Legless

Is thinking that I should stop answering, "Strong", when the bartender asks me how I like my cocktails...

Not a word about the journey home hunny. Not. A. Word.

The awkward question

Hottie lent me a book to read recently, called "The 4-Hour Work Week". At the end of each chapter, is a "Comfort Challenge" for readers to complete. The one which keeps me entertained at the moment is:
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Get Phone Numbers (2 Days)
Being sure to maintain eye contact, ask for the phone numbers of at least two (the more you attempt, the less stressful it will be) attractive members of the opposite sex on each day... Remember that the real goal is not to get numbers, but to get over the fear of asking, so the outcome is unimportant.
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I'll be honest, in all my life, I can only remember two occasions which I've ever asked for a guy's number. The first time was when I met a pretty cool clubber at an Above & Beyond gig in Glasgow :) We actually kept in touch for awhile and nerdily, exchanged fave tracks of our week *grin* The second time was when I met Whirlwind, and well, you know how that went. Trust me when I say being a girl doesn't make asking for someone's number any easier. I feel even sorrier for guys as based on a survey I've done amongst friends, girls rarely ever ask for numbers!

Which brings me to my point of "Nice guys finish last". I just want to be clear, I'm NOT bagging out nice guys. I'm all for nice guys! It's just that I've heard a lot of complaints from my nice guy friends that they never get the girl! I'm saying it's because, judging by all the nice guys I'm friends with, it's totally against their nature to approach a girl, begin a conversation and ask for a number. If you're asking the question why do girls always end up with bad guys, it's because bad guys are typically arrogant and confident enough to make the move while the nice guys are standing against the wall.

Or from Hottie's point of view, maybe I'm just the type of girl that nice guys don't want to talk to :( *lol*

Maybe it's harsh to condemn nice guys to last place. Aives corrected me the other day, "Nice guys don't finish last, they just finish s..l..o..w." *grin*

Anyways, if you're looking for a way to amuse yourself, try completing the "Comfort Challenge" above. When I told AA about it, she insisted I try it out infront of her. It took me 3 beers and a margarita to build up enough Dutch courage to move my butt out of my seat and plonk it down opposite a male diner of AA's picking. When I was talking to Wazzz about it, it took me an old fashioned, a mojito, a vespa and a daiquiri (that's at least 7 shots) before I could open my mouth to the cute bartender :)

Wazzz pretending to be cute bartender:

My line? It's pretty lame *grin*
"If I ask you for your number, would you give me a real one or a fake one?"
Results:
:: Guy with a fiancee - Gave me his real number *lol*
:: 2 guys, both with gfs - Didn't give me a number at all!

I was quite impressed that all three immediately responded with their current relationship status. At the very least, I got happily trashed and I probably made three guys pretty happy that day :)

Wazzz: "What do you want?"
Me: "Nothing with Sambuca in it... *gag*"
*Wazz orders drinks*
Me: "What's that??"
Bartender: "It's a Baby Guinness. It's Sambuca topped with Baileys."
*Me smacks Wazzz*

The problem with...

...trying to forge an alternative career as a romance novelist is - I know shit-all about romance.

I think one of the most depressing questions I've ever been asked is, "What's the most romantic thing that's ever happened to you?"

To which I replied, "Errr... nothing. The only time I ever got flowers was when the Ex knew he'd been a major dick and was in big trouble" :P

I know nothing about random love notes, random love surprises, random I-love-you-just-because moments, random sweep-me-off-my-feet-Mr-Darcy gestures. Does anyone?!?

What on earth made me think about being a romance writer to begin with?

Well, honestly? I was busy mocking all the crappy Mills&Boons novels out there and thinking I could do better. Come on... Greek tycoon subjugates Wild Beauty?!? Down-to-earth ambitious Heroine tames arrogant and obnoxious Rich Billionaire? Come on!!

Huh... What do I know... At least after a glass of white, I was able to knock out a page of "breathtaking" dates. No shirt ripping or throbbing genitals though. I think that might take a whole bottle of white... I'm starting to understand why Keats was always wasted when he wrote poetry :P

The journey...

I have an awful awful sense of direction. My saving grace is that I live in Zone 1, and I'll eventually get home regardless of where I start out from.

So it started out here, at the Tower of Rondon (home of the Crown Jewels and a 105-carat diamante. I've seen it, and yes, I will "settle" if you offer it to me *grin*).

That's an ice-rink on a moat infront of a castle, cool eh?
Literally cool. It's freaking freezing in Rondon atm.
Coldest winter *EVA*:

I'm sick as, and it's freezing. So I say my goodbyes and start trying to find my way home. Which would be a lot easier if I hadn't had 2 pints, Sudafed, paracetamol and no dinner. The cool thing is, landmarks are HUUUUGE in Rondon.

