Ceilidh Dancing

This evening was the Inter-Club Ceilidh at the Caledonian Club. The Caledonian Club is a private club where you have to be Scottish to join, and the Inter-Club event is where all of the members under-35 of the various clubs in London are invited to all gather together and meet one another.

I arrived, was greeted by a man in a kilt at the door who took my name, and then proceeded upstairs to the champagne reception. In an attempt to be chic, I brought a clutch instead of my usual handbag, and a pashmina wrap I'd bought in Argentina. Except that I found trying to hold a clutch and a pashmina and a champagne glass all at the same time was beyond my abilities. So I eventually just stuck my clutch and pashmina down on a table somewhere, as I just couldn't quite manage the fancy balancing act that some people had going on.

I guess in another sign of how alcohol can really help social situations, the whole scene was tremendously awkward at first. People who knew each other were greeting each other, but I found it very hard to break into social groups. Thankfully at one point I got talking to a girl with a fur wrap, bright red lipstick, and a dramatic 1940's-style hairdo with a twisted bouffant curl at the front. She definitely had the attention of the crowds, and thankfully was kind enough to bring me into her circle after I discovered she was also a member of the O&C. Made me think I need to be more creative about my wardrobe and hairstyle choices for these things.

After enough standing around talking over our champagne, there was a loud rap with the gavel to let us know it was time to be quiet, and then the room absolutely shook with the sound of a bagpiper, who piped us in to dinner. It's funny as you normally hear bagpipes outdoors, you forget until you're in an enclosed space quite how loud they are!

So we went into dinner, where we all had our names listed by our tables, which were all named after famous Scottish dances. I found my name at the "Dashing White Seargeant" table, and everyone joked about how we all felt like we were at a wedding, asking, "Bride's side or groom's side?" Indeed, just like a wedding, all couples were seated together, although my table had even numbers, with one spare man obviously intended to be my seatmate for the evening. Yet, as we filed into dinner quite haphazardly, I actually ended up seated between two women, and only got to talk to the single man occasionally over the other diners. Pity, because he was definitely cute.

Even more bizarrely at dinner, we found that our table had only been half-set, and we were missing quite a bit of cutlery. Luckily we were all fine for the first course, a salmon pate with smoked salmon. (This was a Scottish meal, so of course there would be salmon!) Then for the main, there was haggis with neaps and tatties, making me laugh, as it was like we were having a Burns Night dinner in September instead of January!) I poured a little bit of my whiskey over the haggis (like gravy), but saved most of it for sipping. Although I was so embarassed, as when we saw everyone served, our end of the table started eating, only to see that half the table didn't eat, as they didn't have cutlery! So those of us who had dessert cutlery quickly passed it around when we saw what had happened, but how weird, eh?

Finally after dinner, it was time to dance!

The dancing was loads of fun, as there was a good mix of group dances and couple dances, and the ethos of the evening generally seemed to be that you just danced with whoever asked you to dance, and everyone had a blast. It was like American square dancing, where the musicians called out the steps, but of course everyone got totally lost anyway, and it all descended into chaos. We even did the Virginia Reel, and I have to say that my partner and I were the only ones to successfully reel down our entire group. Loads of fun!

I was surprised when the music ended at midnight, as I couldn't believe the time had passed so quickly! Our last dance was "Auld Lang Syne" (of course!) where everyone formed a circle with linked crossed hands, and then we all kept rushing forward to the middle to meet one another, and then back out again, making everyone trip over themselves with laughter. Finally ended with random couples just twirling each other around, including some of the boys in kilts dancing with each other.

Then it was time for a midnight breakfast, so we all went downstairs where they were serving kedgeree, which was quite good, although I think we were still all stuffed from our huge dinner!

We then went outside and enjoyed the warm evening air for a bit, just talking and chatting, the effect of all of that whiskey and wine finally making people a bit more social and friendly. I talked to a number of nice people, and we were eagerly all making plans to see each other again at the next one of these events next month.

Then back at the bar, all of the boys in their kilts were eagerly trying to make plans to have an informal ceilidh upstairs, but for the first time in my experience, there were more boys than girls who wanted to dance!

Alas, as it was getting close to 2:30 AM, I decided that it was time for me to head home. Although I was surprised when the porter at the desk seemed quite uncomfortable with letting me go out alone, and was insisting that he call a cab for me. Now, a cab from this part of town would have been quite expensive, so I really didn't want to go for it. Yet this porter was so insistent, that finally I lied and said I was within walking distance, but this porter then insisted I call him once I got home safely, and gave me the number of the front desk to call.

So I walked out, and then got on a night bus, which seemed to be heading all over the place. When I finally thought I'd figured out the right location, I jumped off the bus, only to discover that I wasn't in the right place at all! Given that it was approaching 3 AM, I finally just gave in and hailed a cab passing on the street, so all of my attempts to save money were really for naught. Got home safely, called the club desk and assured the porter that I was home safely, and then just basked in the delight of finally being able to take my shoes off. Owww, after all of that dancing and walking, boy did my feet hurt!

Where Have All the Single Girls Gone?

A good friend of mine has been doing internet dating on the site "My Single Friend", and apparently a few weeks ago met a guy who was nice enough, but they didn't really click. Yet they came up with the idea that she should get together some of her female friends, whilst he would round up some of his single male friends, and everybody would meet for a few drinks. Good idea, eh?

Except when the day arrived, all of the girls started dropping like flies, with one having a last-minute work trip to Paris, another going home from work sick, and another with a last-minute conflict. So my friend started calling all of her single friends, except that they all had bizarre excuses (two were recovering from surgery) or had recently started seeing someone.

So I started going through my mental checklist of friends, and was quickly shocked to realise how few of my friends were actually single. When had all of my friends started dating someone and I hadn't noticed? I mean, it's one thing when you have a few married friends, you still assume that so many of the girls you hang out with all of the time are single girls like you. Yet how surprising is it then when you realise that whilst they might not be married, they're actually mostly happily in relationships. When did everybody else jump on the bandwagon and I didn't notice? When did I become the last single girl?

In the end, it was just me and my friend Sara and five guys. I think we held our own, although as soon as I arrived, I knew why Sara had said she didn't "click" with this guy. He was tremendously overweight, on the short side, and really just the kind of guy who obviously didn't quite come out a winner in the overall genetic lottery. And also I've always known that Sara preferred older guys, but even I was a bit surprised by how old so many of them were, it really seemed like we were out with men in their 40's. And perhaps I've been spending too much time with men in their late 20's, but it really just was a bit too old for me, the girl who always goes for younger men!

Well now, remembering my experience with the incredibly overweight chap who yet was so incredibly charming, I kept my mind open to the possibility that some of these men might prove to be the same. Alas, while that chap engaged me with talk of opera and debates about the arts, these boys used the f-word in conversation enough to make me wince, and became annoyingly distressed upon realising that Sara and I had met at Cambridge, and I'd been to Oxford as well. I can only imagine what it would have been like had I revealed I was also a member of a London club and played polo!

Even stranger was that one of the guys was a friend who just came along, but was known to be married, and another was talking enough about his kids to reveal the same thing. Yet neither were wearing wedding rings. What's up with that? I'm pretty sure I'd allow any man I married to pick whatever ring he wanted, and to warn him to pick something comfortable, because I'd expect him to WEAR it.

So yeah, there was just no chance with these men. It was just not my scene, despite that we were in a very chic gastro-pub and all of them were reasonably wealthy bankers. Insert some cliche here about how "you can't buy class" or something like that. So we had a nice time having drinks and even had some dinner, but I was pretty much just trying to make it to the point in the evening where it would be acceptable to go home. Finally made it to that point, and made my escape.

I guess it's like a conversation I was having with my friend Rob on Sunday. When your life is already quite good (great job, great flat, great friends, etc.) you don't really find yourself in that head space where you're desperate to meet someone. Sure, if someone great were to come along, you'd go for it, but you're just not really keen to make too many changes to your situation. So why settle for something that will only make your situation worse, instead of improving on the good?

The one thing that reassured me, was as I struggled to come up with a list of single girls, I could think of tons of great guys I know who are single. They're out there, I just need to find the right one.

Professional Networking

Although I am seriously not a morning person, after my late night last night I dragged myself out to the office, plopping my things down at my desk at 8:30 AM. (Given that I rarely leave the house that early, that's quite an accomplishment!)

The reason for this early start was a "Women's Networking Breakfast", where I got to listen to the Deputy General Counsel of my company speak. She was an American from our Chicago office, and I had to admit that she was a really interesting and engaging speaker. I was also impressed that whilst she had started her career in Chicago, she had spent 3 years living in London, and 5 years living in Tokyo. In all of this, her husband had become a house-husband, or as she puts it, "He's been on a REALLY long leave-of-absence from his firm!" Although it does make you wonder, can anyone really make it to the very top of any multi-national organization these days and have kids if they don't have someone staying at home running things on the homefront? It basically seems like if you are a two-career couple, you either forget about having kids or doom both careers to mediocrity. Getting to the top requires sacrifice, all the way around.

After the networking breakfast, I met with my career counsellor and kept sending out e-mails to people about my revised employment situation, and just generally trying not to fall asleep at my desk, even after three Diet Cokes.

