Realisation

It hit me this morning. I didn't know an English person until I moved over here.

Is that weird?

Not that this is remotely on the same subject, but today on Oxford St, there was a guy trying to convert people to becoming atheist. As I laughed in agreement, a guy came up and said, seeing as though you find this funny, how about becoming a Muslim? Errr, I didn't know the two came hand in hand, but apparently it's the 2nd most popular religion. As I was walking back to the tube, I saw the atheist and Muslim guy walking together. It was some kind of religious tag team. I felt confused yet applauded their idea in my head.

After that, I zipped up my chin because it was so cold. It hurt and now I have a zip mark.

In the final bit of excitement for today, I saw a girl on the tube who looked like a tiger! A tiger! She had a constellation of dark freckles across her face and the bluest eyes imaginable. Luckily I had my glasses on so I could stare at her in focus.

I think that's it.

Ode to grey

I'd like to dedicate a post to a major colour in my life;

Grey.

Everyday, I am greeted with your presence. In fact, living in this country, there isn't a day goes by when I don't see some shade of you. And here I am, worried about my impending holiday to Australia. Worried, of all things about the weather. I keep forgetting I'm about to come back to a country that doesn't go, at maximum, a week without blue sky. Here, we could go two weeks, perhaps even three, without looking up and seeing an hint of pale blue relief to the otherwise gloominess up above.

And it's starting to kill me slowly.

Kind of like when someone is tapping their pen in a two hour meeting. Sure, you can deal with it for about 15 minutes, busying yourself with eyeing the biscuits (pre credit crunch) or thinking about lunch. But then, it becomes all you can think about, making you want to claw your way across the table, rip it out of their hand and starting tapping them with it in the middle of their forehead. I would just like to point out that in 2009, I would have said 'rip it out of their hand and use it to stab them in the eye' but I am trying to be less violent in my work fantasies in 2010.

So back to the weather. I remember Yoel once said (and excuse me Yoel for paraphrasing) some of the greatest bands, e.g Radiohead, could only come from the UK because of the weather. Yoel, you were so right. I'd like to take a moment to address Radiohead and say, I finally understand and you're forgiven. You (the band) have no other choice for producing such wrist slitting music because it's FUCKING DEPRESSING seeing nothing but grey for an extended period of time.

Argh, grey, get out of my life.

I know, I know. I have winter blues. But it's making me want to crawl out of my skin. I feel impatient. It's turning all that I love about this place into resentment for the constant darkness and gloom. It's probably because I know I have sun coming.

6 weeks.

6 weeks.

It can't come soon enough.

When you want cake, but you can't work out what kind of cake you want

So I'm in a cake shop, let's for arguments sake call it 'Life'. I'm looking around. There are many delights before my eyes. Pain au chocolat. Oui. Scones with clotted cream and homemade strawberry jam. Two please. Pastries. Cheesecake. Banana bread. Raspberry and chocolate muffins. Bigger than your head jam biscuits. It's amazing. And then the worst thing hits. I can't decide what I want. I look around for ages. I annoy the shopkeeper (me) and then leave the store empty handed, hungry and perhaps a little over stimulated by the whole experience.

My mum worked for 27 years in the same job, at the same school. She didn't complain and as far as I know, she was happy and didn't want anything else because she always made the best of what she had. And then there's dad. He's done the same thing for the best part of 40 years, give or take some entrepreneurial moments that none of us can quite work out. But their generation committed. They chose that one thing and made it work. And then came us. We flit from one thing to another, believing, from fuck knows where, that we're entitled. Entitled to everything. And that's why I think so many of us are lost. We've grown up believing that the world is ours. And sure, it is, but when you've got the notion of choice, it's really hard to settle on one thing.

