My wedding

This is what I want at my wedding.

Spam Emails

I have been receiving the weirdest amount of spam ever! I opened my inbox after the weekend and boom, there in my inbox languished 17 new emails. 16 of them were spam, one was from my friend asking me 'where are you?' (why didn't he text me instead).

Anyway, the emails themes were hilarious. As seen below with my comments in the parentheses.

The night should be long and full of pleasure (are we going to a Chinese restaurant then?)
7 things to buy for your lover (already got them)
Coupons for shops in your city (in Nicosia? Coupons? Does this include shops in Stasinkratous?)
Have you seen this chemist? (no- should I?)
Great Sales for you (there's a recession, it's always great sales)
Enjoy feeling and looking in good shape (what? Like a Damian Hirst sculpture)
It’ll be interesting for you (I've heard that before)
All meds you need – just order what you want (even the illegal ones?)

Organising the year ahead

I was looking at my filofax the other day and was wondering what I had to do. Not what I had to do for this coming week but what I had to do for the whole year. And suddenly I panicked. Although I am busy with ‘stuff’ I have no anchors. Last year throughout the year I had things planned the whole year. Carnival in Feb; Visit from H in March. Laverne and M coming in May, and Easter/Passover. Friend coming to visit me in Nicosia in June. Long weekend in Paphos with friends in July. Back-packing in the Balkans with Laverne in August. Moving house in Sept. Big party in December. And that’s not including the countless coffees, nights out, days by the pool that packed my year. As 2008 was so full I expected to open my agenda and find it all filled out with lunches and dates lined up for me. Of course a new year means an empty agenda which you are meant to fill. And that’s the tricky part, arranging your year. It makes your whole outlook for the year a lot more pleasant if you know that you will be doing something new or exotic or if a good friend would come and visit you that year. It gives you something to look forward to amongst ‘to do lists’ and obligations. The secret is to plan your year as soon as possible but the problem with that is dealing with people who are not as organised as you and have no intention of being so. The other alternative is to order lots of things from eBay and hope that after 9 days of bidding for something you didn’t really need (like a Burberry scarf or a pair of fluffy pillows) they arrive on time

Already Feb 2009?

Previous on Desperate Housewives...
>>Obama became the 44th president of the USA
>>Israel had another war, this time in Gaza
>>Cypriots, and in particular the Nicosia Housewife, are still as materialistic as ever
>>and BabyBusinessMan's love life is like an episode of Bold and the Beautiful (excpet that it's not dubbed in Greek)

Isn’t it scary how time goes by? How it moves so slyly without us realising it. Already we are in February. Where did January go? The last time I look back it was December, people were rushing around to finish their deadlines, to finish the Christmas shopping and to wrap-up the loose ends of 2008. Then we stumbled drunkenly into 2009, with a couple of days off at the start of the year and now we have stepped into February. I find it scary how time just moves to quickly yet at the same time we feel it’s not moving at all. It seems that we are so stuck in the moment with whatever we are doing that we don’t look at the bigger picture; the world, our life and how times goes by. It comes to show that you must do as much as you can and be the best you can be and make the most of the time you have. (I mean I was so busy in Jan that I submitted hardly 200 words for the whole month. Even the pictures are bigger than the post. So I will try and be more organised).

Also, when there’s a new song that you like, you listen to it constantly. And then you stop, maybe because a new song came along or because you got bored of it. And then you hear it a few months later and it takes you back to that time in your life; you know, the song becomes yours and it carries the memories of the time you listened to it. I love stuff like that. I guess music really is the soundtrack to our life with different tracks representing different time periods.

Right now my fave tracks are: Living in a world without you by the Rasmus; Breaking Up her Heart by Good Charlotte. That song from the Cadbury’s advert called ‘wouldn’t it be nice’ you know, one of those oldies but goodies. And I also came across ‘Laura non c’e’ on youtube, which is an Italian song by Nek with 1000 different version is about 28 languages, which is so Euro-pop marketing-let’s-make-money-attitude, but it’s a good song and currently top 2 on my Ipod!

What travels the world and stays in one place?
A stamp.