Finally, at the end of the day, I tried to rally myself to head out to an HR networking drinks meeting happening at a nearby bar. Yet, after I realised that very few people I knew would be going, and I was absolutely tripping over myself, trying to stay awake.

And then I remembered the most interesting response of the day to the Senior Executive at that morning's event. Someone asked her, "If there was one thing you could go back and do differently, what would it be?" I was both surprised and impressed when she answered, "I wish I had taken better care of my health."

Indeed, she was your classic middle-aged woman draped in scarves and loose flowing clothing, trying to disguise the fact that her middle was probably larger than her bust, and a double-chin was definitely creeping in. I won't try to paint the picture that she was some horribly obese woman, but definitely one who, while she took care with her appearance, had a few too many lines on her forehead and a few too many pounds around her middle to truly be considered healthy.

And so with that, I realised that dragging myself out to stand around making polite chit-chat with people over drinks just wasn't worth it, and so I went home, pulled together dinner from what I found in the cupboard (hurrah for rice and beans!) and was in bed by 9 PM. Sometimes an early bedtime is the best career move of all.

A Late Run

After a long day running around the office doing interviews, meeting with people, and acting all corporate in my fancy suit, it was finally time to go for a run. Yet, in continuing the usual pattern where I have more to do now that I don't have a job than I did when I did, I was unable to escape the office until 6:40 PM, which is normally when I like to be arriving at the pub for the run.

So I entirely didn't expect that I would arrive at the run on time, and was quite startled when I made all of my trains, and it looked like I might actually make it. And then as I was finally exiting the station, just rushing with my head down and trudging along, I got the weird sensation of somebody being inappropriately close to me and falling into step with me. I was starting to think, "Who is this weirdo?" only to look up and see that it was my friend Matt!!!

You know those rare people, who every time you see them it's an absolute treat? Whose conversation you always enjoy, who you can talk to for hours, who are your solid friends through and through? Yeah, that's Matt. He's the ultimate "good guy", sweetly devoted to his girlfriend, genuinely nice, and always a guy who has time for me. Hence to realise that he was the "weirdo" who was messing with me was quite alright!!

He laughed at my delayed reaction to him walking in step with me, we hugged and I had to restrain myself from wagging my tail like an over-excited puppy dog upon seeing him.

Made it to the pub just as the run was setting off, so I ran inside to dump my gear and strip off the ill-advised second sports bra that I'd been wearing. (I'd heard about this idea of wearing two sports bras to give you more support, but even on the short trip to the pub I realised it was severely inhibiting my ability to breathe!) Started running, fell into step with Matt, and jogged away. I was impressed that I actually managed to keep pace with Matt, but after the second check I was struggling!

The run was unfortunately quick and I lost the group about halfway through, but luckily I knew the neighbourhood well enough to make my way back to the pub without too many problems. Got myself a lime and soda water at the bar, and was delighted to discover it was one of the cheapest non-alcoholic drinks I've had almost anywhere in London, at just 50 pence.

Matt then offered to buy me a drink, although when I requested another lime-and-soda-water, gave me such a look that I agreed to go for beer. With our beers, we were totally misanthropic and spent most of the evening talking just to each other, about our jobs, looking for new ones, and just getting older and moving on in general. The social hostess in me occasionally felt bad about not doing my usual social-butterfly thing, but when there's really only one person you want to talk to, why circulate? I bought our second round and we kept talking, just being annoyingly anti-social.

Finally at the end of the evening I was snagged by Princess, who told me that maybe, perhaps, I just might, if the postage had been calculated correctly, be getting a postcard from Berlin. So sweet of him! So I gave him a quick kiss (yuck, tasted of the whiskey shot he'd just been forced to do!) and thanked him for writing, whether I eventually got the postcard or not. With all of the job madness, it's always lovely to know people are thinking of me. What a wonderful boy he is.

Headed home with Matt at the end of the evening, just rambling about random stuff, talking about nothing of significance, but having thoroughly enjoyed such a fabulous evening with such wonderful friends. Sometimes they are just what you need.

Crash Landing

Do you ever think of a date as being somewhat like a plane flight?

I mean, you arrive, you check in, you're greeted with a smile by your pilot, the sky is clear and free of clouds, everything is looking set for a beautiful flight.

Finally, nearly a month after we first said we were going to do drinks together, I was finally going out with the guy I connected with at my friend's birthday party last month. At least we had lift off, as he met me outside my office (he remembered where I work!) we went to a nearby pub for a drink, he paid for our drinks, and it was all looking good. We were chit-chatting, we were laughing, the flight seemed to be going smoothly.

Then suddenly I noticed that things were going awry. How did the conversation turn to talking about other people we've dated? Alarms start going off in the cockpit. How did I fail to notice that when you sit with a table between you and the guy, you're just staring at each other and you can't do all of the flirtatious "touching" moves and cute little things girls will do to let a guy know they like him? Turbulence was shaking the cabin, and although I have a great deal of respect for people who temporarily choose not to be drinking (particularly when they're on meds after they got sick last Weds), I suddenly realised that it was making for a rough flight.

In an attempt to correct course, I suggested getting out of the noisy bar and going to a quiet little pub tucked down an alleyway that I knew. He agreed to walk towards it, but warned me that he'd have to see how he was feeling, and might bail when we got close to the Tube station. Yes, okay, I understand the reason this flight didn't depart last Wednesday was due to mechanical difficulties, but it's scary to think that the plane will drop out of the air mid-flight for the same reason.

We managed to fly on to some smoother air, as he made it to the pub and was totally charmed by it (as there's a reason it's one of my favourite pubs). We found a quiet table in the corner and kept chatting, but somehow the turbulence continued as the conversation somehow got onto the topic of our dating lives. I'm just absolutely thrown at this point, as when the flight was first scheduled, this guy was finding excuses to wrap his arms around me and acting like his interest in me was anything but platonic. (Oh helpful influence of alcohol, how I miss you!) Now I'm not sure if it's nervousness some misguided attempt to shrug off his lacklustre dating life, but this conversation is seeming distressingly....friendly.

I proposed possibly getting food at the new pub, but he decided to check first to see if any of his flatmates would be cooking dinner. To my distress, he texted them right then, found out one was willing to cook, and decided to instead go home to have dinner with his flatmates.

Last time I bailed on a guy to go home because my flatmate was cooking, it was because I totally wasn't interested. Maybe it's a girl thing, but my flatmate told me in advance that I was free to ditch her if the date went well, it was only when I didn't fancy him that I came home in time for dinner. So what guy prefers to go home to his male friend's indifferent cooking when he could be out with a cute girl who seems to make him laugh his head off?

Hence the eject cord was pulled, and the plane went down in flames (or a kiss on each cheek at the Tube station). And as he walked away and I surveyed the flaming wreckage, I was left to wonder, "How the hell did that happen?"

I often think that initial meetings between men and women are often spent trying to decide if it's a "romantic potential" relationship or a "friendship" relationship, with each side trying to decode clues in the conversation. Perhaps I'm reading too much into it, but something that had started out as a "romantic potential" relationship banked left with no warning, the rudder flipped and the whole thing went into a tailspin, crashing and burning on the field of "friendship".

Was it because we both confessed to having best friends who were of the opposite sex? Are we perhaps too conditioned to being friends then, rather than considering the romantic interest? Was it because he was still obviously somewhat bitter about a recent break-up?

My own perspective is no use for figuring out what went wrong, because if I had any idea where I erred, I obviously wouldn't have made that mistake. Still I'm reminded of the rebuke of one of my gay friends on Friday night about the state of my dating life, where he said, "Jeez Adrian, you're beautiful, intelligent, and you have really big boobs. This shouldn't be that hard!!" Distressingly succinct, but accurate. I was dressed in a borderline inappropriately low-cut dress, was wearing cute heels, was funny, charming, and all of that. Obviously I must be doing something wrong, as it really SHOULDN'T be that hard.

As we parted company, I promised him that I'd e-mail him the next day, although I was so busy that I didn't remember to compose a sufficiently witty or funny message until the end of the day. Funny enough, he hasn't written back yet.

In the end, I had a great time, because he's funny and smart and well read, and if I was interested in having yet another platonic male friend, he'd make for a great one. Still, don't I already have enough platonic male friends? This wasn't quite the destination I had in mind when I started this flight...

Sunday Curry

My cold hit with full force today, so I spent most of the day simply lazing about and blowing my nose. My flatmate was out-of-town for the weekend, so at least I got to leave piles of tissues everywhere without worrying about what she'd think of the "den of sickness" that our flat was turning into. Luckily I remembered to race out and pick up some cold medicine before the shops closed at 5 PM (the UK isn't like the US with it's 24/7 convenience stores!) and some orange juice too.

I then managed to get my act together to trek across town to meet my friend Rob for dinner. Rob and I actually went to high school together, and through the magic of Facebook reconnected when we found out that we both lived in London. In truth, I'm probably better friends with Rob now than we were in high school, and he's always good company for a meal. Particularly as I'd just missed Rob's 30th birthday party, it was time to catch up and discuss how we felt about being older and (not necessarily) wiser.

Admittedly, I'm starting to feel a bit like a caricature of someone described on the list "Stuff White People Like". After having gone to dinner on Friday with a gay couple, watched the movie "Milk" on Saturday, and then had dinner tonight with one of my gay best friends from high school, I'm right up there with #88 on the list, "Having Gay Friends."

