The plot thickens

It seems that I have a new pen pal. The Man's Mum. I'd like to think that she's the less terrifying option to a say, a serial killer jailed for life. But I'll be honest, I'm not entirely sure.

There was another letter from her. This time she says she completely understands my concerns and would probably do the same thing were she me. 

My sister seems to continue her e-mail correspondence with The Man too. As much I appreciate these people's concern, it frustrates the hell out of me. Can a 52-year-old man not get his shit together on his own? The man can run multi-million dollar accounts, have hundreds of people reporting to him but doesn't know how to conduct a one-on-one relationship???

While I just had another "thank you for your interest but we found your application lacklustre and CV lacking in skills vital for successful performance in this task"- letter, The Man is currently facing his second interview that would, should it materialize in a job offer, take him back to the Nordics. How ironic. So, once again we could not talk about the future of our relationship and he could not ask me to join him there...

Apparently his work situation is a lot more serious that he previously let me in on. Tens of thousands of people will be let go from the company this year, several thousand of them here in Europe. So, it's no longer just a case of closing this deal they've been trying to close for 2 years now- he might soon have no job at all.

I can't even imagine what that would do to him. I've forced myself to come in terms with the fact that with everything going on in his life workwise he simply isn't capable to focusing on anything else. And I've decided to understand and put up with that (Seriously, Nobel Peace Prize committee, are you listening to this? Don't forget me come November!!) even if it means that currently the contact is reduced to sporadic calls. But if he lost his job at this point, when he's already planning his retirement... that would be the end of him. And as such... the end of us.

Indecent proposal

There's some kind of an athletic championship thing going on and the streets are awashed with toned, trimmed bodies and none of them is mine. Yesterday I saw a woman (probably a long jumper of some sort) with legs so long and limber that she probably wouldn't have even needed to leave her country to break the existing record- her legs would have probably reached our soil without a glitch.

My stumpy little legs on the other hand are trying hard to negotiate life's tracks as destiny keeps throwing new hurdles in. Mostly in the form of poorly timed phone calls and confusing e-mails. Such as the one I just got from The Man. Knowing how much I loved our time in Stockholm he has booked a romantic weekend there as a surprise. Well, surprise it is. 

The weekend in question is next week. He made the reservations last December.  I'm puzzled in a way 5000-piece picture of yet another medieval German church can only imagine. 

He made plans 8 months ahead? He's been that certain that we'd still be together? As you might remember- that has never been the case with me. 

What was the purpose of that trip? And more poignantly: what would the purpose of that trip be now?

Even if I did manage to scrape together enough money for the flights (better not get any hopes up- even my Visa can't stretch any further), what would be in the itinerary? Sincere talks about what this is and where it's headed (I dare you: try saying that with a straight face...)? 

A casual weekend of no-strings-attached-fun after which I'd come back to this lonely limbo, probably even more heartbroken? (and pregnant, seeing how I'm no longer on the Pill...)

After everything that's happened I'm not capable of anything casual, especially with him. He already has such hold of my heart I'm afraid what he'll do with it. No matter how much positive approach and can do- attitude I've been trying to inject into my life the fact is that I'm so worn out by this all and my shrivelled, beaten little heart would not be able to survive another break-down.

I'm exhausted, scared, perplexed, sad and anxious. Of course I want to see him, OF COURSE I DO! I want to see him and be with him and never let go. But... not like this. 


As my mind is hard-wired to only regret things I didn't do as opposed to things I did (and with any luck learn something from) I can't help but wonder... Would not going be something I'd bitterly end up regretting? On the other hand... it's hardly unfair to expect him to take the responsibility of the "make or break"- scenario?

My brain is telling me not to go. When he's ready and sure, he'll come to me, right? My heart, that unfortunate underdog is telling me to sell a kidney to get those plane tickets. But even my heart is starting to have some reservations... Could it be... would it be...is this a booty call?

If you've got some, give some

I'm half a litre of blood lighter. I just might fit into those skinny jeans after all...!

In a bid to continue my charitable pursuits I donated blood. My last attempt wasn't a very successful one: my arms simply refused to let go of any elixir of life. Turned out that (in addition to my personality and self-control) also my veins are difficult. There goes a promising career as a heroin-addict down the drain...

Just thinking of how many people that bag of my finest O+ will save sends smug shudders down my spine. My God, I'm a good person! I certainly hope those people are going to be worthy. Like someone who only buys genuine Louis Vuittons and had a sailing accident. Oh yeah, I'd give them some... An unemployed council house-resident who got behind the wheel after twelve too many? NEEEXT!

I had to fill a questionnaire which at times was rather amusing. Am I currently intoxicated or under the influence of any other illegal substance? Erm... no. If I were, would donating blood be on my list of things to do? No! I'd be dancing topless on the table or having sex with the hot doorman. (Or I'd be making  1,5 hour-long intercontinental phone calls about baobab trees. That too has been known to happen...) I'd definitely not have needles the size of lamp posts driven into my elusive veins. 

At times the questions were just... evil. Like the one about having sex with a man who'd had sex with a man. Erm... well, not in the past 9 years... Or the one about whether or not I'd had sex with someone new in the past 4 months. Trust me- I didn't need a moment to think about that one. I also didn't need to be reminded of that one...