Over the Christmas period I decided to spread the joy, not in the usual way of pouring vodka shots but rather with writing letters. Not emails, not texts, but actually sitting down at a table and writing a card. Okay, I vamped it up a bit, by taking a photo of my friend and I and writing a slogan or a quote we shared; that way I included a card, I brought back a happy memory and made it funny. I sent it to some close friends and others I lost touch with.

At times, I sent it to some friends who I thought would move, and so I am still waiting for a response. Other times I sent a letter out to a friend and have received it shortly after I sent it out. The response has been overwhelming. They loved it.

We hardly write letters anymore. Our culture now serves us instantly that we can email countless times a day and although letters and email are the same concept, receiving a card in the post is leagues ahead. It shows that the person knows you well, a he/she has your address, has gone to the time to make/buy the card and post it. But like a book, it’s the inside that counts. Letters are a lot more personal. You write what you truly feel because you know that it will travel the world and want to make those words worthy. A card reads more like true feelings than an email which includes phrases like ‘hiya – how’s LA? Shopping much? Me, went to sfinakia on sat. Talk ltr. BBM xoxo’ Emails read more like a text than a letter, which is why letters, something tangible and real always put a smile on the receiver.

It is official we have regressed. It is said that 2009 will be the year of the Ox, and also the year of unplugging. As I spoke of a few recent blogs earlier – I wrote that 2009 will be a more ‘real year’. I am not the only one who thinks of this. In 2009 we will see us spending more time with people not on facebook but face2face. Just as we thought that having the latest computer or mobile phone or hottest blog was to be ‘better’, 2009 will be the year of getting back in touch with ourselves and people around us and. Better hope you have interesting and cool friends then, otherwise you’re screwed and might as well get back on facebook where you can chat to your 508 friends (virtual friends may I add). Personally I like my friends in front of me in the flesh, drinking a cup of latte who tell me how they feel and what they are doing, rather than reading: Barbara is… having soup. And when they tell me all they gossip… I can come and write it down on my blog for you. You know you want to read it…

Fear of Phones

Why are people (especially teenagers and Cypriots women and men under the age of 50) obsessed with their mobile phones? I love my phone and I need it all the time. However I don’t ring people up all the time and my phone isn’t constantly ringing but when it does… oh lo behold… who could the caller be. My Mum (asking me to do something I should have done a long time ago) or Cake (asking me to try her cake) or PartyAnimal (asking me to party). Or a random I once dated asking for a second night out… (after 4 months? I’m nice not stupid).

What did we do before the times of mobile phones? How did we function? I truly can’t remember. I remember getting a phone in my room when I was 12 in the shape of a frog whose red eyes lit up every time it rang. That’s when I began pranking people, when I couldn’t sleep (but that’s another story). And so getting a mobile, like getting a phone in my room (it wasn’t even my own line) made me feel connected. A little too connected.

And that’s what’s scary. On Saturday night I got two phone calls after 11. I was in bed so I didn’t pick up. But I was embarrassed to be in bed and so pretended to be out at Zoo. When they asked me the next day where I was I said Zoo. ‘Me too’ they responded. Oh ho! Gotcha! ‘Great’ I said and smiled and turned away. ‘What floor?’ my friend insisted. ‘The fifth’ I said. ‘Don’t you mean the fourth?’ he pressed on. Then I used my default answer; ‘I can’t remember… I was drunk!’

So not only can the track you down while you’re at Zoo, but while you’re not at Zoo. And even after Zoo asking why you didn’t go! It’s a scary turn of events these mobiles are. They are mobile and they follow you around like the KGB! Which is why I hardly gave out my home phone. I text only my closest friends. My Dad, the one person who should have all my info, even called me up asking me who I was. He didn’t have my home phone or mobile phone! On the other hand, my Mum can only reach me by email. Plus, when I was telling people about my home line, I didn’t call… I text! How polite!

Remember a few months back when I lost all my numbers on my phone? I loved it. Now I have a fraction of the numbers back and if people text I ask ‘who are you?’ If I don’t like them I’ll pretend I don’t know them. I don’t want to be accessible to every random who I gave my number out to (and believe me, when I go out, I had out my number like Santa hands out gifts). The Americans were right to call it a cell (short for cellular phone). Cell seems the appropriate word as I often feel trapped with my phone. Having a phone is like being tied to a ball and chain in a Kazak prison.