Yet at least I was friends with all of these people before I knew they were gay (and in the case of the friend from high school, before even HE knew he was gay), so hopefully I can avoid being a checklist caricature, and just make the point that I like nice people. Although it does make me glad that in the biological lottery I turned out to be straight, for dating is hard enough as it is without being restricted to just 10% of the population! Maybe gay people are better at it, but since I have absolutely no gaydar, I would constantly be running around saying, "Whooops, sorry! Thought you played on my team!"

Seriously, I would make such a bad gay person.

Rob and I had a good dinner catching up, he offered his sympathies and encouragement on my recent redundancy, and we laughed about how we were now too old to go to any of the raves that we walked by while looking for a good restaurant to have curry.

Finally at the end of the evening, I left Rob's place, only to remember: Rob doesn't exactly live in the best neighbourhood. Shoreditch and the area around Brick Lane might be considered "up-and-coming", but it's still bretty dodgy. As I left Rob's place, there was a really threatening-looking group of youths making their way menancingly down the street, and so I was walking as quick as I possibly could to get out to a busier road with more people. When I made it to the end of the street, I actually had a woman stop me and ask, "Are you okay? Were those kids throwing things at you?"

I assured her that I was okay, but I was incredibly glad to make it back to my nice, safe neighbourhood of West Kensington as soon as possible!!

Polo Under Pressue

In one more example of how wonderful everyone has been about this whole job loss situation, when the woman who normally organizes my polo tournaments texted me to ask if I'd be interested in playing this weekend, I told her that I couldn't due to my recent redundancy. I need to be watching my pennies, after all! Yet then she wrote back and told me to come up and play anyway, completely for free. As she said, "I've been there myself, and what you need right more than anything right now is to be galloping around on a pony and whacking a ball around the field."

How sweet is that? And this is why I always take umbrage with people who talk about how snobby and exclusive my polo crowd is, because in truth they are some of the nicest, kindest, most wonderful people I've ever had the privelge of knowing. I swear, too many people have too many pre-conceived notions about what polo is, it's really just a bunch of wonderfully nice people who love horses and risking their necks.

So I made my way up to the polo fields, where I got on my first pony, and galloped off to play. It was a good game, incredibly evenly matched, as the score kept going back and forth for the entire game. I didn't play my best, but I didn't play my worst either, so I guess on the whole it was a good game. In large part, I was battling the exhaustion that comes from my body getting sick (the stress has finally overwhelmed my immune system), so to play decently I suppose was a good thing.

Although at one point, I remember just galloping out on the field on my pony, just a nice, rolling gallop, and I closed my eyes and just flowed with the rhythm and the wind as we loped along. And you see, I've been riding for so long, that even when galloping, I don't come out of the saddle, I just move right along with the horse's movement so that it's like we're one thing. And I just loved that, losing myself to the rhythm, the gentle meditation of being out there in the sunshine on a horse. No wonder Kim thought this is exactly what I needed.

Admittedly, in one more sign of how my brain seems to be taking a total vacation these days, when I needed to speak Spanish to the grooms to translate for all the players who don't speak Spanish (something I do regularly), I was surprised at how many words I couldn't come up with. It was like, "Hello, brain? You do know how to speak Spanish, don't you?"

The game was so evenly matched, that it ended in a tie score. Now, we needed to have a winner so we knew who moved on to battle for first place the next day, so it was decided that the game would be settled by a sudden-death penalty shoot-out.

I was the first one to go, and so gallopped my pony around in a circle, trying to be all cool and calm and sports-psychology-style "cool under pressure". But this is what was going through my head as I approached the ball.

"Stay cool...focus...keep your eye on the ball...visualize it going into the goal...focus...don't miss...get ready...GET YOUR STICK UP...SWING WITH ENOUGH POWER...FOCUS..OHMYGODMAKESUREYOUDON'TMISS..HITITHARDENOUGHTOGETTOTHEGOAL...FOCUSFOCUSFOCUSFOCUSFOCUSFOCUS!!!!!!!!!"

Holy crap, it was like watching my brain crack right in front of me. I guess it's true what they say about how the upper levels of sport, the Tiger Woods of the world, are successful less based on sheer ability and talent, but the simple ability to stay cool under pressure and block everything else out. It was like the loss of my job, my illness, and the stress of the game all conspired and dumped on me at the same time. The ball went wide of the goal, and we lost the game.

Still, it was a good day out to play, even if we didn't win the day! I ended up sitting around having beers with a few people (what is it about beer on a hot day after polo that is always the perfect thing?), and then eventually got a lift back to the train station to head home.

As I sat on the platform, waiting for the train to go home, I happened to remember that it was my ex's birthday today. Now, I haven't spoken to my ex since last February, haven't seen him in almost a year. But I was so pleased with myself for remembering that it was his birthday, that I decided to text him a happy birthday message right then. To my surprise, he texted back right away, thanking me, asking if I were well, and noting that he'd just woken up because he was working nights all weekend. What a funny reminder of how unsuitable we were after all, him the workaholic who can't even manage to have fun on his birthday, and me, the person who had just spent the day out playing with ponies.

I warned myself that I shouldn't text again, and just leave it at that, but then a few minutes later, violated my own rule and made a joke about how I was sure the nurses would make him a cake at the hospital that evening. Got no further response, and was then berating myself for letting the balance of power shift back to him. After all, I'd just been texting to prove that I was a nice and decent human being who remembers birthdays, not that I have any further interest in him. But here I'd gone and screwed it up.

And so just when I'm feeling a bit stupid and dumb, my phone rings: It's my friend Joel. Oh my goodness, of all my favourite people in the world to call right then, there could have been no better choice than Joel. Joel is the only person in the world who can make me laugh nearly as much as my brother, who always makes me feel terribly witty, who I never have tremendously serious conversations with, but ones where every line is a joke making me laugh my head off.

He was just calling to catch up, so I told him all the news about my redundancy, and he offered his sympathies and had me laughing in no time, before we finally signed off with plans to catch up soon. Joel is always my proof that the universe is a good and wonderful place, in that they sent me a friend who makes me laugh as much as Joel, and who always seems to know when to call.

And then I got a text from Marco (the guy from the Tube). I'd texted him on Friday to apologize for being so lame, and explain about my redundancy (which I think gives me a free pass on everything in life, particularly when it comes to having to deal with the thorny issue of boys I'm not quite sure I'm into). How gracious and sweet of him to write, eh? One more reason to remember that silly ex-boyfriends who don't even talk to me any more are nothing to be concerned about, that it's the boys who DO keep in touch are the ones worth your attention.

Then made plans to meet my gay friend Rob for dinner tomorrow night, and went home to watch the movie "Milk". Outstanding film, it made me cry. Although just once again reminded me that whatever my problems are, they're nothing compared to what some people face. (It's hard enough to find nice boys when you're straight, imagine having your potential dating pool reduced to just 10% of the population?) Yeah, my problems aren't that big after all...

Friday Night At My Club

My first job out of college was working for a paper company, and luckily I've put most of that nightmare behind me, aside from one great thing to come out of it: My friend Sandy. Sandy is this huge, bearded bear of a Scotsman, who saved my sanity every day on the phone from across the ocean, and still remains a good friend to this day.

Sandy is also gay, and has an absolutely lovely partner, James. I met James when I stayed with them in Hong Kong for a week two years ago, and ever since I joined the O&C, I'd been wanting to invite James to dinner there. James is a huge wine person, and the O&C wine list is legendary, so I figured he'd really enjoy the experience.

I arrived at the club at around 6:30, and wasn't waiting long before Sandy joined me. We had some drinks and then cracked open a bottle of champagne (only £15 at the club, how I love my club!), while I caught him up on the news about my recent redundancy. He was shocked and sympathetic, although seemed encouraged at least at how people have been reaching out, asking for my CV, and talking to me about potential roles. Still, I feel somewhat like a contestant on "The Bachelor", for even as I strive to make a good impression, I'm still just desperately hoping they give me a red rose and allow me to progress on to the next round. Job searching is a lot like dating, when you get down to it!

Eventually, James joined us too, and after we finished our champagne, we headed into dinner. James had fun with the wine list, and ordered some 1999 bottle of wine that still had dregs in the bottle (apparently a good thing) after consulting with the sommolier. You could tell that James really knew his wine, for when the sommolier poured some for James to test it, James only sniffed the wine, didn't taste it at all. I'd heard that this is the proper way to test wine, but I'd never actually seen it done!

Dinner was lovely, and Sandy and James really seemed to enjoy the club. Then after dinner, we got ourselves some glasses of port, and then I took them on a tour of the club. The women's reading room is finally open again as well, and once in there I was reminded of how much I need to spend more time there, it's such a lovely room.

Finally in the end, we just ended up back in the member's bar, finishing our port, and talking about gay marriage. Although the two of them are married (the Brits are so much more progressive about these matters), they aren't really huge advocates of gay marriage or anything, they basically are just happy to get on with their lives together in peace. So of course I felt funny talking to two married gay men about the arguments I was having with the Republican the night before, and the two of them just seemed more amused than anything else.