Turned out there are plenty of other things I haven't done lately. Like having cancer, being pregnant, doing intravenous drugs, being treated for hives, living in the malaria zone, getting a piercing, having blood clots and getting a tattoo. 

I knew things had been a bit quiet of late but...damn! I've got to start happening!

The Desperate Housewives

I've gotten completely lost in the rabbit hole that is the psyche of the Real Housewives. There's so much to keep me going: the episodes, the recaps, the previews, the bios... and THE BLOGS! They have their own blogs? They can write?

All that backstabbing, bitching, catfighting, gossiping and outlandish oneupmanship is every bit as scary and pathetic as it is intriguing and fascinating. Has all that Botox somehow regressed them to the maturity level of that 16-year-old they're trying to look like? Or have all those hair-extensions sucked the last of the brain cells out of their heads?

I'll leave the whole America's Next Role Model- competition to the likes of Oprah and Mother Theresa but these women are supposed to be strong, successful, confident and wealthy individuals! Yet their desperate attempts to outmanoeuvre, outdress and outclass each other instantly take you back to the 5th grade and they way we all were so terribly lost with ourselves. The pimples, the braces, the gangly legs, the growth spurts, the fear of sticking out for all the wrong reasons (any reasons really), the desperate need to fit in... Best friends with someone one week and the worst enemies the next. Dying to be cool enough for the cool kids.

Eventually we all learn to manoeuvre those legs and get used to the new shapes and even our faces grow into the nose we grew up hating but don't we girls EVER grow out of that? 

What I find most peculiar is the desperate quest for something these women think is "class". Especially in Real Housewives of New York a.k.a. Count(l)ess LuAnn vs. the world. She is so busy pointing out how she's better than the rest that she seems to have completely forgotten her not-so-noble origins. Erm... the woman is no countess. The title is  just one of the many things she lost after her philandering ex-husband (an actual Count) traded her (the wife no 4) in for a younger model. And I'm sorry, what kind of name is LuAnn?! People with wifebeaters, trailers and welfare come to mind...

Ok, that was a bit mean. But that's the only appropriate approach to these real life mean girls. Class, I believe,  is one of those things that don't necessarily come with title (real or not) or money (old or new). It's not defined by the size of your house in the Hamptons and it doesn't depend on the carat-count of your ring. But it's definitely something you either have or you don't. And if you do, it's something others notice too. The more you feel the need to rub it all over the faces of everyone around you...the less likely it is that you'd even know how to spell it. And choosing to appear on reality TV... crass, yes. Class... Absolument no.

Reality bites

So, England is out of the Euro. That's tragic, especially considering what a fight they put up- it was Italy after all. Unfortunately in life that just won't cut it. It's the victory that counts. "You have everything we're looking for in an employee" somehow fails to keep you warm and fuzzy inside when you don't get the job. "Well played" just isn't enough when your team won't make it to the quarter-finals. This is something Ashley Cole (one of the most memorable failures of last night's travesty) already knows all too well, having failed in controlling his balls already in the past. "Good boy, you almost managed to keep your schmeckie in your pants and almost succeeded in respecting your marriage vows"...


Now that the reality of my own life has turned out to be rather disappointing, I've turned to reality tv. How those cavemen survived before Bravo and E! is beyond me. While not failing to provide entertainment, the experience has left me somewhat puzzled. 

Is lobotomy mandatory in Orange County? How many backstabbing bitches can you fit in New Jersey? Are they all crazeee in New York?

You guessed it- I've found the way to live the life of a Real Housewife.

Call it despair (or cutting-edge sociological analysis of the modern life as I'd prefer) but I can't get enough of them. Especially the OC breed. They are, in their sheer pointlessness, quite simply fascinating. I love the way how in their quest of real life barbie-doll look they've gone through so much plastic surgery that the end result looks surreal. As opposed to the perfect women they have ended up looking like caricatures of women; reaching a point where they actually look like men trying to be women! Of course I'm an evil bitch consumed with envy but seriously, look at them! Throw in "I will survive" and you've got yourself a drag night at any gay bar.


There's one thing they have in common with their role model though: Barbie and they have  just about as much going on under that bouncy hair of theirs...

Eat pray love (and eat some more)

I am a huge foodie as has become evident from my trips built around endless lunch and dinner reservations. I live, love and travel for food. Every single new destination has taught me something new about food and exposed me to new ideas, ingredients and inspiration. The meals I've had live in my memories forever. It therefore saddens me that food has for so many become the "necessary evil"; reduced to a certain ratio of protein and carbs. 

I know that in the past I've not been immune to that either. In my debilitating fear of all things carbohydrate I used to steam carrot strips and pretend it was pasta (to be consumed with fat-free tuna sauce I pretended was every bit as good as carbonara sauce. As if!). I have a friend who used to whip egg whites and pretend it was whipped cream. She too eventually fell off the wagon (and gained 20 kilos).

One of the things I loved about being with The Man was our mutual love of food. I learned to appreciate all the fabulous ingredients that especially Spain had to provide and I finally had a grateful audience that appreciated the hours and hours of effort and love that went into every meal.(too bad he didn't appreciate the havoc it was wreaking on my waistline...)

I've grown. Not just around my waist, but as a human. I've come to realize that life is just too short for faking it; be it "I can't believe it's not butter" (trust me, we can. ) or orgasms. I'm  just not willing to settle for anything other than the real deal anymore.

