Before Christmas I had the good fortune to hang out with some friends from university, four gorgeous shoe designers and one artist. We hadn't all been in the same place for about 3 years, so much excitement ensued, and the cocktails kept coming. Fifi came home from Italy so it was a treat to see her in real life, although her emails are the best ever.
Afterwards we all exchanged emails and which blogs we read so we could share. I say, 'we' everyone else did - I was distracted by 2 emergency operations my Mum ended up needing in December (she is doing much better now) but when I had time to give it some thought I realised I was too shy to share my beloved blogs with my friends. I have the blog habits of a mid 30s mom, of someone who owns a car, probably a house too, and is married and shops for kitchen items.
I can't drive even drive yet.
Everything I read online is related to either a) recipes
b) babies/parenthood c) People magazine online (shhhhhhh!) d) the news e) more recipes f) fantasy shopping.
I seem to have completely skipped the 21st century stage where you use the internet to aid finding someone to have a baby with. I thought my real life had that figured out for me, then when it turned out it hadn't yet, my Dad looked at me with half sympathy, half amusement 'I can't imagine having to date!' he said, with a smirk. Tell me about it.
I never used to shy away from the idea of dating. Your next boyfriend is not coming to your house to find you. He better not. You don't want to date a stalker do you?! I always made an effort to meet people if I felt like meeting people (even if it meant going to salsa classes alone when I first moved to London) and it always worked, even if I had to meet leather clad snake-hipped salsa instructors to do so.
Right now meeting new people is wholly unappealing. I have managed to scare up half an interest in Mr.Engineer because he literally walks by me every day, smiling cutely and saying hello in a vaguely interesting accent. Actually making an effort to date does not hold as much fascination for me as doodling all my clothes and creating new outfit combinations. You wouldn't believe the amount of money I have felt obliged to squander on clothes now that I don't need to visit Nugget anymore, after a year and a half of saving every spare penny for flights 6000 miles away....I now have shiny new boots, sky high heels and an array of silky things that are waiting patiently for me to put them on and go somewhere.
In some ways then, I am prematurely aged especially for my responsibility level (i.e. pretty low right now, for example, my friend Shak just asked me to go to Paris with him for dinner the week after next and it involves very little preparation, I booked it before I mentioned it to my work or my family.) Then in some ways, I realise that here in suburbia I have been left behind. In the big city (in any of the 3 big cities I have recently lived in) I am still one of the youngest out of my friends, and living out of a (very large and cumbersome) suitcase was not considered weird. I have mixed feelings about the pasta machine my Mum gave me last Christmas - I still haven't used it. I think I resent it because to is SO heavy, and therefore, not portable like the rest of my life.
In the suburbs this lifestyle of mine IS kind of weird. Most of my friends do not live here anymore, in the town where we grew up. Those that do have children. One girl I have known since playschool now lives in a house in the street I used to babysit in.
Even though it freaks me out living here with my family among people who seem light years ahead of me, I still feel pretty lucky to be doing whatever I want for a little time longer. That includes plucking my eyebrows for 20 minutes at a time, writing lengthy blog posts about ME and drawing my outfit selections for random weekends in Paris, things I know I will not have time for when I finally have my own little family.
I can't wait to shop for pretty tea cups though.
Wednesday, January 27, 2010
Afterschool Cultural Exchange Program/Breastmilk
I have been single for 8 months now. This is what it feels like:
Fine.
Completely normal, and fine.
The great thing about having a long and interesting romantic history studded with swooning and drenched in disappointment is that when you're suddenly alone it's actually not as bad as you thought it would be. Even when the last person you lost was the only one you could truly have stayed with (forever?) you are, vitally, still the same person after, and it really isn't the end if the world. You're just going to miss someone's face for a while. (forever?)
Ok, so being alone is getting a bit boring now. This is maybe why I have developed an almost-crush on an engineer I see in the reception of my work, most afternoons, while I wait for my ride home. It does not count as an actual crush, it is not as developed as that, but it is a minor glimmer. I have actually noticed someone! I must be still alive in there somewhere! Although, that space inside my chest where my heart used to pound up and down when Nugget was around, remains resolutely numb.
