The Velvet Mafia

Left to Right: Thea, Lila and Mia. The Velvet Mafia, who didn't work at school, instead they worked the social circuit in LMS. They think they are cool, but in fact Lila always worries that she has fat thighs and Heidi keeps telling her that she does so she can freeze when the boys come up to her. Although that rarely happens... the freezing that is. The boys, they approach. Like clockwork.

Lila, the middle one, who some say was born with a stone heart, only dates men with a ferrari. 'I like to move fast' she told me one time in a bar by the seafront in LMS. 'I guess transport isn't the only thing I like that goes fast.'
'So no buses then?' I joked.
'You drive a bus?'
What can you say to that except... 'Yes. I drive the one in the Simpsons.'
'But I thought it was a cartoon' she asked.
'I drive the one in the movie.'
'Oh' she said, then she burped.
'I got to go' I said and moved away.
'Ok sweetie. Bye' she said drunkenly. 'Mia... hey.... over here' she went on, wanting to find someone to sit her to her 'darling, here... hey hun... you're an A-hole if you don't sit next to me...' I could hear her screaming from across the bar // Without alcohol, it'll be a very long night!

Bored and Unimpressed by Limassol Trash on a Yacht

So I went to have a coffee on a yacht, with one of my old friend, Natascha de Fournier, half French, half Slavic, totally pretentious. She was married to Ali Baba. Both were 'business people' although no one knew what business they got up to... and no one really cared.

Halfway through coffee Ali Baba's multi-million business partner, FatCat shows up. It is as if Elvis was in the building.... well on the yacht. People went mad. Who did guy think he was? Madonna? No... but everyone else did. Waiters brought him drinks, his entourages cooed, girls wanted to kiss him (where? the man was as hairy as an ape. Couldn't he afford a back-wax?) and I sat there, bored and unimpressed.

'BabyBusinessMan, this is FatCat' said Natascha de Fourinier.
'Nice to meet you' I said, although it wasn't. He smiled. He didn't seem to bad. Maybe I over-judged.
'BabyBusinessMan, show your respects to my associate' began Ali Baba 'shake his hand again. Kiss it even. Bow. Bow down to my associate.'
'Sorry. Unless you're God, I don't bow. But I do shake hand's though.' And shook it. I could have also pointed the finger. But why do that when I was already so much classier than them? Who says you can buy class?

Now... how do I get off a yacht that is sailing in the middle of the ocean. LMS is only 5 km away... maybe I can put on a designer life-jacket and swim?

LMS for Capital City?

There is a movement arguing that Limassol (aka LMS) become the capital of Cyprus. Let's face it, LMS is cool, much cooler than you and I combined, but do we really want the Second City to be Capital City?

Firtstly look at the logistics: you would need to move all the government buildings, the parliament, the executive and the judiciary to the coast, imagine the cost and slow-down of the governmental process. All of the Ministers would relocate here (for the beach mostly) and the city will be filled with government officials (who we so dearly love - NOT).

Limassol would be clogged up with traffic, although there are better road links in LMS, a new city centre will have to be built for the government, and so the care-free attitude Lemesians have will disappear and be replaced with a hectic, twitchy, neurotic attitude pf Nicosia. The beach culture will end.

Plus there would be no point to Nicosia if LMS becomes Capital City. Nicosia will become a ghost town and cease to exist. The whole point of Nicosia is that is it the capital, other than that, it has no function. There is no sea, no natural beauty, nothing exceptional other than some cultural locations.

Nicosia's beauty lies in its symbolism, which is having been capital for the past 10,000 years (I feel like i lived there for about 7,000 of them) and that it is the last divided capital in the world (Jerusalem has been united since 1967 and is no longer a divided city, neither is Berlin). Having the capital divided is a great marketing symbol to highlight the division of CY. It will also be capital of a United Cyprus if we ever sort the problem out. LMS just doesnt have the image to the Capital City. It's more of a Clubbing Capital.

So there you have it, denying Nicosia the role it has always held and turning LMS into a Capital City would have a reverse effect for both cities.

However, here is the facebook group about this movement. They make an excellent point but really, LMS has always been the diamond in the rough, and not all good things need to be polished off to the beautiful, right?

http://www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=758325017&ref=ts#/group.php?gid=8639600940

Calm / Proud

I don’t want to brag. But I have to congratulate myself. The reason. For not being a control-freak today.

