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.

The Lord and the Universe both work in Mysterious Ways

For a year I had been holding on. To the past, to the memories. There were things I was clinging to, as if it would make it less painful to have been ripped out of my past life and put into my present one.

Even when things got better and the wounds healed (like all wounds do), I still held on to silly things that I felt would make me feel better. Like my phone list that had more international than local numbers. I would scroll down looking at all those numbers that began with +44 and thinking about the number of times I used to push "call" against one of them.

Last week Beer Baron declared that it was about time I joined the current century and passed along his old Blackberry. Before I could protest (too much), he'd swapped my SIM cards over and in one fell move wiped out almost all of my contact list.

No more +44s. Cold Turkey.

And, I think I am fine with that.

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! 

My Road to Nirvana

Some folk go to spas for rejuvenation. Others walk or listen to a specific genre of music. There are those that go running to calm down (weird, yes?) and for a vast majority a bubble bath will suffice. For me, it is the tranquility of rows and rows of bookshelves that brings calm.

So, after a particularly rough day at work, that's where I found myself this evening - at the bookstore.

I spent a few hours in there wandering the rows and taking in the sheer magnitude of all of the wonderful works around me. And thanks to the generosity of my friends Beer Baron, The Blonde One and her hubby I got to take some new friends home.

For a few hours (at least), I will be able to escape the douche-bag colleagues and meander into the world of words.

The Devil is in the Details

If you know me outside of Blog-land, you'll know that things at work have been trying to say the least. There are a couple of colleagues who have been going out of their way to make life at the office a bit of a nightmare situation. And sadly, their bad behaviour is starting to affect the production of our intern, who reports in to one of the Three Stooges.

Things came to a boil about two weeks ago when I found out that emails going out to external stakeholders weren't being checked for spelling and grammar errors and most of them did not even contain a basic salutation! When I questioned this shoddy approach, one of my colleagues had the gall to tell me that such emails are "industry standard". The cheek!

Earlier today, I'd left instructions for our intern to follow up with a client about a particular matter. Sensing that she'd been the eye of the last storm, she sent me an email asking me to look over the correspondence before it was sent out. Sensible girl.

My reply:
Dear XX,
You might want to attach the update Employer Agreement as the one you have on here reflects the old pricing schedule. As you know, we moved to a new one as of July 1 this year. The new agreement can be found here on the shared drive. Make sure to keep a copy of this new agreement handy. 

Cheers,
Pixy

Her response:
Thanks Pixy, I'll do that.
Btw, can you look over the body of the email and let me know if that makes sense?

My reply:
Hi XX,
Well, since you asked, you might want to word point #4 a bit differently. See below for suggestions.

Her response:
Thanks!
Will do. Sending out the email. You have been cc'd.



My email to the client:
Dear Mr. Client,
Thank you for your interest.... blah... blah.....

I have attached a copy of our new Employer Agreement. Please disregard the previous one sent over.

Sincerely, etc.

5 Things I Really Want to Do this Summer

Summer in the T Dot is really quite wonderful. There are street festivals, farmers markets, free outdoor concerts, art events and much more. It really is quite amazing the sheer number of activities one city can pack in, and if anyone ever tells you they are bored.. well.. you know with certainty that they are just not trying!

Over the years of living in the city, I have taken advantage of many of the activities and still have only scratched the surface. This year, there are a couple of events that I am determined to finally experience and here are the top 5.

1. A Dream in High Park: A perennial favourite with Toronto residents, Shakespeare's A Midsummer's Night's Dream  is staged each summer in High Park. Tickets are priced at PWYC with performances running from late June - early September. Sitting under the trees and listening to the immortal words of the Bard seem to be the perfect way to spend a Summer's evening. A wee cheeky sip of vino during the performance wouldn't be too bad either!

2. ROM Walks: 12 amazing walks around the downtown core filled with tid bits about history and the evolving culture of the city. And all FREE!

3. Kayaking along the shore: Something I thought I'd get done in Vancouver last year, but unfortunately life hadn't counted on Beer Baron having a torn rotator cuff which effectively put him out of commission for any paddling activities. Checking out the T Dot's iconic skyline from a unique vantage point would certainly be interesting. Too bad I won't be able to take my camera along!

