Home for the Holidays

This is the first year I've ever come home for the holidays! That statement sounds much bolder than it actually is because apart from last year, I've always been home for the holidays. Born and raised in Vancouver, I've always had my crazy family around me during the holidays (and all other days). Family dynamics are so peculiar. Each one with their own obsurd and unsettling (if not disturbing) quirks. Frighteningly, I don't think much about my family is incredibly unique. Here are some common behaviours:

1. Silent Partners - Although they spent a large chunk of their lives around each other, direct communication is now taboo.
2. Eyes Wide Shut - The family members who refuse to acknowledge obvious truths and voluntarily turn a blind eye to all kinds of bullshit.

3. Singles Stigma - If you're 30-something, single and ethnic... You're parents may suspect you've got the gay.
4. Brinksmanship - Do you have more money than your cousin? More children? More clout? Anything measurable is up for comparison. 

5. Tradition as a Weapon - Old world traditions are often introduced into the new world as a manipulative tactic. We all know the women that translate the male role of "protector" into "payer" (of everything).

6. Fake Fanatics - Fijians fake the funk when it comes to religion and custom because most families just make stuff up. I think most like to appear pious. 

We like to drink, dance and dine on loads of amazing food. Hopefully the shindig ends before a fight breaks out.

This isn't just my family, right?

More In My Ear

I've lived in London for over a year now and my ear is definitely getting sharper. Not only am I able to allocate people to a specific region in the UK as soon as they open their mouths, I'm still discovering (and re-discovering) some great music. Now, it's not all British, but here's how I knock my head these days:

Friendly Fires - Skeleton Boy
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GyA8zfouG4Y

Joe Strummer and the Mescaleros - Bhindi Bhagee

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bI7UCJN-mu8&feature=related

Amateur Transplants - The Drug Song

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KXROnzpsrlg

Prince - Rasberry Beret

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=87k4QLn_q-Y

Vanity 6 - Nasty Girl

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PEDRyJT240w

Caribou - She's The One

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XUNTeYjQHt4&feature=related

Feist - Inside and Out
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NmG0sPyZJBg

Camera Obscura - Hey Lloyd, I'm Ready to be Heartbroken
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Who4OL08iR8

Charlie

Why is Charlie short for Charles? Both have 7 letters.

Thanks to Candied Carbs

Hey, I just figured out why Americans are so fat! Kidding. Sweet potatoes seasoned with cinnamon, nutmeg and brown sugar and completely covered under a thick blanket of marshmallows. Yes, this is the traditional American Thanksgiving dish called Candied Yams... mmmm.

When did I make this startlingly sweet discovery? I was at an American Thanksgiving dinner held at a friend's place. Tiff's originally from Arizona, but she has lived in the UK for 3 years and celebrates the occasion with food, friends and all that patriotic fanfare each year. It was a highly enjoyable affair. In fact, one of the guests blogged about the meal the next morning. Check it out: http://www.hotandchilli.com/2011/11/thanksgiving-at-tiff.html

The enjoyment started with the food. I had always heard of a dish called Candied Yams, but was pleased with the surprise and delight it provided my tastebuds. The mushroom gravy was divine and the bird was very well basted. I actually loosened my belt buckle while seated at the table. Perhaps not the best form, but the company was forgiving and a perfect complement to the meal.

The entertainment continued with newfound friends. First, the chef... I've known Tiff for about a year. A beautiful human being (and I don't often talk that way). Everyone else was new to me. Upon arrival, I met Sam whose a clever, young Brit on his way to Montreal to have the live/work abroad experience (that's original, right?). Then came a well travelled documentary film maker who sleeps in his flatmates beds when they're out of town, collects womens leggings and likes to play with dolls (right... That's original). Rosa, the hot and chilli Brazillian food blogger immortalised the evening with her take on the night. And Nelsey kept the crowd classy with her ability to coordinate the night (she's an actress so she was conducting things).

The essence of the evening remained patriotic as we literally gave thanks. Before dining, we went around the table and each shared something we were thankful for in our lives. The evening was fantastic and by the next morning, I was lucky enough to have several more reasons to give thanks. xxx.

Born Again

Every Sunday, there is a place where people wear fancy dress, unite in worship and celebrate a higher power... That higher power is the DJ and this place of worship is The Clapham Grand. Originally established in 1979 and governed mostly by the antipodean set, this event encourages drinking, dancing and fancy dress (costume) from noon to 4PM. http://www.thechurch.co.uk/

For months, I've gone on my Sunday runs that terminate at Clapham Junction and scratched my head at this spectacle. After an hour intervals up and down and challenging my VO2 max, I reach a state of exhaustion that feels like delirium when I walk through streets littered with drunken monkeys, cowboys and tennis teams in the middle of the day. Spiritual halucinations these are not. However, the whole concept reminds of a scene from an episode of the Simpsons called, "Hurricane Neddy".