Usually I am so highly-strung with organisation overdrive. I plan a night out at an underground bar with military precision, asking the bar-tender to turn the music down if it is one decibel above my preferred level. Wait until you see me at work! Dictators love me. I’m surprised no central Asian military regime has called me up yet and asked me to intern.

Anyway today. I was so totally chilled out. Other than demanding a meeting and telling my colleague that he couldn’t organise a post-it I made myself proud. For starters I only insisted twice we go to Pralina for lunch. And then gracefully agreed with my other colleague that Mondo was better. How cool am I? Then… when my friend, Milky, text me to ask what time to go for coffee on Saturday morning, guess how I replied: ‘whatever is good 4 u, is good for me hun, BabyBM xoxo.’

Now how chilled out is that? Jamaica ain’t got nothing on me!

Boy Behaving Badly

I met up for Cake for coffee in Flo (I pronounce it Flow) as a have a post-English accent tinged with Americanisms. Some would say it's Transatlantic.
'We need to talk' she said. 'Sure' I said 'It's about you.' A smile spread across my face. 'Great' I loved talking about me. 'About your behaviour.' 'I know. It’s good when I'm bad. Isn’t it?' I knew Cake wanted to agree but didn’t say so.
'BabyBusinessMan. We need to discuss your madness at Zoo. Now I know we had fun on Friday night, but you cannot misbehave like that. I know that you are stressed out from work and the fact that your self-esteem falls apart whenever your love-life falls apart, but going nuts is not good tension release. Next time we are at Zoo you cannot act like a party animal.'
'But Party-Animal acts like a party animal.' 'That's because he is a party animal who doesn't know better. You after all are BabyBusinessMan, a Millionaire to be.' 'Actually that's my brother.' 'Regardless, you cannot do a striptease on the fourth floor of Zoo. It is meant to be high-class. You acted like you were just high. I am telling you this because, this is Nicosia, the capital of the nation. Home to all the stars,' (all two of them - me and Cake) 'and residence of the President of the Republic of Cyprus. It is posh. It is glamourous. It is Nicosia, not Nico-see-yaaa. You have to behave. For your job and reputation. You yourself told me how many people you bump into and reputation is important. Now what are you going to do to calm down? Cake asked.
'Get laid' I responded. 'What? Again? BabyBusinessMan. It's okay to want to live in Sex and the City. It's not okay to have sex with the whole city. Especially not sex with the capital city.' she said calmy and quietly. 'Now what other alternative?' she asked.
To be honest with you I didn’t know nor did I care. I cannot even be bothered to comment on my own comment on my blog. So any suggestions please email me.

The Perks of Being a Wallflower

This week's book:
The Perks of Being a Wallflower / by Stephen Chobsky
Rating: easily 9 out of 1o!
For more info visit: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Perks_of_Being_a_Wallflower

Apartment905Girl

I don’t know why I bother. I really don’t know why I even bother anymore.

So I went on what feels like my 3000th date the other day. She was a banker, or actually worked in a bank, a little older than me but not too old; she was a Leo born on the cusp of Virgo. Similar to me. I am a Leo but my moon was in Virgo. Fiery but organised.

Five minutes after I was meant to be at her apartment, off the city centre, she called me.
‘Where are you?’ she boomed. Was I going on a date with her mum?
‘Almost there’ I replied. 25 minutes later, I turn up on her block.
‘Ooooh, I could see you’ she cooed from the phone as I got out of the car. Oh great… it felt like I was on Big Brother, where she sees me and I can’t see her from her high-rise building. I wondered when I would get evicted.
From the car, she gave me extra directions to get to her apartment. ‘Walk straight, go left, then right, up the stairs then down two flights, get the lift and it’s on the ninth floor.’ That was her selling point… the ninth floor.
And damn did it sell! The whole apartment was geared towards the view, she had the best view in the whole of Nicosia, almost a 360 degree view. I could see the centre, all the high-rise, baby-skyscrapers, the avenues and lights. It was amazing… she, on the other hand…

