I was going to log on and blog about something mindless when I was alerted to the fact that this is our 500th Post - eek!! Congrats all.
Now, on to mindless blogging.
Vi: "Are you posting?" (sounds incredulous)
Fen: "You don't need to sound so surprised." (sounds indignant).
Yes, that's right everyone, Vi and Fen are now having real life, real time conversations. It's pretty awesome. (And sorry I haven't blogged in awhile. I've been busy sharing a bed with Vi and talking about Microsoft Office in my sleep).
Vi being here has been interesting for me. Mainly because it's helped me realise what expressions / sayings are British English and what are American English. (I'm an Anglo American hybrid with the interesting accent to prove it). I use a lot of British English sayings and let me tell you, it's difficult thinking of the 'translation' which is so frustrating because we speak the same language. Hard to believe I was once an English teacher.
Secondly, I have become somewhat of a wing woman (one word or two?) since Vi's arrival. This my friends has been somewhat of a new experience for me. I was her wingwoman (I think it's one word) when we went our for her birthday drinks and the cute (but useless British guy) came over to talk to her with his somewhat intense South African friend - guess who had to talk to the somewhat intense South African friend? I've been on the Great London Flat Hunt with her, escorting her to meet potential roommates and I even went Speed Flatmating with her, where I felt like a parent encouraging their child to go make friends. In short, I feel I have achieve wingwoman status. It feels pretty good.
To sum up: some of the best things about Vi being in the same city include:
- being able to text each other
- being able to go for cocktails (Although now she drinks beer. The cute neighbour has a lot to answer for. Did Carrie and Charlotte go out for a pint? No.)
- she cooks for me
- we can watch Glee together
and finally...
Having someone to laugh with over:
- spotted dick
- Cockfosters
- Cock Pond
Yes, we really are that mature.
Tuesday, September 27, 2011
Sunday, September 25, 2011
The Great Flat Hunt
You know how sometimes you know something to be true, but you don't really understand it until you go through it? That's how I feel about finding an apartment- er, a flat- in London. I knew it wouldn't be easy, but now that I've been at it for a week and am no closer to moving out of Fen's bedroom than I was when I got here, I'm frustrated.
Fen had assured me before I arrived that I wasn't going to find anything like I had in Atlanta. In Atlanta, my roommate and I had a fairly spacious, two (large) bedroom, two bathroom apartment, with a large kitchen (that never had a kitchen table the whole two and a half years we lived there), a porch with a view of the city skyline in the winter, and a very small yard, with a very quaint wooden swing, very close to Midtown and all for a very reasonable price. Fen warned me I would pay a lot more for a lot less. She wasn't kidding.
What I've found while out looking at flats is that many places don't have living rooms- those have been turned into an extra bedroom to keep the cost down. And with the kitchens being so tiny, it kind of keeps you locked up in your room all the time, and some of those rooms were smaller than the closet in my last apartment. And that's not an exaggeration, I had a really big closet.
But a few days ago, I thought I had it. I found a large room in the top floor of a house in one of my top choice of neighborhoods. It was in an attic, which made me feel at home, since my last place was also a former attic. Not only did it have a living room, but the room was big enough to have a sitting area as well. And Grayer definitely approved, since I would be acquiring four British men as my new housemates. Unfortunately, only three were present when I was shown it, but when I talked to the landlord the next day, he said the guys were "quite positive" about me, and we set up a time to meet him on Saturday.
In the meantime, I dragged Fen to a "speed flatmating" event, which is exactly like it sounds. Like speed dating, only for finding a place to live. We weren't quite sure what to expect, but it was definitely worth it. I talked to a few people whose flats I was interested in, and I talked to a few guys whose flats I wasn't interested in, but who were cute. I might do it again, even after I've found a flat. I looked at a few more flats, but didn't see any I liked as much as the boys' house.
Unfortunately on Friday, while I was in the bathroom, I got a text from the landlord of that place that they had already given it to someone else. I was pretty crushed. I got the same disappointment I got when someone I was planning a date with cancelled. So I did the same thing I do when being cancelled on, or dumped: I listed all the bad things about it. The treacherous stairs that probably would have broken my neck on a midnight run to the loo. Sharing the bathroom with 4 boys. The impossibly tiny kitchen. Who needs it?