And something tells me what ever it is that me and The Man have just might be that. I can't explain it, but there's this serene certainty inside me reassuring that I can wait. Wait for him to be ready; wait for him to be that certain too. 

We talked yesterday (no, I didn't! He called me!) and the only word I can think of to describe the way we still, after everything that has happened, make each other laugh is... well, laughable. It was just... so much fun!!! And as upsetting as I've found all these interventions, maybe that's just the way it goes. It doesn't take a village just to raise a child- it also seems to take a village for the two village idiots to get their acts together.

With friends like this...

My friends have shown surprising qualities in the aftermath of this break-up. Ones I had down as incurable romantics have sternly told me to step away from the phone and place my hands where they can see them. Ones that seemed to exist on rage and hatred of all things male have surprisingly turned out to be indefatigable cheerleaders of Love FC. 

All this has got me thinking of the role our Friends play in these Days of Our Lives. 

While I've been pining and longing and missing and mourning the loss of my one relationship a friend of mine has fallen in love, embarked on a long-distance relationship, started planning a future and preparing for a move to his country TWICE! Second time around she even managed to get engaged! And all this happened in the span of a couple of months! 

If this were a Kate Hudson rom-com we'd all be rolling our eyes and telling the heroine to get a grip: this kind of things just don't happen in real life. But in that real life what do we, friends, do? Do we try to talk some sense into our friends or do we allow ourselves, too, be seduced into believing that this kind of things just could happen and we should be happy for our friends?

We love our friends, so naturally we want to protect them, right? But which way do we succeed in that better? By putting the breaks on and telling them there's something fishy about the guy they just met and are haplessly falling in love with? Or by supporting them and allowing them to live through those heady feelings and believing that there just might be a happy end after all?

And as for those Kate Hudson rom-coms... Are they written for desperate lonely women hungry for love or were they written inspired by the real life love stories that defied  common sense? Thrones have been abdicated and cities taken over- all in the name of love.

In the end... Kate Hudson always gets the guy. And sometimes, in real life... so do we.

New phones - new beginnings?

I just got a new phone. The old one had been acting out for ages but I just couldn't bring myself to part with it. After all, it stored all the photos of The Man looking so happy and so... adorable, all his text messages. I know I told you I'd deleted them but turned out even my old phone out-smarted me. Turned out it had stored them in a new folder called "deleted". So there they were, reminding me the whole affair was not just something my imagination made up.

Now I've been starting over with my new phone. It doesn't have any of his numbers (not the English, any of the Swedish and not the Canadian one either. How can a man with that many numbers be so unattainable? How can a man with that many way of communicating suck at it so much?!) 

I've been poking and prodding the phone for two days now until I figured it's not a touch-screen one. Yes, you heard it: I'm probably the last person in the world without an iPhone...And as I've been going over the settings in a bid to personalize it I realized something. You really know you're getting old when you actually settle for the default settings and tones, not because they're the only ones you can operate but also because they are the least annoying ones. Because you want your phone to actually sound like a phone as opposed to a fair ground ride. Or a hungover frog...

So- time to start collecting new numbers, taking new photos and making new memories. 

(I wonder when I'll hear from The Man again...?)

(R)eject and rewind

In addition to all the things I already didn't get (numerous jokes, the euro zone crisis, engaged...) I also didn't get an e-mail verifying I'd made the next round of that elusive training I told you about earlier. Instead I did get another awkward "thank you for your interest BUT..."- email. 

I've had so many of those there surely must be some supersaver package deal: collect 4 and get the 5th for free?? Ok, ok, deep breaths... (and another drag of Marlboro...) I do have that new, positive approach to apply. 

So this clearly wasn't meant to be. That I can understand-it was the diplomat training after all. And while a lot can be said about me political correctness or diplomatic disposition are probably not in the top 500. On the other hand I'm not selective when it comes to my verbal missiles- I'm an equal opportunity offender! And as far as diplomacy and negotiation skills go... had I those, I probably wouldn't go around issuing poorly timed ultimatums/ proposals...

In many ways I do share my friends' and colleagues' views on how those jobs seem to serve as sheltered jobs for those who are not even expected to be aware of the reality outside their chauffeur-driven existence. After all, I've witnessed it first hand. While I was having demonstrators shot to death outside my building, in my ambassador's ivory tower was business as usual. She never lost that Arab Spring in her steps...

What really bugs me is not having something I really wanted snatched away. It's the disappointment of still not quite knowing what it is that I want. I trusted in some kind of a divine guidance: that getting in would be enough for me to find certainty- sense of "this is what I want".


I once a read about a guy who was convinced he wanted to be an architect. He'd been turning up at the entrance exams for 9 years, having almost completed MA in Theology in the meanwhile. And still... he just wanted to be an architect.

I still don't have that. And I don't have much longer. I've got another 1,5 months of this internship... but after that, I really need to find a job. But the question remains...where?

Breaking the (dry) spell

It's been over 4 months since I last saw The Man. Those 40 years of wandering in the desert had nothing on this dry spell... Calling all fairy godmothers out there to break this dry spell! (Though... "fairies" have turned out to be rather useless at that enterprise before...!)

Things have reached a point where I've been having raunchy dreams featuring no, not The Man and not even Sasha Baron Cohen, but Shah Rukh Khan. A Pakistani Muslim actor in his fifties; a devoted husband and father of 2. How's that for embarrassing?? It doesn't take a Sigmund Freud to figure out what I need...