4. Dancing in the street: Salsa on St. Claire, the Beaches Jazz festival and Caribanna. All amazing opportunities to bust a groove out in the open. Just what these hips need!

5. Movie in the Square: Dundas Square hosts classic movie nights. Just like the drive in... minus the cars and noxious fumes. Then again, it is downtown T Dot; Noxious fumes are part of the landscape!

So, this is the plan. Check back at the end of summer for an update on how successful I have been!

The Launch of 5 Things

Judging by my intense blog silence it would seem that I don't have a lot to say. It's not that at all, but writing has deserted me and so short staccato posts will have to take the place of long narrative. Hence, the birth of the "5 Things" series.

To start off, 5 things I feel about the decline of this blog:

Angry
Sad
Frustrated
Guilty
Hopeless

Caution

Ducking from the flying debris, I vaulted over a half torn down chain-link fence. My heart was pounding from the manic running and each additional step felt like it would rip my lungs to shreds. But to stop... pause, even was to die. So, I kept running away from the sounds of the battle, away from the threat, towards what I hoped was relative safety.

The bunker was partially destroyed, but I spied an opening and shimmied in just as a tremendous explosion lit up the sky and for an instance it was bright as daylight. The walls trembled, but stood firm. For the next few hours I huddled in the darkness trying to contemplate my next move. Exhausted, I fell asleep.

When I awoke, it was to an eerie silence. While I had slept, the battle had passed over me and moved on. The air was thick with smoke and fumes from fires that still burned on the ground. As I looked out wondering if I should leave, a slight movement caught my eye. Someone... or something was approaching the bunker picking its way through the debris field. I watched in panic as it drew nearer knowing that if it came in here, I was defenceless.

Suddenly the smoke cleared and I got a good look at the figure. My heart leaped in relief; it was Beer Baron! Scrambling out of the shelter, I ran towards him calling his name. He stopped and smiled, then as I ran up besides him he raised his hand. He was holding a gun and the gun was pointed at my head. "No.... it's me...." I said, confused. But there was no friendship in his eyes as he spoke. "If it is really you, tell me.... what would you make sure to have in your house before I came over for a visit?"

"Please....." I whispered.

"TELL ME... or I will kill you. Now."

I didn't know the answer. I didn't know what he wanted to hear.... what would keep me alive. Fear and exhaustion washed over me and at that moment I did not care if I would live or die. I looked up at the face of the person I thought was my friend, and said, "A plunger."

His face broke into a smile and he lowered the gun.

And then, I woke up.

Morning Musings

Mornings are most often my Nemesis. They come creeping out of the dark and calm of the night, steal into my dreams and shake me awake from the comfort of dreamland. Morning commutes are the invention of the devil. Every late bus, surly transit work, annoying fellow commuter and gloomy rainy-day becomes a trial by fire experience. And if this is all pre coffee... well... Guantanamo Bay torture would be preferable.

The commute from the new apartment is trying to change all of this. I might not become a morning person (that would take an act of God), but I sure am liking the entire drag-self-out-of-bed-and-get-hiney-in-to-work process a lot more. 

For starters, the streetcar stop is almost right outside my front door. I climb on and have a wide selection of seats because the line begins just a few stops up from my place. Once my bags and bits have been arranged, and my earphones have been popped in, I settle down to the gaze out the windows at the fun views going past. Over the 40 minute ride into down town, we pass twee shops that are just opening up; shutters being raised and welcome mats shaken. Mummys and Daddies herd packs of children along to schools holding satchels and lunch bags while the kids skip ahead or lag behind in direct relation to their morning temperament and the amount of completed homework. We go past the the morning dog walker out with his/her bestie. Crossing guards wave at the streetcar driver; they've both been on the same beat for a while it would seem.

At the end of the ride, I get off the streetcar just before it makes the loop back on an eastbound route. The driver rings the bell as the last person exits. *Ding Ding* And just like that, my commute is done! 

A New Middle

"To every beginning there is an end. 