In the end, I am so glad that things turned out the way they did and that I happen to be straight, because I can't imagine dealing with how difficult it is to find love, and then only having 10% of the population open to you! Yet, how funny is it that I'm the one who is single while they two of them are so blissfully in love with each other? (Although you have to keep in mind, both Sandy and James are about as masculine as you can get, no tight pants on either of them. Pass either of them on the street, and you'd NEVER guess that they were gay. So I guess it was a real case of just finding the one person who is just your style.)

Finally, we headed home, but got quite a surprise when we passed the Carlton, the very club I'd been at the night before, and saw tons of firetrucks outside with smoke billowing out of the club. There were people in tailcoats and dresses all standing outside and seeming entirely unconcerned by the whole thing, just laughing and taking pictures. Who knows what on earth was going on there?

All part of the mysteries that make up life in London, I guess!!

Dinner at the Carlton

So you may remember how when I wrote about the garden party I randomly went to last Friday, I mentioned that some of the men I was in conversation with mentioned that we should all have dinner at the Carlton the following Thursday. I never expected that anything would become of it all, that the whole thing was just a lot of alcohol-fueled rambling, so I was incredibly shocked when I got an e-mail on Wednesday night informing me that dinner was on for 8 PM.

I frantically managed to finish up work at 6:30 PM (how is it that I have more work now that I don't have a job than I did when I DID?), raced home, dropped off my stuff and changed, and then finally raced back out to present myself at the club precisely at 8 PM.

I went up to the main drawing room, where I found the others in our party sitting by the fire. For ease of reference, I shall outline the cast of characters for you:

- Young British Guy. This was our unofficial host for the evening. Only 20 years old, but you'd think he was waaaaaay older. He'd recently returned from a trip to the US where he'd stayed with an American friend and his girlfriend, and was now returning the favour by showing his friends the most quintessential British experience he could come up with.

- The American Friend. The one who this entire dinner was for.

- The American Friend's Girlfriend. The tagalong.

- The Overweight Yet Hysterical British Guy. Our official host for the evening, as our 20-year old friend did not yet have the official right to book a table at the Carlton Club quite yet. The Carlton isn't quite White's or Boodles, but it's still pretty up there in the pecking order of clubs.

- The Older-Looking Guy. Never quite caught how he fit in, but he's a member of the RAC and will be at the Inter-Club Ceildih that I'm going to next Friday, so I'll see him there.

- The Older-Looking Guy's Girlfriend - She arrived later in the evening, so I didn't really get a chance to speak with her much, but apparently she'll be at the Ceildih next Friday, so I guess I'll get to know her then.

- The Young English Girl. Lovely girl, and a friend of the 20-year old guy.

- The Model. A striking young woman who is a member of the Landsdowne, provided our cultural component of the evening by being someone who works in "the arts". Quite clever and interesting really, I hope I run into her again as she seemed quite nice.

So once our party was assembled, we headed into dinner. Now everyone else automatically arranged themselves in a "boy-girl-boy-girl" fashion around the table, but the American girl just plopped herself down next to me. I subtly mentioned that she might want to follow the traditional pattern, but she seemed to have no idea what I was talking about.

When I clarified, she switched places with her boyfriend to restore the balance, but in retrospect, I almost wished she hadn't. Her boyfriend turned out to be a RAGING Republican, and not in a "David Brooks" or "fiscal conservative" kind of way, but in a "I'm Sarah Palin's biggest fan" kind of way. I basically spent the entire evening with my jaw on the table at some of the comments coming out of his mouth.

And please let me clarify: Jon Stewart of the Daily Show is one of my all-time heroes, and one of the things I like most about him, is how he can engage conservatives in real, reasoned, intellectual debates. His debate with Mike Huckabee on abortion still remains, to me, an example of people with differing opinions coming to the table and agreeing to disagree. After all, after reading Bill Bishop's "The Big Sort", I really don't want to be one of those people who only talks to people who agree with me. I know some wonderful people who happen to be Republicans (Shelley comes to mind), and it saddens me that we can't seem to have a debate on politics without tensions running high.

So upon realising that I was sitting next to a Republican, I swear I came into this as an opportunity to understand "how the other side thinks." But c'mon buddy, at least give me SOMETHING to start with! Announcing that Obama is a Nazi, that universal healthcare will lead to the death of us all, and that Sarah Palin would make an excellent president...I just didn't even know where to start. So I mostly spent the evening just making non-committal murmurs, waiting to see what outrageous statement would next come out of his mouth.

The Americans didn't stop there however. When dinner came out, as soon as their plates were in front of them, they started eating. Now, first of all, who starts eating before everyone else in their party is served? As well, in traditional British silver service, the vegetables are served separately from your main dish, so everyone else waited patiently for the serving staff to come around and serve the vegetables, while the poor serving staff seemed unsure of how to serve vegetables to the Americans already voraciously attacking their plates!

As well, the Americans didn't seem to understand the idea that there's a certain group of young internationals in London who all "just know each other", by belonging to the same clubs, going to the same parties, and just generally running into each other again and again until they just figure they might as well be friends. They were giving us all the third degree on how we knew each other, seeming absolutely mystified by the fact that we just waved it off with the simple answer of "through our clubs", desperately digging for specifics. I think the whole thing was just completely outside their frame of reference.

Finally after dinner we retired back to the drawing room, where I found myself seated next to the Overweight Yet Hysterical British Guy. I immediately regretted not seating myself next to him throughout dinner, as straight away we were having an intense discussion about our art preferences and why (for me, Impressionism, for him, Pre-Raphaelite). Talked about the opera and how we'd first fallen in love with it, our opinions of ballet and other arts, and how much we thought art should be left to one's own interpretation or explained for deeper understanding. And once again, this guy is tipping the scales at nearly 250-300 lbs, but why is it that I can imagine sleeping with him more readily than so many men I know? It's totally weird how attraction works.

At last, the others left, leaving just me, the Overweight Yet Hysterical British Guy, and The Model. That's where I got into a conversation with The Model, and finally walked with her back to the Tube, finding her company to be absolutely fascinating and charming. We shall have to see if we run into each other again anytime soon, but overall, a really interesting evening!

The Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day

When I was little, there was a book that was very popular, called "Alexander and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day". Although when leading such an overly blessed life, I hesitate to say that I have really bad days, perhaps I can be allowed to call today such a day.

First thing was that I had to have my "official" conversation with HR today for them to tell me I was losing my job. And although I knew this was coming and I tried to joke and laugh my way through it, somehow having the conversation and actually receiving the formal notice letter made it all somehow seem more REAL.

Then I had the second tough part: Telling my team in Buenos Aires the news. And you have to understand, I LOVE my team in Buenos Aires. I have flown halfway around the world to be at their weddings. I have lived with their families. These are not just my co-workers, they are my friends. And so I got on the phone, and for the first time in all of this, my voice started wavering and cracking, it really took a lot to not break down right there on the phone. Because somehow, while I can wrap my head around the idea of getting another position at Accenture, or even leaving Accenture, I just can't quite imagine not logging onto my computer and hearing the familiar greeting of "Buen dia!" popping up from Argentina.

Then I struggled through pulling together my CV, basically trying to figure out what on earth I've done with myself for the past four years, trying to write this thing whilst dealing with people constantly popping up on IM to say they'd heard the news, or ask where my CV was. Damn people, if you'd stop interrupting me, I'd get it to you!

But at least, I figured that if I could just survive this terrible, awful day, at the end of it I had FINALLY scheduled drinks with the young man I'd met at my friend's birthday party a month ago. So you can imagine how my heart sank when I got a text from him and it said, "Hi Adrian! Don't kill me okay, but I have to rain check tonight - have gone home from work ill. I'm totally kicking myself but I must rest up. How would Monday be?" Okay, so he rescheduled, so maybe he really IS just sick and is bummed to cancel, but of course leads to rounds of recrimination and self-doubt. (I'm not really in the best state of mind at the moment). I am only female, after all, and we respond to our lack of understanding of male behaviour by over-analyzing everything they do.

And on top of it all, my HR Rep will undoubtedly think I wore mascara today just for my conversation with her to be officially informed that I was being laid off. I hope that doesn't come across as weird.

Finally finished up my CV and escaped the office at 11 PM. What a rotten day, but at last it was finally over!

Out of the Blue

I really didn't see it coming this morning when my boss IM'd me and said, "We need to talk."

I guess he just didn't know how else to say it, so he just laid it right out there: "Your position at Accenture is being eliminated".

My boss was keen to emphasize that it had nothing to do with me or my performance (in fact I just recently got another "Exceeds Expectations" review), but that some leadership people way up on high decided to eliminate my role. Nobody will be replacing me, the work that I was doing for Accenture will just stop. My boss fought it as hard as he could, and in fact it seemed more like I was consoling him rather than the other way around when he had to tell me!

Still, it totally knocked the wind out of me. I'd talked to my boss before about whether my job was in any danger, and he'd assured me that he'd never had any inkling that any of us were in any danger. Apparently he was just as surprised at the news as I was, and equally blindsided by it. I'll give him credit though, as he was told not to tell me until HR could sit down and drop an anvil on my head in a face-to-face meeting in the office the next day, but he told them to "go f*ck themselves" and called me straight away. Luckily I was working from home that day, so my boss arranged for the rest of my calls for the day to be cancelled while I just sat around in a stunned daze.