When I started at my first job, I was the office co-ordinator. Which is just a bullshit way to say receptionist. I hated it. I lasted 6 weeks because a. I dislike answering phones and b. I hated being perceived as being at 'the bottom'. So I quit that job and went to another, one I thought was more worthy of a university graduate. I believed after 3 years of a joke of a degree, I was entitled to more than being a lacky. Yes, you have to start somewhere, but exactly where was questionable to the 21 year old me.

So now, again, 7 years later, I, like many of my friends, are thinking we're entitled to more. But it's in a less selfish way than when we started out. We know there's something better out there for us but we don't know what. We don't want to start over, but we want more. We've spent longer than our parents ever got to, running around life, blindfolded, trying to work out who we are and what we want. And in many ways, that's a good thing. However, when you begin to work yourself out, and your oyster of a world begins to get smaller, you really want to make sure you're filling it with the right things. And that's hard.

Snot and social fishing

You know when you get sick and you can't remember what it was like to be well? You wish for the day you can breathe out of your nose. You swear you will never take a clear nose for granted. You wake up with a film of saliva around your teeth and if you're really lucky, your lip stuck to your top tooth. You sweat out of one armpit, you leak out of your left eye and make a mountain of tissues that makes even your loved one feel repulsed. You'd even prefer to go to [insert shithouse job] work than feel like this. And then, as life goes, you get better, the snot lessens, you go back to solid food, can get to sleep without waiting for that pop of air that lets you breathe for the night and you forget your promises.

But lets all take a moment to appreciate our good health.

Done? Ok, let's continue.

I was at a house party last night. I've decided I quite enjoy saying weird things and gauging people's reactions. It's like social fishing with a quicker return. It's not really intentional, as I can't quite manage my filter at the best of times, but it's nice to establish what level you're at with people immediately. So last night, I was talking this dude who smelt a bit like a very mature farmhouse cheddar. He had a mouthful of teeth and a full head of peppered hair. I think his name was Lou but I always forget to listen to people's names. Like most gents with peppered hair, he had very dark eyebrows and eyes. Think Steve Martin. At approximately the three minute mark of the conversation, I told him that I had a dream where I pissed all over my face. To me, saying this is normal. To others, it's weird and unsettling. I get their point, it's not everyone's cup of tea, but if I had a choice between talking about the weather or piss, I'd choose piss any day. In the end, it was a successful dip in the water, he enjoyed it, we all laughed and there was a bit of fun banter to follow.

And then he left the party pretty much straight away...

2009: I saw, I ate, I undid my top button, then ate more

You know, it's impossible to replicate a happy memory, to remember a certain feeling or relive the moment you first experience something. And sometimes, this makes me sad. I'll never again experience Paris for the first time, or eat my first cheesecake. But whenever I think this I take a moment to mentally bitch slap myself because the beauty of life is you can continually build on these moments and memories. So much so, you overflow your mind with happiness, take everything for granted and then have to re bitch slap yourself as a reminder to be thankful for the great life you have.

And what a great one I have.

London, as trying as it is sometimes, will only give as much as you're prepared to take. The city is like one of those friends who is great fun, amazing, bright and clever. But you have to make an effort with London, and as long as that's ok with you, it's everything you could ever want.

It's been another year away from family and friends and another year of making the logo bigger and making my copy sound 'more fun'. But then again, it's been another year of amazing trips away, mind blowing food and fun stuff. So as I sit here, on New Year's Eve, on my rather comfy £40 sofa, slow cooked pork in the oven and listening to the Concerto for violin, oboe and strings in D minor, I'm exactly where I want to be and I couldn't be more content.

Happy New Year.

PS

That was not a dig at LP, more an observation of t-shirt usage based on him and other males.

Thank you.

PPS He did not make me write this.

One time dirtiness

So there's something I don't understand about men.

Why can they wear a pair of jeans numerous times, some may say too many times, within a two week washing period, yet wear a t-shirt once and have to wash it?

Now I understand the issues. There are the pits. Yes, they produce man stench.

However!