But I do need a place to live. As much as I love Fen, I don't want to share her bed forever, and I know she doesn't want to share it with me forever either. Although if she talks about Microsoft Office in her sleep again, it might be worth it.
Fen had assured me before I arrived that I wasn't going to find anything like I had in Atlanta. In Atlanta, my roommate and I had a fairly spacious, two (large) bedroom, two bathroom apartment, with a large kitchen (that never had a kitchen table the whole two and a half years we lived there), a porch with a view of the city skyline in the winter, and a very small yard, with a very quaint wooden swing, very close to Midtown and all for a very reasonable price. Fen warned me I would pay a lot more for a lot less. She wasn't kidding.
What I've found while out looking at flats is that many places don't have living rooms- those have been turned into an extra bedroom to keep the cost down. And with the kitchens being so tiny, it kind of keeps you locked up in your room all the time, and some of those rooms were smaller than the closet in my last apartment. And that's not an exaggeration, I had a really big closet.
But a few days ago, I thought I had it. I found a large room in the top floor of a house in one of my top choice of neighborhoods. It was in an attic, which made me feel at home, since my last place was also a former attic. Not only did it have a living room, but the room was big enough to have a sitting area as well. And Grayer definitely approved, since I would be acquiring four British men as my new housemates. Unfortunately, only three were present when I was shown it, but when I talked to the landlord the next day, he said the guys were "quite positive" about me, and we set up a time to meet him on Saturday.
In the meantime, I dragged Fen to a "speed flatmating" event, which is exactly like it sounds. Like speed dating, only for finding a place to live. We weren't quite sure what to expect, but it was definitely worth it. I talked to a few people whose flats I was interested in, and I talked to a few guys whose flats I wasn't interested in, but who were cute. I might do it again, even after I've found a flat. I looked at a few more flats, but didn't see any I liked as much as the boys' house.
Unfortunately on Friday, while I was in the bathroom, I got a text from the landlord of that place that they had already given it to someone else. I was pretty crushed. I got the same disappointment I got when someone I was planning a date with cancelled. So I did the same thing I do when being cancelled on, or dumped: I listed all the bad things about it. The treacherous stairs that probably would have broken my neck on a midnight run to the loo. Sharing the bathroom with 4 boys. The impossibly tiny kitchen. Who needs it?
But I do need a place to live. As much as I love Fen, I don't want to share her bed forever, and I know she doesn't want to share it with me forever either. Although if she talks about Microsoft Office in her sleep again, it might be worth it.
Wednesday, September 21, 2011
London Update
Things got off to a wee bit of a rocky start when my arrival was delayed, oh, about 12 hours. Thanks to some crummy weather, I missed my connection and had to spend the night in the airport. I used to think that spending the night in an airport by yourself is one of the loneliest experiences a person could have- until I spent the night alone in a bus station, which was much, much worse. Therefore, the spending the night in the airport just didn't seem so bad. Besides, there were enough people in my situation that I didn't feel so alone, yet not too many that it was noisy and crowded. Of course, I still didn't manage to get any sleep, despite the seats without armrests so I could actually lay down, but at least there was wifi so I could watch things on netflix, which made the time pass much faster. Unfortunately, Fen had to go to work instead of picking me up and spending the day with me. Sorry, Fen.
When I finally arrived in London, I was a bit nervous about customs. The visa process was extremely stressful, and I was still worried they wouldn't let me in the country despite it all. Turns out, customs was the easy part. The tricky part was dealing with my luggage.
I had managed to get all the important things in my bags, after a lot of vacuum sealing and sitting on my suitcases in order to zip them up. As soon as I arrived in baggage claim, I grabbed a luggage cart. I collected my two suitcases, both weighing in at just a smidge under the 50 pound limit. Lifting them onto the cart, however, was not as easy as it may sound. Mostly because those carts have wheels, and therefore they like to move. So whenever I would raise the bag up, it would hit the cart, because I'm not strong enough to lift a heavy bag much higher than the cart itself, and the cart would start to roll away, while I went chasing after it holding a heavy suitcase chest high. Eventually, I managed to wrangle the cart and sloppily threw my last bag on top of the others and walked through to international arrivals where Fen was waiting for me.