I spent most of the day reading up on visa regulations (since I'm on an Accenture-sponsored visa, if I lose my job I lose my right to stay in the UK), looking at open postings, and telling people like my brother and my parents the news. It all seemed surreal however, as I just couldn't quite process that this all had really happened.

Finally at the end of the day, I felt like going for a run with the hash and seeing friends, except that it was POURING rain. Not just a slight bit of rain, but sort of "you might as well be standing in the shower" kind of downpour. In truth, matched my mood a bit.

So I knew that I was in no shape to actually properly go for a run in that kind of rain. Yet, I figured that staying at home by myself wasn't a good idea either, so I pulled on my wellies (oh how I love my English rainboots!) and headed out into the storm.

Got to the pub where I found all my friends, including some I hadn't seen for a bit, and a large number of soaking wet people. Yes, my crazy friends had seriously gone for a run in that overwhelming downpour.

Yet, as soon as I told my friends, I was once again reminded of why I'd known it would be a good idea to come out that evening. Everyone immediately gave me hugs and plenty of sympathy, bought me a glass of wine, and offered to help in any way they could. Whether I needed to move and needed a spare room to stay in or needed them to call their friends at other consulting firms, or even just go out for a drink to cry into my beer, my friends were all there for me. They say that in times of crisis you learn who your true friends are, and as it turns out, I have a LOT of friends. (Yeah baby, all of those people on Facebook aren't just a list of numbers!)

Finally, warmed by a glass of whiskey and the love of all my friends, I walked home, splashing in puddles with my wellies. And a boy stopped me and asked, "That's wonderful! How did you know to wear wellies today?" I laughed and replied that I'd only put them on after it was already raining, but I was sure glad I had them!

I've got friends, I've got wellies, and I've got all of the boys in London who can make me laugh. I'm going to be okay.

Salisbury (Day Two)

I woke at around 8 AM, finally unable to sleep any longer on my uncomfortable youth-hostel mattress. (The mattress was so old and worn, it permanently dipped in the middle, so no matter what position I tried to sleep in, I was always returned to the hammock-like center, unable to ever quite get comfortable). It didn't look like any of the other girls would be up for a while yet, so I dressed and slipped out downstairs to breakfast.

Had a decent breakfast, then everybody else finally got up, and we headed out for our morning run around Salisbury. A couple of folks were too hung over to contemplate running, and most of us did the run at a gentle walk/jog pace anyway. I was glad I went though, as we passed by some really lovely scenery, continually crossed rivers with water so startlingly clear it was amazing (quite different from the muddy Thames!) until we finally jogged through some sheep pastures and right up to the famed Salisbury Cathedral.

As it was a Sunday morning, church service was just ending when we arrived, so we poked our heads in, and then took a wander around the cloisters. Then came back outside and just sat out in the grass for a while, everyone piled on top of everyone else, using each other's stomachs as pillows. The boy whose stomach I was resting on told me that when I laughed, it was like I was a vibrating massage machine, which only made me laugh more. It really was just a wonderful way to spend a day, lying out in the grass in the sunshine, perfectly exhausted and content after a wonderful weekend with friends.

We returned to the youth hostel for some lunch and just to hang out for a while, before finally everyone started to depart. I was surprised at how many people had gotten there by means of transport other than the train, so it was really just me and this girl Sarah who ended up walking back to the train together.

Of course, that was fine with me, as Sarah is one of my favourite people. Although she's one of those friends where upon meeting her I decided I liked her, but only subsequently have I actually been getting to know her. I never quite understand how that mysterious chemistry works with some people, where you just "click" right from the start, before you even know each other at all. And weirdly, I think she feels the same way about me, always just pulling me into pictures with her, asking me for favours and if she can do anything for me...just that connection you have with people who are your friends. How does that work?

On the train ride home, we talked quite a bit about her relationship with her boyfriend, a guy four years her junior who is in the Army and currently in Afghanistan. And it's one of the mysteries about Sarah that I'm still trying to figure out, as she comes off as the sweetest and most wholesome girl you will ever meet, yet can drink like a fish and is dating a guy I think for the most part because he's incredibly physically attractive. (I've met her boyfriend, and honestly I don't blame her. The guy is HOT). Yet she misses him and worries about him, and I think at times the long-distance thing does take its toll on her.

Finally, I reached my station (the closer one this time!), promised Sarah I would e-mail her the next day, and came home and crashed!

Salisbury

When my alarm went off a mere three hours after I'd gone to bed, it took a nearly super-human effort to get up, dressed, and out of the house to Waterloo station, but thankfully I did it all without missing the train! Yet how annoying when just a few minutes after the train pulled out of Waterloo station, it stopped at a station just a few stops down from my flat. If I'd paid a bit more attention, I could have easily gotten another hour's sleep that morning!

I made it to Salisbury and to the youth hostel, where it turned out that everyone was still recovering after quite a heavy night out. Given that I've given up hangovers since I turned 30, I once again thanked my lucky stars that I'd decided to go to the garden party rather than come up to Salisbury the previous night.

We got on a bus and then went out for our first run of the day, running up and down hills, over hill and dale, until finally off in the distance, I spotted a familiar grouping of stones. Having mistaken many piles of haybales previously for Stonehenge, I wasn't quite sure if we'd actually reached it, but I was assured by my English friends that finally, after running for nearly two hours, this was it! We'd reached Stonehenge!

Unfortunately, we'd taken so long to run to Stonehenge that we didn't properly have time to really take it in, but then had to hop back on the bus and go to our next run destination. I didn't quite catch the name of it, but we passed some white horses carved in the hillsides along the way, and then arrived at another grouping of stones. Not quite as cool as Stonehenge, but still once again powerful when you remember that while the US is only slightly over 200 years old, people have been on the isle of Blighty FOREVER.


After our second run, we made our way back to the youth hostel, and changed into our togas for our toga party that night. Now of course, this is where my Dartmouth education really came to the fore, as I ended up pinning together the togas of EVERY girl who was staying in my room at the hostel. (Who would ever have guessed that skill would come in handy?)

Yet, still annoying to have to chop up a regular old bedsheet from Primark (could only find fitted sheets for cheap), as I've got a lovely silver piece of fabric that served as my toga when I was at Dartmouth. I think it's still tucked away somewhere in a box in New York, although I really wish I could have had it here!

We then created crowns out of ivy for ourselves (I just went with a white ribbon I had in my bag), and then walked down to the pub. Let me tell you, there is nothing quite like walking through an unfamiliar city with a group of 30 other people, all dressed in togas. Particularly as we'd all had to pretty much strip down to our underwear underneath, and tuck in all of our bra straps, so there was also the knowledge that if any of your safety pins came undone, you were going to end up naked in front of the entire city of Salisbury!

We got to the pub, had a lovely dinner, and then hung out playing drinking games. Admittedly, I excused myself from the drinking games, as they just seemed so juvenile, something I'd really left behind in college. I actually had only two pints of beer the entire evening, and then just called it quits, keeping with my policy of having given up hangovers when I turned 30. Seriously, why is this concept of "drinking in moderation" so hard for people?

Anyway, the rest of the crowd didn't go along with my moderation policy, probably because all of the beer that evening was free (or at least "free" in that we'd paid in advance for this dinner, and the pub undoubtedly made money on me as I drank so little!) The pub shut down and kicked out all of its other customers at midnight, and then we stayed on for a lock-in, where the boys all got the brilliant idea that they should start drinking yards of ale (two imperial pints). Okay, I guess that was fun for them, but I really don't see the attraction in it!

At 3 AM, I was really desperate to go home, but with all of the drunk night-clubbers out on the streets of Salisbury, I didn't want to walk home by myself, so that when one other guy finally declared his intention to leave too, I jumped at the chance to leave. It was then funny, as walking home dressed in togas, walking past all of the drunk people getting kebabs, people started yelling things at us. The most interesting though had to be, as I was walking along with this guy in a loose white robe, and a drunk person yelled out, "Oh my God, it's JESUS!!" Ummm...sure if Jesus was a bald guy who wore glasses, but so you have it.

Made it home safely and then crashed into my upper bunk at the hostel, finally glad to get a chance to get to sleep!!

Garden Party

I was pretty surprised to get a Facebook invitation on Thursday to a garden party being held the next day from a friend who is one of those "casual acquaintence" Facebook friends. You know the ones, where you met at a cocktail party, "friend" each other the next day saying how lovely it was to chat with them, and then entirely forget about the fact that they're even on your friend list.

So the invite pretty much came out of nowhere, but was intriguing enough for me to consider. Why not go to a random garden party where I didn't know that many people to stand around drinking wine and cocktails for a while? Knowing the girl and the party where I met her, it was likely going to be a bunch of British upper-class types and perhaps some minor nobility, with people talking like Bertie Wooster and actually demonstrating what might be called a "braying laugh", that affected chortle that somehow seems to distinguish the British upper classes.

Except the only problem was that I already had plans for Friday. I was supposed to be getting on a train right after work to head to Salisbury, where I was going to spend the weekend running around with my running club friends, seeing Stonehenge and the Salisbury Cathedral. So too bad, even though the garden party looked fun, I couldn't go.

