it wreck my energy flow, but it also saps my concentration as I can no longer see myself in the mirror. As a result, I tend to lose my balance and fall out of my posture. It's at that point where I feel the urge to scream and curse at her, but class is silent, so I can't. I just roll my eyes and try to jump back into my posture, but usually cannot because she's still standing there in my way, blocking the mirror. If I move so that I can see, she jumps back into the posture aligning her body with mine so that I am once again invisible in the mirror. Invisibility causes me to fall out of my posture again.
She drives me crazy! I debated having a word with her in the locker room after class. Then she crossed the line again by crowding me in the locker room. She put her stuff right next to mine and stood close to the bench so that I had to reach around her sweaty body to get to my clothes. Gross! I actually stopped going to the yoga studio closest to my house because other people sweat on me too frequently there. I find other people's sweat so revolting.
I'm at my wit's end. I might try talking to her again. I might also pull my teacher aside and ask her to speak to the class in general about hogging the mirror. I have a plan of action, but I'm also taking suggestions if you have any to offer.
Enough about the benefits of Bikram and more to the point of this post. I belong to a studio a couple of miles from my house and I tend to work out there 3-4 times a week. It's helping me maintain the 20 pound weight loss I achieved over the summer by working out with my trainer in addition to practicing this yoga. I tend to go to the 8pm class and most of the regulars arrive around 7:45pm. We all change and wait in the locker room for the 6:15 people to clear out of the studio. Sometimes we bust in there at 7:50 to give them the bum's rush and stake out a good spot (it's a bit cooler over by the windows and there's a great view of the park across the street). However, there are some rules once you get into the studio. For instance: 1. Be silent so as not to interrupt others in their meditation. 2. Only drink water between postures so as not to interrupt others in their meditation, concentration or balance. 3. Focus on your own eyes in the mirror. 4. During savasana (dead body pose/rest time) turn your head in the same direction as the rest of the class to give your neighbors some privacy.
This is my issue. A woman in my class has decided that she is a yoga master so she practices in the front row. I being pretty good, but only having begun in July, practice in the second row. We are usually 3-4 rows deep in class as Bikram is very popular here. The idea in a room so crowded is to stagger ourselves so that everyone can see her/himself in the mirror. You need the mirror to help you focus your meditation, maintain balance, and make adjustments to your form during the practice. This woman does not respect the notion of staggering.
She usually comes into class after me then proceeds to lay her mat and towel down directly in front of mine- end to end, corner to corner. It drives me insane and puts me in a foul mood. When she does this I try to drag my mat and towel over an few inches to the left or right so that I can get a space to see myself in the mirror. She typically pretends not to notice me moving and shifting behind her.
At first I thought it was because she couldn't tell where my space was since the room is dark as we wait for class to begin and I was lying down on my mat. To solve the problem, I started sitting up while waiting for class to start so she could instantly see that she was blocking me in the mirror. Nada.
On both Monday and Tuesday of this week she plopped her happy ass down right in front of me. Tuesday night was bad because the front row was virtually empty and she had about 3 feet of space to her left. We were thick in the second and third rows with only about 6-10 inches between our mats. When yoga mistress came in both me and the woman behind me had to shift our mats to be able to see ourselves in the mirror. The woman in the third row shot me a knowing glance as we hurriedly readjusted before starting the first breathing exercise while everyone else in the room was practicing being still and calm.
To add insult to injury, yoga mistress isn't that good. During the balancing postures she frequently loses her balance and falls out of the posture. Our teachers always tell us to jump right back in as the energy in the room is contagious and if one person falters or quits it poisons the well for the rest of us.
I inadvertently did it myself the other day. I came to class tired from a long day at work and was in the center of a bunch of newbies who were in their first few classes. When you first start out with this practice it's hard to maintain focus, balance, or concentration because all you think about is the heat. I spent many of my first few classes convincing myself that I was not going to die. In such cases your are encouraged to sit down and rest and watch everyone else. On the evening in question, I had the life sucked out of me by all of the newbies who were sitting and watching. My low level of energy made balancing WAY more difficult for me. Consequently, I fell out of my postures over and over again causing those around me to do the same. It makes for a very frustrating class when that happens.
Yoga mistress is like that everyday. She regularly falls out of postures and instead of jumping right back in, she stands (usually directly in front of me) and wipes the sweat from her brow or readjusts her clothes. It drives me insane because not only does it wreck my energy flow, but it also saps my concentration as I can no longer see myself in the mirror. As a result, I tend to lose my balance and fall out of my posture. It's at that point where I feel the urge to scream and curse at her, but class is silent, so I can't. I just roll my eyes and try to jump back into my posture, but usually cannot because she's still standing there in my way, blocking the mirror. If I move so that I can see, she jumps back into the posture aligning her body with mine so that I am once again invisible in the mirror. Invisibility causes me to fall out of my posture again.
She drives me crazy! I debated having a word with her in the locker room after class. Then she crossed the line again by crowding me in the locker room. She put her stuff right next to mine and stood close to the bench so that I had to reach around her sweaty body to get to my clothes. Gross! I actually stopped going to the yoga studio closest to my house because other people sweat on me too frequently there. I find other people's sweat so revolting.
I'm at my wit's end. I might try talking to her again. I might also pull my teacher aside and ask her to speak to the class in general about hogging the mirror. I have a plan of action, but I'm also taking suggestions if you have any to offer.
Saturday, November 15, 2008
OCD and me
Recently, I've been accused of having an obsessive compulsive disorder. I never thought I had OCD, but after two people in one week suggesting it, I'm rethinking the possibility.
I do like having things tidy. I also do not enjoy living in, or cleaning up other people's messes. However, I do not shower several times a day, wash and rewash my hands, or any other repetitive behavior. I have, as does everyone, certain pet peeves. If you live, or ever have lived with other people, they've done something at one point to annoy you. I have issues with my kitchen being dirty. I don't like dishes left in the sink unless I leave them there (which my mother will tell you that I do all the time). If dishes must be left in the sink, I need them to be rinsed out, or at least having water left in them so that the old food doesn't crust over. I like the counters and stove wiped down and free of grease and crumbs. I like the floor swept and also free of crumbs and visible stains. Is that OCD? Or is it just clean? Would you eat in a restaurant with crumbs and crusty food on the tables and cooking surfaces? How would the health department rate a commercial kitchen that looked like that?
In my bathroom, I like my surfaces wiped down. I like them free or hair, dust, toothpaste, soap scum, and other substances. Surely that's not too much to ask. After all, how is one expected to bathe in dirt? Roger says that my need to have separate cleaning cloths for the tub and sink in OCD. I say no since you put your booty, feet, and other body parts in the tub. The sink occasionally touches my toothbrush if I happen to drop it (Which Roger says he's never done. Am I alone in having dropped my toothbrush in the sink?). Thus I'd rather not clean the sink that touches my toothbrush with the same cloth I use to clean the tub which touches my feet and booty. I just think that's gross.
Perhaps my issue is simply with things that go in my mouth- food, my toothbrush, dishes, etc. I don't like having dirty things in or near my mouth. Does that qualify as OCD? I think it's just quirkiness. It's just the joy of me.
My boss said that's why I'm sick now (I have a cold). Apparently I'm not dirty enough to build up antibodies. I didn't put enough things in my mouth growing up.
My parents kept me too clean and now I keep myself this way.
I can take junk- piles of papers, objects, stuff all over. I cannot take gooey, sticky, crusty, smelly dirt. There is a difference. Mess is not necessarily dirt, but dirt is certainly a mess. Where is the line drawn between OCD and cleanliness? I think I err on the side of clean, not compulsive.
I do like having things tidy. I also do not enjoy living in, or cleaning up other people's messes. However, I do not shower several times a day, wash and rewash my hands, or any other repetitive behavior. I have, as does everyone, certain pet peeves. If you live, or ever have lived with other people, they've done something at one point to annoy you. I have issues with my kitchen being dirty. I don't like dishes left in the sink unless I leave them there (which my mother will tell you that I do all the time). If dishes must be left in the sink, I need them to be rinsed out, or at least having water left in them so that the old food doesn't crust over. I like the counters and stove wiped down and free of grease and crumbs. I like the floor swept and also free of crumbs and visible stains. Is that OCD? Or is it just clean? Would you eat in a restaurant with crumbs and crusty food on the tables and cooking surfaces? How would the health department rate a commercial kitchen that looked like that?
In my bathroom, I like my surfaces wiped down. I like them free or hair, dust, toothpaste, soap scum, and other substances. Surely that's not too much to ask. After all, how is one expected to bathe in dirt? Roger says that my need to have separate cleaning cloths for the tub and sink in OCD. I say no since you put your booty, feet, and other body parts in the tub. The sink occasionally touches my toothbrush if I happen to drop it (Which Roger says he's never done. Am I alone in having dropped my toothbrush in the sink?). Thus I'd rather not clean the sink that touches my toothbrush with the same cloth I use to clean the tub which touches my feet and booty. I just think that's gross.
Perhaps my issue is simply with things that go in my mouth- food, my toothbrush, dishes, etc. I don't like having dirty things in or near my mouth. Does that qualify as OCD? I think it's just quirkiness. It's just the joy of me.
My boss said that's why I'm sick now (I have a cold). Apparently I'm not dirty enough to build up antibodies. I didn't put enough things in my mouth growing up.
My parents kept me too clean and now I keep myself this way.
