Career Choices

The thing I love the most about being a commuter is the variety of folk you tend to see, meet and interact with on public transit. Usually I am a passive observer of the kaleidoscope of life. Today was different. 

Lady (and I use this term loosely) on the streetcar with a persistent hacking cough. After about 20 minutes of having her hack up a lung, another lady approaches her and says, "I have some cough drops, would you like one?"

Cougher lady reacts with a venomous hiss (really!) and shouts of, "Leave me alone! Stop HARASSING me!!" 

While the poor Samaritan tries to creep awa

y from the unexpected onslaught of verbal abuse, I suddenly find the whole thing hilarious and start laughing. And because I am laughing like an out-of-control hyena, the folks around me start to laugh as well.

Of course, this does nothing to calm the Cougher and she gets even more enraged and the shouting escalates and there is hand waving involved.

Finally, much to everyone's relief she gets off the vehicle and the last we see of her is the rude gesture directed at a streetcar full of giggling riders.

Moral of the story: I realise that I am not suited for the Diplomatic Corps.

Wash, Cut and Find-a-Man

It had been a couple of months since my return from G Town and the intense heat and humidity of the Torrana summer was playing havoc with my tresses.  After two years of being pampered with a personal hair stylist by way of VBF's mum in law, going out and finding a new hairdresser was just as daunting as looking for a new soul mate.

A referral from my cousin who, has what I will politely call "problematic" hair saw me making an appointment with a salon in Korea town. I figured that any hair dresser who could manage the cousin's mop presentable was worth a shot.

Stepping into the salon, I was met with a chorus of greetings and a line of broadly grinning Korean people. The manager-lady approached me (still grinning) and a little flustered, I shook my hair out of the confining ponytail and blurted, "I need help!" Surveying my tousled locks with a stern eye, manager-lady replied with an emphatic "YES. We help. Lots." and without further ado hustled me into a chair and whipped a cape around my shoulders.

Now before I booked the appointment, I got all sorts of hints and tips from my pals. "Be firm", I had been told. "Let them know that you've done your homework and that you know EXACTLY what you want." And so, I proceeded to describe in great detail my idea of the perfect cut. At the end of my (rather long winded) speech, manager-lady looks me square in the eyes in the mirror and says, "No. That makes you look crap. We do this....." and outlines her plan. Too stunned at her point blank refusal, I could only nod weakly at her ideas.

Like a seasoned pro, she began snipping away all the while keeping up a rapid fire line of questions:
- Where you from?
- What you do?
- Where are your Mummy-Daddy?
- You marry? No? No good.
- WHY you no brush hair??

My feeble attempts at viable responses were translated into Korean for the rest of the room and at each response there would be murmurs of approval (or not!). By the time she translated the final question, the consensus was unanimous and my lack of hair-care skills was loudly discussed with much clicking of the tongues and shaking of the heads.

The whole thing was over in what seemed like mere minutes. Perhaps it was because I had been so intent on answering the questions - and then defending my answers - that I had barely noticed that my hair had been cut, styled and set. And wow, I looked GOOD! Better still, when it came to the payment I was pleasantly surprised to find out that it was only $25. Apparently, the life lessons were thrown in for free.

As I thanked manager-lady and bid goodbye to the rest of the salon, her final words followed me out into the street. "Girl, you brush hair.... you find man!"

Sage advice indeed! 

Epic Fail

About a month ago, Beer Baron emailed me about making a potential trip out to Scotland. After a few emails back and forth to confirm availability, within a few days his tickets were booked and *boom* just like that - I was finally having my first T Dot visitor! Full of plans for what we would do when he got here, I made sure to book a few days off work so that I could show him around, hang out together and generally do a lot of catching up over the past two years.

The night before he arrived, I was at the comedy club as usual. When I made to head home after the show, my pals pulled me back pooh poohing my efforts to leave citing that since I had the day off on the morrow, I was duty bound to stay out with them that night. I'll be honest, it didn't take much persuasion. We headed to our usual watering hole on main street which was followed by a wee stint at the casino. Because apparently, 3am was too early to head home to bed.