Once you accept this, life is simple"

                                                    - Buddha    

Now, if only I can manage to live by this message, life would indeed be simpler (er). But wisdom such as this is much easier quoted rather than followed as I have learned over and over again. Still, having just laid down a wack load of money as a down payment for a new home, it seems like a good time to talk about new beginnings. 

As I look back at the posts I have written over the years, it seems that a great deal of them seem to be about new beginnings, starting anew, refocusing, trying a different path in life. On the one hand that may make it seem like I'm the sort of person who is forever trying new things with the aim to getting the most out of the life experience; on the other, it may just mean that I'm a "Jack of all trades and master of none" kinda gal. The former seems structured and purposeful and something to aspire to, the latter gives rise to thoughts about flighty and non directional behaviour. 

I'd LIKE to thing I keep bouncing around to doing new things because it is a desire to expand my horizons. However, the sad truth is that most often I am forced into new beginnings because of the twists and turns my life has taken and that fact that the path that I was on is either barred or no longer exists. So, I change tracks, adapt, move on, start again. It's not perfect, but it's the only way I know how to keep from getting mired down in the boggy mess that sometimes is my existence. 

If new beginnings are hard, endings are even worse and usually drain me emotionally. I often lose my heart to places and people. This of course makes it rather difficult when it comes the time to move away from said places and people, often with the gut wrenching knowledge that we may never meet again. Ever. Usually, this leads to months and months of post separation patch up where I try to live in the "what is now", but always seem to think of the "what has been". Essentially, I go through the emotional turmoil of a breakup every single time. And no, it does not get easier to deal with the more times it happens! 

Two weeks from now, I will pack up all my worldly goods and move into a new apartment here in the T Dot. MY apartment. And now that all the paperwork has finally been signed, I find that I am deathly afraid; more than when I was leaving for Scotland 2 years ago. But I suppose that's OK because after all, this is the most gown-up of adventures I have ever embarked upon. Also, because this is what is going to be necessary for me if I am ever to get over my love affair with G Town, and fall back into love with this city and continue to live (and thrive) in the now. 

I once heard that, "Beginnings are usually scary, endings are always sad, but the middle, the place where the adventure actually happens is usually quite nice." And right now, I'm looking forward to a whole new middle! 

Early Morning Banter

My brand new colleague, who we shall call Skipper, is a very happy person. Even at early o'clock in the mornings when, as anyone who knows me knows is not my finest time o day. 


Today, as I went by her desk to collect my mail, she looked up at me with a big beaming smile and gushed, "Oh don't you just LOVE celebrating VD?" 


To which I replied. " Anyone who owns up to celebrating VD is in my books, a profoundly sick and twisted individual. The same applies for if they're celebrating Valentine's Day, which is perhaps what you are talking about?"


In fairness, she was warned about the pre-coffee me. It was in the orientation package. 

Summer in the City

Battered and Bruised

There’s a lot to be said about that “new car smell”. Just the words itself conjure up images of a sleek dashboard filled with shiny gadgets and gizmos; the upholstery, smooth and cool to the touch, free of any snags and rents; the door handles, gleaming to the touch, not a sticky fingerprint anywhere in sight. 

And although one cannot deny the appeal of objects shiny and new, there are some things whose appearance and appeal – I find – vastly improve with age. Books are at the top of that list.

It’s not just penny pinching that drives me repeatedly to the bosom of the second hand bookstore. Call it silly, but I actually enjoy reading a book more if it is an old battered copy rather than a pristine version from the shelves of a big soul-destroying chain store. To me, the old copy indicates readership; the many hands and hearts before me that have lapped up the words and lost themselves in the storyline. I am not a fan of notes scribbled in the margins, as I feel that one should be allowed to explore the story without outside influence or prejudice. I do however love picking up books that have a personal message or dedication on the front page; it makes me feel connected with the previous owner. Which is also why when I receive a book as a gift, I always ask the gifter to add in a wee personal message so that I will always have an association of the book with that person.

Some of the books I own are so battered that they are literally in need of medical aid as they are falling apart. When that happens, I hand them over to my mum who has been head nurse in charge of book care since I was a wee one. She has somehow managed to staunch the bleeding of the worst tears and has managed to rebuild most of badly cracked spines. Where book restoration is concerned, she is the Guru.