I can take junk- piles of papers, objects, stuff all over. I cannot take gooey, sticky, crusty, smelly dirt. There is a difference. Mess is not necessarily dirt, but dirt is certainly a mess. Where is the line drawn between OCD and cleanliness? I think I err on the side of clean, not compulsive.
Sunday, November 9, 2008
It's been a long time coming
Hooray for change! It's been a long time coming and I'm happy it's here! American politics have dominated my life (and everyone else's it seems) for the last week. Prior to that it's been work.
In the interim, I've been slacking off on my blogging. Sorry! By the same token, I have to say that there's not much to report on this end.
After my tryst with the hot biker boy, the dry spell began. I'm still on Match and got a few winks, but nothing has come of them. I've had no luck in real life either. Only two guys have even looked my way. One was some less than attractive, 45 year old Jamaican guy on the tube the other day. He looked as if he'd just come from a construction job somewhere and spent most of the ride staring at me as I graded papers. Creepy! He did break the silence as he saw me putting my things away and asked for my number or for a date at KFC. (You know how I feel about fried chicken.) Since when is that a good first date location?
Yesterday, I ran into my former tango partner in a restaurant. He sent a dessert to my table. Poor thing, he still keeps hope alive that one day something will happen between us. No dice. I appreciate the generosity, but we are friends and nothing more.
I continue my dating slump...
If you know any hot, single guys in the London area (or ones that are willing to travel here) please send them my way!
In the interim, I've been slacking off on my blogging. Sorry! By the same token, I have to say that there's not much to report on this end.
After my tryst with the hot biker boy, the dry spell began. I'm still on Match and got a few winks, but nothing has come of them. I've had no luck in real life either. Only two guys have even looked my way. One was some less than attractive, 45 year old Jamaican guy on the tube the other day. He looked as if he'd just come from a construction job somewhere and spent most of the ride staring at me as I graded papers. Creepy! He did break the silence as he saw me putting my things away and asked for my number or for a date at KFC. (You know how I feel about fried chicken.) Since when is that a good first date location?
Yesterday, I ran into my former tango partner in a restaurant. He sent a dessert to my table. Poor thing, he still keeps hope alive that one day something will happen between us. No dice. I appreciate the generosity, but we are friends and nothing more.
I continue my dating slump...
If you know any hot, single guys in the London area (or ones that are willing to travel here) please send them my way!
Tuesday, September 16, 2008
Deja vu all over again
After the I'm-in-love-with-a-stripper-instead-of-Michelle episode with the last guy in the circle of friends that I dated, you would think I'd learn my lesson. Not so. I'm a little slow on the uptake when it comes to guys. Enter Alex.
Super hot bike racer boy with the Lance Armstrong body and model face. Tall, crack free, and down with the brown. Cha ching! I'd been giving him the eye ever since we met, but he had a girlfriend. I respected that. His girl was mad cool! She showed me so much love every time I saw her. It was like we were old friends. She was all, "Hey girl! How are you doing? How have you been? Let's get a drink! Let's shake it fast!" I loved it when they would come hang out. That's why I asked about her when I randomly ran into Alex on the streets of Venice in June. He said they'd broken up and gotten back together and that she'd moved into his flat. I told him we had to get together when we all got back to London. He agreed and we parted ways.
Fast forward two months to the going away party for our mutual friends who were moving to Australia. I say, "Hey! Nice to see you, Alex. Where's Mimi (his girlfriend)?"
"We broke up," he replied.
"That's ok," I told him. "You'd just gotten back together when I saw you in Italy a couple of months ago, so I'm sure you'll be back together again soon."
"No, this time it's permanent," was his response.
The conversation stayed friendly and flirty for a bit until we were interrupted by my crackhead ex who HAD to talk to me. I excused myself only to discover that coke face didn't want much. This scenario repeats at least thrice more with him pulling me away from Alex to talk in the bedroom, bathroom, kitchen... anywhere Alex wasn't. Suddenly Mr. I'm-in-love-with-a-stripper only wants to chat me up. Jealous much?
Side rant on jealousy: Ok, let me get this straight, coke face. You date me for three months and put me at the bottom of your priority list; only calling on Thursday to make weekend plans. Next you leave me for some crooked toothed, fake boob having, stupid ass stripper with whom you claim to be hopelessly in love. Then almost six months later, when you've only seen me once since our breakup, you have the nerve to be jealous when another man pays me the slightest bit of attention at a party. WTF? You have no such right! Get over yourself coke face!
Anyway, several glasses of wine later, Alex and I are alone on the couch while everyone else chats in the kitchen. The party starts to clear out and our hosts offer to put us up for the night. We agree and stay up until 6am. We exchange info as we part ways the next day and vow to see each other again. Timing is bad on both ends and we blow each other off for about two weeks before we get together again. We have a great dinner date Tuesday night and plan to go out again on Saturday. We go to dinner and a gig on Saturday night and end up having a slumber party. After breakfast on Sunday morning, he suggests we go to the Thames Festival. We walk along the river all afternoon taking in the sights and smells, eating, drinking, and being merry. We decide to stay and watch the fireworks around 9pm (we got there around 3). Around 8:15 he tells me he agreed to meet his ex twice removed (not Mimi, the ex before Mimi). I knew they were still close and she's also in our circle of friends, so I agreed to go too. Apparently it was a statement, not an invitation. He told me that he thought it would be weird if I went, so he'd just go and call me later to tell me what they were doing because he didn't want her to be on her own. Then he left.
Um...HELLO! Now I'm on my own jackass!
He called and texted to apologize later that night, but I wasn't taking calls. We spoke the next day and he explained that he was still sleeping with her and thought it would be weird if he showed up to meet her with me as he and I had been smooching and holding hands all day. I told him that I was through. I've been down this road before and I know where it leads- just ask coke face. This is deja vu all over again! I can't believe I didn't see this one coming though!
I have the worst dating karma ever! Either I'll marry and be blissfully happy until the moment of my death, or I've done some dude from my past so wrong that he's on the brink of suicide everyday. While my dating adventures do make for great reading, they make for a pretty pathetic love life. Dating in London is WAY worse than dating in the US. Any tips on breaking this curse?
Super hot bike racer boy with the Lance Armstrong body and model face. Tall, crack free, and down with the brown. Cha ching! I'd been giving him the eye ever since we met, but he had a girlfriend. I respected that. His girl was mad cool! She showed me so much love every time I saw her. It was like we were old friends. She was all, "Hey girl! How are you doing? How have you been? Let's get a drink! Let's shake it fast!" I loved it when they would come hang out. That's why I asked about her when I randomly ran into Alex on the streets of Venice in June. He said they'd broken up and gotten back together and that she'd moved into his flat. I told him we had to get together when we all got back to London. He agreed and we parted ways.
Fast forward two months to the going away party for our mutual friends who were moving to Australia. I say, "Hey! Nice to see you, Alex. Where's Mimi (his girlfriend)?"
"We broke up," he replied.
"That's ok," I told him. "You'd just gotten back together when I saw you in Italy a couple of months ago, so I'm sure you'll be back together again soon."
"No, this time it's permanent," was his response.
The conversation stayed friendly and flirty for a bit until we were interrupted by my crackhead ex who HAD to talk to me. I excused myself only to discover that coke face didn't want much. This scenario repeats at least thrice more with him pulling me away from Alex to talk in the bedroom, bathroom, kitchen... anywhere Alex wasn't. Suddenly Mr. I'm-in-love-with-a-stripper only wants to chat me up. Jealous much?
Side rant on jealousy: Ok, let me get this straight, coke face. You date me for three months and put me at the bottom of your priority list; only calling on Thursday to make weekend plans. Next you leave me for some crooked toothed, fake boob having, stupid ass stripper with whom you claim to be hopelessly in love. Then almost six months later, when you've only seen me once since our breakup, you have the nerve to be jealous when another man pays me the slightest bit of attention at a party. WTF? You have no such right! Get over yourself coke face!
Anyway, several glasses of wine later, Alex and I are alone on the couch while everyone else chats in the kitchen. The party starts to clear out and our hosts offer to put us up for the night. We agree and stay up until 6am. We exchange info as we part ways the next day and vow to see each other again. Timing is bad on both ends and we blow each other off for about two weeks before we get together again. We have a great dinner date Tuesday night and plan to go out again on Saturday. We go to dinner and a gig on Saturday night and end up having a slumber party. After breakfast on Sunday morning, he suggests we go to the Thames Festival. We walk along the river all afternoon taking in the sights and smells, eating, drinking, and being merry. We decide to stay and watch the fireworks around 9pm (we got there around 3). Around 8:15 he tells me he agreed to meet his ex twice removed (not Mimi, the ex before Mimi). I knew they were still close and she's also in our circle of friends, so I agreed to go too. Apparently it was a statement, not an invitation. He told me that he thought it would be weird if I went, so he'd just go and call me later to tell me what they were doing because he didn't want her to be on her own. Then he left.
Um...HELLO! Now I'm on my own jackass!
He called and texted to apologize later that night, but I wasn't taking calls. We spoke the next day and he explained that he was still sleeping with her and thought it would be weird if he showed up to meet her with me as he and I had been smooching and holding hands all day. I told him that I was through. I've been down this road before and I know where it leads- just ask coke face. This is deja vu all over again! I can't believe I didn't see this one coming though!