Post casino (and a few more rounds), Roo and I were last men standing and we stumbled in a homeward direction. Roo professed hunger and because I was CLEARLY not thinking straight, I told him he could come over and I'd make him a sammich. (Note: I make darn good sammiches. Even at odd hours of the morning) Roo took me up on that, came over and ate and drank his way through two sammiches, crisps, some of Flatmate's beer and ginger cookies. About half way though his feast, I went off to bed telling him to shut the door behind him when he left. I figured, I could get at least two hours of shut eye before I had to head off to the airport to meet Beer Baron who's flight was scheduled to land at 8:30am.

Oh. The mistake.

The alarm rang, I turned it off and slept soundly right until 9:30 until Flatmate happened to drop something in the kitchen and startle me awake. Upon which I leaped out of bed and dialed BB's cell phone frantically. Turns out, he had made his way over to the city centre and was trying to figure out the underground. I told him I'd pick him up at my station.

Dragging on some jeans and runners, I brushed my teeth, ran my fingers through my hair and made my way to the station to sit and wait for my friend. Gone were the grand plans of meeting him at the arrival hall with a great big hug and escorting him back to the flat. Instead, I sat in the corner of the station looking like a bag lady and with the stench of yesterday's alcohol seeping out of my every pore.

When Beer Baron did arrive, there was still a great BIG hug waiting. At least I couldn't screw that up! And then, I took him home and made him a sammich.

Wheeling and Dealing

As if I wasn't already eyeball deep in the fantasy world of Westeros (am now on book 5), Wookie recently introduced me to another feature of the series; the Game of Thrones board game. Given that it is strategy based and requires players to think about three turns ahead a la chess mode, it goes without saying that I'm totally rubbish at it. But Wookie is desperate for more people to learn to play this game, so he waved aside all protests about my inherent rubbishness re anything requiring sneaky strategy moves and proceeded to tutor me in the basics.

We've played it twice now and although I got royally thumped both times, he insists I'm learning and doing better. Me thinks he just needs me as a player. More importantly, he needs my friends.

So we have a deal.

I put together game nights with my pals and he buys the beer and downloads movies for me and comes round to change my lightbulbs. It's a win-win! 

Cold Hard Truths

Me (to friend): So, how’s the new job going? Like it better than the other place?

Friend: Yeah… its good. This place is much… um… swankier than the last though.

Me: Oh? How do you mean?

Friend: Well, for starters, they’re really picky about their staff and how they look. The waitresses are totally stunning!

Me: Ah well.. makeup does wonders. If I knew how to wield a mascara brush, I’d have a job there as well.

Alleged Friend: No, you don’t understand. They want REALLY beautiful women.

Me: (thinking) Time for some new friends.

You've Got Mail

Heard a tap at the door this morning. Opened it to find the postman there. Grinning from ear to ear, he handed me a postcard. Odd, I thought. He could have just pushed it through the mail slot. Then I looked closer and saw the address, and realised why he wanted to hand deliver this particular piece of mail.

Busted!

While waiting at the cross walk on the way home from the underground station, I happened to glance at the couple standing next to me. I remembered that they had been on the same subway car as me. The lights changed and we crossed, they a few steps behind me. I could hear snatches of their conversation. It IS.... I'm sure....just ask, why don't you?... Because its weird, that's why!....Do you think so?.... yes, I'm positive. 

Odd conversation, I thought, but didn't really think too much about it. As I turned off the main road onto my street, I felt a tap on my shoulder. It was the couple. Excuse me, but do you live in the first block of tenement houses on this street? A little bemused, I nodded; the girl hastened on. You live on the first floor don't you? Again, I nodded. Do you live in the same block as me? I asked. I didn't know we had new neighbours come in! 

The girl looked at her partner and then back at me. I could see she was blushing slightly. Actually, we live across the road at number 9. But we can see into your living room..... and we can see you dancing around most days. We've always wondered who you are.... and well... now we know! 

It was my turn to blush.  

My Weekend or How I Got Screwed by the French

The bags were packed, the plans had been made and it was all systems GO for the mega meeting of summer camp friends in Madrid. Yes, I had planned to take a chance on the "3 months advised" rule hoping that my UK work permit and the fact that I had not one, but TWO jobs to come back to would sway immigration in my favour. Then, the Air Traffic Controllers of France went on strike and my outbound flight was canceled forcing me to put the kibosh on that adventure. That was the first screw-over.