You, men, are NOT going out, spearing animals and dragging them home on your backs. Nor are you jogging, in a sauna or in one of those humid plant conservatories while wearing your (insert special own man t-shirt here). You are not and I repeat, not, doing enough to produce a sweat and therefore a pongy enough smell to warrant a one wear t-shirt wash.

Why is it that you'll happily have a sweaty bum, fart and god knows what else in your jeans and not wash them after one wear? The lower region holds far more blows that your pits, yet your clothes are not evenly compensated and I want answers.

I'm waiting...

People who make me work

I don't enjoy working at the best of times. I resist having to do it as I have a naturally lazy and difficult nature, so when it's Christmastime and I'm trying to wind down, I really don't appreciate people coming up to me asking me to do things or starting sentences with 'what are you up to?' or 'can you just...'. How about just getting out of my face?

Our last day of work is tomorrow. Everyone knows that no work will be done either today or tomorrow. It's COMMON KNOWLEDGE you stubborn spreadsheet wielding mules! It's one of those unwritten rules, like being able to lick your ice cream bowl at home but not at a restaurant.

I've spent the best part of the day transferring movies to my hard drive. Oh, and I played the Wii this morning. At the moment I'm doing my last transfer and then I'm out of here. See? This is me getting into the spirit of things.

Leave me alone advertising go getters. I will not let you and your 'heeeeys' or 'what are you doing for Crimbo?' prefaces get me to cave in and do any work. And don't come and sit on my desk, it doesn't make you friendlier.

And finally, anyone who says 'Crimbo' should probably be shot with some kind of sparkly decoration.

People who make me feel sleepy

There are a few things that make me sleepy and they are as follows:

1. Being in a food court with that tiresome background chatter

2. Watching movies with the lights off (standard)

3. Work meetings (standard)

4. Boring people


I often wonder, do boring people know they're boring?

I mean, fat people know they're overweight, Chinese people know they're Chinese and so on. But boring people, do they know they are the corduroy of conversations? Man, there's nothing worse than getting stuck with a one way conversationer in social situations. You know the ones that make you fire incessant questions at them to keep the darkness of awkward silence from descending? And then to make matters worse, they make you scrape the barrel, you know, REALLY scrape, and dig out the turd of all conversation life support systems like:

* What do you do?

* What does a (insert boring job in here) do?

* Where do you live?

* Do you like it?

Pause...........wait for them to ask you something.....nothing.......insert desperate question generator thinking music

* Sooo, where did you get (insert clothing item if it's a girl) from?

Now, these people could just be really self involved rather than boring, but I'm pretty sure these two personality defects come hand in hand.

When I'm in a social situation I'm lazy. I either position myself sitting down somewhere, like a table or couch or right by the food table if there is one. Either way, I find it hard to leave my original seat. So this leaves me with problems when faced with the enemy. Yes, I could retreat, but I'm not a stander and I prefer to be using the cushion of my arse, after all, that's what it's there for.

Now, I don't know about any of you, but my normal boring person conversation ALWAYS pans out like this.

I start by testing the water. I throw out some questions and then see what I get back. If there's nothing substantial, I keep trying like a moth trying to commit suicide and reach into the afore mentioned turd barrel. Then, I end up saying weird things. You know, just really strange things, usually about poo, solely for my own amusement. Then they freak out, make an excuse and move on and I get to keep my seat.

Greener grass? Or perhaps it's just astro turf.

I'm back and breathing again having emerged from yet another dark period of my working life. The day after a pitch is over, I still feel delicate. On edge. Ready to snap at the next person who dares make me work. Inevitably, after that happens I have post snap guilt and write an email apology. Then, the day after that, due to my useless short term memory, I forget the stress, the weekends thinking of (insert useless consumer brand) and how I can possibly 'connect' with (insert target audience) in a 'unique' and 'interesting' way.

Sigh. I'm like an advertising goldfish.

Ugh, I hate goldfish.