I have the worst dating karma ever! Either I'll marry and be blissfully happy until the moment of my death, or I've done some dude from my past so wrong that he's on the brink of suicide everyday. While my dating adventures do make for great reading, they make for a pretty pathetic love life. Dating in London is WAY worse than dating in the US. Any tips on breaking this curse?
Saturday, August 30, 2008
De La Soul vs. ATCQ
In my mind, there has always been a battle in the Native Tongue Family between De La Soul and A Tribe Called Quest. For me, Tribe always won because of my longstanding crush on Q-tip. I've met Tribe and Tip at least 3 times in my life. Most recently, we met in Columbia at the Rock the Bells tour, where Tribe did a meet and greet. This was probably the lamest meeting ever (Which reminds me, go see the movie, "The Wackness" if you haven't already.) because Tip spent the entire time on the phone instead of meeting and greeting us. Even when he signed my poster he was on the phone! Even when I told him about my longstanding crush on him, he looked up for about 3 seconds, then went back to his phone conversation once he saw my face. So why, you ask, do I continue to love him? Besides the fact that he is one of many bad choices I've made in my life, and that I'm a glutton for punishment, I don't really know. Actually, as of that day, my unrequited love for him is over. He's been a jerk to me for the last time. I don't need him! Enter De La Soul.
Pos (Plug 1) from De La Soul has also been a secret crush of mine for many years. I've also met De La numerous times in life and despite them being kind and friendly each time, I've always favored Tribe (bad choices... bad choices...). The last time I met De La was here in London. Maseo DJed a party at a pub in Kilburn and I dragged Maya (shout out!) along since she was in town visiting. Mase played everything Maya and I used to dance to back in middle school. As Pos and Dave mixed and mingled in the club, I went over to each of them to have a chat. I told Pos that I enjoyed their show earlier in the week and was looking forward to seeing them again in the States. I reminded Dave of the time I ran into him in Target in Largo, MD back in 2002 trying to buy glitter and made him sign an autograph for me. He did, then I helped him find the glitter. He laughed and was excited that I was from MD. I think my flattery and chatting paid off tonight.
I just saw them at the Jazz Cafe. My friend Tina and I were in the third row. They performed my favorite song- "Ego Trippin'"- that they never perform! I've seen them 3 times since May and they haven't done that song once until tonight. Then, they stopped the show and had a little group pow wow over by the turntables. They glanced at the crowd a few times and we all stood wondering what would happen next. I think Dave recognized me and wanted visual confirmation from the others that it was me. Next, they asked for the biggest fan in the crowd- the person who knew the most about De La. Tina shouted out, "Over here! She does! Right here!" Everyone turned and looked and suddenly they were all pointing at me too.
Pos brought me up on stage. Pos said, "I don't know. She didn't seem too sure. She looks the part though. She looks intelligent. She smells good (Thank you DKNY Be Delicious!). She might be able to do it." They asked my name and I told the crowd Michelle. Dave said I needed a more hip hop name (More hip hop? Don't you listen to Slick Rick? "Mi-chelle, ma belle.."), so he called me "Michelle Rock Well."
I was scared they were gonna make me try to rap at this point, but they just asked me what day it was. Of course I was going to say Saturday, but then some guy in the front row yelled it out. So Pos brought him on stage too and said, "Man, you fucked it up! It's ok. Since she's the MC, you can be the DJ. We'll call you DJ Fuck Up." (Poor guy!) They performed "A Roller Skating Jam Named Saturdays" and gave me the mic and let me sing a few bars. I stayed on stage for the entire song dancing and singing along. They all gave me big hugs before I went back to my spot in the crowd. It was great! I love them! Go buy all of their albums if you don't have them already! They are the nicest guys out there!
I am officially over my obsession with Tribe. My heart belongs to De La Soul!
Here I am on stage with Pos.
Pos (Plug 1) from De La Soul has also been a secret crush of mine for many years. I've also met De La numerous times in life and despite them being kind and friendly each time, I've always favored Tribe (bad choices... bad choices...). The last time I met De La was here in London. Maseo DJed a party at a pub in Kilburn and I dragged Maya (shout out!) along since she was in town visiting. Mase played everything Maya and I used to dance to back in middle school. As Pos and Dave mixed and mingled in the club, I went over to each of them to have a chat. I told Pos that I enjoyed their show earlier in the week and was looking forward to seeing them again in the States. I reminded Dave of the time I ran into him in Target in Largo, MD back in 2002 trying to buy glitter and made him sign an autograph for me. He did, then I helped him find the glitter. He laughed and was excited that I was from MD. I think my flattery and chatting paid off tonight.
I just saw them at the Jazz Cafe. My friend Tina and I were in the third row. They performed my favorite song- "Ego Trippin'"- that they never perform! I've seen them 3 times since May and they haven't done that song once until tonight. Then, they stopped the show and had a little group pow wow over by the turntables. They glanced at the crowd a few times and we all stood wondering what would happen next. I think Dave recognized me and wanted visual confirmation from the others that it was me. Next, they asked for the biggest fan in the crowd- the person who knew the most about De La. Tina shouted out, "Over here! She does! Right here!" Everyone turned and looked and suddenly they were all pointing at me too.
Pos brought me up on stage. Pos said, "I don't know. She didn't seem too sure. She looks the part though. She looks intelligent. She smells good (Thank you DKNY Be Delicious!). She might be able to do it." They asked my name and I told the crowd Michelle. Dave said I needed a more hip hop name (More hip hop? Don't you listen to Slick Rick? "Mi-chelle, ma belle.."), so he called me "Michelle Rock Well."
I was scared they were gonna make me try to rap at this point, but they just asked me what day it was. Of course I was going to say Saturday, but then some guy in the front row yelled it out. So Pos brought him on stage too and said, "Man, you fucked it up! It's ok. Since she's the MC, you can be the DJ. We'll call you DJ Fuck Up." (Poor guy!) They performed "A Roller Skating Jam Named Saturdays" and gave me the mic and let me sing a few bars. I stayed on stage for the entire song dancing and singing along. They all gave me big hugs before I went back to my spot in the crowd. It was great! I love them! Go buy all of their albums if you don't have them already! They are the nicest guys out there!
I am officially over my obsession with Tribe. My heart belongs to De La Soul!
Here I am on stage with Pos.
Tuesday, August 26, 2008
B-day black & blues
Thanks to anyone who thought of me & sent me birthday greetings! Although I'm fighting a little cold, I had a lovely birthday weekend overall. Here's the recap in case you care:
Friday night: Jon & Cierra's going away party. Those two are always the hosts of a good time! More liquor than food, dancing & hot guys. Who could ask for anything more? I have to admit that I was VERY tired after my first week of school (see my previous post), so I didn't really want to got to this party. However, I was soon glad that I did go. Firstly, I looked hot. Not to mention the facts that I had a new dress on, I'd lost weight, and after a few drinks I got a second wind & was a dancing fool. Enter Alex.
He's the hottie in the circle of friends that I'd been scoping out since the first time we met. Roger informed me that he had a girlfriend. :( The thing is, I couldn't hate on her too much cause I was just jealous that her man was hot. Plus she was mad cool. Every time she saw me, it was like I was her best friend on Earth. We'd spend hours at a party talking, and laughing, and shaking it fast. I started to look forward to seeing both of them at a party- her for the fun, him for the eye candy.
Tangentially, we ran into him randomly in the streets of Venice for Yemi's b-day celebration. He and a friend had drinks with us and chatted a bit. He'd just moved his girlfriend into his place following a temporary breakup.
Fast forward to Friday night, he's happy to see me and announce that he and the girlfriend have broken up. I rolled my eyes when he said it and said, "You'd just broken up the last time I saw you too." He replied, "This time it's permanent." Ouch! Girl, what did you do?
His rebound bounced him right to me. He was all in my face all night joking & dancing. What good birthday fortune! Attracting such attention from Alex made John, my crackish ex (Sorry Gary! Lesson learned the hard way even after your warning. We broke up.), anxious. Now John and I have been separated for almost 6 months. He immediately started seeing someone else and trotted her out to meet our friends knowing that it'd get back to me. We saw one another for the first time in 3 months at a dinner party. I got drunk and passed out in his lap (so ugly, I know!), but our vibe was cool. We were happy to see one another. The conversation flowed. I felt comfortable enough to fall asleep in his lap and he was comfortable enough to let me. Two months later we meet again at this party and are still glad to see one another. We talked about his new relationship, our lives, and everything else under the sun, especially when he saw Alex talking to me. He'd pull me into the bathroom, or the bedroom, or out in the hall to talk. We spent 20 mins locked in the bathroom which left Roger questioning if we'd planned a reconciliation. Nope, just talking. It took a few of these come-with-me-for-a-minute chats for me to see the pattern. John was jealous! He had a girl and still didn't want me talking to anyone else! What the hell? How's that fair? I even asked what the breakdown was with us (aside from his obvious drug abuse) in his opinion. He said I was too nice. Right...my bad. Everyone knows that no one wants a nice girl. They want their girlfriend to be a psycho bitch (Ok, so maybe if you're a junkie you do- that makes sense now.). Anyway, I'm in awe of that foolishness. I can't believe him!
So Alex and spent the night at Jon and Cierra's. We talked until 6am. He walked me to the tube in the morning and texted me later that night... and the next day... then he called. And texted again the next day. :) A cutie and a sweetie- happy birthday to me!