[Ned talks to God after his house is destroyed.]
Ned: Why me, Lord? I've always been good. I don't drink or dance or swear. I've even kept kosher just to be on the safe side. I've done everything the Bible says! Even the stuff that contradicts the other stuff! What more can I do? I...I..I feel like I wanna yell out, but I just can't dang-darn-diddly-darn-dang-ding-dong-diddly-darned do it! I just...I... [sigh].

So The Church at Clapham Grand is the opposite of what Ned would do...

Once My Flame, Twice My Burn

Insanity \in-ˈsa-nə-tē\: doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results

-Albert Einstein

Is there a limit to your love? A fierce loyalty, desire to love without barrier and disregard for convention in relationships has often left me reaching for my revolver. Perhaps this is an unfavourable approach? Although the many misguided theories I promote tout my greatest mistakes as my greatest accomplishments, I'm beginning to recognise the benefits of installing a limit. Wasted time, exhausted energy and expectations disappointed are all reflections that infuriate, but they must be essential. So where does this limit live? Consider the evolution that takes place under the guise of wasted time, all the wonderful ways to expend energy and all the disappointments that underwrite our delight.

Loving recklessly allows you to etch out new space in an old world. Unfolding yourself into this space is phenomenal. Where the air only expands in tandem with the bond. In time, a language is crafted and this native tongue is exclusive to the resident individuals. Lending your emotion begins to inherit heart. Igniting a fragment of yourself that somehow flows through a flue to alter what was your fact. Infallable? Friction is both physical and emotional. Emblazoned in fire. This space is found for few. And a flickering flame is sometimes best blown out? Forgiveness settles into cinder and maybe I still suffer from insanity.

Dabbling in the Inappropriate

Ever say something that has an unintended connotation? Well, my offenses have reached a height where I actually enjoy using inappropriate, sexually charged terminoligy in everyday speak. Why? Mostly to raise eyebrows, but also as an attempt to deconstruct the stigma around openly discussing sex. The list below includes the terms and phrases that are currently on high rotation in my vocabulary...

Tap - the act of sex. However, I like to use it as a way to express interest in anything. For example, there are tons of restaurants in London that I'd like to tap. 

Hit it and Quit it - a brief, singular sexual encounter. I've expanded this definition to include brief encounters of all kinds. For instance, a quick grocery shop where I hit it and quit it in 5 minutes.

I'll wash your sink - this is a less explicit version of 'I'll suck your dick', which is typically what crackheads say when pleading for cocaine. I've cleaned it up a bit and use it as an alternative to 'pretty please'. So when I ask to borrow a DVD and express my need by saying, "C'mon, I'll wash your sink?"... You know what time it is. 

Who's s/he planning on sending that to? - Usually in reference to sending an erotic photo or video to a partner, but there's cause for concern when the content is unflattering, right? So anything unimpressive from an outfit to a boss's management style could provoke this question.

Bent over - a sexual position where one party bends over and the other penetrates from behind. This phrase is common place  in conversations to describe situations where you've been unjustly treated or taken advantage of or... bent over.

Now most of you have probably heard me say all of the above at least once and some of you have even joined or inspired the terms, but all of you have definitely found yourselves in each of the scenerios I'm talking about (choose your translation). 

1 Year Ago...

...I moved to London. 

Shut Happens

While walking through Camden Town, I noticed a store that was closed and had put up a sign that read: Shut Happens. Clever. 

The creativity employed by retail and restaurant establishments in the UK is great! Here are some locations with great names:

1. Pie Minister - one of the UK's best meat pie restaurants
2. Nin Com Soup - a health concious soup, juice and coffee bar

3. Wok and Roll - this one's pretty self expanatory

Yum! The food in each of the above is quite good too.

Tardy

I'm late.
This statement alarms most people who are meeting a friend, catching a flight or sexually active, but anyone who knows me... Knows better because I'm probably just floundering.

Not taking hours getting ready.
Not missing a train (regardless of what transport injustices I report).
Not sleeping through an alarm.
Nope. I just flounder.

That is to say I ponder the world as it relates to me (including the obligation to which I will be late). I consider irrelevant issues like a healthier grocery list, moisturising my dry legs or the ergonomics of my sleeping positions. Most (and worst) of all, I mischievously squander this 'bonus' time with a brand of giddy delight similar to that felt when a cashier gives you incorrect change or makes a transaction error in your favour. This time would otherwise be spent preparing, travelling to the destination where my timely attendance was expected. However, by neglecting to meet this expectation, I create a temporary matrix where time is duplicated and available for my use.

Perhaps I'm a rebel who shuns rigid instructions? You want me to be where? And you want me there when? Right.

Lateness implies a blatant disrespect for others time, lack of organisation and general selfishness. That's terrible, but I embody all of these characteristics. Regardless of how innocent my lateness might appear, this is a very bad character trait. And one that I must reform.