Then came the trials of getting all that luggage through public transport to Fen's flat. Luckily people were nice enough to offer to help us when the elevator-er, excuse me, the lift- wasn't working and we were just kind of staring at the stares wondering how on earth we were going to get all that luggage to the top. Same when we got on and off the bus, and finally, finally, we arrived at Fen's flat, where I fell into such a hard, drug-induced sleep that I actually dreamed about sleeping.
Friday night, Fen and I decided to go out for some drinks and dancing at the corner pub. I very much want to disprove the theory that British men are useless, and I really thought I was onto something after one of them came over to me and asked if he could share the chair I was sitting in. After giving him a bit of a hard time, I let him. His friend sat down next to Fen. Eventually, they figured out that it was my birthday and offered to buy the next round. We let them. When we moved from the table to the dance floor, they commented on how tall we are. Apparently, we're too tall for them, because after buying me another drink, they disappeared. I feel that this is an excellent start. We got the stubborn British boys to buy us drinks, but we didn't have to do the awkward "do you want my number"thing at the end of the evening. Then Fen pointed out that the guy who actually bought us the drinks was South African. Dammit! So close. It's a start, though. I'm convinced that not all hope is lost.
It's not, because last night I finally got to meet The White Horse! Unfortunately, I can't write up a complete review, as it was a very quick meeting, since I had to run off to another flat viewing. He did, however, proclaim the sloppy joes I made for dinner delicious and ate two of them to back that up. He's off to an excellent start, and so is London.
Saturday, September 17, 2011
Happy Birthday, Violet!
 |
| "How do you say Happy Birthday in British?" |
Violet, these hunky American men want to wish you a Happy Birthday. They also wanted to tell you they missed you and that they'd start another revolution to get you back.
Please take a break from unpacking to enjoy your special day. Eat some cake. Go to Harrod's and pick out something special for yourself (that you would totally buy for yourself if you had money). Hell, find a posse of Englishmen to walk toward you with their shirts off. It's your day!
Friday, September 16, 2011
A thing called 'closure'
Last week I told you about my blasts from the past. A message from Jonny fucking Damon threw me for a loop, but no big deal. We made plans to get together (he offered to deliver my DVD, as he should), but he ended up having to cancel due to car problems. I believed the excuse, however I wasn't surprised that he had an excuse. I didn't ever think it was going to actually happen and I let him know that. After I got back from our roadtrip, he texted me asking me all about it and asking if we can get together next week. I said yes, but I still don't think it will happen.
What really put the whole JfD thing into perspective was an email out of fucking no where from my ex-imaginary boyfriend. (Seriously, JfD is no big deal, he didn't break me in two like this guy did). After milling it over for a day, I finally responded to that email. I told him I appreciated the apology, talked a little bit of the trainwreck of our relationship, and said if he ever wanted to catch up, to give me a call some time. I didn't think he actually would, but if he did I'd talk to him, a lot has happened in 3 years to catch up on. After I sent 'send' I held my breath every time I got into my email. But days went by without hearing from him and I forgot all about it, until this afternoon when I heard the voicemail.
As I was leaving work this evening, I stopped in my tracks and uttered out of shock "oh. my. God." (I said the same thing when I saw his email. That and a horrified look made my mother think someone had died). He left a cheerful message saying he was looking forward to catching up. I listened to it twice. Flabbergasted. Then I go to text Violet but I can't, so I text another random friend who I had told about his email. After I got home I drank an entire beer before I picked up the phone, took deep relaxation breaths and dialed his number.
