frank had it wrong

I read that Sinatra once said 'the great thing about unrequited love is that it's the only kind that lasts'.

At the time, I thought that line was quite poetic and romantic, kind of a moment when the audience goes 'awww' and everyone gets a warm fuzzy feeling in their stomach.

Right now it just makes me want to throw something against the wall and stomp my feet. Unrequited love sucks. It is the bane of my existence and I spit on Sinatra and anyone who agrees with what he says.

Wankers.

.....


On an entirely different note - I think I have spent WAY too much money putting together my Halloween costume this year. Unfortunately for me, I neglected to read my invitation for the party I'm attending carefully (or really at all) and somehow missed the fact that it's an 'Alice in Wonderland' themed party.

Therefore, my flapper 1920s girl costume might stand out from the Alices and Queen of Hearts in the crowd.

But that's nothing a few glasses of white wine won't solve right?

Besides, when I wandered into the new Anthropologie that just opened up on Regents Street, I couldn't help but buy this gorgeous headband that I will no doubt use again...

why do I even bother dating? part two

I was cleaning my room tonight and came across my...wait for it....score card from a speed dating event I'd gone to a few months ago.

Before you start to judge me (which I'm sure you already have) please let's rewind this a little bit.

I had just made the move to London not long ago and when my coworker asked me if I was interested in going, I figured that:

a) It would be entertaining
b) What else was I going to do on a Tuesday night
c) How bad could it be

In the end, yes it was entertaining, after copious amounts of white wine, and yes, there wasn't much else I could do on a Tuesday night, but I underestimated how bad it really was going to be

My scorecard really gets less legible as the night went on, but let's give you a little overview on a few of the gentlemen who graced my presence that night. (note: this is actually a copy of what i wrote down that night...)

1. James - Asian, soft spoken

2. Michael - likes to travel, spiritual, creepy

(he actually told my friend that she had amazing eyes, and that he hadn't had sex in over a year, and she might be the one he finally makes love to...he just asked me if I was spiritual and whether I believed in a higher being)

3. Andy - cross eyed

(totally threw me off, I didn't know which eye to look at)

4. Mike - potentially gay

5. Kel - asked me if I had been fired from my job

6. Maxim - definitely gay

7. Gee - Yugoslavian guy, gay?

8. Malden - short IT guy going bald

How did the night end, you may wonder, after this particularly spectacular showing of the male sex?

Let's just say I embraced my bottle of white wholeheartedly to get myself through the two hours of an endless 4 minute rotations of hell - so much so that I had quite the rough night and morning after.

Still, I can't seem to throw out this scorecard - call me sentimental, but I do hope that somewhere and sometime these men find their perfect match. And at some point, in sometime, I'll find someone who isn't potentially gay, cross-eyed or deemed creepy after the first minute of conversation.

i lust you...

Last week I went to a special screening of the new Ricky Gervais film 'Cemetery Junction' with my friend, the lovely L.

It was an advance screening for market research purposes - meaning we had our cell phones and blackberries confiscated, and were given a survey to fill out afterwards. The film, for having no expectations whatsoever, was actually quite good. It was one of those feel good films you walk out of and feel determined to conquer the world. (As opposed to wanting to crawl into a corner and cry, which is how I felt after watching 'House of Sand and Fog' - definitely the most depressing film ever)

The highlight of the film was the leading actor. Whoever casted him as the protagonist should be given a gold medal in casting hot unknown stars. Similar to how Robert Pattison shot into stardom after being casted as Edward, I predict that Christian Cooke is going to get a ton of attention once this film is released to the public. Just look at those puppy dog eyes....

Seven minutes in (hamburger) heaven

My weekend dinner plans never go as planned. I was planning on making a massive pot of chili tonight and freezing portions for those lazy mid-week nights.

Then I got the text message that my friends were making homemade hamburgers. So plans for chili went out the window and I was out the door to take a bus down to hamburger heaven.

Nothing beats making your own burger patties. Skip the frozen and pre-made ones, that is unless you prefer eating a thin sliver of grey mystery meat. No, making your own patties is super easy - even I can do it. All you really need is some good quality ground beef, and then play around with whatever you have in your cupboards. I typically like to add minced onion, whatever spices are in my cupboard, an egg and breadcrumbs. Tonight I learned a new trick of adding grated parmesan to keep it moist and add a kick of flavour (Thanks E.!)

Hamburger heaven was ready at around nine, and the six of us sat down to utter bliss. There's nothing like piling your burger with crisp lettuce, fresh tomatoes, sweetly carmalised onions, an assortment of condiments, then the first bite, juices dribbling down your chin and onto your plate as you try to keep your delicious creation from falling apart.