To start, I will aim to arrive to all engagements 30 minutes in advance of the actual meeting time. Let's see how I do!

I Once Owned A Dishwasher

Recently, I walked into my kitchen looking for a late night snack. I thought about the tub of yogurt in the refrigerator. Glanced at a glass bowl. And knew that a small spoon was waiting for me in the utensils drawer.

I then considered the dishwashing that would be associated with a few dallops of yogurt and decided to go to bed instead.

Funny.

Caput Mundi?

I love Italy. Romance can be found in it's people, landscape and cuisine. You must absolutely surrender yourself to it's lure because being fussy will get you nowhere in this magnificent country. They call Rome Caput Mundi or capital of the world. Its stylish, cool and ever so relaxed way of doing things is a way of life that I envy and forever remind myself to strive to duplicate. This is a task that will take me forever to duplicate because I'm a little neurotic. And the lack of organizational structure drove me mad on my last night in Italy!

Is your train late? Normale. Why does the Trenitalia website display journeys that are no longer available? Normale. Did your departure station change without notification? Normale. The night went something like this...

Purchase ticket.

Metro line A.

Transfer.

Metro line B.

Metro line B (other direction).

Alight at Rome Tiburtina.

Paris bound:)

Arrêt:(

Concrete. Construction. Confusion.

Rome Tiburtina is closed!
Metro line B (original direction).
New rail station - Rome Station Termini.

Locate train.

Board.

Normale.

The Broomstick

Let me be clear - what happened in London this week is bullshit. A bunch of punks wanted a fight and some free stuff. The greater question is why do they seek these things? One cannot deny that social disadvantages and unemployment are both rampant in London and a destitute living situation is the result. Unfortunately, those most adversely affected by today's economic conditions are choosing to express their frustrations unproductively, but perhaps the only way they know how.

This week, I was relieved, on the radio and even riveted!

RELIEF: I wasn't attacked or a passenger on any of these buses that were set on fire, but while shopping I was evacuated from a grocery store in Clapham Junction. Heeding all warnings, I went straight home. An hour later, that grocer and it's surrounding retailers were mobbed by rioters.

RADIO: Amazed by my close brush with danger, I was contacted by a friend who works in Canada as a reporter to be a guest on her station's talk radio show. I agreed and participated in a panel conversation about the London riots. I was introduced as a "Canadian living in London, a city under siege" and immediately asked if I was safe. I wonder if people in the middle east ever get tired of answering that question?

RIVET: If there was any doubt about safety, Borris Johnson, the mayor of London, extinguished all fear as he appeared in Clapham Junction the next day and spoke to a crowd of proud Londoners ready to clean-up their streets and carrying brooms. As a symbol of solidarity and fearlessness, the broom stick was held high... And sure enough, the many heads that hung low in the days prior also began to rise.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_fgapIFUTVI

I Got Better Things To Do...

It's a brighter day than ever before

'Cause I don't think aboutchya no more.
I got better things to do than remember you.

me. funkalicious chic
soulful side-kick? vacancy
gig. Sharon Jones and the Dap-Kings

say what? Show starts at 7:30PM. I buy my single ticket at 7:35PM and rock out for 3 hours.
why? Because I gots ta!

Annoyed by work, relationships, flatmates and that hum drum nature of everyday life, I decided to break out of the cookie-cutter mould and head to the Barbican concert hall. I'd never gone to a concert alone, but jazzing up a random Wednesday night was what I needed in my life! A defiant release of pent up angst came in the form of dance and song for me. Momentarily beaten down by the social obligation that was my life, I sought inspiration through the chorus of Ms. Jones. It's clear she's a woman that you don't mess with. I need a little more of that gritty edge in my swagger ;). 

I surprised myself that night because I was not chagrined in the least by my solo state. Perhaps I'm coming into my own after all.

What's the definition of your definition?

Hmmm. I think I was a "problem" customer the other day because I had trouble reading a menu.

Huffa

What's a huffa? 

It's like a sandwich, but it's in a bap.

Bap
What's a bap? 

It's a big bun.

Brown Sauce
What is brown sauce?

HP



After my odd line of questioning, I had no choice, but to order the huffa. Luckily, it was delicious.

Analog Altercation

In a world dominated by digital entertainment, operations and service, the analog way of life can be challenging. Simple and basic were once words I used to differentiate analog from the complicated digital stuff, but this is no longer the case.

Picture it. 

It was a sweltering summer day in June 2011.
I was on my way to Suffolk to bask in the landscapes immortalized by English romantic painter, John Constable. 

When Suffolk was announced as the next stop, I prepared to alight. Perplexed when the doors did not automatically open, I made a few panicked attempts to open the door with brute force. Sure enough, the train pulled away and I missed my stop. The first train employee I saw heard all about my troubles with opening doors. At that point, he walked me over to the door and explained that there are no open buttons or auto-sensors on these older trains. Instead, doors only open when you push down the window, reach outside, pull up a lever and glide the door open.