I talked to him for two hours. We talked jobs, old friends, and sex (it was amazing). We talked about what happened, we reminisced of old times, we joked and laughed, time flew by just like it used to when we talked on the phone. I asked him what made him contact me after so long. "I felt bad about it, I've always felt bad about but I never said anything before since I didn't know how you felt about it. But I decided it was time no matter how you felt. Now I just know what it's like to have someone leave you and never give an explanation." Well I'm glad he finally did. It was an interesting conversation. I feel like I've been validated. He confirmed what I had thought all along. That we actually had something. He basically admitted we had something! The exact same thing that he made me feel like a crazy person for thinking we had something. He literally said "If it had been another time, another place, I think it really would have worked out" ...!!!!! THAT'S THE THING. THAT is what makes you an imaginary boyfriend. I wasn't mourning our relationship when I was getting over you. I was mourning the what-could-have-been. I was mourning the fact that it really could have gone somewhere but we'll never know because we didn't get the chance. Back then he had acted like I had a imagined it, but he seems honest about it now. I wish I would have told him that. He was even talking about seeing each other someday. (Seriously?! You live in Montana). He was talking about me coming to visit (He asked why I hadn't called him when I was in MT). This is what drove me crazy about him. His talk of the future. His I-never-thought-of-it-before-but-now-that-you-mention-it-yes-I-would-like-to-see-you-next-summer way of getting insane thoughts in your head that leaves you hoping for the future. A future I learned that never happened. This is why I have since had a hard time talking about the future with any guys. I don't want to get excited about something that will never happen.
The conversation eventually ended since he had to go to work (he's now working as a Deputy Sheriff, which made me giggle for the biology major). But he told me to call him anytime, and let him know when I'm ever west of the Mississippi. I'm glad I talked him. It was fun, but it was also validation. I'm now feeling some closure that I didn't even know I needed.
Tuesday, September 13, 2011
London Calling, part II
Two years ago, Fenella moved to London. Tomorrow, I'm going to be doing the same.
Why am I moving to London? It's time to go to grad school. I've lived in poverty long enough. I can't work two part-time jobs forever, and I certainly can't nanny forever. In this economy, my bachelor's degree just isn't going to cut it. It's a good time to upgrade. And since I would like to go abroad, am too lazy to take my GREs, and want to finish in a year, London is the perfect place to do it.
I am beyond excited. But I am also experiencing some pre-move trepidation. It's not even the first time I've quit a job and picked up to move to another country. And this should be much easier than the last time, when it was a third-world country, whose language I didn't speak, but I met Fen and we've lived happily ever after. Yes, the living conditions should be easier. I won't be living with a constant fear of being chased by rabid dogs or catching a parasite from brushing my teeth, but there is still some concern. What if I can't find a flat and have to sleep with Fenella for a month? What if people don't like me? What if they think I'm some crazy, awkward American? What if the men are more Piers Morgan than Hugh Grant? What if I never learn to say cutlery and am forever without silverware?!
I know everything will be just fine. I know I'll find a flat and as an honorary southerner, I'm friendly now, and gosh darn it, people like me. And if the men are more Piers Morgan, I'll just find out where all the ex-pat bars are or hell, I'll just jump on the train and head to Paris for the weekend. This is MY time, dammit!
After today, if I were to be immortalized, I would be Violet, Goddess of Packing. Whenever people have more stuff than space to put it, they would say a prayer to me, because today, I worked some miracles. Packing your entire life into two suitcases and a carry-on that fit airline specifications is not easy, but I think I did a pretty good job of it. Of course, some things will have to stay behind, but that's because they're just not that important. The things that really matter, like my extensive scarf collection, shoes, and Fen's pop-tarts, made it in, even when things were looking grim. I am, however, most grateful that Fen will be meeting me at the airport to help me lug all this stuff onto the tube. I certainly couldn't do it alone.
As of Thursday morning, it's on. The Year of Violet will commence. So ready or not London, here I come!
Why am I moving to London? It's time to go to grad school. I've lived in poverty long enough. I can't work two part-time jobs forever, and I certainly can't nanny forever. In this economy, my bachelor's degree just isn't going to cut it. It's a good time to upgrade. And since I would like to go abroad, am too lazy to take my GREs, and want to finish in a year, London is the perfect place to do it.
I am beyond excited. But I am also experiencing some pre-move trepidation. It's not even the first time I've quit a job and picked up to move to another country. And this should be much easier than the last time, when it was a third-world country, whose language I didn't speak, but I met Fen and we've lived happily ever after. Yes, the living conditions should be easier. I won't be living with a constant fear of being chased by rabid dogs or catching a parasite from brushing my teeth, but there is still some concern. What if I can't find a flat and have to sleep with Fenella for a month? What if people don't like me? What if they think I'm some crazy, awkward American? What if the men are more Piers Morgan than Hugh Grant? What if I never learn to say cutlery and am forever without silverware?!