And, no matter how much the large chain stores will beckon, I will not be easily swayed. Clearly, I am not the only one. 

Again

There have been bomb blasts in my home city of Mumbai. Again.

Two years ago, we all watched in horror and disbelief as gunmen took over various points in the city taking people hostage for several days. The reports that come through on the TV seemed more like a video game than a real life situation. Before that, there was train bombings. Several of them over a few years. Before that, there were riots, burnings, looting, mass killings and more bomb blasts.

Each time, both local and international media sprung into action. Around the world, expats frantically punched in telephone numbers trying to get in touch with loved ones. We watched the news reports and read every article about the event. There was much discussion, lamenting, anger.

This time, nothing.

My dad texted me with the news. I went onto the BBC website and read the report, then read it again later in the day when there were more details. There was a sense of apathy as I read. Like I've heard all of this before and been through the motions. It wasn't much talked about when I got him and in fact we spent more time discussing the fall out from the phone hacking scandal in the UK.

There was a point where I felt a twinge of guilt. Was I supposed to be sadder? And it wasn't just me I realised. Mumbai, and by extension India as a whole seemed to have shrugged off the incident and moved on. Did that mean people were carelessly indifferent? And, does indifference necessarily have to be a bad thing? The cowards behind attacks like these are looking to cause chaos and fear. But, they are also looking to milk the aftermath of the media attention for their own cause. Taking their cues from the Hollywood A-listers, they know that the more people talk about them the more power they have to cause fear.

What would happen if no one paid any attention? I wonder.

How to Build a New County

So map makers all over the world woke up to the reality of an Africa redefined. They're going to have to tear up old prints and draw new borders to accommodate the world's newest country South Sudan. The news was full of the hope and possibility for this new nation; the chance to establish stability in a region that has been plagued by civil war and conflict.

The news was full of the unfolding events and every station had all sorts of analysts and media pundits putting their own spin on the situation while I just wondered how soon it would take Lonely Planet to come up with a South Sudan version.

One news segment in particular caught my attention. The analyst was talking about the very practical aspects of "setting up a new country". She mentioned things like deciding on colours for a flag, choosing a national anthem, deciding on a currency and so on. Laughing, she mentioned that sometimes a simple thing like applying for an international dialing code could sometimes slow down the entire process.

I found just a wee bit reassuring to know that us tiny folk aren't the only people getting jerked around by the phone companies!

The End

I am writing this sitting in my bedroom in the T Dot. 

Everything around me is familiar and yet strange. Perhaps it is because my head is still reeling from the events of the past 4 days and my body is still fighting Eastern Standard Time. So much has happened that I hardly know where to begin. 

In between the bouts of jet lag, I feel anger. Rage. Sadness. Disbelief. Grief. And about a hundred other emotions that I cannot even fully comprehend right now. 

Sometime, soon I will have a story to tell. But for now I am too heartsick. Too homesick.

Mid Way and Lots of Plans

Bloody Hell! How did we already get to June? Wasn't I only just making new year resolutions? And speaking of, I do believe I've managed to do *quite* well with those this year. (Go me!) 

Mid way through 2011 and so much has happened.... and the exciting part is that there is even more to come! 

I wrap up work in a week's time as my visa expires on the 18th. Then, I have 4 glorious months of travel and adventures in store. Starting off with a 10 day visit to Iceland next week. Iceland! (Thrill). Parental visit follows right after and I'm so excited about that. Haven't seen them in two years and I'm just dying to show them around G Town and introduce them to my pals. I've all sorts of plan for when they're here: G Town and Edinburgh of course, rambles in the highlands, possibly Isle of Skye, a wee trip down to London where we can meet up with Drama and Dutch Boy. Lots to see and do! 

Then, I'm heading off to Italy for two weeks to work at a summer camp just outside of Turin. Very much like what I did last year, just in a different part of the world. A nice HOT and SUNNY part of the world!