Then I started talking to my cousin's ex-girlfriend (long story, but she's awesome and my cousin is a loser), and she asked me, "Couldn't you take a train to Salisbury in the morning?"

I realised she was right, that I'd have to getup at 5 AM, but it would be possible for me to go to the garden party that night and join my friends in Salisbury that morning. Yet did I want to subject myself to that much stress, staying out late at a party, and then getting up on the train at that hour of the morning? I dithered about what to do all of the way home, constantly debating: Garden Party or Salisbury? New friends or old friends? What to do, what to do...the stress merry-go-round just seemed to go on and on.

Finally, at 7 PM, when I absolutely had to decide what to do, I made the call in favour of the Garden Party. I texted a friend in Salisbury to say I would arrive in the morning, and almost instantly I was amazed by the sense of relief I felt. Once the decision was made, everything fell into place.

(Which also gave me a sense of how to respond to the text of the Tube guy I received as I left the office, where he said, "Had a great time... Would be nice to see you again some time... Regards, Marco". Just realised I had to text him back and give him a second chance, but let him know I was more interested in being friends in person. Even deciding on that lowered my stress-level about it considerably. Although I suppose that it's making me stressed should tell me something).

So I quickly changed, throwing my super-high heels into a bag so I could run to the Tube in my flip-flops. Stopped at the grocery store on my way to the station, grabbed a bottle of chilled white wine, and made it up to the party just half-an-hour after it was due to start.

As I arrived at the tube station and pulled out my pre-printed Google map, trying to follow the street signs as I figured out where to go, I began to doubt myself as I headed down the quiet streets of impressive residential houses, wondering, "What on earth are you doing? You barely know the girl who invited you, and you're not going to know anybody there. How on earth can you just show up like this? You're going to spend the evening standing by yourself in the corner."

Yet, just as my confidence was wavering and I was about to go scurrying home without attending, on the street outside the party I ran into a guy I remembered meeting at the last one of these British upper-class parties I had attended. I exclaimed a greeting, he thankfully remembered my name, and we knocked on the door together, which was answered by another young man I knew from another one of these same parties. I almost felt like the universe was reassuring me, "Don't worry, you're not going to spend the evening standing by yourself in the corner, you'll be fine here!"

Having walked in the door with two people I knew, they quickly introduced me to a few more people, and before long I was easily ensconced in conversation. A few times throughout the evening, I found myself desperately needing to employ diversionary tactics to escape the conversation I was in (as happened shortly after this photo was snapped; I'm the girl at the top in the black dress trying to get away from the hideously dull people), but for the most part everyone I met was lovely. Although it's a good talent to develop, how to extricate oneself from conversations!

The other talent I really needed was how to extricate myself from the grass. Note To Self: Spike-heeled stilletos are NOT a good footwear choice when you are going to be standing on grass.

It was somewhat comical, as I would be standing there talking to people, and then just slowly start to sink as my heels sank into the grass. And I would carry on talking, pretending like I wasn't growing visibly shorter right in front of their eyes, trying to surrepticiously shift my weight and get myself out of the little holes I kept digging myself into.

I ended up talking quite a bit to a 20-year old young man (although he seemed much older) who had just made his first visit to America, and to New York. He'd loved it, but was surprised at the strictness of our under-21 drinking laws. Yet at the same time, he was fascinated by how enamoured Americans (particularly the girls) were with his British accent. It led to one of the most hysterical lines of the evening, when a man standing nearby commented, "Yeah, but have you ever seen the reaction you get when you try to buy two 18-year old girls in a bar some gin-and-tonics? The Americans REALLY seem to have a problem with that!"

Still, I guess things work a bit differently here and for these people... I was rather shocked when I saw a girl I knew, who is quite widely known to be about 5 months pregnant, smoking a cigarette and quaffing some champagne. Even more strangely, her husband was standing right nearby, but didn't seem to take issue with this. I suppose I could understand the occasional glass of wine, but SMOKING? When pregnant?

Finally just ended up talking to a chap who is a member of my club, about activities at the club, people we knew in common (turns out he's good friends with one of my old hook-ups, so while I let it be known that I knew the guy, I didn't say WHY), and class and society in England in general. Really genial, nice guy. I remember when I first met him I thought that he'd done quite well in his recent marriage, as he's tipping the scales towards 250 lbs or so, while his wife is considerably more physically attractive, but after chatting to him I wonder if it wasn't his wife who got the better deal there.

The 20-year old then came up to press the chap I was talking to for a favour, needing to book a table at the Carlton for dinner on Thursday, where he is not yet a full member. Then, I think mostly because I was standing there, invited that I should come along too. The chap agreed to make the booking and suggested I should come as well, although I wonder if this was simply one of those plans made under the influence of quite a bit of wine and won't actually be followed through on.

Finally, with the hour growing late, I made my good-byes, and caught one of the last trains home, slipping into bed just before 2 AM. Yes, I would have to be up again in three hours, but what a fun night out it was!

(Nearly) Blind Date

Last night, as I was standing in Liverpool Street station on my way home from drinks with friends, I felt my purse buzz from my phone vibrating upon having received a text.

Now, if you got a text from a number you didn't recognize, saying merely, "Have you had dinner yet?" what would you do? As a sane person, I'm betting you would probably ignore it, or at least write back, "Who the hell is this?"

Instead I wrote back, "No, and I'm very hungry. I'm currently in Liverpool St station, where should I go now?"

In response I got a text came back saying to meet at the Shepherd's Bush tube station, so I realised it was the guy who had asked me out on the Tube yesterday. I seriously had thought he would flake out and never call me, so quite a surprise to get a text the very next day, asking me out to dinner.

And this is where I wonder if I like to pretend I'm braver than I really am, because I found myself getting quite nervous, asking myself, "What on earth are you doing, meeting some guy you don't know for dinner?" Yet I figured if I gave myself too much time to think about it, I'd wimp out and never do it, so I just decided to go for it, even being tired and a bit bedraggled after a full day in the office.

I arrived at Shepherd's Bush station, saw him (thank goodness I remembered what he looked like), and we went up an alleyway of restaurants, before I spotted a Mexican place that I knew I liked, and suggested we go there. (Also, as I figured he would be buying me dinner, it was cheap enough that I knew I wouldn't feel any guilt about him paying). So then he impressed me by ordering everything in Spanish (he lived in Spain for a while), and we conducted all of our interactions with our waiter in Spanish. I understood everything the waiter said, but admittedly struggled to keep up!

Turns out he is a plastic surgeon (but entirely reconstructive, not cosmetic), originally from Egypt, lived in Spain, and seems to travel a lot. He used to ride horses, he enjoys doing medical research, and he loves his job.

So what did I think of him?

If you asked me to list what I wanted in a man, I'd probably say someone who was confident (enough to ask out a random girl he met on the Tube), intelligent (being a doctor), intellectually curious (still doing research and is studying Hebrew), well-travelled (has been all over the world), good-looking (hey, I smiled at him first because he was kind of cute), who rode horses (in his youth), values family (lives with his brother), fiscally conservative (moved to SheBu recently because he thought it was silly to spend so much on rent near Covent Garden), financially secure (he's a surgeon, for cripes sake, and he paid for dinner), speaks Spanish (fluently), and was into me (called me the very next day). Okay, so this guy is doing EVERYTHING right. How well did I do for a random guy picking me up on the Tube, eh?

And yet.

What is it that makes us attracted to some people and not others? Why when we meet some people do we want to rip their clothes off and do the horizontal tango, whereas others all we can think is, "They'd make a great friend." What causes that electricity, that chemistry, that buzz that makes you draw physically closer to them, almost unconciously?

I mean, if I thought this guy had asked me out because he wanted to make new friends, this would have been a total success of a date. I mean, such a nice guy, really interesting, I honestly enjoyed having dinner with him. But at the end of the evening? I totally ducked out of getting to close or letting him go for a kiss, giving him a peck on each cheek and practically running away. Is it just that I'm out-of-practice? (Alas, it's been a while since there's even been a good make-out session going on). Is it that there was just too much pressure on this one date? Or is it that....as nice as he is....I just don't like him "that" way?

I guess if I were looking for excuses as to why I "just wasn't that into him", I could probably point to his obvious workaholism, as he claimed to have no idea what to do with himself if he had more than two days off. And yeah, a doctor? I barely survived dating my ex (another workaholic doctor, and he was still just in med school!), so why would I want to go back and turn myself into a punching bag for round two? Yeah, dating a brilliant surgeon sounds nice on paper, but what about the reality of it? So yeah, apparently I'm really into unmotivated lazy guys, can't stand those who are driven and work long hours!

At the end of the evening, he really left the ball in my court, saying, "You have my number? Text me sometime." Maybe he could sense my ambivalence.

At first I figured there was no point in seeing him again, but my sister-in-law advocates that I should give it one more date, and see if perhaps he was just nervous and needs to warm up a little. Maybe. But I think mostly I just want to dial the whole thing back a little, as a full dinner out the day after meeting him was a bit full-on. So unsurprising I was a little unsettled by the end of it all. As I said, I'd love to keep him as a friend, but how on earth do you communicate that? And I can't just NOT call him, because that's cowardly, and note what I said above about how I like to pretend that I'm brave.

Any advice or suggestions most eagerly welcomed, as you can see I'm a bit at a loss here. But poor me, eh? Too many nice, smart, successful men taking me out to dinner. What strange problems I have...