I know everything will be just fine. I know I'll find a flat and as an honorary southerner, I'm friendly now, and gosh darn it, people like me. And if the men are more Piers Morgan, I'll just find out where all the ex-pat bars are or hell, I'll just jump on the train and head to Paris for the weekend. This is MY time, dammit!
After today, if I were to be immortalized, I would be Violet, Goddess of Packing. Whenever people have more stuff than space to put it, they would say a prayer to me, because today, I worked some miracles. Packing your entire life into two suitcases and a carry-on that fit airline specifications is not easy, but I think I did a pretty good job of it. Of course, some things will have to stay behind, but that's because they're just not that important. The things that really matter, like my extensive scarf collection, shoes, and Fen's pop-tarts, made it in, even when things were looking grim. I am, however, most grateful that Fen will be meeting me at the airport to help me lug all this stuff onto the tube. I certainly couldn't do it alone.
As of Thursday morning, it's on. The Year of Violet will commence. So ready or not London, here I come!
Thursday, September 8, 2011
You may now kiss the Best Man
I know that everyone says this, and no one really believes them, but I'm actually having fun being single- and I haven't even moved to London yet. It's only going to get better!
Yes, I know I've shed a few tears over my now single status, but the next time I feel the need to do so, I need to remember weeks like this one, to remind me how fun it can be.
On Sunday, I went to the wedding of not just one, but two of my very good friends. It was a lovely wedding, and I teared up a little bit, which I've never done at a wedding before, but then again, I've never known both the bride and the groom equally well before. I knew them both before they were a couple. I was so happy for both of them.
The wedding was easily the best I've ever been to. I saw lots of people I hadn't seen before, some unexpected, and there was lots and lots of dancing. As it turns out, I knew the Best Man. He played on my intramural softball team in college. It's been years, which led to a bit of an embarrassing situation when I first walked in. He was talking to my friend, The Other Violet when I walked over to them before the ceremony. "Hey Violet, it's great to see you again!," he said. I knew he looked familiar, but I couldn't place him, but still tried to hide my confusion with an enthusiastic hello and handshake. I couldn't fool him, though, and he quickly reintroduced himself, and I knew who he was immediately. I was a bit embarrassed, but I didn't even realize he and the groom were even friends, let enough best man-worthy friends since childhood, so I wasn't expecting to see him there. He had the benefit of the groom telling him I would be there, and my name was in the program, (I read a prayer; kind of a big deal and all), and I hadn't had a chance to look at the program yet.
During the reception, there was lots of wine and dancing and flirting with the Best Man. After the reception, we all congregated in a room at the hotel for an after-party, during which the Best Man suggested we go "get some air," so we went outside and sat next to the pool, chatting for a few hours. Until it started raining, at which point we had to go inside. There wasn't really anywhere we could go inside. He was sharing a room with two friends, as was I. All presumably passed out in bed. So, he walked me to my door and kissed me goodnight. Sorry I don't have a more salacious story of a drunken hook-up, but it was a very gentlemanly thing to do, no?
In the morning, I had to hit the road immediately for mine and Grayer's trip to The Great Outdoors. It just so happened that a tropical storm was working its way north as we left. The trip was about six and a half hours. It rained the entire time. Camping and hurricanes don't generally go well together. By the time we got there, we figured we had better upgrade to a cabin or something, or risk waking up in 3 inches of muddy water. Luckily, we were staying at an outdoorsy version of Disneyland, and they had plenty of "cabin tents" available for us. They were large army tents, already set up on a raised platform, covered by a tarp, and included two beds. Excellent.
Despite the upgrade, I couldn't sleep all night. First of all, it rained hard. Really, really hard, and the rain was really loud on the tarp roof. But I also couldn't sleep because I kept thinking of all the things that could possibly go wrong. The road could wash out and strand us here, a mud slide or flash flood could sweep us away, some murdering rapist could come to our cabin tent and there isn't anyone close enough to hear us screaming over the rain. I think I kept waiting to hear dueling banjos, like in that movie I've never seen because I know it will scare the shit out of me.