Anyway, I must segue from this deep and sappy train of thought into the real issue here. I may have a mental disorder which causes me to talk to everyone I know, including mere acquaintances, about breastmilk. It happened at work last week when I offered J a milk sweet (the yummy, hard Japanese kind) and said absentmindedly 'They taste like breastmilk.' It would be true to say that I have spent much of my life on a quest to find food that brings me back to the loving comfort of my first nourishment. I did not realise this until Crumpet pointed it out to me after becoming aware that I LOVE anything vaguely reminiscent of breastmilk, like bananas in coconut milk at Thai restaurants (or in my kitchen now I have a great recipe from Ching He Huang's book, I put a lot less sesame seeds in it though) and panna cotta and the aforementioned milk sweets.
Mr. Engineer has only been in England for 3 months, he has been sent from an office of the same company in China to test materials or something. Today he sat and chatted to me until my ride arrived. He has never done this before. There were only a couple of pauses that were quickly filled up as he told me about the taxes incurred on the people of China to pay for the 16 billion dollar Olympic games in Bejing, how much he appreciates the architecture of England, and historical stories from the Tang Dynasty. Apparently one Chinese Emperor washed his face in human milk, in order to remain young looking. This led to me asking whether women in China usually breastfeed their babies. He claimed that it is usual there, and added 'I think it is a good thing. It is a natural gift.'
That made me love him a little bit.
Then when he said that the concubines of the Emperor would fight for his attention, I was pretty surprised especially since he'd mentioned that the Emperor selected the concubines by picking their names from little papers on a tray. Mr. Engineer countered that they fought because they wanted the attention of such a powerful man. 'A good husband is very important.' said Mr. Engineer.
Hear hear Mr. Engineer! What a shame he's only 24.
p.s. if fond memories of breastmilk is an idea that grosses you out, you probably won't want to be friends with me as it is one of the least gross things I find enjoyable. I was breastfed till I was 4. I don't remember doing it but I remember the taste, and that my mother met her best friend at La Leche League, an awesome, and quite avant garde American association that started in the 60s to promote breastfeeding awareness/acceptance of feeding in public, which is still rather lacking in my home country in my opinion.
Fine.
Completely normal, and fine.
The great thing about having a long and interesting romantic history studded with swooning and drenched in disappointment is that when you're suddenly alone it's actually not as bad as you thought it would be. Even when the last person you lost was the only one you could truly have stayed with (forever?) you are, vitally, still the same person after, and it really isn't the end if the world. You're just going to miss someone's face for a while. (forever?)
Ok, so being alone is getting a bit boring now. This is maybe why I have developed an almost-crush on an engineer I see in the reception of my work, most afternoons, while I wait for my ride home. It does not count as an actual crush, it is not as developed as that, but it is a minor glimmer. I have actually noticed someone! I must be still alive in there somewhere! Although, that space inside my chest where my heart used to pound up and down when Nugget was around, remains resolutely numb.
Anyway, I must segue from this deep and sappy train of thought into the real issue here. I may have a mental disorder which causes me to talk to everyone I know, including mere acquaintances, about breastmilk. It happened at work last week when I offered J a milk sweet (the yummy, hard Japanese kind) and said absentmindedly 'They taste like breastmilk.' It would be true to say that I have spent much of my life on a quest to find food that brings me back to the loving comfort of my first nourishment. I did not realise this until Crumpet pointed it out to me after becoming aware that I LOVE anything vaguely reminiscent of breastmilk, like bananas in coconut milk at Thai restaurants (or in my kitchen now I have a great recipe from Ching He Huang's book, I put a lot less sesame seeds in it though) and panna cotta and the aforementioned milk sweets.
Mr. Engineer has only been in England for 3 months, he has been sent from an office of the same company in China to test materials or something. Today he sat and chatted to me until my ride arrived. He has never done this before. There were only a couple of pauses that were quickly filled up as he told me about the taxes incurred on the people of China to pay for the 16 billion dollar Olympic games in Bejing, how much he appreciates the architecture of England, and historical stories from the Tang Dynasty. Apparently one Chinese Emperor washed his face in human milk, in order to remain young looking. This led to me asking whether women in China usually breastfeed their babies. He claimed that it is usual there, and added 'I think it is a good thing. It is a natural gift.'