As much as I ... appreciate Mr. Khan's acting abilities (in their juvenile predictability and blatant overdoing they are spectacular. And just wait until you've seen him die... That truly is nothing short of legendary.) 

I'd rather not see him in a genre usually domain of Paris Hilton and Kim Kardashian. By accident, of course. I'd never even dream of insinuating they deliberately leaked the tapes to the press through strategically placed PR-people in order to keep their 15 minutes going...

But I'll tell you- it was a gooood dream. I have had sex in 3D (as in with an actual person) and this was way better than some of those times. Just thinking about it actually makes me blush...

Remember how The Man begged me not to give up on us? That was over a week ago. Haven't heard anything since, so what exactly is he asking me not to give up on? Full frontal nudity sure doesn't seem to feature on that list...

What am I going to do? I can't see myself having a one-night-stand. I don't have friendships with benefits. I'm not ready to embark on another long-term relationship just for the sake of... that. I'd probably need a manual to get re-started again. But I can't keep going on like this for much longer. 

And anyway, when the time comes for me to get slutty again, at least I can do it with a bit of class: Louis Vuitton has launched their own condoms!!! Now that you just couldn't make up...

The bottle might be half empty but the glass is half full

Been taking a bit of a break from blogging and wallowing and spent the weekend in the park in a bikini instead. Well, that's not entirely true. That was the plan...until I actually saw myself in the mirror and decided that a Guantanamo Bay-style boiler suit is a perfectly acceptable attire. Until I lose about 10 kilos. Or buy a new mirror...

Been trying not to think about this situation with The Man. And once I saw the Dictator, that became unbelievably easy. All I can think is Sasha Baron Cohen and how I love him. Sasha, if you're reading this, please dump that Australian shiksha of yours and marry me instead! 

Got a phone call regarding the other job I was interviewed for last week. Didn't get that one either. They went for someone with more work experience. Instead of sinking into my normal rage-frustration-depression mode, I decided to try out a new approach I just read about and find something positive about all these hardships. It does seem to work for some...

So, I didn't get either one of the jobs I finally, after months of trying, managed to get interviewed for. I'm going to treat that as a valuable experience and priceless practice. Next time (in 2015?) I'll be even more prepared and ready to win them over. Either that, or I'll just offer to sleep with the interviewer.

So, I'm stuck with an internship a lobotomized monkey could do. At least it's not stressful. No more 12-14-hour days, turning up to work on Saturdays and taking turns with your colleagues crying in the toilets. I get to leave at 4pm and have plenty of time to focus on other things. Such as finding a stressful job. And unlike in one of my previous jobs digging flower beds (and the occasional vertebrae...) at a cemetery, I get to work indoors and wear pretty things. Such as those bunion-inflicting shoes...

So, I don't have a boyfriend. That gives me a chance to spend quality time with my boy-friends. Like watch football, get pissed and wake up with the remains of a kebab from the night before plastered all over my face.  Or continue my career as a culture-vulture (2 operas under my Fendi-belt - there's no stopping me now!)

This positive approach probably has a shorter life-expectancy than a fruit fly, but who knows. Before I fall right back into my Chardonnay-fuelled sarcasm, I just might learn a thing or two. 

Like that being a bitch is one of the things I truly excel at... (Which is more than can be said about these taxidermists...)

Mummy dearest

So... seems that absolutely everyone has an opinion about me and The Man and how things should progress. And that includes his Mum. Yes, his Mum. The 130 cms of her that gave birth to the 130 kilos of him. 

I came home yesterday stumbling upon an envelope addressed with her hand-writing. She's  back from her around the world (in 80- GTs)- cruise and has been to Spain - clearly having spent some quality time with the fruit of her loins. 

She's telling me she's heard about "the ultimatum I gave him" and how "after getting an answer I didn't like, just walked away". WHAT? Even NATO conducts their interventions with more subtlety...

She wishes "I could think it over". According to her "his stress levels are through the roof with the uncertainty of his work situation". Erm... that I know. His work has always been a source of megalomaniac stress levels and all I've ever wanted to do was to support him by providing him a life outside work that would allow him to focus on something else and recharge. Her advice: "sometimes in life we need to compromise". How the hell do you compromise on issues like this? You only commit a little? You almost marry?

I have no idea what has been talked about, but so far I have a feeling I don't like it. "An ultimatum ?" Yes, I did propose to him as I NEEDED TO KNOW IF THERE'D EVER BE ANY COMMITMENT I COULD BUILD MY LIFE AROUND. "An answer I didn't like?" HE DIDN'T EVEN HAVE THE DECENCY TO ANSWER! I just walked away? THAT VERBALLY CONSTIPATED MORON HAD A WEEK TO EXPLAIN HIMSELF AND WHAT HE FELT WE SHOULD DO AND HE CHOSE NOT TO!!!

She says she's grown fond of me and that feeling is mutual. I just feel uneasy about this intervention though. I feel like my expectations are unrealistic and my needs unjustified. That I have no right to have any demands in our life that has all this time been dictated by him and his work and his travelling and his schedules. Like... I'm some kind of a spoiled princess??


Turned out Monty Python was right: nobody ever expects the Spanish inquisition...

