Wednesday, July 28, 2010

Would you like fries with that?

"If we merged my job success with your relationship success. Your friends, my um, dvd collection, we'd have quite the person."

These words of wisdom were told to me last night by a (drunk) Fenella. It's very true, too. Why can't we have it all?

My personal life is in pretty good shape at the moment. I don't really have any complaints. Things are still going well with the cute neighbor. He's still cute. And I have some really great friends, both here and afar.

My career, however, is nonexistent. Seriously, I don't have one. I used to kinda sorta have one, but I quit that job to go to South America. By the time I came back, the economy had collapsed, and two years later, I still haven't recovered. I do not, however, regret this decision. I only curse the employment gods for my bad luck since. I have only been able to swing a part-time job since, and as we all know, served as a nanny for six months. For the most part, I've been pretty jovial about the whole poverty thing. I had an awesome opportunity to do something most people don't get to do, and now I have to pay my dues. But it's been nearly two years since I got back, and it's not so fun anymore.

I'm not asking for much. In fact, all I really want is the job I have now. Only full-time, with vacation and benefits. And much closer to where I live. I don't even need a huge salary, I just want to stop lying awake at night worrying about money. Is that so much to ask? I didn't think so.

There is nothing more demoralizing than searching (and searching, and searching) for employment. It's tough enough to find jobs that I'm actually qualified for, but when I do, my phone still doesn't ring. I'm beginning to think my resume is made of invisible ink. If I am more than qualified for a job, how can I not even get a phone call? Clearly I don't know the right people.

So now I'm looking for creative ways to make some money. I donated blood the other day in exchange for free baseball tickets, and I'm already back on the nanny trail, hoping the next job ends better than the last one. I won't sell my hair, as I feel obligated to donate it, and I certainly don't want to donate my eggs, since I definitely want to use those someday. What's left? Medical testing? Escort service? Greeting cards? (I'm kind of good at those)

If only Fen and I were one person. We'd have a steady income with 26 vacation days a year, a relationship, awesome friends, and apparently a sizable dvd collection. (By the way, Fen, do you have Glee yet on dvd? Because that's what I want...)

Monday, July 26, 2010

Happy Birthday, Fenella!


It's July 26th. Not just any other day. In fact, it should be a holiday. In more than one country. Happy Birthday, Fenella!

I know because of the time difference, it's already late in London, but I hope you've had (and continue to have) an absolutely wonderful day. Forget about those lame British men and get out there and celebrate your fabulous self. I would crack jokes about your age, but you've barely cracked your mid-20's. You've got years to go before your clock even begins to tick faintly. I can actually say, "I remember when I was your age..." and not even have a hint of irony. You have more time than you know to find the one cool British guy who has enough balls to talk to you or to find a job States-side. (I vote for States-side!)

So today, let's raise a glass to one Fenella Middleton-Brown. I'm not quite sure what I would do without you, Fen. Cheers!

Sunday, July 25, 2010

So this is why I'm still single...

My apologies for being absent from the blog for awhile, I've had a visitor in the form of mine and Vi's other half (third?) Jen. Vi - we missed you!!

As well as Jen and I having oodles of fun after almost 2 years apart we also discovered something very interesting...the reason why I am still single. The answer?

British men.

They. Are. Hopeless. Seriously. You may recall I have previously voiced my opinion about British men and the differences in dating between here and on your side of the pond. But it is much worse than I thought.

Jen and I were out one evening. She was on a mission to find me a man. I wished her luck but said it wasn't gonna happen. I explained that I wasn't being self-deprecating but that British men don't really approach women and that we should go out simply with the mission to get drunk and dance. Jen was not to be dissuaded. Here is how the evening unfolded:

Bar #1: Pisco Sours were consumed. Jen seem surprised that there was a group of guys standing near to a group of girls but the guys weren't approaching the girls at all. I resisted the urge to say "I told you so."

Bar #2: Cocktails and a shot of sambuca and tequila was consumed. Jen and I sat sipping (well, glugging) our cocktails. We weren't approached. Jen was started to get irritated. We decided to dance. Jen gave guys a (non-scary and non-threatening) look as if to say: "if you come talk to us, we won't send you away." That didn't work.