Boys On The Tube

I was riding home on the Tube last night after my flatmate, Emily's, birthday dinner. A nice crowd, an overly-expensive dinner not worth the money, and when Emily wanted to stay out with her friends for one last drink, I begged tiredness and headed home by myself.

When I sat down on the Tube, I caught this guy fiddling with his iPod and trying to surreptitiously check me out. So I smiled at him. He was sort of cute, and I figured it might totally freak him out to have the cute girl he was checking out smile at him. (Yes, that is the strange way in which my brain operates). Indeed, he smiled back, but seemed to have no idea what to do after that. I could completely imagine it turning into one of those "missed connections" things that you always read in the free paper they give out on the Metro, or on Craigslist, where people write, "Central Line, last Tuesday, you were wearing a red dress with brown hair. You smiled at me, and I smiled back. Wish I'd asked for your number." Because they saw someone they fancied but lacked the courage and guts to actually DO ANYTHING about it. (I wonder about people who write in to those "missed connections" thing when they never even talked to the person in question. I really do).

And then when the train got to my station, Shepherd's Bush, he stood up to get off the train, I did too, he graciously let me out first, and then fell into step beside me, striking up a conversation. I found out that he was Greek, he was a doctor, and he'd been living in London for five years, and his English was really flawless. So we exchanged a little back-and-forth banter, and then when we exited the station, I figured that would be that. As that has been what's happened every time I run into British men on the Tube who start talking to me. So I nearly died of shock when I heard what he said next: "Do you think maybe I could take you out for a drink sometime?"

And although it was so unexpected, I thought, "Why not? He's cute, he'd a doctor, and he had the guts to ask you out." So I said, "Yes, I'd like that." He then tried to give me his number, but having the girl call? No way! I don't play that game, so I gave him my card, to which he replied, "Thanks, I didn't want to be so forward as to ask for your number.." Okay dude, I understand your not wanting to come off like a total letch here, and I appreciate that. But still, you're going to need to call me.

Now I realise that chances are high that this guy is going to lose his nerve and fail to call me, but that's okay. But if he does call? I totally am going to go out with him. Sure, he could turn out to be a total weirdo or a boring guy, or even a reasonably okay guy with whom there is no chemistry. But also, he might be a really nice guy who had the courage to take a chance and ask some girl out on the Tube. It's just a date, after all, and why not just go for it and see what happens?

Regardless, I feel like there was some more good karma in the universe as a result of that incident last night. I feel great because some guy thought I was cute enough to ask out on the Tube, and he's probably feeling good that some cute girl said "yes" when he asked her out.

So it makes me wonder, why don't more people do that? It seems that the world is full of men who would rather chew off their right arm rather than ask a girl out, yet I find it telling that when I posted this little tale on my FB status, an overwhelming number of girls immediately responded to say how great they thought it was. So the world is full of girls who are desperate to be asked out, and either men who will die of fright before doing something so scary as asking a girl out.

Anyway, even if the boy never calls, it totally made my night.

Betty Crocker

So yesterday was my flatmate's birthday, and we had her brother and sister-in-law over, their two kids, and her sister-in-law's sister and parents (as it was the mother's birthday as well that day). I'd met the sister-in-law and the two little kids before (a 2-year old and a 6-month old), but the rest of the crowd was new. Lovely people, although so incredibly British it was hysterical. (Lunchtime conversation at one point revolved around the use of the word "unctuous").

Also hysterical though, was that since it was my flatmate, Emily's, birthday, and I desperately wanted to eat some myself, I volunteered to make a cake.

Now of course, I made the cake the way I would make cake at home: I went to the grocery store, found a box of Betty Crocker cake mix, added eggs, oil, and water, and baked it. Had to do it in two pieces, as Emily had only one 8-inch round pan, but managed to do it successfully, and then frosted it with a tub of Betty Crocker chocolate frosting.

I did this because I love Betty Crocker cake mix, and I thought it would make the best cake. I was pleased with how it came out, which is to say incredibly, incredibly chocolate-y.

Yet, in England, pre-packaged cake mix is really quite unheard of. I had to go to a couple of stores until I found the cake mix, and there was only one variety available, but luckily it was chocolate. People just don't do pre-packaged cake mix here.

So imagine my embarassement at lunch, when everyone tucked into the cake and started complimenting me on how lovely it was, but then peppering me with questions like, "How much sugar did you use? And how much flour? Was the frosting just one of those things where you blend together whipped cream and cocoa?" Treating me as though I'd actually MADE it!!

Oh gosh, how to tell them that while I'd baked it, I'd totally cheated? So I just kept demurring and trying to change the topic, unsure of how to break it to these people that the genius baker here was Betty Crocker, not me.

German Dinner

I was asked to play in a polo tournament this weekend, but as I had a dinner to go to on Saturday and my flatmate's birthday was on Sunday, I decided to pass. Gosh, I am getting so blasé about these things. At one point in time, I would have been tripping over myself at the opportunity to play in a polo tournament, but now I pass them up because I just can't be bothered to fit it all in?

Anyway, the reason for passing it up was that I'd been invited to drinks and dinner on Saturday. A friend of mine from my Balliol days, who I'd done a horrible job of keeping in contact with since I'd arrived in London, was already leaving again to go back to Germany. Yet luckily I got the invite for the leaving dinner, and so was determined to make it to this one event.

I arrived shortly after drinks were due to begin at 7, and found a small crowd of about 7 people standing with my friend, Markus, outside a pub. Markus fetched me a gin and tonic (what a lovely boy!) and I settled in to chat with a German guy and his girlfriend, both of whom seemed very nice. I was surprised as people kept arriving how large the crowd became, until I was sure there were at least 30-40 people there. Particularly surprising for a Saturday event that had only been planned on Tuesday, but I guess goes to show you how dear Markus is to his friends, that so many would make it, even at the last minute.

I found myself quite delighted when our little conversational group was joined by a tall Czech man whose body and jaw-line were chiselled to such perfection, I found myself wondering what he looked like with his shirt off, despite myself. You know the stereotype of the banker who hides a gym-buff's body underneath a starched white shirt and jeans? Oh yes, that was this man.

Even more to my delight, this scrumptious bit of manliness seemed to have decided that I was the most attractive of all the women there, and so focused his attention on me. Okay, this wasn't lightning bolts or electric chemistry (how could I ever fall for a man who was planning on going into the office on a Sunday?), but the sheer pleasure of bathing in the attention of a man whose abs I could make out under his dress shirt was absolutely making my evening.

As the conversational groups continued to grow and widen, we were joined by a British chap who didn't have quite the sheer physical attractiveness of the Czech man, but who had a brilliant sense of humour (and the wit that comes with being a native English speaker that no person who speaks English as a foreign language can ever quite match, regardless of their facility with the language). So I enjoyed talking to him too, and listening to his stories of driving cars and learning to shoot guns in the countryside, and laughed my head off.

Then, as it was nearly 9 PM, it was time to make our way into dinner, at a restaurant just across the road from the pub. Now, this is where dinners can be made or broken, in my experience. If there is someone you wish to sit near at dinner, you have to be very careful to stay near them as the group moves, so that when you all file into seats, seemingly at random, you will remain sitting next to, or at least near, the person you wish to get to know better. So, having looked around and determined that I'd already met the two best conversational partners of the evening, my goal was to sit next to them at dinner. Hence, I walked at a careful pace, making sure they were near.

As we walked over to dinner, I then got the biggest surprise when I ran into Judith, a girl who used to be on my course at Oxford, who now lives just around the corner from me in London, and who I have been meaning to get together with for ages. And here she was, right at the same dinner! So I quickly said hello, but had to rush to keep with the group heading into dinner! Augh, panic! If I lost the boys I wanted to sit with, I might be doomed to spend the evening next to the awkward Indian smoking man!

So scooted into dinner, and as everyone sorted the seats, found myself next to the English chap, across from the Czech man, Markus on my left (hurrah, a chance to catch up!) and Judith across from him. I couldn't have designed the seating arrangement any more perfectly!

I had a lovely time at dinner, listening to funny stories from the English chap, and basking in the attention of the Czech man. The boys occasionally got into talking about finance, which only reconfirmed my opinion that I'm glad I don't work in finance. (Everyone was planning to go into the office on Sunday. I mean, it's one thing to work from home on a Sunday, but go into the office? Ick!) Also had a great time chatting with Markus, who has never had any appropriate sense of personal space (way too much touching at the table), but that's just the way he is and he tells great stories, so I just sat back to enjoy it.

Throughout the meal, the brought out chilled shot glasses and pepper vodka, and so we all ended up having a few shot toasts. Surprisingly I found the vodka somewhat nice when simply sipped (although it did do a good job of clearing out my sinuses). The Czech man then revealed that he didn't drink, having given it up about a year previously. It led to some interesting discussion (although I never like how people who drink berate people who don't as though there is something wrong with them), although it did make me wonder why drinking is one of those "all or nothing" things for so many people? I made some jokes about how I've given up hangovers, but it's really the honest-to-goodness truth. I basically decided never to get drunk again, to simply drink in moderation, and to enjoy the crisp and clear snap of a pepper vodka, but to just never to have too much of it. So I get the experience, with none of the bad hangovers. Why on earth does moderation seem to be such a tricky thing for so many people, so that it's all or nothing?