Of course.

Wimbledon

I grew up playing tennis. Although it was not formally competitive, my parents, sibling, aunts, uncles, cousins, etc. always took the sport seriously. A regular summer activity as a child was to play tennis in public courts. We'd be so obsessive that after the sun set we'd play well into the night. This was normally fine because the courts were illuminated by flood lights that were lit until 11PM PST. I know the exact time the lights went out because on more than one occasion, we found ourselves in the midst of serious nail-biting court combat that only ceased when the lights shut off. Our parents would then yell at all of us kids to search and collect all of the tennis balls so difficult to detect on those dark summer nights - thank goodness for their bright green hue!

The grand slams were always watched and recorded on VHS tapes as we followed the careers of our favourite tennis stars - Andre Agassi, Pete Sampras, Michael Chang, Steffi Graph, Monica Seles and Martina Hingis. My dad used to get up at all hours of the night to watch the elite match ups live.

My brother even had a court name so during play he preferred to be called the Rad Roo.

Our family has a lifetime of stories about tennis play, competition, fights, racket throwing and confrontations with anyone who thinks they can stay on a public court longer than the allotted 20 minutes. I'll hold all these memories very close to my heart and am thankful everyday that my dad is such a tennis freak. I really miss him today because his little girl walked around the Wimbledon grounds and watched a game on Centre Court.

It's moments like these that I can barely contain my emotion. I thought I'd be writing about my amazing day at Wimbledon (and let me confirm, it was unreal), but instead I find myself lamenting about my family, how crazy they are and how lucky I am.

Goodnight Vancouver

Like I always say, Vancouver is the most beautiful city I have ever seen. Amidst violent riots, a heavy police presence and a deep sadness over the loss of a victory so near, there is a soft and endearing innocence that reverberates just below the surface. In this case, it spilled right onto the street.

The Royal Ascot

This year we celebrate 300 years of horse racing in style with The Royal Ascot.

Meeting the strict dress code with ease...

The men were outfitted in tuxedos, day vests and top hats, while women strolled around in elaborate hats or substantial fascinators. At first, the horses are something of an after-thought because the people watching is spectacular. The brass bands, bustling bars and sing-a-longs are also impressive!

Apart from the fashion, Queen Elizabeth II attendance also made me feel quite fancy (just in case the hat and glove wasn't enough). This was definitely one of those "I can't believe I live here" days. I truly felt like I had waltzed back in time and enjoyed every moment of all the fanfare.

Back to the Future

Did you know that costume in the UK is referred to as "fancy dress"? Just a little factoid I learned as I was invited to my first fancy dress party! 

The Principal, Hover Board and Doc

When an invitation to a party being thrown by a friend's old flat-mate was extended to me, I happily accepted. I hadn't seen Back To The Future in ages, so I was a little concerned about what to wear... A lot of women peal off their clothes at the mere mention of fancy dress, but I lack the straight face required to successfully conduct myself in such a low-functioning manner. In fact, Biff was the character that first came to mind, but I couldn't find a buzz-cut wig. I then opted for the classic approach and channeled my inner Marty McFly Jr. Yep, my look was Michael J. Fox as Marty McFly.

Cross dressing is always fun, but remember that I don't know this crowd. A friend merely extended an invite to a person's birthday party who was unknown to me. Although I take a moment to remind you of my newcomer status, I did not take heed of this fact.

1. DRESS LIKE A GIRL

First impressions are important, so challenging gender boundaries is not the best way to make my acquaintance.

2. HAVE A BACK-UP PLAN
Upon arrival, I quickly saw that most people had brought along rucksacks with a change of cloths. I, on the other hand, was committed to my inner McFly by not bringing along a change of cloths. Whats more, I had a very spiky wig that was affixed to my head with hundreds of bobby pins. Plus, I hadn't washed my hair in a few days, so the 'do was a greasy, hot mess that definitely did not deserve exposure.

A model of the Clock Tower

3. OVERCOME EMBARRASSMENT
There were a lot of horrendous moments for me at this party: a gust of wind blew my wig off my head while on the patio, I hadn't ever even met the birthday boy, but had one of the more elaborate costumes, an hour into the party most people changed or took off the fancy part of their dress while I remained affixed to my look and upon arrival I inquired about the toilet because I wanted to check my teeth for pesto, but it was occupied. Someone overheard my inquiry so when the toilet was vacant they poked their head out onto the patio (where most of the party was assembled) and very loudly advised: Shelly, the toilet is free. Wasn't sure if you had an emergency before, but it's ready for you now.

What more can you say to that other than: Thanks.