I like text messages. I like getting them because I can view them in my own time. But I get tired of fiddling away at the buttons. I love email more. I told you how email is the love of my life and my longest relationship. Emails… and Margaritas of course. Emails are great – you can email me and I respond right away, unless I have work. But texts, unless you are my friend Barb who emails me random comments that say things like ‘scuzz’ and ‘c u next Tuesday’ then I worry what I will expect. And the thing is… I don’t know why mobiles are such a stressful thing. At the end of the day when people have something serious to say like ‘I don’t love you anymore’ or ‘I’m painting the house black’ they don’t call, email or phone! They just never call you again. You go home to find out that your partner has a) left you or b) turned your stylish apartment into a goth-shack! And then you find the phone bill.

Moral of the story: all this stress about the mobile is unnecessary. Mobile phones though aren’t.

Vain? Me?

The other day someday called me a narcissist. Deciding to take this as a compliment rather than an insult I asked for him to expand upon what he meant, because I like it when people tell me how amazing I am even if they are lies; I pretend they are real. Instead of telling me why I looked good he sent me the Wiki link on Narcissus instead. This hardly inflated my ego – which is what I would have liked. But I decided to admit to myself that I can look rather stunning. I’d like to think I am a model; more of a model citizen (not while driving though) rather than a Gucci model, but these are mere details.
I like my style. I dress well and smartly. I don’t wear uber-expensive clothes but somehow I can pull off a particular look. I have been criticised for this, for some reason – I really can’t understand why – it’s not like wear outlandish attire. I think people should applaud personal style which mirrors personality. I knew this guy who tried too much to be original that he wore a bunch of black bracelets on one arm, some kind of leather thing on the other, ripped jeans and had a shaved head. He looked ridiculous. And did not look good. He achieved nothing by looking like a high-class beggar.
My look is me. I wear shirts well and so I wear a lot of them. I can also pull of ties really well and I cannot leave the house without having polished shoes. If eyes are the windows to the souls then shoes indicate the path you will take in life.
Moral of the posting: admit your vanity and have clean shoes.

Conservative? Me?

‘Don’t behave like that’ said my ex when it had to be whipped. ‘I’m conservative’
Of course, the thing I wanted to be whipped was the cream; I was making a cake – and the recipe said whip the cream up. So when I asked her to pass me the whip from my nightstand table she screamed that she was conservative. The relationship deteriorated to rubble less than 12 hours later. Which begs the questions…

Conservative? Me? Oh no. I’m as liberal as they come. The only time anyone should be conservative* is with money. Being financially conservative is the only conservative you should be – especially in these times of recession (thank you bankers). Usually people who are socially conservative (the worst type) are the ones who are afraid of what’s happening with the world beyond their back yard. (I’ll tell you what’s happening – there’s a recession – so worry about your money not that wonderfully kind immigrant family that moved in round the corner). Other than that, people are socially conservative because they are frigid and worry that they won’t be any good in the bedroom. Which is usually the case.

*May I add that along with being socially liberal but financially conservative I am a Conservative Jew. This does not mean that Conservative Jews have a conservative outlook to life (in fact many CJs I know are actually incredibly liberal) but the conservative-element denotes upholding the religious practices. It’s Conservatives to make you a better practicing Jew rather than to frown upon the world because of your own frigidity.

Hi... and Sorry

Hello and Sorry I have not been posting

My computer is broken and am in the process of getting a new one (thsi process seems to be taking forever). It is painful not keeping up to day with your lives through your blogs (yes I do read them even if I don't comment). And it is just as bad that I can't update mine. But I found a free computer and a spare moment I had tucked away and decide to post some bloggings!

So... I hope you enjoy... coming back to the virtual world soon!

BBM

Why My Phone Breaking Was a Good Thing

A week ago I wrote a piece for my blog about cutting people out of my life but I never posted it (I do this because I work ahead of schedule) and I decided not to post it now as my something happened and made me look closer at things.