Saturday night was spent in recovery mode from Friday until my downstairs neighbors threw a rager. Steph and I were pissed, so I yelled down to them from the window to find out what the deal was. Turns out one of them was celebrating his birthday, so I ended up going down there and having a couple of drinks at their party before bed.
Sunday was a furious shopping and cleaning mission. Then went to my friend Rudi's for her Notting Hill Carnival party. Went late & left early to get ready for my own bash. My party was the after party from hers. We had about 15 people over to drink, chat & play Wii. I kicked ass in Dance Dance Revolution and Wii boxing. That's my only workout these days, so I try hard and I'm getting better. My arms are still sore from the boxing!
At about 2:30am, Steph went into her room, laid down, got under the covers. I walked the rest of our guests down to the front door of the building. The flat door slammed shut behind me. I was in a sleeveless dress and barefoot. I came back up & knocked, but she didn't answer. I banged. I yelled. I kicked the door. Nothing. The party boys from downstairs came out & asked if I wanted them to go out & ring the buzzer for me. I said yes, then went down and rang the buzzer myself for about 20 mins (sound familiar?). Nothing. I went back up. I banged more. I yelled more. I kicked the door more. Nada. The neighbor across the hall came out and threatened to "bodily remove" me from the building if I wasn't quiet (I know it was 2am, but he could've just let me use the phone.). 3 hours later, I saw her walk past the keyhole. I shoved old mail under the door until she opened it. On Monday, my actual birthday, I slept until noon and went to bed early to be fresh for work in the morning.
Steph claimed she never heard a thing. She blames me for leaving the house without my keys. My right hand is still tender and bruised from hitting the door.
I wonder if Alex would let me move in with him now that his girlfriend is gone...
Friday night: Jon & Cierra's going away party. Those two are always the hosts of a good time! More liquor than food, dancing & hot guys. Who could ask for anything more? I have to admit that I was VERY tired after my first week of school (see my previous post), so I didn't really want to got to this party. However, I was soon glad that I did go. Firstly, I looked hot. Not to mention the facts that I had a new dress on, I'd lost weight, and after a few drinks I got a second wind & was a dancing fool. Enter Alex.
He's the hottie in the circle of friends that I'd been scoping out since the first time we met. Roger informed me that he had a girlfriend. :( The thing is, I couldn't hate on her too much cause I was just jealous that her man was hot. Plus she was mad cool. Every time she saw me, it was like I was her best friend on Earth. We'd spend hours at a party talking, and laughing, and shaking it fast. I started to look forward to seeing both of them at a party- her for the fun, him for the eye candy.
Tangentially, we ran into him randomly in the streets of Venice for Yemi's b-day celebration. He and a friend had drinks with us and chatted a bit. He'd just moved his girlfriend into his place following a temporary breakup.
Fast forward to Friday night, he's happy to see me and announce that he and the girlfriend have broken up. I rolled my eyes when he said it and said, "You'd just broken up the last time I saw you too." He replied, "This time it's permanent." Ouch! Girl, what did you do?
His rebound bounced him right to me. He was all in my face all night joking & dancing. What good birthday fortune! Attracting such attention from Alex made John, my crackish ex (Sorry Gary! Lesson learned the hard way even after your warning. We broke up.), anxious. Now John and I have been separated for almost 6 months. He immediately started seeing someone else and trotted her out to meet our friends knowing that it'd get back to me. We saw one another for the first time in 3 months at a dinner party. I got drunk and passed out in his lap (so ugly, I know!), but our vibe was cool. We were happy to see one another. The conversation flowed. I felt comfortable enough to fall asleep in his lap and he was comfortable enough to let me. Two months later we meet again at this party and are still glad to see one another. We talked about his new relationship, our lives, and everything else under the sun, especially when he saw Alex talking to me. He'd pull me into the bathroom, or the bedroom, or out in the hall to talk. We spent 20 mins locked in the bathroom which left Roger questioning if we'd planned a reconciliation. Nope, just talking. It took a few of these come-with-me-for-a-minute chats for me to see the pattern. John was jealous! He had a girl and still didn't want me talking to anyone else! What the hell? How's that fair? I even asked what the breakdown was with us (aside from his obvious drug abuse) in his opinion. He said I was too nice. Right...my bad. Everyone knows that no one wants a nice girl. They want their girlfriend to be a psycho bitch (Ok, so maybe if you're a junkie you do- that makes sense now.). Anyway, I'm in awe of that foolishness. I can't believe him!
So Alex and spent the night at Jon and Cierra's. We talked until 6am. He walked me to the tube in the morning and texted me later that night... and the next day... then he called. And texted again the next day. :) A cutie and a sweetie- happy birthday to me!
Saturday night was spent in recovery mode from Friday until my downstairs neighbors threw a rager. Steph and I were pissed, so I yelled down to them from the window to find out what the deal was. Turns out one of them was celebrating his birthday, so I ended up going down there and having a couple of drinks at their party before bed.
Sunday was a furious shopping and cleaning mission. Then went to my friend Rudi's for her Notting Hill Carnival party. Went late & left early to get ready for my own bash. My party was the after party from hers. We had about 15 people over to drink, chat & play Wii. I kicked ass in Dance Dance Revolution and Wii boxing. That's my only workout these days, so I try hard and I'm getting better. My arms are still sore from the boxing!
At about 2:30am, Steph went into her room, laid down, got under the covers. I walked the rest of our guests down to the front door of the building. The flat door slammed shut behind me. I was in a sleeveless dress and barefoot. I came back up & knocked, but she didn't answer. I banged. I yelled. I kicked the door. Nothing. The party boys from downstairs came out & asked if I wanted them to go out & ring the buzzer for me. I said yes, then went down and rang the buzzer myself for about 20 mins (sound familiar?). Nothing. I went back up. I banged more. I yelled more. I kicked the door more. Nada. The neighbor across the hall came out and threatened to "bodily remove" me from the building if I wasn't quiet (I know it was 2am, but he could've just let me use the phone.). 3 hours later, I saw her walk past the keyhole. I shoved old mail under the door until she opened it. On Monday, my actual birthday, I slept until noon and went to bed early to be fresh for work in the morning.
Steph claimed she never heard a thing. She blames me for leaving the house without my keys. My right hand is still tender and bruised from hitting the door.
I wonder if Alex would let me move in with him now that his girlfriend is gone...
Friday, August 22, 2008
Isht like this always happens to me
When I was a kid, I had an awful babysitter who took care of me, my cousin, and various other children. Part of the poor care package she offered my family was that we had to bring our own snacks to her house. In addition, she'd often leave us unattended and let the older ones watch the younger ones. On one such occasion, I remember we had pretzel sticks for snack. That same day, I also remember a little boy pooping into a small bucket (the kind you'd use to build sand castles at the beach). Later, as some stupid child presented the dookie bucket to the babysitter, I remarked that our pretzels had been used to decorate the poo. In high school, there was the incident in the new bathroom off the Common Room in which some demented girl smeared feces all over the bathroom stall, floor, and mirror. In college, there was the shower shitter. This girl shat in each of the 4 shower stalls in my dorm bathroom- reinforcing the need for shower shoes. Now in London, my world is rocked by fecal matter once again.
Here's the situation. Yesterday was my first day of school with kids. Work was great! However, I was exhausted at the end of the day. Steph and I came back to our local pub, had dinner and a drink, then went home to crash. I napped for a few hours and got up when Roger called later that evening around 9pm. After putzing around on the internet for a bit, I decided it was time for bed at about 1am. I found it tough to fall asleep again, but I drifted off around 1:30am. At 2am, my neighbors decided that it was party time and blasted music for over an hour into our back garden. I lay in bed trying to block it out and managed to doze off again around 3am. Then, according to Steph (I don't really know because I was asleep), at 3:30am, some crazy woman came and buzzed our downstairs doorbell for half an hour. Steph looked out the window to see who was there, but since the woman was a stranger, Steph didn't let her into the building.
Fast forward to this morning. At 6am, I go out in my bathrobe to put the trash on the curb. I walk down the first flight of stairs to discover that the front door to the building is wide open. Who knows how long for? Who knows who opened it? Who knows who left it open? In my head, I vow to ensure that it's locked on my way back inside. As I walk out of the open door, I'm greeted by a log of human feces. The repugnant stench filled my nostrils as I hurried past. Leaving the trash on the curb, I ran by again, averting my nose and locking the door behind me. I sat alone, in horror at my kitchen table.
To whom does this type of thing happen besides me? I am a woman who is perpetually constipated- since birth! I blame it on the fact that I have an uptight personality which translates into me being literally, anal retentive. Consequently, I rarely encounter my own feces, let alone that of others. Why then, is my life plagued with shit? Literal shit. This much feces is too much for one person! If I begin to take laxatives regularly, will I stop encountering the feces of others?
I'm getting tired of this shit!
Here's the situation. Yesterday was my first day of school with kids. Work was great! However, I was exhausted at the end of the day. Steph and I came back to our local pub, had dinner and a drink, then went home to crash. I napped for a few hours and got up when Roger called later that evening around 9pm. After putzing around on the internet for a bit, I decided it was time for bed at about 1am. I found it tough to fall asleep again, but I drifted off around 1:30am. At 2am, my neighbors decided that it was party time and blasted music for over an hour into our back garden. I lay in bed trying to block it out and managed to doze off again around 3am. Then, according to Steph (I don't really know because I was asleep), at 3:30am, some crazy woman came and buzzed our downstairs doorbell for half an hour. Steph looked out the window to see who was there, but since the woman was a stranger, Steph didn't let her into the building.