Putting the foot down

I'd just finished reading an article on whether cohabiting before marriage (living together and sort of slipping into marriage because it's "the next logical thing to do") actually increases the chances of a divorce and was feeling all the more confident I had made the right choice by walking away from a relationship with a man who didn't want to commit. I don't want marriage to be something people slip into. It should be a conscious choice that they've pursued; a choice they make with every intention of making it last.

And as I'm smugly parading on my soap box, who calls? The Man. I'd told him I can't go on being toyed like this anymore and that apparently was what was needed to gear him into action.  For the first time we actually talked.

He had been surprised to get an e-mail from mys sister. But pleasantly so as he'd lacked the courage to get in touch with me. He's also been at the receiving end of a lecture from his mother: one of those good old-fashioned "you're not getting any younger"- bashings. 

He is struggling. Financially and with the stress of this work thing not working out. They've been trying to close the deal with the customer for over 2 years now. He hasn't had much energy to focus on anything else and as much as I hate myself for saying this, I understand. I  hate the financial situation I find myself now, having quit a job that paid well. My life should not be taking steps backwards, not at this point of my life. So, for someone of that age and standing... it must be killing him. 

He also admitted commitment scares him shitless. Can't explain why though, as he doesn't have problems committing to things other than humans (his chosen brand of hi-fi, his career, 3 mortgages...). 

He says doesn't want to hurt me. And he doesn't want to toy with me. He is sorry for the beating my little heart has already endured and doesn't want me to go through all that again.  But he understands my (and my friends') concern and need to protect myself. He just asks me not to give up on us. He says he's sure we can work things out.

What does one say to that?

Thanks but no thanks

I finally had a job interview. It'd taken me months to land this one so I knew I couldn't afford to cock it up. 

I got a call in the morning scheduling the interview only 5 hours later. But I felt confident. The job was good, one I knew I was qualified for. And the salary... was more I ever though I'd make. 

Even the interview went well, though it was over very swiftly. They didn't really even ask many questions. But still I felt confident and knew I'd come across as a very capable candidate. They even told me so. Eventually I was told that the decision would be made in the next 2 days and that it would be a choice between me and an ex-intern of theirs. 

Well, the call came. I didn't get the job. I did well, though,  they said, and recommended "I should definitely keep an eye on their jobs as my background is more than ideal". The things is, I have. This is the 5th job I've applied there in the past month! They also said I should feel very pleased with myself as they rarely interview anyone from outside the agency. Oh yes I'm happy. My cheeks are hurting form all this smiling, I'm that %#*!n happy. And then came the final blow. "Perhaps I'd be interested in doing an unpaid internship instead?"

Would I? WOULD I BOLLOCKS. 

I'm so sick of hearing all this encouraging things being said about me. So sick of hearing how I have all the right qualities and skills and background when they're only wanted as long as no-one has to pay for them! 

Oh and that person who did get the job? Not just an intern, but someone who'd been doing the very job for a year and a half in the past already. 

All the jobs available out there are fixed-term contracts, projects or maternity leave substitutes. No job security, no guarantees. What kind of a future is that?

Fuck this. I've been told it might be time for me to start looking into a plan B. Only I haven't got one. Would I be willing to relocate? To an international war zone? Yes. domestically? Erm, no. I live in the capital. Anything outside it simply isn't worth the leap. Change of career? WHAT CAREER? I've been whoring in these unpaid internships for a year and a half now without any career to come out of those!

I have another interview soon for another, year-long-project. Fingers crossed. I can't afford not to get this one. 

And as for my plan B then? Marry rich. Yes, all the feminists out there, keep on burning those bras. I'm selling out. I'm done. 

Hot in the city

Now, I like summer. I can't get enough of the warmth and the sunshine. And I love how it changes people: for a few short months my grumpy countrymen are transformed into smiling, happy individuals. But it also adversely affects their judgment in the sartorial stakes... And nowhere did it become more excruciatingly evident than on the recent trip.

Just because you can (barely) fit into something, doesn't mean you should wear it. If I want to see a camel toe, I'll book a ticket to Egypt.

There's time an place for everything. Everything but a beer-bellied sun-burnt man going topless.

And as for the prostitute-inspired look (when did they become style icons?!), complete with 7-inch perspex stripper heels... I don't know what the right time or place is, but I'm fairly sure it's not right before me in a queue to the deli at 11am.

And really... I understand the allure of open-toe sandals. I do. What I don't understand are the unkempt, discoloured, fungus-ridden toes poking out of those sandals. Please, do something about yourselves, people! You service your boat before taking it out after long winter- service yourselves too!

And at the opera... Mon Dieu. People really don't know how to dress these days. Jeans are not the appropriate attire. Nor are the hiking sandals (though the women had charmingly attempted to alter the look more suitable for evening by removing the tube socks they wear them with during the day...) And as for the bags... Well, those ghastly sporty nylon messenger bags are best left with... sporty messengers? 

Uhh uhh. Clothes might not a man maketh, but it's a damn good start. 

Take Osama Bin Laden for instance. Had he shaved that horrid beard and done something with his hair (nice, short cut, perhaps a deep-conditioning treatment and a high-shine-colour rinse to finish it off?), ditched the turban and changed into a well-cut Armani-suit... He would have been hot. 