Handheld Fondue

I like to think of myself as gastronomically inclined, but we all have our moments... Most recently, I was caught shoveling foot-in-mouth at a train station where I decided to get a sandwich for the journey ahead and packed it away as my meal for when the inevitable "are we there yet" point hit. Of course, being in the possession of food induced hunger immediately after I was sat on the train. When I opened my parcel I found a very messy sandwich with cheese slathered all over its exterior. 

Upon my messy discovery, a friend meeting me on the other end of my journey sent me a text to ensure that I successfully boarded the train. I shared my disappointment with her which prompted her to ask,

"Did the sandwich get tossed around in your bag?". No.

"Well, get something else." Most who know me would be aware that I was far too frugal to make purchases on transport vehicles.

Yuck, it was like a handheld fondue! Sticky, stringy cheese and creamy sauce oozing all over the place! I'm sure the guy sitting next to me was equally impressed. By the end of it, I had cheesy hands, a transparent layer of goop on my forehead and an overall feeling of crumbs and cheesy remnants scattered all over my being. That was pretty shit. And fairly quickly forgotten until...

Last week, I went to Toronto for a wedding. During the trip, I had brunch at a very unassuming, classic French Patisserie called, Pain Perdue. Here, while dining with friends, I noticed a much more up-market version of my handheld fondue.


And it was here that I was formally (properly) introduced to Parisian fast-food. Say hello to the Croque Monsieur.

Picturehouse

Day: Sunday

Time: 5:30 pm

Film: Source Code

Venue: Electric Cinema

Website: www.electriccinema.co.uk

I love moments like these! Everyday activities become amusing because they're British.

A few friends and I met up the other day to see a movie at the "picture house". So I was absolutely enchanted when I walked into a cinema that was outfitted with cushy leather recliners, footstools and end tables for each guest to set their snacks and drinks. The screen was dressed with a heavy velvet curtain and the staff was formally dressed in black trousers, black vests and white shirts. Snazzy.

Oh, but the movie was pretty shit.

Wedding Season

June opens up to 3 consecutive wedding weekends and although I'm happy for all my soon-to-be-wed friends, I can only attend one. This is one of the drawbacks to living so far away from all my old friends and family back in Canada. Hopefully I can marry up one day and this will no longer be an issue.

The wedding I attended took place in Toronto, so I flew out and met my cousin (who now lives in Auckland, NZ) at the arrivals terminal - reunited after 9 months! We didn't know it at the time, but we were about to walk into a week long party...

THE RIPPERS
Adjust to the timezone quickly. Drive to Niagara Falls. Slather on some rouge. The Bachelorette party is about to start! The night opened up with a champagne toast to the bride and a few gifts to get her outfitted for the night, specifically a penis-shaped headband and whistle. Appropriately attired, we head off to Peppermints, a strip club! This was my first peeler bar experience. Reaction? Ick!

It felt like the entire venue was covered in a layer of translucent film. Some of the dancers were old (like, saggy old). One stripper was Indian and that's just too much of a cultural paradox for me to accept.

However, the kicker wasn't the performers, but the patrons! One woman was 8 months pregnant and howling up a storm. There were also a few couples lurking in the shadows...

After an hour of this who-ha, we migrated over to a club and did a little dancing of our own.

CANUCK FEVER 

Our boys were last poised for the Stanley Cup in 1994, but faced a bitter defeat to the NY Rangers in game 7. Today is a new day, the Vancouver Canucks are a new team and 2011 is our year.

While in Toronto I had the good fortune to take in a game and a local sports bar. Days before his wedding, even the groom ducked out to watch the game with us! I wasn't in Vancouver, but I could feel the Canadian support as we faced off against the Boston Bruins in game 2. The country is rallying around what now seems to be the national team. I can only imagine what the mood is like in Vancouver...   

WEDDING DAY
After all the preparation, partying and primping (I had a mani/pedi), we hurried out to the door and on our way to the wedding. However, a series of minor time delays had led to a rather extended delay in our arrival at the wedding chapel. So much so that we actually missed the ceremony. Chin up. The reception was next...

The food was good, drinks were plentiful and love was in the air. In fact, love was seated right beside me! I found out later that the bride had tailored the seating plan so that I would be sitting beside one of her eligible pals. When I told her that I wasn't interested she was disappointed. Apparently she really wanted someone to get nailed in the parking lot during her wedding.

The Royal Wedding

I've tried writing about this occasion several times. The first attempt mutated wedded bliss into a perspective on modern day feminism. The second began with my scepticism about the crowds that were to be expected and delved into a recent run in with your average London footpather. Today, I intend not to succumb to the random stream of consciousness that I normally embrace. 

Londoners love to moan and the city appeared to be wishing the worst brand of unhappily ever after upon the now Duke & Duchess of Cambridge. Complaints about the transport disruptions, excessive media coverage and overall extravagance of the affair ran rampant. Every mention of the impending nuptials was dripping with disdain for weeks, maybe even months! Until something very strange occurred...

Stop. Switch. Flash. Scene. Frown. Upside down.