They make me feel sick with their bulging little eyes and the poo that hangs out of their bums while they swim around. It's just not right. I often get weird sick reactions (e.g my mouth filling with saliva) towards things I have been ok with for a good 25 years. I have a list (please note this is subject to change and by no means definitive):

* Goldfish
* Pasties (I think I'm over this one though)
* Nail files
* Feet on pillows
* Unwashed new items (e.g plates, saucepans etc)

Sorry, went a bit off track there. The original thought behind this post was about job envy. When I describe my job, it sounds cool. Think of ideas. Go and get coffee. Surf the net. Write some copy. Sometimes even try (and I use this term very loosely) and draw up ideas. Play table tennis. I guess the grass greener stuff is similar to the years I spent wishing I was a blonde. Finally, when I found a hairdresser greedy enough to take my money, I became the blonde of my dreams. The grass was not greener as my hair ended up feeling like dead grass in the midst of an Australian drought.

Lesson learned: don't dye black hair blonde and perhaps appreciate your job where you get paid to 'think' and 'write' a little more.

Alone

For the first time in god knows how long, I'm home alone. I can hardly believe it. In almost three years in living in London, this will probably be the first time it has ever happened. How bizarre is that? There are no housemates to be heard, nothing but me and my soup (homemade vegetable by the way) boiling on the stove. It's not bad, not good, just strange.

When I first moved out of home seven years ago, I lived by myself. Looking back, it was kind of a ballsy thing to do. Let's take a moment to pat the 21 year old Vanessa on the back. Ok, back to the story. The thing is, I loved living on my own. I would definitely put it in the box labeled 'good decisions I've made'. I think the ability to live by yourself and enjoy your own company is one of those important life skills schools threaten to give you, but never do. Home Economics? Yea, I make gingerbread houses all the time. Algebra? Yep, I often check the trajectory of the ball while playing table tennis. Actually, for that last sentence to be accurate I would have had to understand algebra first before applying it to ball sports.

Since my first stint, I've lived with various people, again, another great life skill. For someone who is as intolerant as me, I got to practice restraint and emotional internalisation. Both fine life lessons. Sure, when one of your housemates is pissing you off, sticking your finger up to the wall with the door closed is both a mature and effective way to deal with the situation.

So now, here, at home alone in London, it's a bit strange. We have no tv and I have no book I want to read. I've made soup and entertained the thought of making some biscuits. So I write in my blog and this is good, perhaps I'll even write a story, but it won't stop that slight lingering feeling of loneliness and tiny feeling of homesickness that I've felt all day. It doesn't happen often, but when it does, it sucks. Today was another day of work, of gloves, a cold nose, of talking to my friends and family on the internet rather than in person and another birthday I missed. My only two friends in the city aren't here and if it was any other day, I wouldn't even be bothered by any of this. It's just one of those days I guess. Listening to Ben Lee's more depressing stuff probably isn't helping either.

It is nice having time alone, just strange when you haven't had it in a while.

New wood

For all of you (like how I've made it seem like I have a stampede of readers?) who receive email updates/subscribe to bloglines etc, go onto my site to check me out. Changes courtesy of LP.

28 things to do before 29

Yeah, I'm about three months late..

1. Go to Chagford
2. Make some new friends
3. Have a dinner party
4. Make more plans
5. Read the news more often
6. File my life better
7. Visit Australia with Luke
8. Stop buying shit books on Amazon
9. Get a new job
10. Make really good curry from scratch
11. Get an article printed
12. Do a course
13. Be more financially aware
14. Visit Teresa in Italy
15. Eat at more top restaurants in London
16. Try and do something from Time Out once a fortnight
17. Make more of an effort in general
18. Go to the Cotswolds
19. Visit Rani in the Dam
20. Read more
21. Throw as I go
22. Find some glasses that suit me and maybe wear them more often
23. Better document things I do in London and on my travels
24. Stop over eating
25. Make sushi
26. Try and find a new talent
27. Go to more talks
28. Re read my work and be more disciplined

Me, right now

I'm a bus person.
I'm someone who gets free furniture off the web.
I'm embracing the constant urge to put things away.
I'm a bed maker (well, only once).
I'm a bulk buyer.
I'm a leader in lunch preparation.