Shame about those silly, mass murderous views. I might have even gone out with him. I mean, compared to some of the weirdos out there... he doesn't actually seem all that bad.

R-E-S-P-E-C-T

I'm beginning to realize what lies at the root of most (all?) of my anger and resentment. Sense of not being appreciated. 

My background, my achievements (meagre ones, but still there), my proven abilities... not appreciated by prospective employers.

Loyalty, understanding, unwavering support, trust; everything I can give in a relationship- not appreciated by the person I want to be with.

Those two are probably the biggest sources of validation for anyone. And when they fail... Oy vey.

I know that currently even I can't bring myself to appreciate me very much.  I hate feeling like a leech, just sponging off the state benefits. I want to work! I want to utilize my talents in a way that contributes to the society! I want to pay taxes so that I can go back to making fun of people like me!

Even I'm starting to question whether I actually have anything to offer anyone. And the longer the situation continues like this...the more difficult it's going to be to prove anything different. And once I've lost the faith in my abilities, how am I going to be able to sell them to the prospective employers? 


How long before I'm one of the homeless drunks in my neighbourhood? Wouldn't that be a sight: a Louis Vuitton-bag lady complaining about the poor vintage of her bottle of anti-freeze...

He loves me, he loves me not...

As far as this "casual exchange of messages" and "seeing what he comes up with" go...  I didn't have you fooled for a second, did I?

After that initial call there have sporadic messages. With no real substance. And no matter how I made myself promise I'd be the one waiting to see what he comes up with; that he'd be in charge of initiating the contact I folded like that proverbial cheap suit. I've been texting him too. And the longer this has gone on, the less casual my approach has become. I find myself looking forward to hearing from him. I find myself feeling disappointed the longer it takes before I do. And I find myself feeling anxious not knowing if I do hear from him again.

Did I really think I could play it cool? That after everything I have at stake; everything I have emotionally invested in this, I could actually keep it casual? As if!

My friends have warned me, of course they have. They say this is just him reeling me back in and then stringing me along even more. And as much I have wasted the little energy I have had left on defending him ("no, he doesn't set out to deliberately hurt me",  "no, he's not just toying with me", "no, he's not evil, he's just confused"...) my conviction is wearing thin.

Of course he is stringing me along. If he was any more certain this time about his feelings and his needs and what he's ready for... he'd just come out and say it, right? Instead he's not promising anything, he's not even really bringing anything new into these negotiations. He's just doing what he does best- throwing a little gesture my way expecting me to eat it up like a starved stray dog, always leaving me wanting for more. 

He's not expressed his desire to take things any further. He just keeps me tied to him with the texts. And the complicated situation (What are we? Exes? Pen pals? Dating? In the process of getting back together?) allows him the freedom to keep on doing it for as long as he wants until he tires of it and I'm shoved back into what ever closet he mentally keeps me in  until feels like playing again?

No, that was wrong. It's not his freedom that allows it. It's me. I allow him to treat me that way.

And by now he should know how much all this hurts me. He should not want to do all that to me again. In fact, if he loved me, he would not want to make me go through all that again, would he?

And I do find it humiliating: knowing that everything we've been through I still wasn't enough for him to get in touch with me. Even that e-mail I sent him wasn't enough for him to want to stay in touch with me. Someone else (my sister and that e-mail she wrote) had to intervene and ask him if there might be a way to fix things. 

My feelings haven't gone anywhere. I still love him. And miss him. And want him. He's still every bit as much under my skin as he was all those months ago. And for as long as I have him in my life- no matter how small a cameo the role- I'm not going to get anywhere. And one thing I do know now is that I want to get somewhere. I am going to find someone who wants to share his life with me the way I want to share his. 

Table for one

As much as I enjoyed my recent mini-break it made me realize something.

Even I got exhausted with my itineraries. The whole point of a holiday is to...enjoy. Relax, go with the flow and not be pressured into following deadlines. Yet, this is what I do: I cram every minute full of action so as to "make the most of what little time I have". I must be horrible holiday company. Then again, how would I know since I do most of my holidaying alone. 

I also completely over-estimated the digestive capacity of my stomach. I sat through 3-course lunches and 3-course dinners and as good as the food was... something was missing. Not sure whether I've been overdoing it and have reached a point when even truly great food fails to impress me because it has become a norm and I've become blasé. Or whether it was down to the fact that I never had the chance to get hungry before the meal as I was still feeling full from the previous meal. But I have a suspicion it was an unfortunate combination of both with another special ingredient thrown it: loneliness. 

Even the most mundane of meals are transformed into a celebration when shared with someone. And great meals are turned to spectacular simply because you're not alone. You take your time, you savour every morsel, you appreciate the wine. There's talk, there's laughter; there's joy.

When you're alone, even the nice meals are so easily reduced to little more than nourishment; fuel to keep you going through the next sightseeing and the next museum. As I sat through  yet another meal, sipping wine that tasted bitter and biting into a steak that seemed overcooked I studied my fellow diners and realized. This is not right. I can't be alone for the rest of my life.

I know I've been making bold statements (without a hint over-dramatizing it) how I'll never ever give somebody the chance to break my heart ever again but if this is the other choice... I'm not having it. 

It's not that I can't be alone, it's the fact that I choose not to. I refuse to sit through every meal for the rest of my life with nothing more than an empty chair across me to stare at. I need someone to share that bottle of wine with me, someone whose plate to steal food I wish I'd ordered from, someone with whom to bicker about which pudding we're going to share.