My first stop, Christopher Wren's Monument. For the history buffs, the Monument marks the spot where the Great Fire of Rondon started in 1666.

It's the brightly lit tower thingy standing in at 61m tall, just left of center:

I might not know where I'm going, but I kinda know where I live.
There's a hovering clock tower which looks familiar at the end of the street:

At this point, I'm contemplating catching a black cab:

Or a double-decker bus:

But hang on! Aah hah!!
As the bus moves away, the giant dome
of St Paul's Cathedral (another Christopher Wren creation)
blinks out at me:

So I keep walking towards the giant dome,
stumbling down streets I've never stumbled down before:


Now I know where I am :)

Rondon wouldn't be Rondon without the cranes in the sky:

I walk through another piece of history.
Centuries-old meat market...

... or Middle-Age execution ground for heretics?
For those Braveheart fans, William Wallace was executed
just round the corner from here:

Kurz & Lang, where me and B go for half price wieners *grin*

And I'm finally home:

Give me lost in Rondon anytime over owning a GPS...

Clarity

How funny.

The Whirlwind was in town and we were going to hang out today before he jumped onboard a plane back to his side of the world. I guess I shouldn't be surprised that not only was he a no-show, but he also didn't bother to let me know he couldn't make it this time. I didn't really feel anything. He's irresponsible enough that I know this is just how he works. I'm just annoyed at myself for falling for it. Whatever *it* was.

Later on in the evening, I met up with a guy from speed dating. This was the first time we'd met up since the event. Alas! Nice enough guy, decent looking, but sadly no spark throughout the evening. As I teased him over my half-pint of Amstel, I quietly asked myself if I could see myself in a relationship with this nice-enough-guy. In other words, could I just "settle" for whatever's thrown at me these days? Because, let's be honest, I'm not a spring chook anymore :P

After a second half-pint of Guinness, I was relieved to find the answer in my heart is still no.

Wait... If I'm not settling for a sparkless Nice Guy, why on earth was I putting myself through the emotional wringer for a Bad Guy? Who didn't even live in the same city as me? Who made me feel like a mental stalker waiting around for his calls? I think I overrated spark (and six-packs). Spark (and six-packs) are great *grin*, but it's no excuse for turning a blind eye to all those other things that are wrong.

So I wrote Whirlwind a goodbye email and told him not to contact me anymore. Shuttit... He's on a plane, so there's noway I can do this over the phone :P Besides, I'm too cheap to make an international call *grin*

Closure feels good. Understanding how "settling" seems so much more plausible and tempting at this stage of my life though, feels awful.

This Christmas...

...I woke up at 2am, and made Heston's 6-hour spagbol *grin* That's right! I finely chopped, heated loads of butter, mixed ingredients (bar celery because I was out of it) until 4am, then slotted it into the oven. I managed to stay up till 7am watching movies before conking out. Waking briefly at 10:30am to turn the oven off. Then going back to bed :P

Was it good? Wooo, yeah it was tasty. I have to say star anise and nutmeg really do make a difference. Was it worth the 6 hours in the oven? Heck no! :P I'd give it 3 hours max.

At 2pm, I walked over to St Paul's:
(Me wondering if the timer works)

(Me dropping my iPhone)

(Me wondering if the timer took the pic already)

(Me closing my eyes)

Got it right! :)
HAPPY NEW YEAR!!
(if you haven't noticed, I'm dressed like a Christmas tree for you)
My pecan pie before oven...

My pecan pie after oven and what it so doesn't look like :(

Premature ejaculation

It's what happens when you have an itch to dance, but because there's nothing on, you grasp at RNB. It's when you rock up at the club at 9-freaking-30pm because that's when it starts. It's when you still manage to catch the last tubes home at midnight. It's 00:35 and I'm in bed already (this is when B and I normally leave home to catch the last tubes out to a dance club). It's where you go to meet guys who will stand next to you looking all nonchalant, and will wait for the girl to say the first word. Wow, that's not *awkward*. Grow some fcking balls! (sez I, as I stumble down the road home in my clickety-clackety patent RnB heels and shiny shiny RnB top).

"I likes showing off my tattoo"
(You can tell because it's freaking cold atm and he's holding his jumper)

The truth is, nice guys finish last because they don't have the balls to open their mouths. They don't make the effort to say, "Hey, you know what? You look fcking hot on the dance floor tonight and I'd love for you to do a shot with me".

Not sure about the other girls, but that'd work for me. Free booze! ;P As opposed to the, "HEY! WHAT'S YOUR NAME?!?!", I got tonight. "It's None of Your Fcking Business...", is what I was saying in my head.