That made me love him a little bit.
Then when he said that the concubines of the Emperor would fight for his attention, I was pretty surprised especially since he'd mentioned that the Emperor selected the concubines by picking their names from little papers on a tray. Mr. Engineer countered that they fought because they wanted the attention of such a powerful man. 'A good husband is very important.' said Mr. Engineer.
Hear hear Mr. Engineer! What a shame he's only 24.
p.s. if fond memories of breastmilk is an idea that grosses you out, you probably won't want to be friends with me as it is one of the least gross things I find enjoyable. I was breastfed till I was 4. I don't remember doing it but I remember the taste, and that my mother met her best friend at La Leche League, an awesome, and quite avant garde American association that started in the 60s to promote breastfeeding awareness/acceptance of feeding in public, which is still rather lacking in my home country in my opinion.
Friday, January 22, 2010
Blogging is like Pringles
Once you pop.....
I have been thinking all day at work about getting home to re-visit this little internet universe, populated so far by just me. Now I'm here I don't have much to relate, my Aunt is in town and we are going to eat Indian food with my parents and brother. Indian food hates me, it always attacks my pathetic little stomach later on, but it's oh so delicious!
I have just painted my nails for the first time in a month, and did a really bad job of it. Fifteen year old me would be disappointed, I spent most of my youth painting my nails and talking on the phone. I can't wait to visit New York in March where I can get a manicure without needing a bank loan! (NY mani-pedis cost $25 if you don't mind a den of a 'spa' in Soho, which I don't. Here in lil old England they cost more like 60 quid.)
It's Friday, the wine is cracked open, and I'm hungry. Something very exciting happened this afternoon, I bumped into Crumpet online while reading my emails (Crumpet is the aforementioned Nugget's little sister, and my very dear friend). Crumpet said since she'll be out of a job soon she's looking into heading to Seoul this summer to teach English. I thought you could only go for a year but apparently they have summer programmes! Crumpet's beloved Fred wants to go too.
So it would be very convenient if I got another 3 month contract after this one ends at the end of March and then spent the summer eating my way round Korea, swapping languages with some school children. I haven't actually come into contact with anyone under 22 recently, that would be a nice change. Actually tomorrow we are having a little family reunion and some of my cousins will be there, and then next week I am going to meet my colleagues recently adopted baby. But more on that another time. Did I say I didn't have much to relate?
I talk too much. I'm going to listen to Augustana instead, and re-do my nails.
I have been thinking all day at work about getting home to re-visit this little internet universe, populated so far by just me. Now I'm here I don't have much to relate, my Aunt is in town and we are going to eat Indian food with my parents and brother. Indian food hates me, it always attacks my pathetic little stomach later on, but it's oh so delicious!
I have just painted my nails for the first time in a month, and did a really bad job of it. Fifteen year old me would be disappointed, I spent most of my youth painting my nails and talking on the phone. I can't wait to visit New York in March where I can get a manicure without needing a bank loan! (NY mani-pedis cost $25 if you don't mind a den of a 'spa' in Soho, which I don't. Here in lil old England they cost more like 60 quid.)
It's Friday, the wine is cracked open, and I'm hungry. Something very exciting happened this afternoon, I bumped into Crumpet online while reading my emails (Crumpet is the aforementioned Nugget's little sister, and my very dear friend). Crumpet said since she'll be out of a job soon she's looking into heading to Seoul this summer to teach English. I thought you could only go for a year but apparently they have summer programmes! Crumpet's beloved Fred wants to go too.
So it would be very convenient if I got another 3 month contract after this one ends at the end of March and then spent the summer eating my way round Korea, swapping languages with some school children. I haven't actually come into contact with anyone under 22 recently, that would be a nice change. Actually tomorrow we are having a little family reunion and some of my cousins will be there, and then next week I am going to meet my colleagues recently adopted baby. But more on that another time. Did I say I didn't have much to relate?
I talk too much. I'm going to listen to Augustana instead, and re-do my nails.
A Subject Close to My Heart...