I can't explain exactly what happened, but the winds of change blew through London as the bunting went up. Whether induced by exhaustion, curiosity or belief in fairytale, London gave in to romance this week. Genuinely happy to be hosting the wedding that the world was watching (3 Billion viewers worldwide!), you couldn't escape a conversation without discussing wedding day plans - Where to watch, which street party to attend and how magically the bunting was draped across the city.

Sure the wedding meant that we all received an additional bank holiday which produced 3 long weekends in a row, but it was more than that. London recognized the romance of the occasion and led a celebration that the entire world admired from afar.

The crowds were more massive than ever, the police presence was heavy, but I felt absolutely elated by the genuine happiness and good humour demonstrated by everyone on the streets that day. London was hosting the largest wedding reception in history and it was a day that I'll never forget.

Congratulations to Wills & Cate!

Roar

London is a big, bustling city. People are always in a hurry and almost always unnecessarily aggressive to accomplish their end. For example, walking off the tube a few weeks ago, I was accosted by an angry, suit-guy. After stumbling into me, he had the nerve to yell: 

Oye, watch where ya goin' ya fat slag!

Now as shrill as Londoners can be, let's remember that I've lived here for over 6 months now...

As he tried to walk away, I, naturally, lunged over, jousted my finger in front of his face and roared:

Don't talk to me like that at 8 o'clock in the morning! Correct yourself!!!

It was the verbal equivalent to a dragon breathing fire on his prey.

Did it make any sense - "Correct yourself"? Probably not, but I was so riled that I lost much of the composure I normally possess.

I later found out that fat slag is a term Brits use to describe whores. Nice.

Pink

Am I not supposed to like pink?

As a modern, 30-something woman, I am troubled by the world's translation of me. Am I an academic? Am I a party-girl? A corporate bitch? Or could I be a jock? I find it difficult to define myself because I embrace diversity and have always sought to colour myself with a varied hue of interests. 

In the post-women's lib era, I am encouraged to seek higher education, ambitiously pursue my career and participate in sport, but can I bake a cupcake without being mocked? I can't help but feel the steely eye of judgment when I wear frilly frocks and pink lip gloss at a feminist poetry slam (though my short hair gives me some fem cred in these circles). Nonetheless, I will not resign myself to uniform and have always defended my love of clothing. What I wear is not a comprehensive reflection of all that inspires me.

As we prepare for the Royal wedding, I realized that it's become uncool to be romantic. Dreams of Mr. Right, wishes for a happily ever-after and hopes to one day find romance are pretty much considered doe-eyed and unevolved. It's much cooler to say you shun the idea of romance, don't believe in marriage and strike up a conversation about the sexual quirks of your last partner. Is there anything wrong with that? No. 

So what's my problem? Simply this: while we move beyond old world social constructs that depicted women as antiquated caricatures, let's be careful not to create an entirely new set of restricting definitions that once again force women into mutually exclusive groups. Daring as they may be, confining us gals to narrow definitions has never and will never work.  

Marcelle The Shell

This makes me happy. 

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VF9-sEbqDvU

London Marathon

The past week had some highs and lows, but was all about running! 

It began with my co-workers organizing a running club. As someone whose run a few 10K's, I joined and expected myself to be a leader of the pack. So I was aggrieved when the group ran so far ahead of me that I was frantically racing to keep up and eventually lost sight of the group altogether. I actively searched for the group for about 5-8 minutes when I thought to myself... These guys are freaking crazy. If I stay low, they won't see me and I can sneak home on the tube - And that's exactly what I did!

Upset about my poor showing and annoyed by the torment I suffered the following morning at work, I decided to run the following weekend in Hyde Park with a friend. We ran a total of 8 miles in 2 hours. In fact, we ran right into the London Marathon that was taking place on Sunday, April 17, 2011. It's the largest marathon in the world so I enjoyed celebrating my redemption with running royalty.

The very next day I signed up for the Bupa Great North Run taking place in Durham on September 18 - the world's largest half marathon. Let's hope I don't get lost then.

PIMM'S

The British pub culture is undeniable. Wrists are raised from 11am until 12am everyday. However, the common pint goes posh on sunny spring and summer days as the locals opt for perfect summer elixir - Pimm's.

Pimm's No. 1 Cup is often taken with lemonade, as well as various chopped fresh ingredients, particularly apples, cucumber, oranges, lemons, strawberry and mint. This gin-based liqueur was created in 1823 by James Pimm, but is a vital part of any sunny day in London these days. How do I know? I joined my local brethren and knocked back a pitcher last Sunday afternoon. I reminded myself that I was a Vancouverite when I used the two straws in my drink as chopsticks and ate the remaining alcohol infused fruit at the bottom of my glass.

Butt Advert

Another cool advert... Notice how the communication is not trying to discourage smoking. Instead, it aims only to alter the associated behaviors.

The Good Girl

I live in London. 