When I go on a date, or anywhere for that reason, I make an effort to look good. It shows respect for yourself and respect to the person, it shows that you want to look smart for them. And a little grooming never hurt anyone did it? Well, maybe the woman the left the curlers in too long.
So Apartment905Girl, as I shall call her, greets me in what I assume is jogging gear. Not hot!
As I said, the view got 11/10. She got 4/10 only because I was spending time with her, otherwise she would get 2. Her apartment got -12. Why? It was kitch-goes-classical. There was a strange-shaped rug make from what looked like cow’s skin. There were pots all over the place where smoke came out of, there was a piano where some kind of purple, funky lamp was hung over it. There was a chandelier in the toilet… and when I asked if her sofa was from Ikea as I saw it somewhere before she went on and on that ‘it was a Barcelona chair’ and was ‘very expensive’ (yeah until she sat on it). I said ‘of course it is expensive; you brought it all over from Barcelona.’ She hated me. He he.

So we sipped white wine (out of purple and pink wine-glasses) on the balcony, as I hear her whine about her ex. You sounded like a totally douche-bag. On and on she went in detail about how he hurt her and blah blah blah… As she worked in a bank I wanted an info on stocks and bonds not on how her ex kissed some random in a club in front of her. And that’s all she went on about. All night. ARGH!

You can always tell when a person is interested in you if they ask the questions. I don’t even think she knew my name. Now, although I deemed her uninteresting, I always ask questions, I am all about the questions. I have more questions than you have answers and I believe in showing an interest even if you are talking to a finger-puppet.

Anyway, the date went well depending on how you look at it. But I know I will never see her again, unless it is accidentally – and I hate it when that happens. Now she’ll probably end up transferring to my bank and end up ….. … this time professionally…

And you know what the worst thing is? It is not going on a bad/boring date, it is not listen to someone else whine about their ex, no… the worst thing is that I’m not even bothered. Am I bovr’d to go on a date again? Am I? Nah! But you know what… the view was worth it, not of her, but of the city of Nicosia. It was amazing. And I would recommend anyone going out with her, just to glimpse the view of our capital city.

Credit Crunch

Well it looks like the recession is well and truly underway and everyone is panicing. So I got thinking... what is recession proof? What never looses its value? Below is a crucial list you might wish to invest in!

1- Toilet paper
2- Bottled water
3- Food and Cakes
4- Sunglasses (mainly in Greece)
5- Gossip from the Nicosia Housewife
6- Toothpaste
7- Haircuts
8- Blogging
9- Religion
10- Silly Japanese game shows

What Makes You So Hot?

Have you ever wondered what makes you attractive?

It can’t always be your looks. Initially they are, but as someone gets to know you better they either ditch you in the gutter or lift you up to a pedestal.

But why? What do you offer that makes them like you / want you / and stick with you. In Cyprus, it’s money for women, and hot women for men.

For men like Filthy Rich it’s young peroxide-blondes who used to work as his ex-wife’s PA. For the Nicosia Housewife it would be dumb-uncomplicated male models. For neurotics like Cake, it’s having a shrink for a husband (that would be my ideal too).

For guys like Party-Animal it would be women who can take five shots of tequila, and then recite the (Hebrew) alphabet backwards. Actually I like that as well. For Party-Pooper, it would be a librarian with a stamp collection. For my brother Millionaire2B it would be an heiress. Maybe Paris Hilton, a brain. Minus the pink.

But have you ever questioned what makes them like us? I used to think that what made me attractive to others was my organisational skills. But that would only turn on Hillary Clinton. And she is already taken. Hmmm… maybe it is my forthright and direct attitude. But only Grace Mugabe would like that – and she is married too. The dating pool is dwindling right before me. I have a great personality… or actually personalities. Not many people can deal with 14 different versions of me. On a date, I only reveal about three of them. Maybe four. (Nice-me, funny-me, smart-me, and fun-me). By the time you reach Me no. 2 they are already fearful for their life and questioning my sanity (and they haven’t even met crazy-me yet).

When I realised that the ‘me’s’ just weren’t enough (14 personalities and you’re still not happy?) then maybe I needed to work on other things. Money. Apparently does not impress people that much if you don’t own a jet. Body? That will only last until a certain age. Brains. But no-one can handle my comments on the Middle-East and if they do they either lose the debate or end up screaming at me in a bar (it has happened but that is another stroy for this blog).