Finally, we ended the evening with assurances to go home and all befriend each other on Facebook. So I got home and looked up the English chap and the Czech man, although I had to laugh when I saw the birthday of the Czech man: 1987!!! No wonder he had been such a prime example of exquisite male form, as he was only 22!! Okay, so while I was never going to fall for such a workaholic anyway, it reinforced the idea that this one was not going anywhere. Ah, but as the saying goes, "I wouldn't kick him out of my bed." I wouldn't mind keeping him around just so I could look at him.... preferably with his shirt off.

The English chap accepted my friend request and almost immediately invited me to his birthday party next month. Looking at the list, he's just invited about everyone he knows, but still kind of interesting to invite a girl you've just met. Still, he was good fun, wouldn't mind spending more time with him or the kinds of people such a funny guy is sure to be friends with. Perhaps I shall go.

Still no word from the English chap I ran into before my parents came to visit, but this is where the book "He's Just Not That Into You" is such a wonderful bible to keep on hand, as I find that I just really don't care. I mean, I like the boy and if he comes around, I'll be thrilled to go out with him, but I find I don't waste too much energy wondering about if he will or not. I've got a dinner to go to on Tuesday, a party on Wednesday, and then Friday, Saturday, and Sunday away in Salisbury, and I just got invited to a book signing and another birthday party. Opportunities abound, even if one boy doesn't come up to scratch...

Which is the attitude I had when I came home, to find my flatmate in quite a funk, as at midnight it became her 33rd birthday, and she was a bit depressed about being single. Yet, I managed to cheer her up in just a few moments, by playing a clip from the web, a voicemail recording of a really sleazy man calling a girl he was trying to hit on. (Listen to the clip here). Oh my, how much better is it to remain single than to have to deal with men like that?

Still, a fantastic evening, with lovely, wonderful, cute boys. They're out there, really they are.

Web Cam

Yesterday I got a web cam!!! I came into the office yesterday entirely so I could pick up my package from the mailroom, a new Logitech QuickCam Deluxe for Notebooks. I'd been hoping for ages that Accenture would spring for it and buy me one, but after they never did, I finally just bit the bullet, particularly after I found one on Amazon for just £17. I've had one built-in for ages on my Mac, but that doesn't help me when talking to work people and using our internal IM client.

Now with my new high-tech toy, of course I immediately wanted to go out and play with it. So I e-mailed everyone at the company I knew who had a web cam, and we started having pointless conversations just so we could laugh at each other and say, "Oh my gosh, I can SEE you!" Of course, given how many of the people I work with work from home, everyone kept going on about how they didn't shower. Basically though, I think as long as the video resolution never gets too good, nobody will mind, because you can never really tell if anybody washed their hair or not anyway.

Hysterically, it doesn't really seem to matter whether you have a web cam or not, as shortly into the conversation, you generally just open a PowerPoint presentation and start looking at that, instead of the video of the person you are talking to, but still it's just a pointless fun web toy. You have no idea how much fun pointless technology really is. This has totally made my work day!!

Of course, modern technology cannot be without its hang-ups... So since the web cam came with a free headset (just a little earbud with one of those microphones on the wire), I of course used that too. Although on the downside, the earpiece isn't exactly super comfortable, so when I wasn't talking to people, I kept taking it off and unplugging the earphone jack, just letting the sound instead go through the speakers on my computer (i.e. can be heard by everyone in my office).

So then a colleague mentions Gossip Girl to me, and I remember that it's FINALLY returning on September 14th. Hurrah, I've gone for way too long without my Chuck and Blair fix!! And so then I get the brilliant idea to check the website, where they have a promo clip for the season premiere. Yay, I must watch! Except I'm in the office, so it's a no go, right? But I'm thinking, "That's okay, I have a headset now, so I'll just watch it with my headset on, so nobody can hear it, and people are very unlikely to be watching over my shoulder and seeing that I'm watching a Gossip Girl promo."

Safe in the knowledge that I can get away with a 30 second Gossip Girl break, with the sound turned up on my computer, I click "play" on the promo clip.

Note to self: MAKE SURE YOU'VE ACTUALLY PLUGGED IN THE HEADSET BEFORE YOU CLICK ON GOSSIP GIRL CLIPS.

Oh my gosh, wanted to crawl under my desk and die with embarassment, and the shrieks of Chuck, Blair, Serena, Dan, Nate, and all the rest of them reverberated throughout the office. Hit the mute button as quickly as I could, but I still had quite a few people turn around and look at me, asking, "What the heck was that?"

Obviously, this whole "working in the office" thing again is going to take some getting used to. Have to remember that when I goof off, it's much more apparent to the people around me!

Lunch at my Club

It was Mom and Dad's last day in London, and the first day my club was going to be open again after it's August closing. So we went out to have lunch at my club, the first day it was open again.

When we got to the club, it was obvious that they were still finishing up some last-minute work, as the vacuums were still going and people were still furiously scrubbing the brass handrails. Yet, the club retained it's overall opulence and gradeur, so I could show my folks around, sneak library books back onto the shelves, and give them a tour of the place. We went through the grand library, games room, silent library, the library terrace, the reading room, the member's bar, the business suite, the pool room, and the squash courts. They didn't say too much, but I wonder if it's just because they were trying to take it all in.

We had lunch in the Coffee Room, which was a fun experience for my parents, as dining at my club is a big production with silver service, they change the cutlery depending upon what you are having for your meal, and the food is amazing. I was pleased as even my father seemed to enjoy going to my club, as much as he'd fussed and complained about having to bring a jacket and tie (required for male guests).

We left the club at 2:15, and made it home with only moments to spare before I was due to begin at 3 PM conference call. So I asked the person I was talking to if I could be 10 minutes late, said good-bye to my parents, and then packed them off to the airport.

Then spent the rest of the afternoon working, hearing stories from my flatmate, Emily, about her trip to California, and catching up on my social calendar. Emily asked if I might be willing to go into the office more (annoying for me, as I'd much prefer to work in my pajammas all day, but a reasonable request), so we worked on coordinating our Google Calendars, which then of course made me set about the task of filling up my social calendar.

I was pleased to learn I'd gotten tickets to an inter-club younger member's ceilidh on the 25th (basically Scottish dancing with a bunch of younger members from other posh clubs like mine), scheduled drinks with a friend and her failed internet date (she thought he was a nice guy, but not date-worthy, but thought she might drag out a few of his friends and a few of her friends to see what we all thought of each other), and going to a leaving dinner for a guy I know on Saturday and a bunch of his random friends. Got a text from the woman who organizes polo tournaments asking if I'd be willing to play this weekend, but I think I might pass on that. But steadily filling up the calendar with social engagements until I don't have a day to spare, but that's just the way I like it.

No word from the guy I want to go have drinks with, but I told him we'd sort things out after my parents left, so trying not to freak out when he didn't ring five minutes after they walked out the door. Plus, after three weeks of eating out every day, perhaps having some more time to hit the gym is not such a bad thing? Still, keep your fingers crossed for me...

AGPU

It was my first day back at work today, which I was weirdly thrilled about. I love my parents and all, but there's something to be said for the normal routine. Plus, running around London was never exactly relaxing or really made me feel like I was "getting away", so it was just as well to go back to work.

After work it was the hash run though, and this week's was the AGPU, or Annual General Piss Up. It's the point at which we transfer over leadership positions for the next year, and just generally show why anarchy is a poor system of goverment. (No joke, the elections system works where whoever's name is shouted the loudest wins. This results in the elections of some people who were never running for office in the first place!)

The run was quite quick, although a good one as an experienced runner was setting it. Still, I was frustrated at how I struggle to keep up, as you'd think that after two years of doing this I would have gotten faster!

No cute guys showed up for the second week in a row, which was actually a huge relief, since my parents were still around. My old flatmate, Zu, came along specifically to meet my parents, even though she'd just gotten back from holiday in Croatia early that morning. My parents talked once again about how impressed they were by my friends, such a lovely, kind, nice and charming group of people.

Zu is one of the ones who still impresses me most, as we met so incredibly by chance. We both showed up to view a house to live in at the same time, and you know how people talk about "chemistry" or things like that? Usually they're talking about romantic relationships, but when I met Zu, it was this instant thought that "We should be friends". Within minutes we'd exchanged business cards and phone numbers, ended up living together for seven months, and she's still a brilliant friend to hang out with.

Surprisingly, I've never made any of my BEST friends this way, as those always seemed to grow slowly over time, but I still have to say whatever sixth sense is in operation for finding friends, while not perfect, is pretty darn good.

There's always a drinks stop at the AGPU some 500 yards before the end of the run, and my parents came along to that, as Princess (the guy who set the run) gave them a map and told them where to go. Princess is awesome like that. So they came along as we drank tons of questionable mixed drinks under the shadow of the Tate Modern, and then ran back to the pub.

In years past, the AGPU has been an absolutely mental night, ending with lock-ins (where the pub stays open past closing time, but locks in everyone who is still in the pub and lets nobody else in) and just overall craziness, but this year the vibe just wasn't there. So by 11:30 PM, I headed home, having had just a nice night out with good friends. Always a good way to have a run.