I'm back in Scotstown just in time for August and the Fringe festival. Even better this year as I know so many of the comedians who will be performing there. Coz really, you're not a true groupie until you've been to a world famous festival and gotten into gigs for free coz the peeps at the door have recognised you and waved you in! (extract from the International Groupie Handbook; 2011 edition) 

As if the Fringe isn't enough excitement for August, Gingersnap and I are also heading off to the Emerald Isle for a week's road trip. Starting off in Northern Ireland with a few days at the Gingersnap family home, we'll make our way down and around stopping off at various Paddy pubs and bars along the way. Much fun is anticipated. 

To wrap up the summer, blogger friend Jules and I are thinking about a Grecian getaway for a week in early September. Which, if I can pull off, would be the perfect end to both the summer and my overall time here in the UK as I'm planning to be back in the T Dot for mid September for my mum's 60th birthday. 

For now.... everything begins with Iceland! Can't hardly wait!

Commandments for (Social) Life

Hear Ye, all the Facebook faithful. Read and obey:

1. Thou shalt not pepper my news feed with mundane status updates. What you had for dinner/lunch/snack time, the fact that you are now going to bed and that you've just showered are not in the least bit interesting and should not be shared with the rest of the world.

2. Some of you have decided to reproduce, that is a fine and valid choice. Do not however, inflict the hourly activities of your offspring onto the rest of the FB world. We do not care in the least that little Johnny has just done a poo, or had burped or has spit up. Updates like that make the rest of us want to spit up as well. That being said, if little Johnny or Jenny or Balthazar has done something momentous like taken a first step or shoplifted for the first time (and got away), by all mean, feel free to share.

3. If you are going to post about the weather, at least try and be creative about it. Merely stating "It's hot/cold/rainy/windy/snowing" etc. is both boring and unnecessary. I can look out my window and see for myself.

4. Using abbreviations when texting is considered acceptable, but that does not mean you can use text messaging language and terms on here. Also poor spellings and appalling grammar is inexcusable. If you don’t know how to spell something, look it up. I do. (mostly). And, replacing "s" with "z" in a word does not make you urban and cool. It makes you look like a cool, urban wannabe.

5. PDAs are bad enough. But when you clutter my feed with inane banter ‘tween you and your coochie-coo when all the while you’re sitting two feet away from him/her in the same room, THAT is more than I can tolerate. Stop it.

6. If you join a group or event that already has a pre designated purpose, kindly do not clutter their feed/wall with information or adverts for your own gain. That is just plain rude. If I wanted to know about 50% off dancing midgets for this Saturday night, I would have joined their group instead.

7. We get it. You're popular. You go out clubbing/drinking/partying a LOT. But, if almost every single photograph that you are tagged in shows you beary eyed,  with a drink in your hand and along with an equally drunken posse, then perhaps you should think about a stint at the Betty Ford clinic. Just saying.

8. If I've deleted you off my friend's list once, really, WHY would I want you back on? Quit sending me requests. It's just emphasising your neediness and making me all the more resolved not to want you in my life.

9.Just because I do not repost comments/status updates about pleas for cancer cures does not mean I am indifferent to the situation. Posting status updates for an hour about remembering lost loved ones and the likes does nothing concrete. Going out into the world and DOING something - planning a fundraiser, spending quality time with patients and their families, volunteering time towards a cause - THAT is real and valid help.

10. People who constantly moan that Facebook is silly, trivial and mundane and keep threatening to leave, but in fact are still on and judging by their updates clogging my news feed, are actually rather active users! Quit being so la-di-dah and uppity and jump in and splash around with the rest of the riff raff!  

A Groovy Kind of Love

We are all familiar with the sequence. Boy meets girl, girl meets boy. There is an attraction, they date. And perhaps they live happily ever after or else they split up and the cycle begins all over again. After an appropriate interval where broken hearts/wounded feelings mended with the help of copious amounts of ice cream eating of course!

That is exactly how things started out with Wookie.