Fast forward to this morning. At 6am, I go out in my bathrobe to put the trash on the curb. I walk down the first flight of stairs to discover that the front door to the building is wide open. Who knows how long for? Who knows who opened it? Who knows who left it open? In my head, I vow to ensure that it's locked on my way back inside. As I walk out of the open door, I'm greeted by a log of human feces. The repugnant stench filled my nostrils as I hurried past. Leaving the trash on the curb, I ran by again, averting my nose and locking the door behind me. I sat alone, in horror at my kitchen table.
To whom does this type of thing happen besides me? I am a woman who is perpetually constipated- since birth! I blame it on the fact that I have an uptight personality which translates into me being literally, anal retentive. Consequently, I rarely encounter my own feces, let alone that of others. Why then, is my life plagued with shit? Literal shit. This much feces is too much for one person! If I begin to take laxatives regularly, will I stop encountering the feces of others?
I'm getting tired of this shit!
Tuesday, July 29, 2008
Rejoice!
I'm so excited! I planned to be fit by 30. On my summer vacation, I returned to the US and hired a personal trainer to kick my butt into shape in the month and a half preceding the big 3-0. His name is Doran Eason and he did his job.
We started working out on Friday, July 11. He put me on a crazy vegan, carb free, alcohol free diet. Those of you who know me know that I love carbs and meat while drinking heavily, so this diet made me very sad. It was only supposed to last a week, but I've kept it up (more or less) the entire time I've been here. In addition, I was taking an herbal supplement to clean my colon and liver. The nail in my listen-to-your-trainer coffin came during my weigh in. I weighed a whopping 140 pounds and had 34.1% body fat. According to the height/weight charts that the NIH publishes, I was overweight. Doran agreed and told me I needed to lose 40 pounds. I haven't been that thin since high school! I wanted to cry.
I worked out with him 3 times/week and went to Bikram yoga on the other days.
My hard work paid off. Doran weighed me after our workout on Monday. I'm down to 128 pounds and 31.8% body fat. Hooray!
That means I lose 12 pounds and 2.3% of my body fat. It feels good! I just have to keep it up!
The photo is of Doran (trainer extraordinaire!) doing a pull up- working it out!
We started working out on Friday, July 11. He put me on a crazy vegan, carb free, alcohol free diet. Those of you who know me know that I love carbs and meat while drinking heavily, so this diet made me very sad. It was only supposed to last a week, but I've kept it up (more or less) the entire time I've been here. In addition, I was taking an herbal supplement to clean my colon and liver. The nail in my listen-to-your-trainer coffin came during my weigh in. I weighed a whopping 140 pounds and had 34.1% body fat. According to the height/weight charts that the NIH publishes, I was overweight. Doran agreed and told me I needed to lose 40 pounds. I haven't been that thin since high school! I wanted to cry.
I worked out with him 3 times/week and went to Bikram yoga on the other days.
My hard work paid off. Doran weighed me after our workout on Monday. I'm down to 128 pounds and 31.8% body fat. Hooray!
That means I lose 12 pounds and 2.3% of my body fat. It feels good! I just have to keep it up!
The photo is of Doran (trainer extraordinaire!) doing a pull up- working it out!
Friday, July 25, 2008
Counter
In counter/readership related news... greetings to the person who probably stumbled upon this blog by accident on July 1, 2008 from Brisbane, Australia! Hope you liked what you read! I'll have to check out Brisbane the next time I'm in Australia. G'day!
Facebook Peer Pressure
Recently, I've had several friends trying to encourage me to join Facebook. Due to my profession, I've decided that it is in my best interest not to do so. I don't want current or former students, or employers for that matter, looking to see what I'm up to. I like to keep my private life private. I've heard too many stories of employers looking up potential employees on the net to determine their suitability for hiring. I also don't want to be stalked by exes or would be suitors, as I have a bizarre propensity to do in both my real and cyber life. Nor do I want to give in to the temptation to stalk said persons myself. So I say nay to Facebook.
My more persuasive friends have kicked their pitches into high gear, relying on their sales and marketing experience to tell me that I can restrict what information others see about me and simply ignore those with who I do not want to interact. My response is, "Isn't that what I'm already doing by not joining Facebook?" If you know me and I want to be in contact with you then we are in touch. If not, it's just as well. Then you don't try and reach out to me only to have me subtly reject your advances by ignoring you. I have a phone and email and a street address. All of those are means by which you can reach me. If you don't have any of that information about me, then chances are that I don't actually want to know you anymore and that's ok. Why should I have to go through the trouble of re-rejecting you after we lost touch the first time?
Speaking of time, I'm a slow reader. It takes me ages to sort through information on line and I have, on several occasions, wasted entire 12-16 hour days sitting in front of my computer surfing the net. Facebook would be just another time sponge in my life that would take me away from actually living. I like to go out dancing. I need to work out more. I want to actually spend time with my friends. Facebook will take away from all of that as I read and respond to superfluous stimuli like pokes, drinks, and friend requests from all of the 12 year olds I teach who have too much time on their hands. I already struggle to update this blog on a monthly basis. Having to maintain a Facebook page too would kill me.
You may be thinking, "Michelle, what the hell are you talking about? You maintain this blog that anyone can read." True, but no one does. This blog has a readership in the single digits. How do I know? Spy ware! I have a counter that tracks hits. I know who visits, where they log on from, which posts they look at, and how many times they come back. Consequently, I know that most people besides you will never read what I say here. Only about 10 people on the earth even know I have a blog. The sporadic frequency with which I update it prevents people from coming back for more, so I think I'm safe.
For now, I'm listening to Nancy Regan and I just say NO to Facebook.
*Cue friends voices saying, "You know you want to. Every body's doing it. It'll make you feel good. What are you a chicken?"
Yes, cluck, cluck.
My more persuasive friends have kicked their pitches into high gear, relying on their sales and marketing experience to tell me that I can restrict what information others see about me and simply ignore those with who I do not want to interact. My response is, "Isn't that what I'm already doing by not joining Facebook?" If you know me and I want to be in contact with you then we are in touch. If not, it's just as well. Then you don't try and reach out to me only to have me subtly reject your advances by ignoring you. I have a phone and email and a street address. All of those are means by which you can reach me. If you don't have any of that information about me, then chances are that I don't actually want to know you anymore and that's ok. Why should I have to go through the trouble of re-rejecting you after we lost touch the first time?
Speaking of time, I'm a slow reader. It takes me ages to sort through information on line and I have, on several occasions, wasted entire 12-16 hour days sitting in front of my computer surfing the net. Facebook would be just another time sponge in my life that would take me away from actually living. I like to go out dancing. I need to work out more. I want to actually spend time with my friends. Facebook will take away from all of that as I read and respond to superfluous stimuli like pokes, drinks, and friend requests from all of the 12 year olds I teach who have too much time on their hands. I already struggle to update this blog on a monthly basis. Having to maintain a Facebook page too would kill me.
You may be thinking, "Michelle, what the hell are you talking about? You maintain this blog that anyone can read." True, but no one does. This blog has a readership in the single digits. How do I know? Spy ware! I have a counter that tracks hits. I know who visits, where they log on from, which posts they look at, and how many times they come back. Consequently, I know that most people besides you will never read what I say here. Only about 10 people on the earth even know I have a blog. The sporadic frequency with which I update it prevents people from coming back for more, so I think I'm safe.
For now, I'm listening to Nancy Regan and I just say NO to Facebook.
*Cue friends voices saying, "You know you want to. Every body's doing it. It'll make you feel good. What are you a chicken?"
Yes, cluck, cluck.
Wednesday, June 18, 2008
The Other Gloria
Being a seven year alumnae of The Bryn Mawr School, I am a huge fan of diversity. BMS is famous for it's glossy, full color brochures featuring a girl of every major ethnic background represented at the school. In the early to mid-nineties, the black girl in those brochures was usually me. I faked a smile as the token with my white and Indian friends who were also chosen for their ethnicity to round out the United Colors of Benetton look. It's good for marketing... I even sang in the school's madrigal group after being recruited by the director for the same reason. The moral of the story is that I'm no stranger to being a token. I'm frequently chosen to blacken up an environment because of my private school education and refined, non-threatening mannerisms. I firmly believe that I was hired for my current position on that same basis.
I've recently learned that the person I replaced was also black. He had dreadlocks, so my natural hair was a logical progression from his in maintaining my token status and inherent blackness at the school. In my division, I am one of two black faculty members (there are only three in the entire school), and there are no black students. The other black faculty member is the guidance counselor, Gloria.
She and I bonded over being new, being black, being in the Middle School, being outside in all types of weather supervising kids each morning, and other commonalities in our lives. We don't really spend much time together outside of school as she is about 20 years older than I, so our interests differ a bit. However, that has not stopped our colleagues from lumping us together as if we were best friends and inseparable.
The one of the foreign language teachers called me Gloria for the first two or three months of school. Despite the fact that she and I had a conversation about how her son's name was spelled almost exactly like mine and people often mistook him for a girl here due to an unfortunate cultural bias (His name is Michele- Italian for Michael.). We chaperoned a dance together where she called me Gloria all night- in the presence of others who gave us both odd looks when I replied. I corrected her the first few times, but after that there was no point. I teach children, not adults.
