I have a friend who lies to her Dental Hygienist about her
lifestyle. When she visits for a clean and polish, a little too
frequently, the hygienist is flummoxed by my friends stained gnashers.
My friend smokes, drinks coffee and tea, red wine but the hygienist is
told that none of these lovely vices pass her lips.
Why
are we so bad at being honest about our lifestyles? I've done it. At
the doctors I'll be a 2 a day smoker for the purposes of a
health-check. We can't cope with the dread that a person unrelated to
you or not sleeping with, can be rudely frank and tell you off for
something you enjoy. No one wants to be told that you can only take a
particular brand of contraception for a couple of years because when you
hit 35 the risk of a thrombosis outweighs the benefits of a combined
hormonal pill that prevents the inevitable. I've realised I'm going to
have to start lying now.
The thing I admire about this
friend is she does it with the feigned innocence and charm of a girl
without any cares except that her teeth are white and squeak when you
rub your finger across them.
I met a punk rocker
anarchist electrician last night. But his punky credentials seemed a
bit lost on me. I don't think punk means the same anymore. Maybe
you'll get your lower lip pierced and wear some red tartan, but
seriously, I thought punks are supposed to be violently outrageous? The
boy was tame. And easy it seems. You can tell a boy is attached when
he'll pretend it's okay to just flirt. I was out with my new
friend who is a terrific artistic girl all wrapped up in good
accessories and pin-curls and this boy and his fellow tradesman mates
were the only non-stuart-maconie* men in the bar. So we just flirted.
*Stuart Maconie is a sardonic middle-aged radio DJ.
Sunday, 14 October 2012
Monday, 3 January 2011
Food for thought
A desperate attempt to resurrect my notings here, but don't blame a girl for trying.
Between July 2010 and Jan 2011 I have amongst many dull and not so dull things;
left my job
turned 30
fallen for a guy who didn't fall for me
been set up by my mother with a dairy farmer
Possibly not the first person to say this, but after watching this over Christmas, I am in awe of the Julie/Julia Project or to give it's film name, Julie and Julia, the one with Meryl Streep and masses and masses of beautiful cookery and love for food, based on the first cook book for Americans about French Food, by Julia Childs.
I have started cooking for me; for my in-built fascination with taste and the satisfaction and rush of endorphines something sometimes so simple, will give you.
I am on the gerbil wheel of dating once more, but one new years resolution, is to stop being god damn picky.
Saturday, 17 July 2010
Good for a Free Meal
Dating recently, has been somewhat interesting.
There have been a number of off-the-peg internet-assisted dates, where, as a male friend would say they are "good for a free meal". I try to deal with the guilt of this (as postmodernfem), channel it and use it for the better.
1. Redhead Northern Man: featured non-ironic stonewash bootleg (before they were due to come back into fashion) jeans, short-sleeve pale crumpled shirt that was slightly see-through and his fair haired freckled arms didn't suit atall. *shudder*
2. MiddleClass Junior Lawyer Boy: on the underdeveloped side of slim, used his glasses as a social prop, waving them (and his umbrella) around to reinforce his arguments. This was one of those dates where you both talk, but neither really listens to the other, and it just becomes some sort of epic test of intellect/name-dropping conversations.
3. Cat-loving Gardener Bloke: this one is sensitive, chivalrous and sweet. But haven't got to the bottom of his sense of humour yet. Slightly concerned that sarcasm doesn't feature highly on his radar, and for me it's a must. I need a challenge.
Whatever the type, men are available, with or without baggage. Perhaps I need a Capello Index (where footballers are rated according to skill/perfomance) to measure up potential? And we continue....
Getting back on the wagon, takes effort. Don't get me wrong, emancipation is 100% fantastic, but why are there so many obstacles to overcome to get a decent date. Do we still have to trap a man to get one? Push them pull them around
There have been a number of off-the-peg internet-assisted dates, where, as a male friend would say they are "good for a free meal". I try to deal with the guilt of this (as postmodernfem), channel it and use it for the better.
1. Redhead Northern Man: featured non-ironic stonewash bootleg (before they were due to come back into fashion) jeans, short-sleeve pale crumpled shirt that was slightly see-through and his fair haired freckled arms didn't suit atall. *shudder*
2. MiddleClass Junior Lawyer Boy: on the underdeveloped side of slim, used his glasses as a social prop, waving them (and his umbrella) around to reinforce his arguments. This was one of those dates where you both talk, but neither really listens to the other, and it just becomes some sort of epic test of intellect/name-dropping conversations.
3. Cat-loving Gardener Bloke: this one is sensitive, chivalrous and sweet. But haven't got to the bottom of his sense of humour yet. Slightly concerned that sarcasm doesn't feature highly on his radar, and for me it's a must. I need a challenge.
Whatever the type, men are available, with or without baggage. Perhaps I need a Capello Index (where footballers are rated according to skill/perfomance) to measure up potential? And we continue....
Tuesday, 30 March 2010
You do good things, good things will happen to you.
I think I believe in Karma. Cause and Effect. Basic and Brilliant behaviour.
Moving house has done wonders for me recently, and can't believe I didn't do it sooner.
It's made me wake up to the standards that I set for friendships, how I behave towards my friends and what I'm prepared to accept in terms of behaviour.
And it seems that I too quickly and naively assume that living with people equates them as friends. Wrong! They can still fuck you over like a mugger in the street.