Not wanting to totally miss out on a vaykay, I called my friend Drama in London and asked if I could come crash at his for the weekend. Fortunately, it was simple enough to change my return flight from Barcelona into tickets to London and back. After a delightful dinner catch up with a T Dot pal in Chinatown, it was off to Soho to meet up with Drama at a mutual friend's birthday do.

That night, I must confess I went a little party-mad. It wasn't just the birthday boy who was at the receiving end of complimentary rounds, I was not doing too bad myself. A chance encounter at the bar had lead to some flirty chit chat with a tall and handsome blue eyed stranger. The five minutes at the bar turned into flirty chit chat for the rest of the night once we realised that we were both there for the same birthday party! Huuuum, what are the odds? When we said goodbye at the end of the night, I figured that was it. So it was pleasantly surprising (and quite flattering) when the birthday boy texted me the next morning to ask permission to pass on my phone number to Blue Eyes. 

One text message and phone call later, we were meeting up that evening for dinner, drinks and much more flirty chit chat. And that was the night I got screwed by the French again. Only this time, I didn't mind as much.

Boy Town

 

Not only were the lads at camp more knowledgeable about hair care, apparently their expertise also extended to club wear, accessorising and make up! I certainly have miles to go before I can hope to catch up!

"Vengence is Mine", said the Activity Leaders

Given our relatively isolated location, it has become quite common for the staff to send along a shopping wish list with anyone going on an "Asda run". The most common items that top the list are of course alcohol and sweeties, both being absolutely integral to getting though long and tedious 15 hour work days. There's nothing better than knowing you can head over to the staff room for some post work pints and unwind and forget about any messes from the day gone by.

Imagine our collective surprise and dismay when we woke up this morning to find out that someone had broken into the staff room and cleaned out all of our supplies. After we'd gotten over the first shock, the anger set in. It wasn't an "outside job" as the coppers would have said; only someone living on campus would have known the location of the staff room and the fact that we had recently stocked up. There were close to three cases of beer that had been stolen and it didn't take much detective work to figure out who the culprits were. The red rimmed eyes, glazed no sleep gaze and hangover faces and not to mention the fact that they couldn't meet our eyes was evidence enough. And that was even before we found the stack of empties behind their residence block. Still, we didn't have direct proof and we couldn't accuse them of theft without anything conclusive. Yet, something had to be done. If nothing else, we had to send the message to the rest of the kids that such blatant disregard for the rules and shocking behaviour was not going to be tolerated. We were painfully aware that they outnumbered us 10 to 1!

And so, it was with particular glee we gathered all the kids together later that day to make a special announcement. We explained that the campus management had been getting increasingly frustrated with the growing amount of litter on campus. Repeated appeals didn't seem to have worked and we needed to take things one step further. Which was why, effective immediately the kids were going to take responsibility for their own surroundings. Every day, a random group would be chosen to assist the campus maintenance staff with clean up duties thus ensuring that the campus remained litter free at all times.

The collective groans from the group quickly changed to covert snickers and sly nudges when the names of the first group of clean up helpers was announced. Every single of the (assumed) guilty party stepped forward to collect their clean up tools from a broadly grinning member of staff who had suffered the heart wrenching loss of stolen alcohol.

Three hours later when they trooped back to the office, we had a spotless campus and a properly chastised group of children who we knew would think twice about crossing swords with the ALs again.

Mission Accomplished.

A Midsummer's Night's Fauxpas

For some weeks now, a friend has been telling me about the free comedy night at the Halt Bar in the west end of G Town. G has recently started his journey as a stand up comedian and of course its always best when you fill the venue with friends sympathetic to your cause. I'd been meaning to check the place out for sometime, but things kept getting in the way. Finally, last week I made it.

The evening had a bit of a shaky start as G was running late which meant that I sat at the bar nursing a beer until the gig began. I'm very used to being solo on many occasions and at many venues; a bar is just not one of them. Thankfully it wasn't a terribly long wait and as soon as the host got on stage I figured people would focus on him and not at the looser at the bar by herself!