After the dance, another colleague close to both of us took her aside and told her of her constant mistake. She was apologetic and ashamed. She spoke to me privately later and said she was sorry. She said because we were both new she confused us at first and never really got it straight. I told her not to worry and that all was forgiven. We moved on and I asked to chaperon a trip she was organizing to France in the spring. She agreed. I went. She knew my name the entire time.
When we got back, I popped into her room to ask a question. She turned, looked at me and said, "Oh, Gloria, I'm so glad you're here!" My face went blank for a second allowing her time to realize her mistake. She never did and continued talking. Had it only been her at school who did this, I would have chalked it up to being a senior moment because she is around 60 years old.
However, it's not just her. I walked into a faculty meeting a few months back and greeted a woman who'd had me over to her house for Thanksgiving dinner this year. She said, "Gloria, are you going to that..." I stopped her and said, "I'm Michelle." She replied, "Oh, that's right, the other Gloria."
Will racism ever cease?
N.B. There is no one else on our campus named Gloria. There are however, two other women named Michelle, both white. No one ever mistakes Gloria for me, or either of them (I asked). Just in case you were wondering (like Roger was) if there really is a slight resemblance between Gloria and I, please refer to the photo of she and I accompanying this post. That's Gloria on the right.
I've recently learned that the person I replaced was also black. He had dreadlocks, so my natural hair was a logical progression from his in maintaining my token status and inherent blackness at the school. In my division, I am one of two black faculty members (there are only three in the entire school), and there are no black students. The other black faculty member is the guidance counselor, Gloria.
She and I bonded over being new, being black, being in the Middle School, being outside in all types of weather supervising kids each morning, and other commonalities in our lives. We don't really spend much time together outside of school as she is about 20 years older than I, so our interests differ a bit. However, that has not stopped our colleagues from lumping us together as if we were best friends and inseparable.
The one of the foreign language teachers called me Gloria for the first two or three months of school. Despite the fact that she and I had a conversation about how her son's name was spelled almost exactly like mine and people often mistook him for a girl here due to an unfortunate cultural bias (His name is Michele- Italian for Michael.). We chaperoned a dance together where she called me Gloria all night- in the presence of others who gave us both odd looks when I replied. I corrected her the first few times, but after that there was no point. I teach children, not adults.
After the dance, another colleague close to both of us took her aside and told her of her constant mistake. She was apologetic and ashamed. She spoke to me privately later and said she was sorry. She said because we were both new she confused us at first and never really got it straight. I told her not to worry and that all was forgiven. We moved on and I asked to chaperon a trip she was organizing to France in the spring. She agreed. I went. She knew my name the entire time.
When we got back, I popped into her room to ask a question. She turned, looked at me and said, "Oh, Gloria, I'm so glad you're here!" My face went blank for a second allowing her time to realize her mistake. She never did and continued talking. Had it only been her at school who did this, I would have chalked it up to being a senior moment because she is around 60 years old.
However, it's not just her. I walked into a faculty meeting a few months back and greeted a woman who'd had me over to her house for Thanksgiving dinner this year. She said, "Gloria, are you going to that..." I stopped her and said, "I'm Michelle." She replied, "Oh, that's right, the other Gloria."
Will racism ever cease?
N.B. There is no one else on our campus named Gloria. There are however, two other women named Michelle, both white. No one ever mistakes Gloria for me, or either of them (I asked). Just in case you were wondering (like Roger was) if there really is a slight resemblance between Gloria and I, please refer to the photo of she and I accompanying this post. That's Gloria on the right.
Wednesday, May 28, 2008
Chicken sub
My friend, Maya, and I were on our way home from a long night of clubbing in a taxi on Sunday. We cruised away from the club for about 10 minutes when our driver slowed down and pulled to the side of the road. He said, "I'm just going to stop in here and get a chicken sub." I said, "What??" He responded, "I'm just going to stop in here and get a chicken sub." I said, "A chicken sub?!?!" He told me, "Yes, I'm hungry." I told him I was hungry too. Maya said, "Are you getting one for us?" He said, "What??" I told him, "If you get a chicken sub for yourself, you need to get one for each of us. You can't just get a chicken sub and get back in the car eating it and having it smell all good and not get one for us too." "Oh," he responded, "never mind." Then he pulled into the traffic and drove away.
Who does that?!?! Who gets a chicken sub while driving a cab? Since when is it ok to eat while driving a cab? Since when is it ok to stop for snacks while driving a cab? That's why we ain't free! Oppression via chicken! Black people unite against the tyranny of poultry!
I'm gonna organize a boycott. Who's with me?
Who does that?!?! Who gets a chicken sub while driving a cab? Since when is it ok to eat while driving a cab? Since when is it ok to stop for snacks while driving a cab? That's why we ain't free! Oppression via chicken! Black people unite against the tyranny of poultry!
I'm gonna organize a boycott. Who's with me?
Saturday, April 12, 2008
Ironing is sexy?
On Thursday evening, I invited a boy I'd been seeing out for a drink after work. I sent him a text saying I was in the neighborhood so I could meet within minutes (versus my usual 1 hr. travel time into the city). His response was, "I just started some chores. I have a mountain of ironing to do."
Who knew that ironing was sexier that a date with me?
I deleted his number from my phone, but I'm sure you knew that.
Who knew that ironing was sexier that a date with me?
I deleted his number from my phone, but I'm sure you knew that.
Sunday, April 6, 2008
Winter Freakin' Wonderland!
Let me just say that London has the craziest weather ever!
I leave Istanbul yesterday where it is 58 degrees and sunny. I arrive in London last night to 52 degrees and rain. Reality check Michelle- vacation is over.
I wake up this morning to SNOW. In April! What the heck!?!? The photo you see is the view from my living room window this morning. Keep your fingers crossed for a snow day tomorrow!
Monday, March 31, 2008
Blogs Besides Mine
In addition to writing my own blog, I find pleasure in reading the blogs of others.
Please enjoy some of the following:
BlackLove
So far post #4 on natural hair applies to me in that I HATE people touching my fro!
Also #25- I too have celebrity photos displayed in my house. You all know that Suge Knight is my boyfriend!
#23- I'm planning a spa trip while in Turkey.
#16- I wanted to go to college in Atlanta. I tried moving there after graduation, but the job prospects didn't work out. I chose DC instead (another black Mecca according to the post). Shout out to Cousin Gary who not only reads my blog, but LIVES in Atlanta! (You're living the EBP dream!)
#13- That's always fun because Ray Ray and Shaquanna are comedy!
#2- I'm trying to figure out how I can get the day off work to see Bilal in Amsterdam in May.
WhiteLove
Thanks to Phaedra for this one! This blog makes me think there's a lot of white overlap in my life. Who doesn't love music piracy (besides you and your intellectual property rights law Yemi...)? Who doesn't love Paris? I've hosted several dinner parties where we played Cranium (now if I could just afford a Wii...). I have gay friends. Is that like having black friends for black people? Or maybe that's having white friends- not sure, but I have those too! My best friend is a lawyer, so I gotta love lawyers. I could go on and on about graduate school, multilingual children, kitchen gadgets, and Mos Def (see my post on Bobby & Whitney), but I'll let you enjoy the blog for yourself!
FBC
This one is written by my friend, Twanna, who also went to grad school in Holland. She was a big help on the adjusting-to-life-in-the-Netherlands front. It's racy and funny- all the things my blog hopes to be when it grows up.
GeeSpencer
Last, but not least, my cousin Gary is a blogging debutant. So far so good! Keep up the good work Gary!
Please enjoy some of the following:
BlackLove
So far post #4 on natural hair applies to me in that I HATE people touching my fro!
Also #25- I too have celebrity photos displayed in my house. You all know that Suge Knight is my boyfriend!
#23- I'm planning a spa trip while in Turkey.
#16- I wanted to go to college in Atlanta. I tried moving there after graduation, but the job prospects didn't work out. I chose DC instead (another black Mecca according to the post). Shout out to Cousin Gary who not only reads my blog, but LIVES in Atlanta! (You're living the EBP dream!)
#13- That's always fun because Ray Ray and Shaquanna are comedy!
#2- I'm trying to figure out how I can get the day off work to see Bilal in Amsterdam in May.
WhiteLove
Thanks to Phaedra for this one! This blog makes me think there's a lot of white overlap in my life. Who doesn't love music piracy (besides you and your intellectual property rights law Yemi...)? Who doesn't love Paris? I've hosted several dinner parties where we played Cranium (now if I could just afford a Wii...). I have gay friends. Is that like having black friends for black people? Or maybe that's having white friends- not sure, but I have those too! My best friend is a lawyer, so I gotta love lawyers. I could go on and on about graduate school, multilingual children, kitchen gadgets, and Mos Def (see my post on Bobby & Whitney), but I'll let you enjoy the blog for yourself!
FBC
This one is written by my friend, Twanna, who also went to grad school in Holland. She was a big help on the adjusting-to-life-in-the-Netherlands front. It's racy and funny- all the things my blog hopes to be when it grows up.
GeeSpencer
Last, but not least, my cousin Gary is a blogging debutant. So far so good! Keep up the good work Gary!
Sunday, March 30, 2008
Vacation Hangover Habit
It's been Spring Break for me since Good Friday. I've been off for 1 week and 3 days. Over that 10 day period, I've had a hangover on 5 different occasions.
I went out for a celebratory Spring Break happy hour with co-workers on Good Friday down in Notting Hill and woke up with a hangover on Saturday.