Bar #3: Cocktails and more tequila was consumed. Jen asked a guy who was looking at us if he wanted to do a shot with us. He walked away looking a bit scared. We danced some more. Jen admitted I was right about British men. I normally like being right, but not this time.

I should mention that Jen is a really pretty girl, she's blonde and tanned and even I was a little bit surprised that the only guy that wanted to chat to her was the Colombian coat check guy. See? British guys are USELESS.

It seems that the only way people meet their 'significant others' over here are in college or travelling situations.

Case #1 My First Boyfriend: we met at college where meeting people is so much easier. Namely because of the alcohol.

Case #2 Fergus: we met in Peru, in that travelling type of situation where native English speakers tend to stick together.

Intrigued by my own personal experience I had a think about the couples that I know and how they met. Of my poll of 10 couples the results of how they met are as follows:

College: 6
Travelling situation: 2
Online Dating: 1
Work: 1

It seems that in order to increase my chances of meeting someone I need to either:

a.) Go back to school. Not too keen on that one.
b.) Move to the US. Very keen on this one except I've recently discovered people only get 10 vacation days a year. Seriously?! I get 26. How do you manage with 10?

Or I could meet either a confident British guy or an American or Australian. That would do nicely.

Until then, hooray for cocktails and tequila!

Wednesday, July 21, 2010

The way we were

Last night I saw the Karaoke Kid and The Roommate. Yes, it was the first time I saw them since that time. The first time since that time I left the Karaoke Kid passed out on the couch. The first time since that time I left the Roommate with a long kiss goodbye.

It's been well over a month. My contact with them has been limited to say the least. A few messages here and there with the Karaoke Kid (saying we should hang out, but it would only be as friends) and a whole lot of nothing from The Roommate. It was The Roommate that I was nervous to see when it was decided that I would be joining them and their other friends for trivia last night. Since I was nervous, I decided to bring my new go-to-girl, June (She's always up for anything, and I had a sneaking suspicion that she would really hit it off with their other roommate, The Hipster).

We didn't win in trivia (though I proved to myself the only knowledge I can retain is pop-culture knowledge) but we gave it a good college try over beers and huge burgers. Things were kind of like normal. But not.

The Karaoke Kid was fine. We made normal conversation. I realized he was shockingly unhelpful at trivia but still oddly good at karaoke (which is where we headed afterwards. His song of choice? Lisa Loeb's "Torn". The ladies loved it.) The problem was, while my attention was turned elsewhere, I'd catch him looking at me. Ok, not just looking at me, but giving me the look. The steamy, I'm-a-gonna-get-you-pregnant look. (No, I don't think he was thinking about getting me pregnant, but the intensity of the look could have gotten the job done). This is a problem because we are just friends. Perhaps that's how he looks at his friends....

The Roommate was...different. First of all, we didn't make eye contact for the first 15 minutes. When we did finally speak to each other, it was to discuss game strategy and to argue over an answer. Later, he made sure not to get wedged into the booth next to me. Then he was texting most of the night (I can only assume with a girl). I felt like he was going out of his way to make sure I knew that nothing is/was/or will ever happen between us. Yes, I get it.

No, things were not as they used to be, but what can you expect? There were too many complications in the past. But we finally all hung out again and it was fine, I would even call it progress. The good news is I totally called it with June and The Hipster. (But if I lose my new single friend for a guy with tight jeans, chunky glasses and a mullet, I'm gonna be pissed!)

Monday, July 19, 2010

There is not enough Frizz-Ease in the world for this city

Summertime.... and the living is easy.....

Yeah, right. If you are blessed with shiny hair and a perspiration-free life it is. I have neither of those. Therefore, I gave up being cute this summer a long time ago. It didn't just start on that sweaty, stinky trip to Costa Rica, either. No, no. Here in Atlanta, "Don't call me Hotlanta" Georgia, it has been hot for some time. Just ask Fen. She was here in the beginning of April and almost killed me for insisting we could walk to several locations, only to arrive sweaty and red-faced. Trust me Fen, that was nothing.

I don't know how some women do it. How do they look so crisp and put together during the dog days of summer? These past few days, I have set new standards of hair frizz. I didn't know these levels of frizziness were possible in areas outside the jungle. Even when I braid it and stick a headband on, the massive amounts of frizz are apparent to anyone with eyes. Last week, the cute neighbor actually said to me, "The level of humidity really does affect the size of your hair. I mean, it's noticably bigger." Yes, yes it is. Seriously, I think I should just pull a Monica and get it braided. Then it will be a treat for the eyes and the ears!