I love my new place, although it still feels like I'm on holiday. It's shiny and clean, although I'm not sure how long that will last. It doesn't have that lived in feeling yet, but it will. Probably when I stop putting my clothes back on the hangers. Yeah, the novelty will wear off soon. I give myself a week.

You know, I have no idea how I accumulated so much stuff. I don't buy that many clothes, nor do I hoard. You'd think I would have learned my lesson after packing up in Adelaide and then again in London. But no. I've had to throw away numerous bags of shit as well as infiltrate Luke's storage section, and by section, I mean the 1/4 space I left for him under the bed. Never again I have sworn to myself. I will throw something out to every new dress I buy. I will stay away from the shops and never accept free books or shoes. I will stay strong and minimalistic. Roar.

This weekend I can't wait to do some exploring, there are local farmers markets, cute breakfast places and museums to see. I can't wait! Oh and fireworks on Saturday night at Victoria Park for Guy Fawkes. I might even bake something, yes, I am a stranger walking in slanty eyes' body. Having said that, I uncharacteristically sewed on some buttons on the weekend. Rest assured, I have not been entirely taken over by an alien force as my key traits of laziness and cutting corners still exist. To explain, I had been wearing jackets with an average of three missing buttons for the past year. I bought a sewing kit 11 months ago. In my fit of domestication, I decided to sew a green button on with blue thread and because I couldn't find any spares, ripping off buttons from the jacket sleeves to replace the missing ones on the front. Not quite Martha Stewart. Maybe more like Martha when she was in jail.

Perspective smack down

Every now and then, something smacks you with a little reality check. A little something the dictionary likes to call perspective.

This morning, having come from a 70 hour working week, working on Saturday and an all nighter on Monday, I started flicking through the photos of a friend who was in the second week in of her year long trip around the world. At this point I was feeling both jealous and resentful. I'm pretty sure I did some out loud sighs too. Then I read an email about this guy who I knew from Adelaide had died from cancer. He wasn't a friend, just someone I knew years ago, but still, for anyone to die before their time, and especially at 27 is so unfair.

We all know about seizing the day and living everyday like it's your last. But this isn't realistic. You can't be afraid of death. You can't go and sky dive everyday or tell your boss to go fuck themselves. While you can embrace life to the best of your ability, fun needs to be funded. So, of course, you need to find a balance. Doing nothing but work all week definitely isn't. It's easy to get wrapped up in life, in work and ourselves. However, it's easy to make sure you do fun things and don't waste your life in front of the TV or something else just as time wasting. But like anything, it's about making an effort. But not the fake smile kind of effort, more like the effort that makes you think after, man, I'm so glad I did that.

So get out, take a walk, see a friend you haven't seen in a while, draw something, bake a cake, pick up the phone, plan a holiday, do something, anything, whatever the effort, it'll be worth it.

Sorry if this was really preachy.

Amen.

Forgive me, I've been busy

I’ve been busy trying to balance the stuff I love doing with the stuff I hate.

I’ve been trying to think of a way out of 9-5. An out to meetings, selling and being told I’m not chirpy enough.

I’ve been looking for a flat, for a new place and a new start with my best buddy.

I’ve been trying to be more tolerant to bullshit, but end up ranting regardless. Maybe even more than usual.

Now, don’t get me wrong. Everything is good. It’s great in fact. It’s just when you finally work out what you want out of life, it’s frustrating that getting it seems so far from reach. But enough about that. Let’s talk about the warehouse conversion that Luke and I are moving into.