We met last December at one of the comedy nights where I managed to make a complete tit of myself. Shockingly, that didn’t put him right off and over the next few weeks there was more talking (mostly on my part) and subtle flirting continued. He finally made his move one night as we walked home post comedy which resulted in a most lovely snogging session. The lad didn’t have much chat, but it turns out he had a talented tongue regardless. We made plans to meet on New Year’s Eve after he was done work, but thanks to a longer than usual shift (him), a dead phone battery (me) and general New Year’s Eve madness, that didn’t pan out. Feeling guilty about the whole fiasco, he contacted me the next morning and we made plans to meet up after I was back from Berlin. He suggested going to the Stand, which was actually quite nice; we both liked comedy and I’d never been there before. It was a perfect evening. Lots of laughs thanks to the stellar line up, an equal amount of private jokes between us two; meeting up with fellow comedy lovers and heading out to a pub post show and of course, more of that talented tongue. So when he called to set up another date for that Sunday, of course, I was more than happy.

And that’s where it all went so very wrong.

For starters, he showed up more than 20 minutes late. There was no explanatory text/phone message to give me a heads up and no apology when he finally did get there. Fortunately, I had a book with me and so I didn’t really notice the passage of time. I did however notice a couple of sympathetic glances from the serving staff who, no doubt have seen their share of poor stood up folk. Seated at the table, he was far more interested in focusing on his phone rather on me. I got staccato responses to my questions and no eye contact. At one point I even stopped talking mid sentence and started counting silently to see how long it would take him to notice the silence: I got to 11. To add insult to injury, he mentioned that he intended to head over to his parents place that evening and had a train to catch in an hour. I took that as a not to subtle request to eat faster so that he could get out of there. Upset and rather frustrated by the total opposite of our previous date and the entire sham of an afternoon, I choked down my meal as quickly as possible. We parted at the street corner and I walked back to my flat in a rage.

Not even a half hour later, he pops up on Facebook chat; GoodNews! My parents are here, so I’m getting a lift down to their place. Wonderful, I responded. And then, because I had nothing to lose and I was still hopping mad I added, Let’s just hope you’re better company for them than you were for me today. Nothing for a while, then I got a Whatever do you mean? which, Reader, was JUST the opening I had been looking for. I spewed out all of my rage and frustrations on to that chat message, holding nothing back. For the next hour or so, we chatted back and forth furiously, both attacking and defending. He claimed he was nervous. I said I was too. He said I was forceful, I said he was confusing. He said I didn’t know anything about football, I said that wasn’t even a reasonable statement. And so it went on until we were both out of steam. Look, let’s just forget about the whole thing and move on with our lives, was my final comment. He agreed, we both signed off and I imagined that I would never hear from him again and perhaps see him only occasionally at comedy events where there were enough other people around for us not to have to converse.

How wrong I was!

We ended up chatting online the next day. And the day after, and the day after that as well. In fact, since that fateful “date” not a single day went by without us chatting online or trading a barrage of text messages. We met at comedy. We met outside of comedy. By then, I had started to plan the fundraiser night and he ended up helping me out in little ways; introducing me to his sister who agreed to come photograph the event, running errands to pick up raffle prizes from around the city and sometimes just listening to me rant about various things that were driving me insane. We talked about everything. With other people he was shy to the point of playing mute. Yet, with each other we were never at a loss for words. I told him about the entire fiasco with Beans and he told me about the girl he’d been crushing on for the past six months. We plotted over ways to get her to realise his existence. He declared that I’d gone long enough without football in my life, and I became Padwan to his Jedi Master. And that is how it has been for these past five months.

Sometimes, the memory of those kisses return. But there is no lingering on a “what if.” I know that this is the better way. Had we not had that disaster date, there may have been a few more meetings, a few more kisses, perhaps even sex. But that is where it would have ended. I am sure of it. I do not want a long term relationship right now and he is not ready for one either. A long term friendship however, we can both handle just fine. Our friends joke about us being a couple and yes, it does seem so; all the hallmarks of a relationship just minus the physical intimacy. And yes, there is love: a lot of it in fact. Somehow, Wookie has managed to make me open up again and trust in love again. Perhaps the next time, I will be ready to go that one step further. But for now, I am happy with this kind of love. And when alls said and done, he is so handy when it comes to the changing of the light bulbs!

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.