And don't even get me started on the sweating. As has already been well-documented, Grayer and I are not ladies who glisten. I came to terms with that a long time ago, when I was the first (well, tied with Grayer) to sweat through my t-shirt at volleyball practice. I just took it as a mark that I was working hard. But in all honesty, I don't have to work very hard to sweat. In fact, I don't have to work hard at all. I will sweat in my car, (the AC is a vain attempt to cool it down from the hot southern sunshine) I will sweat cleaning the house, I will sweat walking to my car, I will even sweat in my sleep (my apartment is quite stuffy). When it is already 80 degrees when I leave for work at 8am, it's a losing battle.

Of course, the cute neighbor doesn't sweat all that much. Last week when we were walking to watch the World Cup final, he looked at me all slick with sweat and said, "oooh, look at the sweat just pouring off you." Obviously, he doesn't seem to mind a sweaty lady. This weekend, my oldest friend is in town. (Oldest as in I've known her longer than anyone else, save for Grayer, who doesn't count.) She and I are very similar this way. Curly, frizzy hair, and will sweat at the slightest temperature increase. It's kind of nice to have another girl around who has sweat marks on her clothes and can sympathize with a major case of swamp ass. This is why we are friends.

And for those women whose hair is never out of place and just don't seem to sweat? We will never be friends. I mean, it's hot outside. Put your hair in a ponytail already!

Sunday, July 18, 2010

Boston on my mind

I've been living in Boston for 4 months now. If there is one thing I've noticed in Boston, it's that everyone, and I am talking everyone, is part of a couple. Therefore, I'm starting a club. A Single Ladies club. Current enrollment: 2. (Ha! And you thought it would be one!).

That's right, I've made a single girl friend. We met at a 4th of July BBQ. I scored her number. We met up for drinks. And yesterday our relationship moved up to the next level, when after hanging out all day, I brought her to a work guy's BBQ. That's right I had a plus one. I never have a plus one!

With her being new in town as well, we've been noting a general fact: As an adult, it's difficult to make friends. We're not playing double dutch at recess, we're not sharing gossip on the volleyball bus, and were not pregaming in our dorm rooms. Making friends as an adult is a whole new ball game. Especially in Boston, where everyone is cold, clique-y, and coupled.

Cold, clique-y and coupledness also makes it difficult to date, which is another thing my Single Ladies club has agreed upon. Even my new hair dresser concurs. "Everyone in Boston is either a couple or a miserable asshole." Grrrreat. She also claimed she had read somewhere that Boston was supposed to one of the worst cities for dating. To which I said, WHHHHAAAAT?!?! Before I started packing up my shit to get the hell out of this city, I decided to do some research. Luckily, I found no truth to the claim, which is good because I really didn't want to have to quit my job. Actually, in 2008, Forbes named Boston the 7th best city in the U.S. for singles (but perhaps in the past 2 years everyone has coupled up?). What was the best/where should you move next? Atlanta, the home of our very own, Violet J. Bickerstaff. So that's why they call it "Hotlanta".

P.S. Violet hates when they call it Hotlanta.

Thursday, July 15, 2010

Single ladies deserve pancakes too!

One of my only single friends sent me a recipe just for us, the single lady pancake. Because singletons enjoy gooey goodness just as much as the next girl. I know what I'm making Sunday morning...

Wednesday, July 14, 2010

Making Up The Numbers

Last week my friend invited me out to dinner with her, her fiancee, friends of hers who are also getting married next year and her other friend Edward. Before you get thinking my friend was trying to be sly and set me up with someone I should make you all aware of a few things:

1. Edward lives in the middle east
2. He has recently broken up with his girlfriend
3. When I say break up I mean break up, they were engaged, had set a date for the wedding and people had booked tickets to fly over for it. To New Zealand.

Oh no, I wasn't being set up, I was there to make up numbers, to make sure that Edward didn't feel uncomfortable surrounded by two loved-up couples. Forget Edward feeling uncomfortable, what about me?!