I really am running out of options. I need to meditate upon this an get back to you. How about yoga? I’ve been doing it for 5 years on and off… I can get into all sorts of positions. Maybe I should show them sometime.
‘And this is a sun salutation’ I could say in the middle of our date at a coffee shop. ‘Note that you breathe through your nose....’ Let me get you in a downward-dog position!

But the only good positions are meant to be used after the date. However, the only positions I seem to get into these days are the difficult ones. The ones I can’t get out of. Like explaining to the manager or the coffee shop why I was doing yoga in his establishment.

Why not to say 'I love you'

Saying ‘I love you’ is fine. Saying ‘I love you’ after going out for less than two days is not. If someone says that to you, almost immediately, then you might as well, get out of bed, put your clothes back on and leave him/her there. Then throw your phone into the sea. Get a plane or hitch a ride with a camel and move to outer Mongolia.

Now. I like to think I am pretty amazing. Actually I love to think I am pretty darn amazing. And I love me. I didn’t even know nor did I say ‘I love me’ immediately. It took time for me to get to know me and fall in love with who I am (which as I mentioned a couple of lines up – I’m pretty darn amazing). But sometimes, even I wonder how much (and how) I love me.
Then why the hell do randoms who go I go out with, decide that they are in love with me? Ok, I’m amazing but get to know my amazingness first. Maybe I’m amazing because I am amazed that a) they feel that way and b) they say it so soon!

Pah!

Who says I love you so quickly? I haven’t even said I love you to my email account. And we’d been together since 1999! Its 2008 now!
Of course I do love my email account – but I’d never say it. I’d rather email!

When I ex said ‘I love you’ I didn’t know what to say. I smiled and we kissed. Then I realized I was in love with her. But still I didn’t say anything.
It ended two days later. And that’s the problem, whoever says ‘I love you’ first has the power ironically because they will realise that you are not the ultimate dream come true but a living, breathing, neurotic, control-freak of a human; who also has needs and exists in real-time not in dream-time.

Now when anyone says I love you I either reply by say ‘no you don’t.’ Then pause for a second. And then I say ‘because you only just met me…’
Other times when they say ‘I love you’ I say ‘yeah. So do I. I love me too.’ That just makes them love me more.

Until it’s over.

Luckily I have my email account. I can always find solace in that.

When SoLovely met SoSolid

I met up with Cake and Party-Animal for lunch in between work. Party-Animal had news. Real news. Not about a club or bar. But actual real-life news… called gossip. Last night, in his usual drunkenness, he bumped into SoLovely. Now SoLovely, was just that. One of those traditional, sweet, cute rather than sexy, Cypriot girls, who are smart and attractive. The type you dream of marrying and having a family with, and who you hope will never be corrupted. Well in giggles and fits, she told Party-Animal (who had a crush on her but was too wild to marry such a charming girl) that she was getting married. No surprise there, as she is the yummy mummy type.
The surprise that came to Party-Animal like a bat out of hell (literally) was that she was marrying a man-child called SoSolid. Picture this, a conventional girl called SoLovely, baking cakes, tending to the flowers, hugging puppies and feeding her 17 babies marrying a 25 year old Anglo-Cyprian 'import/export' expert who goes by the name of SoSolid and whose hobbies include rapping, trying to speak Greek and acting all hip-hop.'

'Aiiiii' said SoSolid, as he shook Party-Animal's hand, who had sobered up by now. When you see a dove marrying a crow, you sober up!
'Don’t you think he's just too lovely?' said SoLovely about SoSolid. Party-Animal didn’t think so, but was too scared to otherwise. If he didn’t agree that SoSolid was too lovely, maybe SoSolid would stab him… or worse rap… in bad Greek. To which SoLovely would probably coo even more.
They both took a liking to Party-Animal, although SoLovely would probably take a liking to anyone, even an ex-axe-murderer (hello! She has! She's marrying him! His name is SoSolid) and so Party-Animal was invited to the wedding. ‘And give BabyBusinessMan our regards’ said SoLovely. ‘Yeah tell ‘im we say hi, aiiii’ said SoSolid, never having met me. (Were the regards a form of invitation?).
'What I don’t understand is why I'm not invited' I said upset.'What I don't understand is why she is marrying him.' Party-Animal said. Cake, whose husband is a shrink and thinks she got a psychology by osmosis or by sleeping with him, said that SoLovely didn't want a husband but a child, and SoSolid not only provided her with a husband, and with a child, but with a man-child who acts like a teenager. According to Cake, he wanted to mother him. Where is Freud when you need him?
'Maybe opposites attract' I said stuffing my face with salad. 'True, opposites do attract ,when one is organised, another is messy. When one is thrifty, and the other is frugal. When one is tall and the other is short' said Cake. 'Not when one should be on the in Church and the other should be in prison.'
Cake, despite all her delusions and neuroses made an excellent point. (She also made good cupcakes).
The Band SoSolid sang that they had 21 seconds to go (go where?). No such luck with this SoSolid. It looks like he will around forever. SoLovely will marry him and become Mrs. SoLovely SoSolid! They were the new So Solid crew (and wait until they have babies). Did no one tell her that marrying him, she is actually being SoStupid?