However today’s piece is an exception to working ahead of schedule, because my phone is broken and I can’t plan when things break. Anyway, my phone has been acting up for quite a while and I did nothing about it. Until my phone did something about it… nothing. That’s what it did. It did nothing. It just went off and then didn’t switch on. So I placed my sim card into an older mobile in case things like this happened. The phone seemed ancient compared to all the i-phone gadgets we have today, and I bought it less than four years ago from when I lived in Italy. So in goes the sim card in my new-old phone and… there were no numbers. Actually there were five, two from friends of mine who lived with me in Italy, and three from some dates I went to while living there. None of which were from people I was in contact with today. So in essence there were no numbers.

Of course you can imagine my initial reaction. I have my phone with me all the time; on me, next to me, in the toilet with me, by the bath when I shower, sometime I answer it while in the shower – I even have it in bed with me for when the alarm goes off in the morning and/or in case anyone needs to get in touch with me like; Condoleezza Rice, or the Dalai Lama for Ban Ki Moon asking me for advice on reforming the UN. You just never know. All in all, I was distraught – it was like I was cut off from the world and had to communicate to people via pigeons. Then after 10 minutes of having a panic attack and downing Polish vodka to relax I had an epiphany; no one can get in touch with me… how strangely liberating.

Actually people could get in touch with me… as the number didn’t change, just the phone, but I couldn’t get in touch with them! Even more liberating! I could start over! I could change identity and never need to talk to anyone again! It’s like staging your own death and moving to Uruguay! By cutting myself off from everyone I could free myself from the pressure they heap on me… and believe me… my friends can be demanding. They put pressure on me by saying things like ‘I’m cooking dinner tonight – would you like to come over to my house and join us?’ and threatening me with nasty threats like ‘would it be okay with you if we met for coffee at 3pm, my treat and then we can go shopping together?’ they even blackmail me by saying things like ‘if you don’t want to buy it – I can buy it for you. From me. Because I love you’. Oh – the trauma! The traumaaaaaa!

So I was mildly overjoyed after I could not get in touch with anyone! That night I slept so well!
Like police dogs at a raid, my friends began looking for me early the next day! The first person was Laverne who text me from Greece saying that she was listening to music and that she missed me! Oh, the meanness of it all! The pressure! The vindictiveness. Then PartyAnimal sent me a message that said ‘hi – how are you?’ Ooooh! The intrusion into my privacy! The the Nicosia Housewife text me asking if I wanted to go to a fashion show with her. Oh the pressure heaped upon me! I couldn’t bear it any longer. So I sent out an email to everyone I thought I should keep in my life – after accidentally freezing them out for a day and a half, without them knowing it.

The email read:
Hi guys. Broke my phone because I accidentally sat on it. Please send your numbers so I can prank you and my secretary will get back to you within the next 48 hours. Thanks!

And my friends text in the dozens! In the hundreds the numbers came pouring in! Laeticia from France, who I hadn’t spoken to in months, sent a message. As did Mya Aljazeera, the Arabian princess! All these people I had not spoken to in ages began texting in their thousands and it was good to know how many cool people I had met and had in my life no matter how far… so I guess my phone breaking was actually a good thing. It revealed to me the people further afield who are out of sight but not always out of mind.

And the other good thing? My phone was swamped with numbers of people; with people I disliked; with people I liked too much! It was filled with people who hurt me; randoms who I should have called and never did. Exes; people with excess baggage; people who wanted me to solve their problems; people who annoyed me and who I would prank at 2am (but that’s for another funny post). I never cleared these numbers out because of the ‘just in case’ syndrome. And now they are not on my phone and I feel lighter about it. Of course some would text me and I’d reply by saying ‘sorry my phone broke – who are you? When did we last speak? Don’t remember you’ when in fact we went out 10 days ago and the trauma of the meeting rendered me crazy! And if we ever bump into each other, I’d be like ‘oh it was you? I didn’t even recognise you from your text! You want my number? I got a new one, it’s…’ and of course I’ll give them another number on purpose. I’ll probably give them Cake’s number. Because she never called me! Although she was the one I wanted to cut out in the first place.