It’s beautiful. You know when you walk in somewhere and you just know it’s for you? Well, it was exactly like that. I was almost afraid to say I liked it in case it was way out of our price range. But it wasn’t and now it’s ours. It’s got an amazing kitchen and I can’t wait to use the oven, it’s so big and shiny! It’s been great living in my big house with my four, sometimes five housemates, but it’s time for something new. It’s time to make the trip across the river. Straight up and then a little to the right. It’s time to embrace the bus and listen to da yoof’s hip hop blaring from the backseat rather than having my face in someone’s armpit on the Northern Line. I simply can’t wait.

The funny part about moving East London is the fact that it’s cool. And Luke and I aren’t really cool. We’re kind of on the far outskirts of cool. Actually, I might be a bit farther out than him. For all of you unfamiliar with East London, it’s the home of the over sized specs, hats, tights, baggy blazers, shoes with no socks and guys with floppy, half shaved hair. It’s a place where outrageous is encouraged, if not expected. But having said that, you also have those who appear effortlessly cool, but without a doubt spent about three hours tweaking their high waisted jeans before leaving the house. And then again, you have the people who are actually just fucking cool.

I must go. It’s 530pm and I have a long night of work ahead of me.

I'm worried about my brain

This was my dream last night..

It's my wedding day. I'm about to go downstairs to the reception and I'm in a bedroom checking my makeup in a compact mirror. At this point in my dream, I'm having loud and preoccupying thoughts about how my lips and cheeks look like they've been raped by the 80's. I then resign myself to the fact that I am looking hideous and go downstairs to the reception, very aware that I am, indeed, Barack Obama's daughter. Sadly, daddy isn't downstairs, nor is my husband. There are, however, rows upon rows of table tennis tables for all the guests, none of whom I seem to know. At this point in my dream, my brain decides to reveal to me that they're all from country Australia. I decide to take five and look outside. They're children playing ring-a-rosy quite sweetly and for some reason they're dressed like various story characters. One is Snow White, another is Sherlock Holmes. Disturbingly, they have children's bodies and adult faces.

Flash forward. I'm now dead. For some reason, someone has decided to bury me in my bridesmaid dress from cousin Rebecca's wedding. However, being dead hasn't stopped me from being able to walk past my body with Luke, which is for some reason, on display Lenin style. Luke comments happily on what a realistic job they've done on me. Too bad dead me has turned into a clothes shop mannequin - one of the ones that have no distinguishable features and are all white and angular. I do, however, take a moment to think about how this means I now have GREAT cheekbones.

Flash forward. I'm working on the Governor of California's new electoral campaign. No, sadly not Arnie's, as I distinctly remember asking this in my dream - it was just some other guy. My dream ended on putting EVERYTHING to do with the campaign (including staplers and post-it notes) in a glass trophy case.

I don't even know what to do with this.

You know it's not a great day when you step in human poo

There's something to be said about work toilets. Yeah, they're grimy, that's a given. Up until today, the girls of ground floor north had to put up with toilets that didn't flush and smelt like piss. The afore mentioned problems were easy enough to deal with. Ok, not ideal, but if you walked into the toilet and the seat was down, you knew it was a no go zone.

Today was different.

I walked into the toilet, turned around, went to hover (it's germy and I have good thigh muscles) and then looked down to see a brown smear on the ground. While I'm still hoping it was dirt (afterall, it did rain today), an email went around a couple of us, that included the words 'BEWARE, HUMAN SHIT, ON FLOOR, GROSS'.

Why do I have to deal with this? It's not a Tuesday problem. In fact, it's not even a Friday problem. It's a aim problem with people who should be toilet trained. I can't even work out how this happened.