But the biggest disappointment was not getting invited to the wedding. How does that make me feel? Like SoSilly!

Hotel Wreckers

It’s the summer holidays and many Cypriot ex-school kids and students are off on holiday after the end of the school-year. The majority of them, around 99.9% are going to Greece; Athens, some to Thessaloniki, and the ‘posher classes’ to Mykonos. What joy for the Greek islanders! Cartloads of hormonal spotty teenagers wondering around like zombies/aliens/monsters/thieves, behaving badly and shouting in their Cypriot dialect, which to Greek ears is a butchered version of the language.

They will invade the beaches, swarm the avenues of Athens and wreck the bars. But after all, they are paying customers aren’t they? And wouldn’t the Greeks rather have Cypriots (who speak the language and understand the culture) as tourists? Apparently not!
Some hotels disallow Cypriots from staying in their establishment, especially in ritzy Athens. Why? I hear you cry out in confusion, unable to comprehend this shocking news on my blog. Because to Greeks, Cypriot kids (and some adults) are the equivalent of English football hooligans? Why? What do they do? I hear you shout out again in desperation!

I’ll tell you.

They are hotel-wreckers. They throw television sets into the street/sea. They terrorise the locals (who are not expecting any rainfall in August by showering them from their hotel room on the 30th floor) with their special blend of… !!! But my favourite story I heard (on the news at 8) is when large groups stay in hotels - they synchomise flushing as many toilets in the hotel; in their room’s toilet, by the lobby, even the manager’s personal lavatory. So at 5pm, about 30-50 toilets are simultaoeusly flushed in the hotel. What happens? BAM! The hotel’s water storage breaks and there is no water in the hotel. Hehe… And so trauma ensuses!

My only regret? I wish I was like that when I was a kid. The craziest thing I did was leave a note of complaint when there was no loo roll in the bathroom. Maybe other Cypriot kids stole it and trashed someone’s car with it.

Sun Bed Wars: Brits vs. Germans

Party-Animal and I were lounging by the pool in Limassol, when we heard shouts coming from behind us. Two British men were shouting at a young German couple over the fact that they had placed their towels on the deck-chairs and then sat at the bar for one hour. The towel-wars have already begun. Usually the scenario goes as follows: the German tourists would get up, at the crack of dawn, lay their towel on the deck chairs and go and have breakfast. The British would get up, five minutes before breakfast ended and with a hangover the size of Texas, wander down to the pool, only to see all the sun beds were ‘taken’ by the Germans who were busy organising their digestive patterns.

Watching the fight between the Brits and the Germans set Party-Animal and I into a fight.
‘I can see why the Brits are so angry’ he said ‘you should get the sun bed when you go to the pool.’
I disagreed. ‘But, why should the Germans be punished for being organised? If they are prepared, and quick enough to get up early, get a seat by the pool, and go for breakfast, then they should be allowed?’
‘Are you telling me that you think it’s right for the Germans to get the sun beds so early on and have a three and a half hour breakfast while the Brits have nowhere to sit?’
‘If you are up early, prepared for the day, organised, why shouldn’t you be able to do this? There is no law against this is there?’
Our conversation escalated, and we got into such a heated debate that we ended up throwing each other in the pool.