It was still raining in the morning when we set out for white-water rafting. It turns out that a hurricane creates ideal conditions for rafting. The water level goes way up, making the river faster, the waves bigger, and a lot more fun. We were in a boat with 4 guys, 3 of them funny, and one of them very awkward. He said things like, "Here's a fun fact for everyone in the boat" and "I love beavers." But the other guys and our awesome guide made up for the awkwardness, and when our guide yelled at us to paddle "Faster! Harder! Faster! Harder!" they all yelled, "I'm so close! Almost there!" right back at her.
Our guide wasn't a hot bearded man, she was definitely a woman, but it didn't matter. She was awesome. And the guide of the other boat did happen to be a hot bearded man (the beard definitely seems to be a requirement of all rafting guides), and we hung out with him later that evening in the pub. He really wished we had been in his boat, but instead he was stuck with a seriously lame group made up of members of a 50-somethings, single adventurers club. He told us stories about how lame they were, and we told him stories of how awesome our boat was, and then beat him at ping pong. Sadly, along with the beard, heavy smoking is also apparently a requirement of rafting guides, and that really cuts down on the appeal. It was still fun to flirt with him, though, and he did tell us to please come back and request to be in his boat.
It's been a pretty good week for this single lady. And by this time next week, I'll be in London, and it will only get better. Stay tuned, this fall is going to be a doozy.
Yes, I know I've shed a few tears over my now single status, but the next time I feel the need to do so, I need to remember weeks like this one, to remind me how fun it can be.
On Sunday, I went to the wedding of not just one, but two of my very good friends. It was a lovely wedding, and I teared up a little bit, which I've never done at a wedding before, but then again, I've never known both the bride and the groom equally well before. I knew them both before they were a couple. I was so happy for both of them.
The wedding was easily the best I've ever been to. I saw lots of people I hadn't seen before, some unexpected, and there was lots and lots of dancing. As it turns out, I knew the Best Man. He played on my intramural softball team in college. It's been years, which led to a bit of an embarrassing situation when I first walked in. He was talking to my friend, The Other Violet when I walked over to them before the ceremony. "Hey Violet, it's great to see you again!," he said. I knew he looked familiar, but I couldn't place him, but still tried to hide my confusion with an enthusiastic hello and handshake. I couldn't fool him, though, and he quickly reintroduced himself, and I knew who he was immediately. I was a bit embarrassed, but I didn't even realize he and the groom were even friends, let enough best man-worthy friends since childhood, so I wasn't expecting to see him there. He had the benefit of the groom telling him I would be there, and my name was in the program, (I read a prayer; kind of a big deal and all), and I hadn't had a chance to look at the program yet.
During the reception, there was lots of wine and dancing and flirting with the Best Man. After the reception, we all congregated in a room at the hotel for an after-party, during which the Best Man suggested we go "get some air," so we went outside and sat next to the pool, chatting for a few hours. Until it started raining, at which point we had to go inside. There wasn't really anywhere we could go inside. He was sharing a room with two friends, as was I. All presumably passed out in bed. So, he walked me to my door and kissed me goodnight. Sorry I don't have a more salacious story of a drunken hook-up, but it was a very gentlemanly thing to do, no?
In the morning, I had to hit the road immediately for mine and Grayer's trip to The Great Outdoors. It just so happened that a tropical storm was working its way north as we left. The trip was about six and a half hours. It rained the entire time. Camping and hurricanes don't generally go well together. By the time we got there, we figured we had better upgrade to a cabin or something, or risk waking up in 3 inches of muddy water. Luckily, we were staying at an outdoorsy version of Disneyland, and they had plenty of "cabin tents" available for us. They were large army tents, already set up on a raised platform, covered by a tarp, and included two beds. Excellent.
Despite the upgrade, I couldn't sleep all night. First of all, it rained hard. Really, really hard, and the rain was really loud on the tarp roof. But I also couldn't sleep because I kept thinking of all the things that could possibly go wrong. The road could wash out and strand us here, a mud slide or flash flood could sweep us away, some murdering rapist could come to our cabin tent and there isn't anyone close enough to hear us screaming over the rain. I think I kept waiting to hear dueling banjos, like in that movie I've never seen because I know it will scare the shit out of me.