I just had about a foot of hair cut off. I look like 2nd season Felicity. Except I'm not glowing as much as Keri Russell. I am not glowing at all, despite a real attempt at water drinking and yoga. (Ok one home yoga session this year is not yet a 'real attempt'.)
Anyway, all I have to report on this is that now my neck is really cold. On the plus side, my weird few inches of hair that had ben flattened to death by straight perming at the Korean salon have finally gone. It only took about a year to grown out, so I have my fast growing hair to thank for that. I must say, for a naturally curly bonce like me, the straight perm really lost it's lustre after a couple of months, my head was just so very flat, I felt sort of vulnerable. (Heh, I only cried about it once.)
I will always remember however, the feeling of taking a 20 minute walk in the Santa Monica mountains just as the wind was whipping through the trees, then getting back in the car (with freshly cut bangs* and everything!) and looking exactly as I did when I got out of the car at first, with not a hair out of place. My silken straight-permed locks just fell back into place. For those brief few moments, I had movie star hair. Trust me, if I had done that with my natural hair, and not put if in a pony tail for the walk, or brushed it in the car, I would have looked like a complete and utter bushwooly. My ex boyfriend (henceforth known as Nugget) would not have waited another 6 months to decide our time was up, he would have fallen out of love with me right then, at the scary sight of my hair on steroids.
* I know I am English and bangs is actually a fringe, but how can you not want to use the expression 'bangs' instead? It's just so...appealingly inappropriate sounding.
Anyway, all I have to report on this is that now my neck is really cold. On the plus side, my weird few inches of hair that had ben flattened to death by straight perming at the Korean salon have finally gone. It only took about a year to grown out, so I have my fast growing hair to thank for that. I must say, for a naturally curly bonce like me, the straight perm really lost it's lustre after a couple of months, my head was just so very flat, I felt sort of vulnerable. (Heh, I only cried about it once.)
I will always remember however, the feeling of taking a 20 minute walk in the Santa Monica mountains just as the wind was whipping through the trees, then getting back in the car (with freshly cut bangs* and everything!) and looking exactly as I did when I got out of the car at first, with not a hair out of place. My silken straight-permed locks just fell back into place. For those brief few moments, I had movie star hair. Trust me, if I had done that with my natural hair, and not put if in a pony tail for the walk, or brushed it in the car, I would have looked like a complete and utter bushwooly. My ex boyfriend (henceforth known as Nugget) would not have waited another 6 months to decide our time was up, he would have fallen out of love with me right then, at the scary sight of my hair on steroids.
* I know I am English and bangs is actually a fringe, but how can you not want to use the expression 'bangs' instead? It's just so...appealingly inappropriate sounding.
Office Politics
Today work irritated me intensely. It was really me irritating myself because I have been feeling fairly 'whatever' about everything in the last couple of days, I haven't been bothered with what I eat (HIGHLY unusual!) and certainly haven't been bothered to remain sweet, good tempered and smiley in the office.
It's true that the office is not like Mad Men, it is not actually part of my job description as an employed woman to remain sweet, good tempered and smiley at all times, but I aim to do the best I can. I mean why pitch up to work just to behave like a miserable bitch? * If things are that bad, consider other options.*
What really irritated me today was that I was failing to be able to do my best, and my real personality was starting to show. Please don't read that as a sign that I am not a good tempered person, I am. But then I am also averse to being told what to do, (ever, by anyone - really handy for getting ahead in civilised society right?!) I do not appreciate, and very rarely accept without retaliation being treated rudely or as if I am a dumb ornament that makes tea. My job does involve some dumbing down, because what I am good at is of no use here. Subjects I know plenty about rarely, oh wait, never come up here. Likewise, there's a lot more I could know about statistics and manipulation of excel spreadsheets, as well as employment law, that would be useful in this job. So whatever; my talents, ( such as they are - being crafty (in every sense) art history debating skills, and pulling off red lipstick) are wasted here. That doesn't generally get me down. What gets me down is that I usually go to the trouble of not being a persnickety bitch at work, even if I'm having a troublesome day, but evidently not everyone adheres to this philosophy.
Seriously, if I let all my liberal non-slave labour approving ideas and non-Company Woman personality out of my mouth at work, I'd be kissing that contract extension goodbye. More on this delightful subject another day!