Things didn't get off to a great start, he was over an hour late and we were all hungry. By the time he did show up he was wasted. Absolutely plastered/pissed/very, very drunk. And this guy is 6"7, not an easy task I should think.

While we were at dinner the talk of the table was weddings. All about weddings. At one point the other bride said to my friend, another bride: "I can't imagine spending £10,000 on a wedding." My friend replied: "Oh I totally agree." I almost choked on my chicken. I happen to know that both sets of parents are contributing £10,000 to my friend's wedding fund. So maybe my friend was telling the truth, she can't imagine spending £10,000 on a wedding, but she can imagine spending £20,000.

Both myself and Edward were swiftly losing the will to live. Then my friend starts grilling him about his ex and how the break up went and did he keep the ring? I asked if he wanted me to change the subject. I have never seen anyone look so gratefully at me. Of course all I could think to ask was whether they had Glee in the middle east. They do.

I fear this has what it has come to. Surrounded by soon-to-be smug marrieds whilst desperately trying to steer the conversation away from weddings because it's upsetting the jilted drunk groom.

And might I just say, I am pretty damn good at it. And it's all down to Glee.

Wednesday, July 7, 2010

Natural pheromones

Yes yes, I'm finally blogging about our trip. I'm also finally getting around to doing my laundry and I promise you, the smelly backpack roasting in the heat was a much more pressing matter. Why does it smell you ask? Let me paint you a picture. In the midst of the pristine beaches , cloud rain forests, and an active volcano, were two sweaty, smelly girls with unwashed hair and unkempt eyebrows . No, Violet and I do not look good when we travel. We choose function over flattery, makeup and hair products never make it on the list, and to top it all off, due to a rash, I was not to wear deodorant. That's right I didn't wear deodorant the entire trip. If the animals couldn't see me, they could definitely smell me (just ask Vi).

So what better time to meet my perfect match. It's as if the Costa Rican gods were playing a cruel cruel joke on me, picking him up out of the abyss and placing him a seat away from me, eager for conversation. If there were ever a man that was my type, The Bearded Wonder is it. Beard? Check. Funny? Check. Lovably goofy and outgoing? Check. Young professional, loves to travel, knows how to cook and appreciates the art of a well-crafted beer? Check. Even Violet had a crush on him (A friend crush she says, a you-should-marry-my-sister crush).

The Bearded Wonder is from Washington, D.C. (boooo!) and was traveling Costa Rica alone for the week. We met him on a boat. Chatted with him on the bus and ended up rooming with him in the hostel for two nights. We cooked dinner with him. We went hiking with him. We laid in bed giggling with him (ok he wasn't in our bed, but his ramblings were making us laugh). He did not annoy us. He did not care how much we sweat (he sweat plenty). He did not rob us. He did not plant illegal substances on us to enter the country with, a la Fucking Jed in Bridget Jones (which is good considering 1. neither of us have a top barrister-Colin Firth type to bail us out and 2. I don't want to have to call him The Bearded Fucking Wonder in my diary).

I know what you are wondering. Did anything happen with TBW? The answer to that question is, are you freaking kidding me?!? For starters, Violet was always with us. But more importantly, I was disgusting (please refer to the first paragraph, however in addition to body odor, add a damp-clothes-smell and bugspray). So no, nothing happened. To be honest, we couldn't really tell if he was into me. Sure he was flirty and wasn't outwardly not into me, but that doesn't necessarily mean anything. If only he knew how much better I can look/smell.

All in all it was the perfect 2 and 1/2 day relationship. We almost convinced him to move on to the next town with us, but sadly he decided to go ahead with his original plans (This could indicate that he wasn't into me but the huge dilemma he was having trying to decide could indicate that he was into me). After sweaty hugs, an exchange in email addresses and a group picture, we parted ways. As we watched him walk away, Violet turns to me and says "You need to find a reason to go to D.C." Truer words were never spoken.

Tuesday, July 6, 2010

How normal is your sex life?

I'm not being personal. Honest.

I'm not a great magazine connoisseur. When I do read magazines they tend to be "celebrity" ones and I only read these when I'm going on a long plane/bus/train journey, or when my housemate gives me hers. I try to steer well clear of fashion and lifestyle magazines. This is for a variety of reasons but mainly because I know that I'll never be able to follow or afford the fashion, my hair is never going to look like that and no matter how hard I try to copy their make-up tips my face will inevitably look like I've let a child loose with a paintbrush and/or marker pen.