It was still raining in the morning when we set out for white-water rafting. It turns out that a hurricane creates ideal conditions for rafting. The water level goes way up, making the river faster, the waves bigger, and a lot more fun. We were in a boat with 4 guys, 3 of them funny, and one of them very awkward. He said things like, "Here's a fun fact for everyone in the boat" and "I love beavers." But the other guys and our awesome guide made up for the awkwardness, and when our guide yelled at us to paddle "Faster! Harder! Faster! Harder!" they all yelled, "I'm so close! Almost there!" right back at her.
Our guide wasn't a hot bearded man, she was definitely a woman, but it didn't matter. She was awesome. And the guide of the other boat did happen to be a hot bearded man (the beard definitely seems to be a requirement of all rafting guides), and we hung out with him later that evening in the pub. He really wished we had been in his boat, but instead he was stuck with a seriously lame group made up of members of a 50-somethings, single adventurers club. He told us stories about how lame they were, and we told him stories of how awesome our boat was, and then beat him at ping pong. Sadly, along with the beard, heavy smoking is also apparently a requirement of rafting guides, and that really cuts down on the appeal. It was still fun to flirt with him, though, and he did tell us to please come back and request to be in his boat.
It's been a pretty good week for this single lady. And by this time next week, I'll be in London, and it will only get better. Stay tuned, this fall is going to be a doozy.
Love me or leave me alone
Dear Universe,
What is your deal? Why are you messing with me like this? First, you throw Jonny fucking Damon back into the mix. Yeah, ok, that's fine, I'll play along. Then I leave town before seeing him to go fight some awesome class 5 rapids thanks to a hurricane (seriously, thanks for that rain Universe, that rafting was sick!) and get to hang out with a super chill and seriously sexy rafting guide. But alas, that rain forced us home early to the most shocking blast from the past you could ever come up with. Seriously Universe, what's your angle? And why can't I go back to the rapids, where all I had to do was follow directions and hang on for dear life. At this point I rather risk losing a limb in an undercurrent then dealing with real emotions. Damn you Universe.
I had an email waiting for me when we got out of the woods and into WiFi. It was from my original Imaginary Boyfriend, an old undergrad from my grad school days. Over three years later, he remains to be the only guy I have ever had to get over, and a big reason why I am incapable of talking about futures with guys. I haven't seen him since Spring of '08, when he graduated and moved west, leaving me feeling completely abandoned and cut off. Years later he emails me out of the blue to apologize for the way he treated me so many years ago. This leaves me...speechless. I don't even know what to say to this, other than wonder if he's in AA and he needs to apologize to everyone he has ever wronged. If that's the case, then I'm glad he's getting help (though he didn't have an alcohol problem when I knew him). If that's not the case, then seriously, what the fuck? Why now?
I've reread this email 40 times already and I still don't know what to say. I don't want to brush it off as if it's nothing because he really did hurt me and he should know it. On the other hand, I don't want to sound like I'm still hung up on it. It was three years ago after all.
I don't know what's going on in the world. I don't know why two guys from my past have popped up out of the blue within a week of each other. The Imaginary Boyfriend showing up make Jonny Damon's reappearance seem like nothing. Why do they do this?! Why can't they just leave me alone?!
What is your deal? Why are you messing with me like this? First, you throw Jonny fucking Damon back into the mix. Yeah, ok, that's fine, I'll play along. Then I leave town before seeing him to go fight some awesome class 5 rapids thanks to a hurricane (seriously, thanks for that rain Universe, that rafting was sick!) and get to hang out with a super chill and seriously sexy rafting guide. But alas, that rain forced us home early to the most shocking blast from the past you could ever come up with. Seriously Universe, what's your angle? And why can't I go back to the rapids, where all I had to do was follow directions and hang on for dear life. At this point I rather risk losing a limb in an undercurrent then dealing with real emotions. Damn you Universe.