It's true that the office is not like Mad Men, it is not actually part of my job description as an employed woman to remain sweet, good tempered and smiley at all times, but I aim to do the best I can. I mean why pitch up to work just to behave like a miserable bitch? * If things are that bad, consider other options.*
What really irritated me today was that I was failing to be able to do my best, and my real personality was starting to show. Please don't read that as a sign that I am not a good tempered person, I am. But then I am also averse to being told what to do, (ever, by anyone - really handy for getting ahead in civilised society right?!) I do not appreciate, and very rarely accept without retaliation being treated rudely or as if I am a dumb ornament that makes tea. My job does involve some dumbing down, because what I am good at is of no use here. Subjects I know plenty about rarely, oh wait, never come up here. Likewise, there's a lot more I could know about statistics and manipulation of excel spreadsheets, as well as employment law, that would be useful in this job. So whatever; my talents, ( such as they are - being crafty (in every sense) art history debating skills, and pulling off red lipstick) are wasted here. That doesn't generally get me down. What gets me down is that I usually go to the trouble of not being a persnickety bitch at work, even if I'm having a troublesome day, but evidently not everyone adheres to this philosophy.
Seriously, if I let all my liberal non-slave labour approving ideas and non-Company Woman personality out of my mouth at work, I'd be kissing that contract extension goodbye. More on this delightful subject another day!
Coming of Age
It's time this blog got off it's butt and got stuck into the new year. It's not even shiny and new any more, we're already three weeks in. I'm finding it difficult to commit to blogging because this will turn out so differently from the blogs I enjoy reading. It seems like no one would be interested in an aspirational blog - it's much better to read when people are writing about the meat of their lives, when they're right in the middle of things.
Why don't I feel like I'm at that point in my life? Surely the blog would benefit, perhaps I should knuckle down? The thing is, I am something of a commitment-phobe. Not a caddish commitment-phobe like 50 year old single men are often purported to be, but an actual commitment-to-anything-ever-phobe.
I'm getting nearer, I'm reaching the time when I feel ready to commit to my own life, rather than dancing round the edge of it, dipping my toe in every now and then. This might come as news to my real life friends, it's not as if I've been shy about getting out and about, trying new things, new places, getting a taste for little adventures. But that's just the point, I haven't committed to anything yet, except to the pursuit of finding the right thing for me to do, the right place for me to be.
I think the pursuit is drawing to a close. I suddenly feel I have earned my age, like I'm not a 20 year old thrown into a 28 year old's skin (I am aware having 'earned' those extra eight years will seem paltry to many, older, wiser people).
I know what's really important to me, and what I can cast aside. It's actually exciting if I really think about it, can you actually come of age at the ripe old age of 28? I mean all those teenage viewings of Stand By Me were really just about checking out how cute River Phoenix was at 14 (I was even younger so I was definitely allowed to be thinking that.) I wasn't coming into anything back then, not my age, barely even my own boobs.
Why don't I feel like I'm at that point in my life? Surely the blog would benefit, perhaps I should knuckle down? The thing is, I am something of a commitment-phobe. Not a caddish commitment-phobe like 50 year old single men are often purported to be, but an actual commitment-to-anything-ever-phobe.
I'm getting nearer, I'm reaching the time when I feel ready to commit to my own life, rather than dancing round the edge of it, dipping my toe in every now and then. This might come as news to my real life friends, it's not as if I've been shy about getting out and about, trying new things, new places, getting a taste for little adventures. But that's just the point, I haven't committed to anything yet, except to the pursuit of finding the right thing for me to do, the right place for me to be.
I think the pursuit is drawing to a close. I suddenly feel I have earned my age, like I'm not a 20 year old thrown into a 28 year old's skin (I am aware having 'earned' those extra eight years will seem paltry to many, older, wiser people).
I know what's really important to me, and what I can cast aside. It's actually exciting if I really think about it, can you actually come of age at the ripe old age of 28? I mean all those teenage viewings of Stand By Me were really just about checking out how cute River Phoenix was at 14 (I was even younger so I was definitely allowed to be thinking that.) I wasn't coming into anything back then, not my age, barely even my own boobs.
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