The Germans and the Brits meanwhile had sorted out their problems with the management arranging to bring out two set of deck chairs.
I suppose that if you can’t beat them, join them. Either the Brits should get up early too and claim a seat, or the Germans should compromise (although I can never see this happening). And if you can’t beat them, arrange to have them beaten. In fact last year, in Greece, one British man did have them beaten, with insects. He poured honey and cream all over the Germans’ towel and sunbeds.

On a further note:
‘Bild’, a German tabloid listed a variety of holiday destinations, frequented by British tourists, and advise Germans to avoid them. The list includes Malia in Crete, Faliraki in Rhodes (places I have never been to) and our very own Ayia Napa here in Cyprus (a place I have been too, three times, and once I was driving through). ‘Bild’ claims that Ayia Napa is where the British mingle with the Scandinavians and so should be avoided by Germans. Instead Germans can be found visiting Nicosia, where the Green Line has parallels with Berlin. Although I don’t see anyone rushing to claim a spot by the checkpoints.

Can you spot Israel in the Star of David?

If you read Hebrew, try and spot the word ISRAEL within the Star of David.
Sent by Crazy from DC. Thanks!

This Mix is the result of a decade of digging in Tel-Aviv’s record shops & Flea markets by the Soulico Crew. An hour full of Hasidic Disco, Spirutal Soul, Yamanite Funk, Turkish Acid Rock, Arabic Jazz & much more, all recorded & released in Israel by local musicians & artists in the 70’s and early 80’s. 31 songs in all, and they passed on the tracklist which would probably mean nothing to anyone that can’t read the crazy script that is their language.
http://maddecent.com/blog/2008/04/26/hasidic-juice/

Reviews: Cafe City

Before you go to a coffee shop or bar in Nicosia, you need to decide what kind of a person you are. Once you decide on that you will know what you want. If you want commercialism go to Starbucks. If you want decadence then go to Brewery. If you want the student-y, hippyish lifestyle, then Café City is for you.

Café City is situated on Kallipoleos Avenue in the Lycabettus area, and is mostly frequented by students. The service is quick, attentive and informal (a big plus) and the drinks are reasonably priced. Inside you will find an array of board games, with the quintessential game of Tavli, gaming machines and a piano, just in case you want to break out into an impromptu rendition of a song from a musical.

Outside, the chairs are painted blue, the tables red and the cushions on the sofa are dusty. I told you it was a student place. We sat outside as there was no air-conditioning (perhaps it wasn’t on) and it wasn’t too bad. Bearing in mind it was June. This place is popular amongst Cypriots mostly and 30-year olds with beards and long hair. Although I don’t find either criterion, I fit in there perfectly. The only controversy I roused this time was from the English-Cypriot ‘couple’ next to us, who gave me strange looks. Maybe I was talking too loud in English for their liking, without a faux-American accent. Or perhaps they wanted a sip of my Coke!

Either way, I recommend it if you like something informal and chilled out, where most of the people ‘know each other,’ where second-hand-shop-style is de rigueur and if you don’t mind a little dust and odd décor. I suppose that’s what adds charm to the place. Not everything has to be high-class, right?

Gold stars: for the good service and fair pricing
Black holes: the toilets
Who would go there: hippies, students, teenagers and bohemian artists.
Which famous people might be spotted there: the cast of Jackass and Dirty Sanchez

The Date, the Nuts and the Rug

So I went on this date with this random who worked at one of the Universities in Nicosia. She seemed really cool until she told me that the date was in her house. What?

Of course, being the adventurer that I am, I took the opportunity to meet her on her sofa.
So we got talking, about the usual: famine, plague and natural disasters. With such an interesting conversation I felt the date was going really well. Until she said:
‘Have a nut.’
‘Thanks’ I said ‘but I don’t need a third.’
She didn’t get it.
‘They’re from the Iranian ambassador’ she went on.
‘Cool.’ I said ‘I made mine myself.’
She still didn’t get it. Maybe all she got was nuts? Anyway… she continued…
‘Yes. They are from the Iranian ambassador. I gave his daughter a scholarship and he gave me some gifts’ she smiled smugly.
‘Wait. You gave a diplomat’s daughter, a free education and all you got was nuts?’
‘Among other things…’
‘Such as?’
‘He gave me Iranian drinks and a small rug.’
‘Well unless the rug flies, I think he got a great deal and you were duped’ I thought that but couldn’t say that. It would have been true/rude.
So instead I asked if it flew. She said she never tried. I wish she did…