Then, I had dinner with Roger and Quentin on on Easter Sunday. Afterwards we went out dancing at a club called Cargo in Shoreditch. I woke up with a hangover on Monday morning.
Monday night I went to a pub near the Barbican with some friends. Tuesday morning- hangover.
Friday night, I went out for curry on Brick Lane. My date and I had drinks before and after. I woke up with a headache on Saturday morning.
On Saturday night, Roger's former roommate and her boyfriend threw a wine and cheese party. Steph and I brought two bottles of wine, no cheese. Sunday morning was ugly.
I'm slightly disturbed that 50% of my Spring Break has been spent inebriated so far. Today I'm, sober, not hung over, and off for a week in Istanbul. Perhaps a hamam (Turkish bath) is just what I need to dry out & sober up before I go back to work. Living la vida London is getting to be a bit wild for me!
I went out for a celebratory Spring Break happy hour with co-workers on Good Friday down in Notting Hill and woke up with a hangover on Saturday.
Then, I had dinner with Roger and Quentin on on Easter Sunday. Afterwards we went out dancing at a club called Cargo in Shoreditch. I woke up with a hangover on Monday morning.
Monday night I went to a pub near the Barbican with some friends. Tuesday morning- hangover.
Friday night, I went out for curry on Brick Lane. My date and I had drinks before and after. I woke up with a headache on Saturday morning.
On Saturday night, Roger's former roommate and her boyfriend threw a wine and cheese party. Steph and I brought two bottles of wine, no cheese. Sunday morning was ugly.
I'm slightly disturbed that 50% of my Spring Break has been spent inebriated so far. Today I'm, sober, not hung over, and off for a week in Istanbul. Perhaps a hamam (Turkish bath) is just what I need to dry out & sober up before I go back to work. Living la vida London is getting to be a bit wild for me!
Windsor Woes
According to Google Maps, my house is 13.8 miles from Windsor Castle, the queen's weekend residence and the largest and oldest occupied fortress in the world. Lonely Planet Great Britain says there's bus service from London's Victoria Station which takes one hour and 15 minutes. There's also a bus from Heathrow Airport to Windsor. Heathrow airport is 13.9 miles from my place. There's local bus service from here to Heathrow. As the tube journey from our place into central London takes at least 45 minutes, we decided not to take the bus from Victoria. Our bright idea was to take the local bus from our place to Heathrow, then the other bus from Heathrow to Windsor. Google maps says that each leg of the journey should take approximately 20 minutes, to make for a total of 40 minutes from door to door.
Stephanie and I planned to leave our place at 10am for an afternoon of royal sightseeing. We were a bit slow moving due to the rain, but we managed to get going by 11:30am. The bus to Heathrow took about 35 minutes. Once there we looked around for the stop to catch to Windsor bus. I finally found it only to notice a small sign saying that they'd changed the location of the stop to the recently opened, yet hopelessly defunct Terminal 5.
The thing about Terminal 5 is that despite its shiny newness, it is somewhat inaccessible. The Heathrow Express train goes from Terminals 1, 2, and 3 to Terminals 4 and 5 every 20 minutes. We traveled on the second day of Terminal 5's opening. The BBC said, "The chaos that marred Heathrow's Terminal 5 on its opening day, leaving many stranded overnight, 'was not our finest hour' BA's boss has admitted." It took us ages to get to T5. Then we wandered around looking for the bus stop. When we found the stop, we had to wait 20 minutes for the bus. At 2pm, we arrived in Windsor just outside the castle.
Ravenous from our journey, we wandered around to find a place for lunch. With a mere hour and 15 minutes left until the castle closed, we scurry to the entrance to discover that the queen's apartments are closed, but we could get in for half price. Our discount meant that we were entitled to come again for free another time to see the queen's apartments if we filled out a form and got a special stamp on the form. Steph wanted to shop for mother's day gifts, so we spent 30 mins in the gift shop. We saw Queen Anne's doll house, the royal china collection, and an exhibit on the 60th wedding anniversary of Queen Elizabeth and Prince Phillip. Then they shooed us off the grounds after they stamped our forms.
We had ice cream and decided to take a taxi back home. It cost us 25 pounds, but we made it home in 20 minutes, versus the 2 hours it took us to get there. Insane! Windsor Castle was some drama!
Next time, we'll rent a car.
Stephanie and I planned to leave our place at 10am for an afternoon of royal sightseeing. We were a bit slow moving due to the rain, but we managed to get going by 11:30am. The bus to Heathrow took about 35 minutes. Once there we looked around for the stop to catch to Windsor bus. I finally found it only to notice a small sign saying that they'd changed the location of the stop to the recently opened, yet hopelessly defunct Terminal 5.
The thing about Terminal 5 is that despite its shiny newness, it is somewhat inaccessible. The Heathrow Express train goes from Terminals 1, 2, and 3 to Terminals 4 and 5 every 20 minutes. We traveled on the second day of Terminal 5's opening. The BBC said, "The chaos that marred Heathrow's Terminal 5 on its opening day, leaving many stranded overnight, 'was not our finest hour' BA's boss has admitted." It took us ages to get to T5. Then we wandered around looking for the bus stop. When we found the stop, we had to wait 20 minutes for the bus. At 2pm, we arrived in Windsor just outside the castle.
Ravenous from our journey, we wandered around to find a place for lunch. With a mere hour and 15 minutes left until the castle closed, we scurry to the entrance to discover that the queen's apartments are closed, but we could get in for half price. Our discount meant that we were entitled to come again for free another time to see the queen's apartments if we filled out a form and got a special stamp on the form. Steph wanted to shop for mother's day gifts, so we spent 30 mins in the gift shop. We saw Queen Anne's doll house, the royal china collection, and an exhibit on the 60th wedding anniversary of Queen Elizabeth and Prince Phillip. Then they shooed us off the grounds after they stamped our forms.
We had ice cream and decided to take a taxi back home. It cost us 25 pounds, but we made it home in 20 minutes, versus the 2 hours it took us to get there. Insane! Windsor Castle was some drama!
Next time, we'll rent a car.
Saturday, February 16, 2008
Moroccan Saki
I just got back from my weeklong trip to Morocco. In Fes, we took a tour of the city and a nearby tile factory. At the tile factory (aka third world sweat shop), we followed the mosaic tile making process from start to finish. The end of the tour is, of course, the show room. In the show room, I browsed. A unique piece up on a shelf caught my eye. It was behind a tall vase (you can see it behind me in the photo) and a man came up to help me with it. He got it off the shelf and proceeded to explain to me that it was an ink well. He said he'd give it to me as a gift. I politely declined. He asked again, adding that if I liked it, he'd buy it for me, but then he'd get to "keep me." The ensuing diatribe described how much happier my life in Morocco as his wife would be. He said I could eat tagines (a savory-sweet traditional Moroccan dish of roasted meat and fruit), not work (because sitting in front of a computer all day hurts your eyes), and live stress free- all without a visa (not like in America)! He remarked, as he held my hand in his own, that our hypothetical marriage would work because we were the same color. After my repeated rejections of his proposals, he relented and agreed to give me his card and take a photo with me as a souvenir. Turns out, he was a tour guide and a member of the family that owned the tile factory. His name was Saki (like Kawasaki, he told me). He walked me all of the way to the car and encouraged me to call if I changed my mind. Hilarious!
If you care to check out the site, the link is: www.artnaji.net
Monday, February 4, 2008
The Carrot and the Stick
The other night my flat mate and I went to our local, 24 hour, halal convience store to pick up a few cans of Red Bull to help us get those report card comments finished.
We go to the counter to make our purchases and the cashier is snacking on a carrot.
I notice, but say nothing & think nothing of it until he tells us we need to buy more items to use a debit card. I quickly scan the store for additional items and say,"I need a snack." At which point, the cashier reaches behind the counter to offer me, a bag of the raw, unpeeled (and probably unwashed) carrots that he's been chomping on! Now these weren't the baby carrots in a little bag that we're all used to as snack food. These were whole, large, fully grown, need-to-be-chopped-into-slices-or-sticks, sized carrots.
I decline the healthy snack and opt for a Snickers.
We go to the counter to make our purchases and the cashier is snacking on a carrot.
I notice, but say nothing & think nothing of it until he tells us we need to buy more items to use a debit card. I quickly scan the store for additional items and say,"I need a snack." At which point, the cashier reaches behind the counter to offer me, a bag of the raw, unpeeled (and probably unwashed) carrots that he's been chomping on! Now these weren't the baby carrots in a little bag that we're all used to as snack food. These were whole, large, fully grown, need-to-be-chopped-into-slices-or-sticks, sized carrots.
I decline the healthy snack and opt for a Snickers.
Monday, January 21, 2008
Whitney & Bobby
Roger tried to set me up with his friend John. John's not much to look at due to his poor, British dental work (think of those crazy, large choppers in There's Something About Mary). However, he is nice, smart, funny, a huge fan of hip-hop music & the two of us get along well. All of those things are pluses for him, yet there are several down sides.
The first of which being that the two of us met back in August when I first got here. We spent a day together having lunch, chilling on Primrose Hill, shopping, cooking dinner & watching the Color Purple. It was kind of like a group date, but I was the 5th wheel since John was with his girlfriend (a fake breasted, red weave wearing, hoochie mama, stripper) at the time. They fought the entire time and drove Roger, Quentin & I crazy in general. Needless to say, he didn't make a good first impression.