However, a few days ago whilst perusing the magazine covers I spotted Cosmopolitan (both fashion and lifestyle no?) for the reduced price of £2 (normal price £3.40) and it came with a trashy chick-lit book. One of my guilty pleasures. I decided to splurge.

It was whilst I was flipping through the pages that I realised why I never buy magazines such as Cosmopolitan. They scare me. They're always full of stories and sex tips that I never would have thought of and would have to be practically incoherent with alcohol to even contemplate and advice on how to 'snare' men that I would never have the confidence to try. This particular issue is even worse: it's the "sexy" issue. So the question is ladies:

How normal is your sex life?

According to women in the UK:
*More than half of the survey participants consider themselves good in bed. (Oh to have that confidence.)
*70% worry about what they look like when they have sex. (Turn the lights off?)
*Women are more likely to moan about how much sex they're (not) getting if they live in London. (Agreed.)

This is obviously just a sample. However, there was one statistic that intrigued me:

* A quarter of single girls have sex once to three times a week.

Yes, you read that right. Single girls. Once to three times. A week. Which really does beg the question, where are they finding these men?! Or they're just lying. I hope they're lying because if not, I am clearly missing out.

This has been an education. And it only cost me £2. And I got a book.

Oh and they also listed the top 5 sex positions. If anyone is interested.

There is only ONE way to kiss a girl

Hola chicas! Grayer and I have just returned from a little jaunt around Costa Rica. We love to travel. It's an addiction for which there is no cure. The more you travel, the more you want to travel. It's a skill just like anything else that needs to be practiced. Trust me, we've had our share of disasters. One of the reasons we like it is not only because of the things you learn, but the people you meet. (Travel tip #1: You do not meet people staying in hotels or resorts. Hostels increase your experience tenfold.)

This trip was no exception. In one hostel, we overheard a snippet of conversation from a young whippersnapper proclaiming that "there is only one way to kiss a girl." Needless to say, we were intrigued.

A few hours later, that very same whippersnapper came up to our table where we were playing spoons with The Bearded Wonder (yes, Grayer promises to write more on him later) and a few other randoms from the hostel. Adam Pemberley, 18, Washington State introduced himself. After we got over the fact that he was a mere child ("I could be your father," said TBW. "Actually, I couldn't, but I would be."), he joined us for a round of spoons.

After the game, we sent TBW undercover to find out exactly what the ONE way to kiss a girl is. I'm sure Adam Pemberley, 18, Washington State was totally stoked to be giving advice about kissing girls to a bearded man nearly 10 years his senior. (Note: Adam Pemberley, 18, Washington State did indeed use the term girl, not women.)

According to Adam Pemberley, 18, Washington State, a kiss must start gently. Then, you add pressure and alternate. Next, you introduce the tongue and establish a rhythm. Then nature takes over.

And there you have it. How to Kiss a Girl. Straight from the mouths of babes. Traveling is so educational.

Friday, July 2, 2010

(Lack of) Birthday Booty

I know I haven't blogged in awhile. It's just been a bit quiet here in London town. I foresee a dry spell in Fen's love life coming up...

Which could not come at a worse time. For in a few weeks it will be my birthday (24 if anyone is curious. I've been told 24 is a good year so I'm pretty excited). However, Grayer has recently brought up the issue of Birthday Booty. A novel concept to me considering my previous 5 birthdays went as follows:

23rd birthday: was very hungover, had lunch with my parents, brother and his girlfriend's family. Not my choice.
22nd: spent in Peru (had lunch with Vi!) Fergus cancelled our plans because a girl got stabbed in Belize (long story).
21st birthday: spent in Italy being an au pair type for an Italian family, no hot Italian men around
20th birthday: two days before my grandad's funeral
19th birthday: my brother went into hospital with a collapsed lung.

What do all of the above have in common? No birthday booty. And possibly a bit of a birthday curse? It would be nice to get my 24th year off to a good start but I've no prospects so I don't think it's going to happen. So Vi and Grayer have said that I should just get drunk. Except my birthday is on a Monday this year so it would have to be the Friday before. I wasn't sure if that would count.

According to Vi, it counts.