Divided into 3 sets, the evening featured six amateurs and one professional act. The amateurs ranged from an absolute novice who snapped the proverbial cherry that night to others who had been on a circuit for some time but were still dabbling. Most of them had good material and garnered laughs from the audience. One of them was totally weird, but hey... there's one in every crowd isn't there?

Post event, G introduced me to some of his pals including the evenings host. Turning to greet him, I wasn't prepared for the explosive Is this her? Is she the one? that was yelled in my face. Choking back the laughter at my bewildered expression, G explained things to me. Back when E (his gf) and I were working together at the shopping centre, we used to kill the long hours by playing our favourite game of rate-the-customers. Apparently, the host walked by one day and I declared that I wasn't quite sure whether or not I considered him cute and placed him in an "undecided" category. A week later, E met him at one of G's comedy events and recognised him as my ambivalent ratee and told G all about it. G being a boy blabbed the whole thing to the man himself.

As G narrated the story, I felt myself turning a whiter shade of pale quickly followed by the warm heat of embarrassment creeping into my cheeks. Thankfully the host was laughing about it and he soon walked away. Still, he hadn't quite forgotten about my assessment - or the lack of it - and as we left the bar later he turned to me and said, Nice to meet you Pixy. Hopefully we'll meet again soon and who knows, you might have made up your mind by then?

Huum. Guess that means I'll have to go back for another look some time soon.

That Special Effect

Over the past 10 months since moving to G Town, I seem to have developed a whole new kind of relationship with my parents. Where as before we merely coexisted in the same house with sporadic conversations, we now talked long and often about everything and anything. I thought that I had gotten to know them very well indeed. Apparently, there was still much to learn.

During yesterday's conversation with my mum I was confiding in her as to just how vulnerable I now felt, thanks to the last few months of madness. In trying to explain how I felt, I compared this feeling to my long term fear of heights. In spite of not being comfortable with heights being deathly afraid of heights, I've never let that deter me from climbing to the topmost viewing station on a tower or going on a hike up a perilous path just to be able to get an amazing view from the top. I confessed that I was now terrified of scaling those heights in everyday life. There was a job I had heard of which would be an amazing opportunity and I was afraid to even apply as the fear of failure loomed large.

My mum listened to my rant not saying a word. When I had finished, there was a little pause and she cleared her throat. Listen to me Pixy, she said. Do not let that idiotic fool of a boy stop you from anything. He has caused enough mischief and problems and you cannot allow your life to be dictated by the actions of a bloody arsehole who does not understand the meaning of common decency.

The advice was sound and I would have been suitably consoled by her words had I not been gobsmacked instead as I realised that I had just heard my mother swear for the first time ever.

Beans really should be proud of the overwhelming effect he has had on the women in my family.

Last Supper

Beans was over last night to dinner to say hello to Aunty and Uncle. He's known them for a number of years, Aunty especially who had made several trips to G Town when VBF was doing her Masters.

As we sat back after dinner, bellies bursting, Beans began to compliment Aunty on her amazing culinary skills and bemoaned the fact that she didn't visit often enough now, as she had done in the past.

Aunty mentioned that now that VBF was off living with the in-laws, it was harder to come visit as there wasn't any place she (or Uncle) could stay. My being here was just providential. Beans poo pooed her reasons stating that any time they wanted to visit, he had a spare room in his apartment and they were welcome there any time.

Sipping her cup of tea, Aunty smiled at Beans. Thank you my dear, she said. Staying at your house would be lovely. But whatever would I do if you suddenly tire of me and then ask me to leave?

Amid the spatter of badly muffled giggles Beans had the grace to blush. Aunty kept sipping her tea and settled back into the armchair. On the other side of the room Beans shuffled uncomfortably in his seat wondering if the the slight burning in his belly was from the spicy Indian food or from the dab of arsenic that Aunty *may* have dropped into his plate.

How to Feel Better About Yourself - In 5 Easy Steps!

1. Answer a frantic call from a colleague from the charity where you volunteer.

2. Agree (against your better judgement) to show up and help out at an event that evening where they are desperate for help.