But in retrospect I think my phone broke because I pranked Cake the night before… it was funny but she wasn’t happy. But it was worth it though! And it was worth not having to talk to anyone… although now I’m glad it have them!

Built Like This

Sometimes I feel my body can’t contain my personality. I feel it run through my body like electricity and rushing out of my pores, spilling over everything. The at times, I close in on myself. It’s a way of recharging my batteries; taking one step behind everyone else, not talking much and enjoying the silence in my soul that rarely appears. And then, when the silence in broken. My energy comes through again, and I come bounding towards you, full steam ahead, unintentionally ready to push you down.

The truth is, I’m rather ordinary really. I know I shouldn’t be saying that and that I should sell myself, but what’s wrong with honesty for a moment? Although I sometimes think I’m special, that I’m made of chocolate and spice and all things nice (and naughty) I’m just like everyone else. I’m like Madonna without the songs and costumes. People are fascinated by me in the beginning, when they meet me or hear about me. But when they meet the real me, after I can put on a show no longer, they are rather disappointed. They think they got a Mercedes but ended up with a dented Volvo instead. I seem so much more glamourous on paper (especially in photos). I seem to be better in theory than in practice; like communism. And although I come off as red hot as communist China’s flag I’m actually rather reserved. They say it’s because I have a secret to tell and must hide it. Can you guess what it is? I know this because I hear them whispering about me as I walk past them.

No one would ever call me chic. No one has ever associated class with me. To me class is a place you go into to learn something as opposed to being a classy person. My colours are rather difference and distracting like gold on black; they clash so well, the perfect union of opposites attract. I’ll wear the red trainers and bold blue shirt. I don’t do grey (only suits) and no khaki (unless I’m in a safari). I’m more stylish in an urban way, with a hint of bling and a touch of that nautical collection that is so popular with the American establishment.
My bold features, my thick lips, my Roman nose and cheekbones do not render me the all-American look that many men crave. I am as anti-blonde as a Caucasian is permitted to be. Brazilian? Jewish? Iranian? My roots lie in the eastern Mediterranean as does my temperament…

Email from Laverne

After going home trashed wearing clothes designed by Armani and a MojitoI called my friend Laverne in Greece who will be visiting us next weekfor Cake's wedding. 'Laverne did you call me yesterday?' I asked in myemail. She replied:

...yes you did call me last night while you were making hot cocoexplaining to me that you had all these cocktails spilled over your lastnight...oh how divine...so i think it will be best to wait till we aretogether to shop on saturday morning....then we can collobrate...stop and listen...just live vanilla ice...ice ice babyhope you are having a jolly day at work...enjoy its the freakin weekend

xoxoxooxox

L

What can I say? I love that beeatch! I just had to share that email withyou!

The Milkshake, the Cop and the Speeding Ticket

So, I got another speeding ticket! If you remember last time, I was stopped for driving at 138km and was fined €65. Now because I learnt my lesson the first time round, I stay under 120km per hour most of the time. However, this time, I didn’t notice my car go over 120km because I was listening to Kelis on the radio who was telling me how her milkshake brings all the boys to the yard and that it’s better than yours (damn right, it’s better than yours - she could teach you but she’ll have to charge). When all of a sudden a cop waved me over. I honestly thought it was for someone else so I kept going until he was practically beside himself screaming and waving and wanting to shoot me. That’s when I pulled over. I was going to tell him that Kelis made me do it (and that her milkshake was better than his) but he seemed more like a frappe-drinker than milkshake.

Because I knew I was going to get booked I didn’t reverse (on the highway!!!!!) towards him. Instead I let him walk about 70 metres to my car (hehe) where he showed me with his little speeding gun that I was speeding 124km. My reaction was ‘what? I didn’t even realise’. He wouldn’t let me off. I had to pay €40.01 within two weeks. I didn’t get points (no shit! What was he going to give me 0.5 of a point for going a mere 4 over the maximum limit?) so I had to pay the fine which would go towards his Christmas bonus. And I told him that. He insisted that it was for the public funds, but I really knew he wanted to buy some doughnuts.