And this statement has been true for the past 5 months. 

Since my arrival, I've celebrated Christmas, New Year's and my birthday far, far away from family and close friends. So I felt elated to be back home in March. 

My entire family came to the airport to pick me up. Sorely unnecessary. Deeply appreciated. 

When I saw everyone, I felt an immediate excitement that prompted me to do a run-walk towards them with a few leaps in between. It was as though I was trying to suppress the urge to run like an inner 8 year old held captive in an adult body that insisted on walking. The week leading up to my trip was mostly spent shopping and I couldn't wait for the gifting to begin. I brought back food, sweets, souvenirs, clothing and even a few accessories and housewares. Watching them assess their new wares made me feel so emotional. I was happy to be giving, surprising and pleasing these people. 

A wisely selected gift has, in the past, urged other feelings within me. Often I've been so impressed with my purchase that I've wondered.... Hmmm, should I keep it? However, no such unfavourable intention entered my mind this time. 

My Nani ate her chocolate covered prunes from Harrod's. My mom embraced me. And 2 weeks later I went back home to London. 

It was great to be back.

Friend-cut to Haircut

One of my girlfriends is a hairdresser who works at a fancy salon called Charles Worthington. She's got a bit of attitude, but I appreciate her sassy nature. The other new buddy is a financial analyst for Seymour Pierce and he is very quirky, yet intelligent (ie. amazing nerd boy). I enjoy spending time with both individuals, but not everyone shares my perspective. As I meet new people and create a social circle, I'm realizing that some of my new friends don't exactly get along.

A few weeks ago a group of us went out for dinner. Nerd boy and the hairdresser met and immediately displayed a deep disdain for each other. They avoid eye contact and limit interaction after a few unpleasant conversational run-ins. It was a little uncomfortable for me, but here's the funny part. On my way home, nerd boy has this to say about the hairdresser...

Yeah, you can give me a haircut 

(motions towards his lower anatomy)
And make it an Afro bitch! 

All this from a published oil and gas financial analyst.
Too funny!

Shrove Tuesday

It's pancake day!

I arrived at my first Shrove Tuesday Pancake Party at a friend's flat in Notting Hill. The copious amounts of champagne, orange juice and syrup I consumed were simply lubricant for the stacks of fluffy pancakes I devoured. A man actually approached me to ask me about my per minute pancake intake! Here's a list of the pancakes I ate:

Lemon and sugar

Butter and syrup

Berries and syrup

Plain Crepes
Nutella

Syrup

Bacon

The party was packed with people who were somehow associated with the London 2012 Olympic Games. Some worked directly for the IOC, while others worked for associated vendors. Since they all move with the Olympics to each host city, this entire group of people have worked, traveled and socialized together for years. They were a fun bunch. I guess they'd have to be to distract me from my pancakes!

I hardly even realized that the occasion was considered a last feast where ingredients such as sugar, fat and eggs could be easily finished as their consumption would be restricted during the ritual fasting associated with Lent.

On my way home, I noticed that I had syrup in my hair and on my forearm. Champagne keeps a look like that classy.

Tequila or Teat?

Ever cringed after doing a salty tequila shot? Rest assured that you're not alone. Apparently, our horrible experiences stem from the fact that most of us are not doing it right. 

My newest friend in London is a tequila connoisseur. She has lived here for nearly 6 years and is originally from California. She's drank so many varieties of tequila and has such an appreciation for the beverage that she swears her mother must have offered tequila over the teat in her formative years! 

So from the expert, here's the correct recipe for a tequila shot that is sure to please...

INGREDIENTS

Cinnamon
Orange

Tequila 

In place of salt, spice the tongue with cinnamon. Follow with a nice tequila like Partida or El Tesoro. Finish with a slice of orange.

REPEAT.

Mathcore

So a girl walks into a pub. She's startled by an obnoxious assault of noise. The sheer battery on her ears came from a band rocking out with eyes shut and nostrils flaring. Confident that there was a technical glitch, she asked the band to do a sound check. At which point, the guitarist introduced her to Mathcore. 

Mathcore is characterized by unusual time signatures, rhythmically complex instrumentation and punctuated staccato. Plus, the vocals are screamed. It uses algebra to demonstrate the technical aspect of the music and is quite an accomplishment for metal-geeks. For the rest of us, it's unpleasant, loud and kinda scary.

The girl walked home that night somewhat saddened after having heard the sound of evil.

In My Ear

There's a lot of English in my ear. In fact, everything I listen to these days is either English or newly discovered after I arrived in London. Check it out:


1. Two Door Cinema Club

a. This is the Life
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1ed8NBPmits
b. Something Good Can Work
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1PorW3y5n1w 

2. Florence and the Machine - Dog Days Are Over
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iWOyfLBYtuU

3. Major Lazer - Pon De Floor
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QTI8Ec77RB

4. Warpaint - Undertow
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BMkqbY0oGKQ

5. The XX - Basic Space
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kHZVGqqf3gg

Refer-A-Friend

To friends, an opinion is never an issue. However, gaining friends can be very difficult anywhere, but especially in London (ie. the land of the reserved, stiff upper lip, etc.).