I had an email waiting for me when we got out of the woods and into WiFi. It was from my original Imaginary Boyfriend, an old undergrad from my grad school days. Over three years later, he remains to be the only guy I have ever had to get over, and a big reason why I am incapable of talking about futures with guys. I haven't seen him since Spring of '08, when he graduated and moved west, leaving me feeling completely abandoned and cut off. Years later he emails me out of the blue to apologize for the way he treated me so many years ago. This leaves me...speechless. I don't even know what to say to this, other than wonder if he's in AA and he needs to apologize to everyone he has ever wronged. If that's the case, then I'm glad he's getting help (though he didn't have an alcohol problem when I knew him). If that's not the case, then seriously, what the fuck? Why now?
I've reread this email 40 times already and I still don't know what to say. I don't want to brush it off as if it's nothing because he really did hurt me and he should know it. On the other hand, I don't want to sound like I'm still hung up on it. It was three years ago after all.
I don't know what's going on in the world. I don't know why two guys from my past have popped up out of the blue within a week of each other. The Imaginary Boyfriend showing up make Jonny Damon's reappearance seem like nothing. Why do they do this?! Why can't they just leave me alone?!
Wednesday, September 7, 2011
Princess Fenella
Well I'm sure you're all wondering how the Royal Visit went.
Let me tell you, waiting for the royals is boring. Seriously boring.
When I arrived at work this morning there was an air of excitement - we normally don't have the police standing outside our office. We had been given strict instructions: if you don't arrive before 9.30 you won't be allowed in the building until 11.30. Had I not been involved in the festivities I would've used the standard: 'the underground was crap this morning' excuse to get a lie in.
Suffice to say, it was all a teensy bit exciting.
It got less exciting the more we had to wait. After those selected to attend part of his visit had assembled we waited. For almost an hour. Then he appeared, spoke, nodded and smiled a lot. We clapped, laughed and smiled where appropriate.
And then he was gone. And it was back to my desk, my emails and my spreadsheets.
Still, it made a change from my usual Wednesday morning.
Let me tell you, waiting for the royals is boring. Seriously boring.
When I arrived at work this morning there was an air of excitement - we normally don't have the police standing outside our office. We had been given strict instructions: if you don't arrive before 9.30 you won't be allowed in the building until 11.30. Had I not been involved in the festivities I would've used the standard: 'the underground was crap this morning' excuse to get a lie in.
Suffice to say, it was all a teensy bit exciting.
It got less exciting the more we had to wait. After those selected to attend part of his visit had assembled we waited. For almost an hour. Then he appeared, spoke, nodded and smiled a lot. We clapped, laughed and smiled where appropriate.
And then he was gone. And it was back to my desk, my emails and my spreadsheets.
Still, it made a change from my usual Wednesday morning.
Monday, September 5, 2011
Into the wild
In about an hour, Violet and I will be embarking on a camping/white-water rafting trip (that's right, be impressed with our outdoorsy-ness). We're really looking forward to getting away from it all and relax in nature (from my laid-back job and Vi's unemployment). To prove that two single girls can be outdoorsy without the help of a strong hot man (unless said man is nearby, in which case we may need help starting a fire). Yes, "roughing" it for a few days will really be good for us (especially if we find hot bearded rafting guides to get rough with). So wish us luck (partially from falling out of the raft, mostly with the bearded guys)!
Sunday, September 4, 2011
A Royal Occasion
As the resident UK blogger (I know Vi gets here soon but until she says 'cutlery' instead of 'silverware' the title remains mine) I thought I'd share with you something I think you'll get a kick out of...
I'm meeting the Prince of Wales on Wednesday. Because I run in those type of circles.
I do realise people would find it more exciting if it was Prince William or Harry but I think you should still all be suitably impressed.
I'm not a fan of the royals but I am a fan of anything that makes a change from sitting at my desk at work. And if I'm going to be selected to meet him then it would be rude to say no.
So if you'll excuse me, I'm off to practise my curtsy...
I'm meeting the Prince of Wales on Wednesday. Because I run in those type of circles.
I do realise people would find it more exciting if it was Prince William or Harry but I think you should still all be suitably impressed.
I'm not a fan of the royals but I am a fan of anything that makes a change from sitting at my desk at work. And if I'm going to be selected to meet him then it would be rude to say no.
So if you'll excuse me, I'm off to practise my curtsy...
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