As I was on the Limassol-Paphos road going to LMS I stopped at the police station in tourist area to pay the fine. I swear to you, it seems like I’m in there paying fines all the time, I might as well have a tab and at the end of the month, go there and pay for it all. The cop would say ‘Your fines for September? That’ll be €157.42 BabyBusinessMan’. ‘I’ll be like ‘It’s Mr. BabyBusinessMan to you, and do you access American Express Gold Card you fat-useless-doughnut-eater?’

So when I went to pay I was like ‘my fine is €41.01 – can I have a discount of one cent?’ the policewoman looked at me as if I should be arrested for insanity as well. (Seriously!) It turns out she didn’t have change and asked me to come back again. I was like ‘look lady, I got fined, I came all the way here to pay, I live in Nicosia (I don’t know why I said that; it’s not like I live in Dubai) and now you want me to come back again? Just give me the €10 change and don’t worry about the extra 50 cents to balance your till’. She gave me the cash. It was my small (but totally legal) way of getting back at the system.

But having said this; the first time I was stopped was fair as I was way over the limit’s limit. This time though, I really didn’t notice. When you drive an automatic, you might occasionally go over, especially when you’re listening to Kelis. So I think it was unfair not to let me off. And it’s obvious he wanted the cash. Maybe they have a quota to reach.

So here is my theory. There are two types of people in this world; people who get parking tickets and people who get speeding tickets. People who get parking tickets are stupid because they are parking the car in a specific place. Can’t they do it properly? It’s easy, you find a space without a yellow line or on a corner and park the tin-can! People who get speeding tickets however, are busy (hello! BabyBusinessMan here! Very bizzzzeeeeeeeee) and are in a rush and occasionally they might go over the limit by a tad. Do you think it’s fair to fine them? I mean, I’m not making money for me; I’m doing it for the economy and to buy cool clothes to look good for my fellow Cypriots. And I get fined? I guess that’s the justice system for you – no concept in Fashion or fairness!

Not many people agree with me on this though. I guess they are in the parking-ticket group and are just not that busy. Like the cop who fined me to go buy some doughnuts

If anyone else on MSN nudges me or send me a smiley face, I will block you. Not from MSN but from my life! A nudge is rude; I may be talking to someone else for a moment longer than you might deem necessary and all of a sudden the screen-shakes. And some people do it repeatedly! If I haven’t replied after the first nudge, I’m not going to reply after the 14th now am I? If you nudge me, I’ll push you! And not on MSN but in real life.
I’m not finished yet. Smiley faces? They are the most annoying, passive-aggressive, childish, ‘let’s avoid the issue’ forms of expression. Here is a conversation on MSN.
Blonde Bimbo says: Did you enjoy my party?
Stupid Idiot says: No, it was rubbish. And you looked like Stalin!
Blonde Bimbo says: Really.
Stupid Idiot says: Yes. J
Blonde Bimbo: Ur so funny!
So a smiley face makes it alright? If he didn’t put a smiley face up, Blonde Bimbo would have lost it!
Maybe then we can use it with other scenarios to say what rude comments we want to say but then make them alright! Perhaps via text we can have: I’m breaking up with youJ. Or maybe the war in Iraq wouldn’t have been as bad if Bush had text Saddam: We are invading J.
But what do you do, when you don’t have a computer or a phone with you and you want to say something rude, like tell someone their breath smells, do you say ‘you’re breath stinks, smiley face’ and then smile? And hope they won’t breathe all over you?
I want to wipe that smile of smiley face’s stupid MSN face. I don’t mind a smiley face with it’s good news like: You won the lottery, yay! J. But then again, because I am so distrustful of smiley faces, I probably wouldn’t be believe you, and still block you from MSN and my life. But at least I’ll have the cash from the lottery J!