The people in our lives range in importance and influence. 

Co-workers | Cab drivers

Friends | Family

Lovers | Loathers

Heart-robbers | Heart-throbbers

Acquaintances | Allies

In three months, I've somehow experienced all of the above. Was it my social prowess that elevated me to such a privileged position? Not likely. Instead, my encounters are numerous and constant thanks to some very cool Vancouverites. So many have gone out of their way to put me in contact with old friends, family members, travel buddies and even colleagues that are working in London. THANK YOU SO MUCH!!!

As I observe, adopt, judge, accept and reject, I have mostly others to thank for the luxury of company.

BITCHES GET STITCHES

While living abroad, I've become acutely aware of the obnoxious North American stereotype. I try my best to be as accommodating as possible in this foreign land, but feel somewhat hardened by my surroundings. Here are a few areas where my level of tolerance is now particularly low...

1. Que Jumping - Cut in front of me in a line and I'll scalp your first born

2. Friends - Being away from home has helped me to recognize and appreciate the people in my life that matter, but it's also exposed the few that really don't belong

3. Family - Not a guaranteed support network as I once thought (my mom's siblings pretend they don't have a mother - sick, sad and selfish)

4. Customer Service - It's not good. It doesn't make sense. And it never will.

5. Aggressive Women - There's a stereotype that Asian (ie. Indian) women are timid, shy and submissive, which prompts drunken English women to feel as though they can push us around. For example, an English woman once demanded money from an Asian friend simply because she saw her put money into her pocket.

I'm a pacifist, so I don't push back.

I do, however, get far more vocal when a bitch tries to test my patience.

Honestly...

Men occasionally stumble over the truth, but most of them pick themselves up and hurry off as if nothing ever happened.

-Winston Churchill

Housewarming Party!

Last night I threw my first party in London - woohoo! It was a rip-roaring good time!!! Unfortunately, I didn't take many pictures (I was having too much fun!), but here's one:

Funny thing about guest lists... Who do you invite? If you invite 1 co-worker, must you invite them all? If you invite a few people from your volleyball team and allow them to bring a friend, is it odd for them to bring a friend from that same volleyball team???? There were a lot of politics, but I invited only those I wanted and suffered through the repercussions accordingly.

To ensure that I didn't have any neighbors on my ass about noise, I invited them all! Hey, if they're causing it, they can't really complain about it! One neighbor brought along a friend... Not just anyone, but a 77 year old man-friend. When he asked me for a beer, I hesitated because I assumed that he'd be on meds.

Ugh, I wish I had more pics. Don't judge based on the slightly senior crowd! It was a good time, really, it was!

Flat

My new flat is a rustic, period building with a whole lot of cracks and creaks, but I love it.

No television.

No microwave.

No internet.

And currently, no washing machine!

I can live without a lot of things, but spending a month without internet was torture! In fact, I'm even getting used to not having a washing machine because the landlord is paying for my laundry service while it's broken. Which means that my dirty cloths are washed, pressed and delivered each week. I hope this problem is never fixed.

NYE: LONDON 2010

The plan? Make it unforgettable.

The usual? An evening with close friends.

The problem? I'm in London. I don't have any close friends.

Found: Tickets to a sold-out party.

Meet scalper at venue.

Scalper never shows up.
Doorman unsympathetic. 

Time: 11:14pm. 

Thoughts: fml.

Plan B? <<INSERT IDEA HERE>>

--Walk to Trafalgar Square--

What to do? New Year's Eve fireworks display!
Big Ben, the London Eye and the River Thames as the backdrop.

Time: HAPPY NEW YEAR!!!

Received: 1 hoot and holler

Delivered: A 10-minute tutorial about how to be a gentleman.

--Walking through Leicester Square--

Join party-goers.
Earn an invite into a club. 

Entrance denied.

Head to nearest tube station.

Meet Graham...
A Kiwi drinking out of a brown bag.

Score my friend a beer. 

Compare Kiwi and UK slang.

New priority: I need to tinkle. 

Search for toilet.
Kiwi comes along (cost of beer revealed).

--Walk to Mayfair--

Toilet found. Bladder relieved.
New environment: The Black Diamond Ball.

Music: good.

Venue: impressive. 

Stay: extended!
Get approached by a 24-year old. 

Part from my group. Dance.

Kelly, I really like you.
Onto the next.

--Cab home--
Eat a pasty.
Step into my house.
Time: 5am.
zzz
Time: 11am.
Ring ring.
It's the scalper.
He wants money for his wasted tickets.
Jog the fuck on!
How was my New Year's Eve?
Unforgettable.

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