Our second encounter was in November, the weekend of Thanksgiving. Mos Def was in town, so Roger suggested that John & I go together since both of us were fans & Roger was too poor to afford tickets. When I contacted John, he said, "Great idea! I have tickets to see Amy Winehouse the next night. Wanna go?" I agreed and plans were set. Then he decided to host a Thanksgiving pot luck at his house on Sunday because apparently they'd all done it the year before. So all of the sudden, one concert/date night turns into a crazy weekend marathon date.
Mos Def went well. The girls came with me to act as a bit of a buffer because I was suspicious that he'd be trying to put the moves on me since he & the stripper had recently split. He didn't try anything, although he did offer me a crash pad at his place since it was getting late. The next night, other friends were there to buffer, but at the end of it all he offered me the crash pad again and I accepted knowing that I'd spend the next day cooking my part of the Thanksgiving meal at his place anyway.
It went well; I slept downstairs on the couch. He didn't try anything. We spent all day together cooking & watching tv. He's a great cook! We never fought like he & the stripper. Our guests were happy and well fed. After dinner we went to a nearby jazz pub. He paid the band to play "I've got you under my skin" for me. The vocalist took his money & told him to fuck off. (Loss of cool points.). We danced to what they did play and had a generally merry time. He bought me a couple of drinks & I went home no worse for the wear.
Fast forward to last weekend when Erin attempts to set me up with Franck (a chubby, French speaking, Madagascan, with amazing blue eyes). I know Franck from Thanksgiving as he & John are friends, but neither of us realizes who the other is until Franck speaks to Erin about me and he mentions we've met. Upon realizing who he is, I'm over the setup immediately. Thankfully he is too! He's nice & we have good interactions, but we're both mutually disinterested. He invites two friends along for Kristin & I; resulting in a massive triple date. I sit next to his friend Elroy (yes, like in the Jetsons) and flirt shamelessly. Elroy is cute, funny, smart, and has a cool vibe. We have a fabulous dinner! Then we head to a club to dance the night away. Franck invites John (and some of his other friends including a little hottie named Francois). The girls give me crap straight away because it is widely know that a) Roger tried to set us up; b)John is somewhat interested; and c) I'm trying to avoid John like the plague so as not to encourage his budding infatuation. Shortly after he arrives, he's glued to me. We talked for at least two hours before the girls were ready to call it a night & head home. It was still early, so I decided to stay out a while longer. We were having fun! John offered the crash pad again, so I thought I'd roll with them a while longer & see how the night could go.
I ended up leaving with John around 3am. He made me stay up until 6am watching a documentary on Biggie & Tupac (my eyes were about to bleed!). There was much head bobbing and snoring on my part before he finally said, "Do you wanna go to sleep?" My exhaustion took over & I collapsed on his bed. When we woke up in the morning, there was some awkwardness. He made me breakfast & we spent the rest of the day watching tv & chatting. I left his place at 5pm on Sunday afternoon.
Didn't hear from him again until Saturday when he invited me to hang out again. I declined after being such a rockstar the previous weekend. He went out anyway and ended his night here because he said that he desperately wanted to see me this weekend. There was contact. He left Sunday afternoon. I had plans to go ice skating later with some friends. He met us afterwards for dinner & drinks. Neither of us is willing to go public with our liasons yet. It was so awkward. We sat across the dinner table from one another & barely said 10 words to each other. After dinner, we went home. He insisted on walking me to the tube, despite the others wanting to split a cab with him. It began to get obvious when the cab came and everyone else hopped in except for him. He was forced to give me a friendly kiss on the cheek and say his goodbyes.
Sounds like the beginnings of a relationship perhaps? No, not really. John's a bit crackish. Primrose Hill- drunk. Mos Def- drunk and high on E. Amy Winehouse- drunk and high again. Thanksgiving- drunk again. Club- drunk & high again. My place- drunk. Granted, I was also drunk on at least three of the aforementioned occasions, but not high. He told me he smoked crack. Until now, I loosely used the term crackhead because it never truthfully applied to anyone I knew. Now it does! I've never actually seen him use crack and don't know the extent of it all. But I don't understand why Roger would intentionally set me up with a crackhead, so I hope his confession was just his misguided attempt at bravado. I fear it could become a Bobby bringing Whitney down with his crackishness situation. What a horrible turn that would be for my life to take...
I find solace in the fact that he holds down a steady, well paying job, that required a couple of degrees (one of which is from Oxford)to get, so he can't have smoked up all his brain cells yet. He also said he's trying to cut back on his substance use in '08. We'll see where it goes...
The first of which being that the two of us met back in August when I first got here. We spent a day together having lunch, chilling on Primrose Hill, shopping, cooking dinner & watching the Color Purple. It was kind of like a group date, but I was the 5th wheel since John was with his girlfriend (a fake breasted, red weave wearing, hoochie mama, stripper) at the time. They fought the entire time and drove Roger, Quentin & I crazy in general. Needless to say, he didn't make a good first impression.
Our second encounter was in November, the weekend of Thanksgiving. Mos Def was in town, so Roger suggested that John & I go together since both of us were fans & Roger was too poor to afford tickets. When I contacted John, he said, "Great idea! I have tickets to see Amy Winehouse the next night. Wanna go?" I agreed and plans were set. Then he decided to host a Thanksgiving pot luck at his house on Sunday because apparently they'd all done it the year before. So all of the sudden, one concert/date night turns into a crazy weekend marathon date.
Mos Def went well. The girls came with me to act as a bit of a buffer because I was suspicious that he'd be trying to put the moves on me since he & the stripper had recently split. He didn't try anything, although he did offer me a crash pad at his place since it was getting late. The next night, other friends were there to buffer, but at the end of it all he offered me the crash pad again and I accepted knowing that I'd spend the next day cooking my part of the Thanksgiving meal at his place anyway.
It went well; I slept downstairs on the couch. He didn't try anything. We spent all day together cooking & watching tv. He's a great cook! We never fought like he & the stripper. Our guests were happy and well fed. After dinner we went to a nearby jazz pub. He paid the band to play "I've got you under my skin" for me. The vocalist took his money & told him to fuck off. (Loss of cool points.). We danced to what they did play and had a generally merry time. He bought me a couple of drinks & I went home no worse for the wear.
Fast forward to last weekend when Erin attempts to set me up with Franck (a chubby, French speaking, Madagascan, with amazing blue eyes). I know Franck from Thanksgiving as he & John are friends, but neither of us realizes who the other is until Franck speaks to Erin about me and he mentions we've met. Upon realizing who he is, I'm over the setup immediately. Thankfully he is too! He's nice & we have good interactions, but we're both mutually disinterested. He invites two friends along for Kristin & I; resulting in a massive triple date. I sit next to his friend Elroy (yes, like in the Jetsons) and flirt shamelessly. Elroy is cute, funny, smart, and has a cool vibe. We have a fabulous dinner! Then we head to a club to dance the night away. Franck invites John (and some of his other friends including a little hottie named Francois). The girls give me crap straight away because it is widely know that a) Roger tried to set us up; b)John is somewhat interested; and c) I'm trying to avoid John like the plague so as not to encourage his budding infatuation. Shortly after he arrives, he's glued to me. We talked for at least two hours before the girls were ready to call it a night & head home. It was still early, so I decided to stay out a while longer. We were having fun! John offered the crash pad again, so I thought I'd roll with them a while longer & see how the night could go.
I ended up leaving with John around 3am. He made me stay up until 6am watching a documentary on Biggie & Tupac (my eyes were about to bleed!). There was much head bobbing and snoring on my part before he finally said, "Do you wanna go to sleep?" My exhaustion took over & I collapsed on his bed. When we woke up in the morning, there was some awkwardness. He made me breakfast & we spent the rest of the day watching tv & chatting. I left his place at 5pm on Sunday afternoon.
Didn't hear from him again until Saturday when he invited me to hang out again. I declined after being such a rockstar the previous weekend. He went out anyway and ended his night here because he said that he desperately wanted to see me this weekend. There was contact. He left Sunday afternoon. I had plans to go ice skating later with some friends. He met us afterwards for dinner & drinks. Neither of us is willing to go public with our liasons yet. It was so awkward. We sat across the dinner table from one another & barely said 10 words to each other. After dinner, we went home. He insisted on walking me to the tube, despite the others wanting to split a cab with him. It began to get obvious when the cab came and everyone else hopped in except for him. He was forced to give me a friendly kiss on the cheek and say his goodbyes.
Sounds like the beginnings of a relationship perhaps? No, not really. John's a bit crackish. Primrose Hill- drunk. Mos Def- drunk and high on E. Amy Winehouse- drunk and high again. Thanksgiving- drunk again. Club- drunk & high again. My place- drunk. Granted, I was also drunk on at least three of the aforementioned occasions, but not high. He told me he smoked crack. Until now, I loosely used the term crackhead because it never truthfully applied to anyone I knew. Now it does! I've never actually seen him use crack and don't know the extent of it all. But I don't understand why Roger would intentionally set me up with a crackhead, so I hope his confession was just his misguided attempt at bravado. I fear it could become a Bobby bringing Whitney down with his crackishness situation. What a horrible turn that would be for my life to take...
I find solace in the fact that he holds down a steady, well paying job, that required a couple of degrees (one of which is from Oxford)to get, so he can't have smoked up all his brain cells yet. He also said he's trying to cut back on his substance use in '08. We'll see where it goes...
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