Living in a new house with new people has opened my eyes to this. Currently struck down with a vile chest cold, the girl I know least in my new house offers to go out and get me medicine and make me feel better. Selfless behaviour = good karma.
Whereas old housemates are no longer in touch, and don't reply to messages. It makes me think these were friends of convenience, and when living together became inconvenient they simply moved on; taking their gifts and the time I'd invested in them along. Can't get that time back, and that's what annoys me the most.
What's more, I have kind of remembered that lust opens your eyes to things around you. Just seeing a boy that you meet in a bar, a few times, on random dates totally lifted my head up. I realized I'd been walking around staring at the street for far too long. Am I scared of something? That someone will look and talk to me?
The funny thing about Karma is, when the boy went off the boil and he decided to sod off skiing, his football team began a series of awful humiliating defeats. But I suppose Buddha wouldn't approve of gloating in someone else's misfortune. Is it possible that Buddha is a Chelsea fan?
Life is too short to invest time and effort in relationships that give nothing or near to nothing in return. Give something good and a good friend will return it.
Here endeth the sermon.
Moving house has done wonders for me recently, and can't believe I didn't do it sooner.
It's made me wake up to the standards that I set for friendships, how I behave towards my friends and what I'm prepared to accept in terms of behaviour.
And it seems that I too quickly and naively assume that living with people equates them as friends. Wrong! They can still fuck you over like a mugger in the street.
Living in a new house with new people has opened my eyes to this. Currently struck down with a vile chest cold, the girl I know least in my new house offers to go out and get me medicine and make me feel better. Selfless behaviour = good karma.
Whereas old housemates are no longer in touch, and don't reply to messages. It makes me think these were friends of convenience, and when living together became inconvenient they simply moved on; taking their gifts and the time I'd invested in them along. Can't get that time back, and that's what annoys me the most.
What's more, I have kind of remembered that lust opens your eyes to things around you. Just seeing a boy that you meet in a bar, a few times, on random dates totally lifted my head up. I realized I'd been walking around staring at the street for far too long. Am I scared of something? That someone will look and talk to me?
The funny thing about Karma is, when the boy went off the boil and he decided to sod off skiing, his football team began a series of awful humiliating defeats. But I suppose Buddha wouldn't approve of gloating in someone else's misfortune. Is it possible that Buddha is a Chelsea fan?
Life is too short to invest time and effort in relationships that give nothing or near to nothing in return. Give something good and a good friend will return it.
Here endeth the sermon.
Wednesday, 20 January 2010
Thursday, 7 January 2010
Cake of Kings
Regard 'Galette de Rois' complete with the King's crown awarded to the lucky person whose slice has an inedible toy in it.
Filled with frangipani and absolutely delicious.
Our lovely french designer brought some back for us all.
Tuesday, 8 December 2009
Waltzin Vienna
Made a trip to Vienna last weekend to visit my littl' sis' who is bumming around on an internship trying to be a lawyer there; and went bananas in duty free when we realized we were flying out of EU (via Zurich) so i picked up 200 Vogue Menthols - my favourite cigarette of the moment. They are long and thin and minty, which i hold delicately trying to look like Sophia Loren.
Cheap Killers.
The indoor smoking culture is alive and well in Austria happy to say, so my anorexic fags went well with the worlds BEST Bellini I had at American Bar
The bar is 1909 original, dark green marble, natty little curtains around the lights and tiny.
The cocktail was anything but tiny though, the widest largest Champagne Goblet filled up with sparkling liquor. Mutti had a hardcore Champagne Cocktail. Noxious but satisfying.
The experience was nicely topped off by some Austrian man action, straight out of late 80's. This bloke was rammed up next to me at the bar, leaning his back into mine, drinking some standard Gruner Veltliner. The best bit was the long haired blonde in a trench coat then loudly said (Germanic Style) "English is my Passion!" Errr. ok . Now fuck off.
Next stop was top floor sparkly bar at Do Co Hotel off Stephansplatz Where an interesting silver fox Americano in black cowboy boots had his hand firmly on his wet-look legging wearing 'friend'. Funny. Even more when she pissed off and then he got on the phone to his mate in Texas saying "I gotta tell you this man, you'll never believe what's happened....."
you bet I won't.
Cheap Killers.
The indoor smoking culture is alive and well in Austria happy to say, so my anorexic fags went well with the worlds BEST Bellini I had at American Bar
The bar is 1909 original, dark green marble, natty little curtains around the lights and tiny.
The cocktail was anything but tiny though, the widest largest Champagne Goblet filled up with sparkling liquor. Mutti had a hardcore Champagne Cocktail. Noxious but satisfying.
The experience was nicely topped off by some Austrian man action, straight out of late 80's. This bloke was rammed up next to me at the bar, leaning his back into mine, drinking some standard Gruner Veltliner. The best bit was the long haired blonde in a trench coat then loudly said (Germanic Style) "English is my Passion!" Errr. ok . Now fuck off.
Next stop was top floor sparkly bar at Do Co Hotel off Stephansplatz Where an interesting silver fox Americano in black cowboy boots had his hand firmly on his wet-look legging wearing 'friend'. Funny. Even more when she pissed off and then he got on the phone to his mate in Texas saying "I gotta tell you this man, you'll never believe what's happened....."
you bet I won't.
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