End of the Summer

And that is it folks. It’s the end of the summer. We are in the last week in August and seeing the last weekend of the summer. Monday will be September 1st and will herald the new era of work and toil until next summer. Unless you’re like my friend Trustfundista who never has to work.
I don’t know what sounds sadder, the last week in August (end of summer) of the first week of September (beginning of winter). I hate the winter. I hate the cold. I hate long, woolly and frumpy clothes. September is summer’s defeat against the winter. The summer is a treat of nature. Luckily in Cyprus summers are slightly longer. But I still can’t get used to the Nicosia winters. I moved to Nicosia in December… and I had to wear gloves. Indoors! Ok that’s because I had no heating in my old apartment. Still, the memories linger. But it’s the memories of summer that live on…

The 100th Post - Thank You

The 100th post! Not wanting to sound too ridiculous, as if I won an Oscar or anything, but this is the 100th post and so I want to thank all you guys who have been reading and supporting this blog! I enjoy writing it and always with you in mind. Who'd have know I had so many things to say. Here's to the next 100...

Now let me get out there so I can get you some gossip!

Speeding Ticket

I got a speeding ticket today. Which I think is grossly unfair. Okay so I was 38km over the limit, but who doesn’t speed? For the past month I have been commuting 140km round trip every day from Limassol to Nicosia; therefore it is inevitable I will speed. And if you speed, and commute every day then chances are you will be stopped. So the day before I leave for my holiday, when money is tight, I get a ticket for €65 and 2 points on my licence! Now I only have 10 points left. One less and I am on single digits!

I pleaded with the policeman not to give me a ticket. I told him this never happened before, (I only got my licence in March) but he kept on writing regardless. Then I explain that I have to go to work, and my apartment isn’t ready and that I’m commuting and that I have to run errands such as go to the bank and…
‘Wait. What? You work in a bank?’ he asked.

If I thought it would get me off, I would have said yes. Maybe they give discounts to bankers when they get a fine. But if I lied and was found out, I could have been accused of perverting the course of justice, or entrapment of the policeman by lies or something that sounds more complicated than embezzlement.

So you get punished when you break the law, although in this case I was making the best situation of and empty road at 7.58am! If they punish you for speeding shouldn’t they reward you for slowing down? For example: if you get no parking tickets for a year then you should get free parking in Nicosia or central London for a month! No drink driving? Then here, have a bottle of whiskey, compliments of the State (but no drinking in the car, you might spill it). They punish the bad (resourceful in my case) but do the reward the good? Oh no! IN-JUST-ICE!
After the ‘incident’ my mother brags to me that she’s never had one point taken off her licence. But I remind her that she doesn’t drive daily to Nicosia and that she had an accident with a Rolls Royce once. Then she says that it wasn’t her fault! Fine, it wasn’t… but it was a Rolls. That’s the equivalent of boiling bunny rabbits in road-terms. Then my dad screams at me for getting a fine, and the irony is, he speeds like a racer at the Las Vegas Grand Prix after drinking too many margaritas!

So I have no understanding from the law and no sympathy from my family. And I’m already broke and going on holiday tomorrow for two and a half weeks. I got so stressed out that I should take another week off just to get over this! Three and a half weeks holiday, if only all it took was 2 point and €68! I’ve gone from plane ticket to speeding ticket!

What bothers me isn’t the money (that bothers my bank account) nor the points, (well, a little). I’m not even bothered about breaking the law. What bothers me is that I got caught. And I hate getting caught. It means I am getting sloppy. Forget my conscience. It’s my ego that’s precious. And my ego will never let me forget this. Especially when I have to drive slowly (120km an hour) on the highway. And I’m annoyed. Annoyed that I couldn’t talk myself out of the situation. I’m BabyBusinessMan, negotiating is my thing. If I can talk myself into a company, how is it that I can’t talk myself out of a speeding ticket? The whole situation reeks corruption! Exploitation I say! I blame the parents! Specifically mine for being such a bad moral compass!

Anyway, it was my birthday last week, and not all of you got me gifts. So, if you are still feeling generous, then please feel free to give me a present. Specifically CASH! I accept Euros. (Dollars no thanks, not now during the recession). As I am going on holidays to the Balkans, I also accept, Serbian Dinar, Bosnian Mark and Croatian Kuna. Minimum amount €20 please. I accept cash, card and cheque. And if you really want to go to Heaven, give me all three.

(I had to write about this. I’m determined to get my €68 worth so I’ll be talking about this for quite a while. Just wait and see what happens when I go to the station to pay this! That’ll be a blog and a half!)