Table for one, Miss? No. Not again. 

Children=lobotomy?

There haven't been posts in the past two days as I was away on another culinary-cultural-extravaganza. What a trip! I'm all cultured  out though for a while. I had no idea opera could last for 3,5 hours. Even James Cameron couldn't think of enough happening for 3,5 hours- he had to resort to getting Celine Dion to fill in!

I saw Carmen this time. Where a common tart finds love (where's mine? WHERE?). Ok, she does die too. Which seems to be a bit of a recurring theme here...

On the ferry there I was sitting next to a group of young, hip families with children. For an hour and a half I watched the men be... well, themselves. The women on the other hand... they were reduced to mummies. No, not the interesting, embalmed ancient rulers, but lobotomized excuses of people with a drooling kid hanging from each one of their designer-jeans-clad legs.

What happens to women? Do they push their personalities out along with the screaming kid covered in slime? All these women could talk about were their kids and how appalled they are that the nursery serves juice (yes, juice. Apparently juice is evil in a way that genocides can't even compete with). See, their kids are not used to it as they only drink water and milk except for the someone who only consumes oatmilk yada yada blaah blaah. An hour and a half, people!

I don't want kids. Never have. That was one of the things me and The Man always had in common. But I understand that there are people who do and they're free to do so. Even if it does mean that while I have to fight just to get an internship or a temporary contract, these women's jobs are safe while they're away on maternity leaves and child care leaves and then go on having another child and then stay home for yet another leave. But no, their jobs are safe and waiting for them when they decide they feel like coming back.

And then when they do, they are the ones staying home when the kids get sick (and let's face it- they do that a lot. They always have runny noses and head lice and God knows what they pick up from other kids at the nurseries that really seem like little more than petri dishes in a filthy Albanian lab) and they have to get off early to pick up the kids and then they have to go and attend someone's violin recital and organize their holidays around the kids' holidays... And all the while who's doing overtime and covering for their absence and making concessions and adjusting? The single women! ME!

They might have chosen to have the kids, but everyone around them ends up having to organize their lives around those kids.


(And anyway, kids hate me. The younger they are -and as such, incapable of actually verbally expressing their disdain- the more prone they are to just quietly staring at me disapprovingly. With such passion it borders on contempt. No, I'm not making this up.)

What really gets me though is not the fact that people are having kids. It's the fact that my friends are having them. I worry I'll lose them to that lobotomia too. That they will start hanging out exclusively with other couples with kids as we'll have nothing to share anymore.  That their lives take a turn that leaves no room for me anymore. 

Already now I feel I can't contribute to the conversations as I don't even have a job- another major conversation topic. I don't want to lose my friends. But if that is what happens to women... is there anything I can do?

Very soon the only friends I'll have left will be my football guys. Even if they did settle down one day, they're more likely to retain a non-parent-personality and be able/ willing to take some time off from the life revolving around nappies and potty-training and milk allergies and play dates.

Where will my life evolve? With whom will it evolve? This just can't be it.

Moving on in life...or not

Not sure if it's the headiness of the early summer days when everything seems possible, or whether it's this blog and being forced to process my rambling thoughts into logical sentences but I'm starting to feel... better. Hopeful even. I haven't cried in 5 days now. It could also be down to those desperate attempts to go out and do things. Something in any case has shifted.

I've started paying attention to real food again. I haven't had pizza in 2 weeks. Yesterday I found myself frustrated at the poor quality of the Serrano ham available in my neck of the woods ( I know, wars and famine are dreadful things but... so is bad ham! Just look at the ailing economy in Spain!) - no matter how fussy fastidious as this might seem to the untrained eye, trust me, it's a good sign.

I even attempted to do my hair (with the curling iron that hasn't seen the day light since my 30th birthday and the hair loss incident) the other day!

And I even went shopping. No, not online where you can conveniently hide your tear-stained face and sweatpants behind the anonymity of Paypal, but actual shops. And I've booked a new weekend trip!

Something to do with this (sudden?) buoyancy might have the fact that a contact has tentatively been re-established. The Man called. We talked. He seems convinced we could "do better". As according to him "we're pretty damn good together". 


Now, words were never his forte and in his time he did administer some confidence-shattering blows ("less muffin-top", anyone?), but he's no match to a man I just read about. On his death bed he told his wife to "get her boobs sorted out as they're not as good as they used to be" (this is a true story.). Well, I bet they weren't- she was 66! And a grandmother of 13!!!

Anyway. So far there have been a couple of text messages. We'll see. 

I could blow-dry my hair with the furious eye-rolling going and finger-wagging on out there right now. But before you start pelting me with bad eggs and rotten tomatos... let's just see what he has to say, ok? I'm taking this cautiously. I can't afford to let him do this to me again. Now more than ever I need some kind of a guarantee. So... let's see what he has to offer, shall we?

Twilight zone

The same friend who I was scared might be getting ready for a "Secret"- laden intervention, has just been to see a channeler. That's some kind of a psychic for you not in the know. I'm not sure what to make of that... But the visionboards, universe boxes and the like really seem to be doing the trick for her. Perhaps I, too, should give it a try? After all, terrestrial solutions have been tried and tested and only have given me huge hangovers and vicious Visa bills...