I'm in a delicate state, and while writing this post, I've realised I've forgotten to tell some very important people of this matter. But then again, this is not the first time this has happened. Back in 2003, I was doing some extremely important outlet mall shopping in the US when I needed to go to the toilet mid way through deciding whether to purchase some denim knee high boots. Yes, you read correctly; denim, knee high - it was 2003 after all. Actually, you're right, there's no excuse. I went to the toilet which ended up being a ten minute walk into the middle of the car park. It was a tiny, lonesome cubicle which, let's just say, served as target practice for both numbered varieties.

Let's hope tomorrow is a better day.

Lately

Last week, my life was about to change. I actually just deleted two paragraphs of pure work related ranting. I decided against it because a furious finger vomit was not what I originally had in mind for this post. Rather, I wanted my words to be about fullness, satisfaction and happiness. So here it is.

Last week, my life was about to change. There was a chance I was going to lose my job. The prospect of this made me feel both excited and slightly pukey. Thankfully, I still have it. As much as the place sometimes infuriates me and makes me want to stab myself in the eye, when I leave, I want it to be on my terms. Perhaps in the form of a sign painted in glitter and emoticons dotted around. Or maybe a happy dance, I haven't decided yet.

With the prospect of at least another couple of months of guaranteed pay, I'm feeling a strong urge to buy shit I don't need. The other day, to celebrate keeping a job I hate, I bought a t-shirt with two girls punching each other in the face. It was either that, or one saying 'We Both Love Soup'. In fact, I might still buy that one because honestly, it just tickles me.

On the weekend, one of my worst fears came true. Twice; I was pulled up to assist at a magic show. The first was a lot more traumatic than the second. It was in front of a packed room in the Royal Opera House in Covent Garden. Now, if you don't already know, I am rather slow witted. In fact, if I even think of remotely witty come back, it will be about three days later and probably on the toilet. This is why on stage audience participation scares me. The trick I assisted with (and by 'assisted' I mean thinking of a card not being sawed in half) was over pretty quickly and luckily, I didn't have to speak too much. However, my other worst fear came to life: the funny man's kiss on the cheek. Now, I've been to a lot of audience participation shows. I know what happens when they get a female up from the audience and the dude asks for a kiss on the cheek. It's the good old slide of the cheek so it's planted on her lips. I was so not going to fall for that shit. In fact, I was determined. So determined. After shaking my head furiously mouthing 'no way', I caved. I decided I was going to have to kiss him, but in the farthest place from his lips. I was ninja ready for any type of sudden head movement as I went in for my peck. The trouble was, his head and cheek stayed put. I kissed the magician on his bloody ear. It wasn't even a proper kiss either. I had an ulcer on the inside of my bottom my lip, so my lips refused to pout together for any kind of normal end product. The kiss ended up being a weird brush against his ear cartilage.

Smooth.

It's official. I have aged.

Since the last post, I've been a bridesmaid, turned another year older, watched one of my best friends get splattered with bird shit, seen some comedy that makes you want to slit your wrists, ate at a Michelin star restaurant and got a fringe. So far 28, so good.

The Wedding was what I thought it would be. Well, the lead up was anyway. I'm not good/equipped with handling tears, especially when I deem them unwarranted. I'm not good with weird emotional freak outs either. I deal with them awkwardly, my reactions are totally forced, especially when I'm trying to be sympathetic. But it wasn't all bad. While I know that The Wedding wasn't what I'd ever want for myself, the whole marriage thing is actually beautiful, even underneath all the cheesy photos and colour coordination. I really enjoyed the Scottish ceilidh. I think I really like tradition because I come from a non traditional family. I feel a little sad that if I ever got married there wouldn't be any singing and dancing to Scottish anthems, nor would I be wearing red or adopting any of the Chinese traditions. Of course I could, if I really wanted to, but I don't know enough about either side for it to seem acceptable. I'd just feel like a culture sucking fraud.

So onto the new age, and with 28, comes a new list. I did most of what I wanted to achieve and this time around, I've got more time to get everything done. This year's list is going to be more thoughtful, because this is what happens when you're 28; you're wiser, more worldly yet you still laugh at poo jokes.