3. Wheedle a friend to go with you with promises of pints and other such treats.

4. Take your spot on the podium as requested by the shoot director.

5. Drop your bathrobe, strike a pose, face the camera and turn on your very best smile.


And voila! A super surge of adrenalin guaranteed to make you forget about horrid life events such as getting dumped, not having a job, your grandmother's death, missing your friends and family and all other such lows. Also guaranteed to keep a smile plastered on your face for the next few days as you revel in pulling off a downright ballsy move!

The calendar comes out in a few weeks time. All proceeds go towards care and support for cancer patients and their families, here in Scotland. Copies are £5 each. Let me know if you'd like one, and keep an eye out for November 2010!

We Do Awkward Here

The entire family was delighted when young Sally tied the knot. Perhaps now, they would finally be able to get those boxes off the top shelves!


FYI, this is an actual family photograph of my mum's godmother's wedding. That my mum's older sister as the bridesmaid and my mum's godfather as the bestman.

Awkward just got Awkwarder

If you've been paying any attention to my sidebars, you'll have noticed that I added a fun little website some time ago that showcases the worst of the What Were They Thinking? pictures for the general amusement of the interwebular world.

Only, I just looked at the recent entries and turns out I KNOW the subjects of today's hilarity.

Do I still giggle? Do I tell them? What if they find out later and then realise that I didn't say anything?

Oh dear. Awkward!

Effective Communication 101

The scene: Facebook Chat
The players: A cousin and myself
The situtation: Talking about my move (like any other conversation happens these days!)

Cousin M: So what's all this I hear about you moving?

Me: Yup. I leave in a few days.

Cousin M: You're going to England? London right?

Me: No. Glasgow.

Cousin M: Where's that? Is it a city?

Me: Yup. Scotland.

Cousin M: Is that in England?

Me: (a little confused now) er, no... I'm going to SCOTLAND. Glasgow is a city in SCOTLAND.

Cousin M: Is that in the same country?

Me: Technically, yes.

Cousin M: So you're going to England then! Why didn't you just say so in the first place?

Me: Er, I have to go. Packing.... etc... you know. Bye.

2 days later. Same place. Same bat channel. Different relative.

Cousin C: I heard from cousin M that you're moving. All the best. England right?

Me: *sigh*............

The Weakest Link

About a month ago, I sent out a mass email to all of my friends in and around the T Dot asking them to keep the evening of July 11 free for my last big night in the city. A couple of days later, Trippy and the Lady Killer politely but very firmly told me that that was the extent of the planning for me. I was to hand over a list of invitees to them and they would take it from there.


That's what I did (coz LK threatened to sit on me if I didn't) but boy is the suspense killing me! Though, as Beer Baron stated its not so much the suspense as much as my inability to be part of the planning process that has given me a nervous twitch and made me occasionally break out into hives. I am not good with lack of control. But then again, you dear reader knows this!


On Saturday as Beans and I were having one of our usual weekend marathon Skype conversations he mentions that an email from Trippy has just come in. Its about your farewell party, he said and started to read out the email. Stop, STOP!!! I hollered. I'm not supposed to know the details!!!! That shut him up, but then he proceeded to read the email and interject things like oh that's interesting and I think you're going to be pleasantly surprised at the venue and oh my! Don't wear anything new that night...... which of course just drove me crazy, which I suspect was what he was aiming for all along. Still, I decided to take the high road on this one and although I was DYING to know, I changed the topic and put the party right out of my mind.


Of course that zen like calm lasted all of one day after which I started casually questioning friends about whether they had gotten the invite (just to check if they'd gotten it of course), and mentioned that if they WANTED to tell me anything about the party, I'd be more than happy to not mention that I got it from them......


No good. Either they looked at me blankly and said that they just noticed the date but not the details, or they looked at me blankly and said what party? or they looked away and started talking about other things in a high pitched voice.


In desperation, I went back to Beans promising him all sorts of sexual favours if he would only just tell me something, ANYTHING about the party. Instead he pointed out that after 5 months apart I would be ready to do anything anyway. Humph! True.


Oh well, I have about a month. SOMEONE's going to crack sooner or later.