Part of me tells me to steer clear as I'm fairly sure it's not very kosher. Part of me is curious (even remembering what happened to the cat...) But what would it reveal? That I'm already in my 15th life and still don't know any better? That I will meet a tall, dark, handsome stranger? I already have! Well, someone who was tall, dark and handsome 20 years ago, anyway...


Is it just the fear of letting go? Or the fear of unknown? I believe that we get one life at the end of which we'll, somewhat inevitably, die. But I've studied religions and the belief in reincarnation is at the very core of say, Hinduism. In Israel I've also  encountered Druzes whose religion also openly embraces the same idea. Can it then be limited to those people? I die (alone, miserable and surrounded by cats) thinking bitterly "so, this was it then" and they go on having more reruns than Seinfeld? 


I'm not sure the idea of having a stranger put me to sleep to tell me about my past lives (and inevitably, mistakes) is very comforting.  But my reluctance doesn't mean it couldn't be true. It's like platform shoes or mixing pink with orange. I personally might not believe in those, but it doesn't mean they're not happening.


I know that now more than ever I should focus on myself and my personal growth. Evolving and improving and all that. The whole twilight zone is just another frontier I'm not quite willing to cross... Not yet, anyway.

Life is a battlefield

I don't have a job, love or money. I don't really have anything. But this blog and the wayward steps down the memory lane have made me realize exactly what I've had to get through to get to this point. What we all go through in life, really.

Looking back part of me can't believe I'm only 33. I've crawled through eating disorders, bouts of depression, self-harming and suicidal periods. I've witnessed war, evacuation, occupation and revolution. 

There have been part-time jobs, temporary jobs, jobs I hated, jobs where I was hated, first jobs, permanent jobs, jobs that came with the staff discount (that pretty much trashed the whole idea of actually making any money...), jobs I hated but loved the colleagues, job I was let go from, jobs I quit and jobs I was never even offered. 

Then there have been the haircuts. I've had short hair, long hair, dark hair, red hair, stripey hair, bleached hair and now, highlighted, carefully maintained barely-there hair.

And there have been men... Dates (many firsts there), boyfriends, one-night-stands (well, one one-night-stand that I ended dating  so I suppose even that one doesn't count...), a fiancé, long-distance lovers, lunatic lovers... There have been break-ups so debilitating I genuinely thought my heart would stop from the sheer pain. There have been break-ups I still don't remember anything about. 

At times life has been pretty brutal. 

Yet somehow I've managed to come out the other end, still standing. A lot of the credit goes to my friends. I wouldn't have been able to pull through if it hadn't been for them. 

So... perhaps I'll get through this dark phase in my life too? Perhaps there will be light at the end of this tunnel?


That would, obviously, require stopping living in the memories and focusing on the future. And that, as has become evident, is easier said than done...

Shop til you drop

Queen just celebrated her Diamond Jubilee, having occupied that throne of hers for 60 years now. My word, that lady knows her bling...!

I do love a good royal knees-up. Any royal family will do, really. A couple of summers ago the Swedish Crown Princess married her personal trainer-come-Prince Charming. I was ready and raring to go. I donned my favourite tiara and the champagne was chilled to perfection.  What I failed to take into consideration in all this excitement was that I'd just been discharged from the hospital and was on 5 different prescription drugs for kidney infection. 3 hours later I woke up under the kitchen table, having passed out and happily slept through the entire ceremony, the tiara still perched on the top of my head... Drugs and alcohol, kids. They really don't mix.

I took part in this year's celebrations by purchasing a skirt in the jubilant colours of the Union Jack. You see, any excuse to go shopping will do...

I once bought an entire golf-wardrobe because I was convinced I'd love the game. That was 10 years ago. I still haven't acquired my green card. In fact, I never even made it to the range from the introductory G&T's. 

I also have the perfect outfits to go sailing (another sport I'm determined to embrace). I'll look so fab when lounging on the deck and basking in the sun. Obviously I can't go anywhere near water as they're dry-clean only.

I am also in the possession of an extensive workout wardrobe. Should I ever need it. I once purchased a Pilates DVD because it promised visible results in days. I've had the DVD for about 6 years now. No visible results, I can tell you. And the DVD doesn't even have a warning label that tells you that in order to get the results you must first remove the plastic wrapper, insert the disc into your DVD player and actually follow the instructions. How's that for false advertising?

I also have an Israeli Army t-shirt that I honestly can't think of a single socially acceptable function to wear it to.  And the perfect dress (ok, two perfect dresses) for sitting around the camp-fire under the African sunset after a safari. You know, for when I'll have the time and money to actually go on one...

And I have enough little black dresses to see me through all of my friends' funerals (if you guys are reading this... sorry). With a less than 3-minute-notice I could also produce an appropriate outfit (including a collection of fascinators) should the invitation to Queen's garden party/ Ascot/ any royal wedding ever make it through my letter box. 

I also just happen to have a glamorous, yet modest and elegantly ethnic wardrobe in case I'll ever get kidnapped and locked in a palace somewhere in Oman. Or in case I find a job as Dr. Who's assistant and end up timewarped in the 50's Hollywood (those could happen...).

I might not be organized or be able to plan ahead, but sartorially I am prepared for anything. 

What a shame then it is that I spend all my time hiding at home, wearing sweat pants and The Man's old rugby shirt...