I'm so vain, I probably think this blog is about me

Last week I met up with my friend Cake (check out her blog at: http://cupcake-freak.blogspot.com/ ) for a coffee and a gossip and as friends do we started talking about the usual and the unusual. I don’t know how we got on the subject but Cake, who is so honest and direct makes Simon Cowell look like a pussycat, said:
‘But you’re shallow. You ARE shallow.’
At first I was taken aback. No one has ever called me shallow. No one ever dared to. But here was Cake, telling me I was shallow.
Usually I would say I am deep person; insightful and… well whatever else makes you deep. And I know I can be shallow sometimes but how?
‘You’re concerned about looking good, about your appearance, about clothes and style.’
‘Maybe that makes me gay?’
‘Maybe that. But it also makes you shallow.’
I realised that I never was like this before I moved to Cyprus. In the UK you can go shopping in your pyjamas and people wouldn’t bat an eyelid. In Cyprus if you are not dressed (με την τριχα - is that correct?) then you might as well move to Siberia and live in a cave (which is what my old house in Pallouriotissa was like).
But believe it or not, I have become rather shallow. Well… maybe not shallow per se, more vain, more aware that you need to look good. If you live in Nicosia you will understand. Limassol is more relaxed, more surf-dude attitude than the Gap-meets-Gucci.
And so to see whether I am shallow or deep, I made a list of how much money I spent on for my appearance and then another list on matters of the soul.

€25 – wax: legs and chest
€20 – facial
€35 – laser treatment for eyebrows
€30 – haircut
€15 – manicure (I’m a businessman, I need to have clean and presentable hands)
€30 – swimming trunks (I don’t just wear suits)
€20 – on condoms (it’s the summer)
€50 – sunglasses (not Gucci – see, I can control myself)
€60 – monthly gym membership (but come on, it’s not just for looks)
€80 – two pairs of shoes, black and brown (for work not for pleasure)
€200 – new clothes: 2 new shirts, white shorts (it’s the sales)
I think that’s about it. It’s reasonable right?

But I’m also deep. I bought these books recently to prove to myself how deep I am.
- Gigolo: by Golden
- Diary of a Jetsetting Call Girl: by Tracy Quinn
- Dirt - Confessions of the World’s Most Notorious Rock Band: by Motley Crue
- How to Make Love like a Porn Star - A Cautionary Tale: by Jenna Jameson
With all these books, who needs Paulo Coelho? But I ordered these from Amazon.co.uk because I didn’t have enough money to buy some new underwear for a date I was having. Two pairs of briefs only cost me €75. It’s reasonable right? I mean, it is for romance!

But you know what; if you want to see how deep I am, ask me ‘how deep is your love?’ Then I’ll show you. And I don’t mean the type of αγάπη απο nylon!

It's my birthday and I'll cry if I want to!

Happy birthday to me
Happy birthday to me
Happy birthday BabyBusinessMan
Happy birthday to me

Happy birthday? Seriously? It’s my 25th birthday and I’m freaking out. I’m 25 and I want to be 19 again. Why? Because I act like I’m 19 and I look like I am 19. At work everyone calls me ‘ο μικρός’ despite the fact that I’m almost two meters tall (ρε παιδιά ειμαι 2 μετρα!) but then again I wouldn’t be BabyBusinessMan if I wasn’t.

Anyway, on a happier note I also want to wish a Happy 25th Birthday to my Sister from another Mister, Laverne, all the way in Mytiline. We were born on the same day, in the same city (London), in the same year. She grew up in California and I grew up in Cyprus and we met at uni when she moved into the flat above me (you had to hear the noises coming from her room… let alone the smells).
Since then she has been my astral sister and a great friend of mine. Happy Birthday beeatch mou!
Next week we are going on holiday together; because now, we’re going through a Quarter Life Crisis. Now… where can I buy a flashy red sports car, oh wait, that’s what I’ll get when I’m 50 for my real deal mid-life crisis!

CAKE - make me a Cake! Stop blogging and make me a cake! Now! I said now!

BUT I have to say a big Thank You to everyone who called and text me today! Thanks for all your love and support! From people in Greece, Cyprus, the UK, even Qatar and Nigeria and further afield! Thank you all! xoxo