L. commented that hamburgers shouldn't be eaten on a first date, but I happen to disagree. There's nothing sexier than seeing someone truly enjoy their food...and it's always good to know that they're willing to get themselves a little dirty....

best line I've read in a long time...

I abso-fucking-lutely love Liberty London Girl. Having just stumbled upon her blog a few months ago, I get to read old posts she's written and I love her style and wit.

This particular post was about getting over her cheating ex and meeting another charming man who has an 'MA in flirting'. When I read her last paragraph, I actually laughed out loud.

"...it was most cathartic; a most unexpected experience which I highly recommend for anyone struggling to get over their fuckwit ex. The moral of the story: flirting doesn’t have to mean anything, but Christ it puts a spring in your step."

LLG...how true you are.

Great Balls of Fire!!!

There I was, standing in a crowd of people in a room, looking at a canon and eagerly awaiting with bated breath for the gallery worker to load it up with a ball of red wax and shoot it into the opposite room.



This is how I spent my Saturday afternoon... at the Royal Academy of Arts with my friend D. checking out the new Anish Kapoor exhibit.

I honestly didn't understand any of the art I was looking at, nor was I particularly moved by any of it. The general feeling was of total confusion, as well as a mad desire to touch some of waxy residue left behind by the great square of red wax that moved back and forth between galleries.



I wish I had one of my artsy art history friends who could enlighten me as to how these installations may relate to the decay of human kind or something like that.

Outside was a giant installation of towering silvery bulbs that reminded me of.....Christmas. Yes, instead of being filled with inspiring beauty or an aching for the loss of society's compassion, I was moved with the image of mistletoe and twinkling lights.




Tomorrow I start at my company as an official employee, no longer just an intern. I can't wait to start. Honestly, I'd much rather be stressed out over a work project than trying to wrap my head around giant globs of red wax.

Besides, it doesn't leave a stain on my clothes.

why do I even bother dating?

Ok, the events described below actually happened a few weeks ago, but I was prompted by Melon to share them because of the sheer ridiculous-ness of it all (which is apparently highly entertaining for others). Plus I came across a similar post by one of my favourite bloggers - London Liberty Girl, which inspired me to recount my own dating horror story.

I met D. at a posh bar in Mayfair one Friday night, when I unwittingly ventured out for a quiet night with a girlfriend, which turned into bar hopping with a group of very made up, very posh girls.

He seemed nice enough, and had a sexy French accent which sold me. We made plans later that week to go for dinner and drinks.

We met at the Berkley Hotel (which is actually pronounced the BARK-ley) and is apparently one of the poshest places in London (accordingly to said friend who I had gone out with that Friday night and is an expert in all things posh). Not really my scene, but I was intimidated enough to wear heels, straighten my hair and attempt to wear make up.

Like a snowball rolling down a hill and gathering momentum, my date went downhill right from the beginning.

Gentlemen reading this, take note...

1. Do NOT make a big fuss about my ordering a glass of champagne (which cost 35 pounds...oops) and make a fuss about how scared you are to get the bill. You picked the damn place, deal with the consequences of my not ordering water and a side salad

2. Do NOT slouch on the banquet, pushing me to the edge so that I have to politely ask you repeatedly to move over because 'I'm about to fall off the bench'

3. I don't care that your parents have a place in Lake Como (or Como as you call it), if I don't sound impressed, don't continue trying it impress me

4. Here's a hint, if I asked you to stop kissing my shoulder, that actually means stop kissing my shoulder and don't move onto my arm or any other part of my body. If I'm trying to move away from you, it's because I don't want to be next you

5. Do NOT start the date by telling me all about your gym workout. I don't care what you bench pressed, nor does it interest me at all that you work out 6 days a week.

6. Do NOT say that you think gays are unnatural and disgusting, especially AFTER I've told you that my best friend is gay

7. And when I start to get angry over your ignorant remarks, don't say 'Oh, I'm glad you're getting excited...'

8. When I say that I don't want children, do not patronizingly say 'of course you do' and then try to kiss my arm (see point #4)

9. Here's a hint, if you can't even be bothered to buy a couch in your living room, but rather are proud of the fact that you have not one, but three bean bags instead, that's just pathetic, not cool

10. When you pay the bill and I graciously thank you for dinner, do not tap your cheek for a kiss, and if I'm stupid enough to actually give you a kiss on the cheek, please don't turn and try to make out with me.

11. If I literally have to push you off of me, that means I'm not interested

12. It also means that I'm not coming over, no matter what you think or how much you hint at it.

Oh, D... I was going to erase your number from my phone, but just like my heroine, Rebecca Bloomwood, did in a scene from 'Confessions of a Shopaholic', I will change your ringtone to 'Do not pick up this call, repeat, do not pick up the phone....'

Why do I keep on this dating scene? As George puts it... you gotta have faith.

Onwards and upwards!