I think.

I hope!

Dare to Dance!

One of the primary reasons I have enjoyed learning ballroom dancing over the past 2 years is the fact that the lessons are kept very entertaining thanks to the (unintentional) efforts of the head instructor. I'm going to call him Line Man based on how he's always going on and on about the "line of dance" and about the angles and lines in each of the dance steps.

Line Man is passionate about dancing - that much is evident. Sometimes though, he gets too caught up in the drama and passion of the dancing atmosphere and forgets that he's in a classroom. This results in him using some rather interesting terms and analogies to explain or break down the steps to the students.

Like yesterday for example at the Level 1 class where I am a teaching assistant. We were teaching them the very basics of the Tango which requires a rather close contact between the partners in order for the dance steps to be executed well. In many cases where the students are not a couple, getting them to attempt that level of closeness is challenging. This level 1 class was particularly timid. Even the couples in the class seemed adverse to the close contact of the dance and the results were shaky at best. I tried everything to get them to relax and loosen up, but even my best quirky one liners were being met with stony silence and I was beginning to have that distinct "Is this mic on?" feeling. Even Line Man seemed to be giving up, and in a final attempt to salvage some of the class he instructed everyone to just dance around the room using the steps that they'd just learned. He gave them one last piece of advice. This is the most manly of ballroom dances guys. Just push into her. Dare to go right between her legs.

There was a split second of pin drop silence, and then with one accord the entire class burst out into hysterical laughter. I am happy to report that most of them did follow the advice, and were able to execute the steps quite well for a "virgin" tango dancer!

To Pee or Not to Pee – Part Deux

On my recent travels, my washroom visits ran the gamut from hole-in-the-ground to sparkly chrome-like sinks with posh washroom attendants in crisp uniforms! I’ll have to admit that one of the cleanest, nicest public washrooms was ironically a rest stop in India on the highway between Bombay and Hyderabad! But nothing compared to the toilet at the youth hostel I stayed at in Kyoto, Japan. I entered the toilet and found myself facing something that looked like the Captain’s Chair from the Starship Enterprise. There were side panels filled with all sorts of little buttons and big buttons and one rather large an ominous looking red one. I had used other Japanese washrooms that had heated seats and others that were decorated with Pokemon and Digimon characters, but this was something altogether different.

I sat down nervously. As soon as my butt hit the seat, the toilet began to play music! A nice little Japanese melody rang out in what I could only assume was an attempt to mask any unwelcome bowel noises that might occur during the process. Actually, a very useful invention!

Feeling a bit adventurous, I jabbed at one of the buttons that had a picture that looked like a fountain on it. An icy jet of water shot out into my girly bits and I couldn’t but help let out a gasp of surprise, which if anyone was listening would have sounded like I having a bit too much in there! It was then that I noticed a button indicating a temperature and guessing that was for the water, I upped it a bit and the water temperature went up. Ah, MUCH better!

Feeling a bit more adventurous, I jabbed at a couple other buttons and had jets of water steam out from all angles at me. In a panic tried to stop the water, but the more buttons I pushed, the more things happened including the music going louder, the auto flush was activated and the jet sprays went totally berserk. I was too afraid to get up for fear of the water spraying everywhere and by now was convinced that the entire Hostel was probably standing outside the toilet door wondering just WHAT I was experimenting with in there!

Just when I thought I’d have to sit on that potty seat for all eternity, I spied the big red button again. By this point, I had nothing to loose. Either it would either stop everything or catapult me through the door like a punch out seat in a fighter jet – either way I would be off the potty!

Thankfully, it was the former!

I cautiously stuck my head out of the toilet door. There was one dude brushing his teeth at the sink. Studiously avoiding eye contact, I muttered “g’mornin” and headed to the door with as much dignity as a soggy-bum, red-faced, morning-haired girl could muster. I was almost out, when he turned to me and gave me a smile – “Happened to me yesterday,” he said. “At least, you didn’t have to call through the door for help”

Feeling like I was the Queen Bee of Techno-Savvy Potties, I bestowed my most beaming smile on him and waltzed out with my head held high – and toilet paper trailing from under my shoe.