The conversation continued (and I was running out of whiskey). She didn’t attempt to refill it. I wanted to, but then again I worried it was from the Iranian ambassador, and because he gave her so little for what she did for his daughter I felt bad drinking it. (A free education doesn’t come cheap, but at the standard price of nuts).
‘Do you see that?’
‘What?’
‘That’ she pointed.
‘The painting of a chain-saw and a cow’s head?’
‘No next to it. The vase! Do you like it?’
‘Sure’ I said never really ever thinking about vases, unless I am going to throw them at someone.
‘It’s German china. From the 19th century.’
‘Cool,’ except that it wasn’t. ‘Was it a gift from another ambassador?’ I asked this time, genuinely interested
‘No, it was a gift from a diplomat.’ She said.
‘Which country?’ I asked. If I didn’t like the country it was a deal-breaker.
‘Chile’ she responded.
Chile: land of Pinochet (evil) and Isabel Allende (phenomenal). It was a tie.

So stayed a little longer then when she wouldn’t fill up my drink, I left. I decided the best time I would give her was time alone to spend with her rug, nuts and German vase. And the gift to myself? Some time away from nutters like her.

Dating Advice: inspired by Party-Animal

Party-Animal called me from the toilets of Babylon, arock bar/pub in Nicosia.
‘I can’t deal with it. I came on this blind date with this chic, for a few drinks. And she WANTS dinner reservations’
‘Say you can’t do it’ I said.
‘I already said yes!’

So Party-Animal had to endure being good for a whole night while he took a random girl out for dinner. (and what type of girl demands dinner from a stranger?)
There is nothing worse than having an elaborate night out planned with a stranger.
Here’s some of my advice, in my 24 and a half years of singledom.

1- Go for drinks first then if you get on go for more drinks at another bar. Then if you get on, get a room.

2- Although you go for drinks, don’t go overboard like I do. You’re date is the person in front of you not the liquid in the glass in front of you. Although more often than not, the drink is often tastier. But that is a good thing, as the tasty drink helps the date seem more interesting.

3- Do not go for dinner on the first or second date. Or third or fourth or 95th. Actually don’t go for dinner until you’re married. That way she won’t be shocked by your table-manners which would have surely deteriorated after what seems like a millennium of singledom.

4- Don’t talk about religion/politics/money/the ex on a first date. But, if you are me then those are the topics you want to know about. If you don’t fit in with my views on the Kyoto Protocol then I won’t be interested in your o-zone layer.

5- Don’t ask silly questions. One artist who asked me what my favourite colour was. Really it’s blue, but I said black because she was wearing all black. Then she went nuts and told me that black isn’t a colour it’s a shade, and we got into a whole fight and the evening ended with her telling me to go eff myself and ran screaming from the bar. I suppose types of colours are off the conversation topic as well.

Sharing

It’s amazing that people want to share everything from you, your clothes, your wallet, your body… even worse some even want to share your toothbrush. But when it comes to sharing your life with someone, they either look disinterred and start search for something under the table or they run a mile.

Now I don’t mind sharing. I was not an only-child. I do seem to be the only adult who has literally a whole life to share and no one wants it. Instead they’d rather share my bag of crisps or my DVDs. I’d much rather share my life. I mean I have great friends, a car, my own teeth, a freezer with enough ice for a lifetime supply of Margarita’s and a great (rented) apartment (that is if you don’t mind the cracked toilet).

And yet no one wants to share it. Perhaps it would be more in demand if I put it on eBay. I could sell it. But then, that means I’d have to get another life and all I wanted to do was share this one with someone. But then maybe, if the toilet didn’t leak, I could be tempted.

He's got a girlfriend, he's no.1 so why try harder?

I read an article about an obese man that shocked me to the core. He was an complusive eater who now is so big, he not only is confined to his house, but cannot get out of bed. His flesh literally covers over his ankles and the sheets do not cover him up much. But what shocked me most, was not the abject disrespect he has towards his health, or becoming a slave to his addiction, or that fact that he was laying there (posing?) for a magazine... but that he had a girlfriend.

What? How? How can this man obtain a girlfriend? As he never leaves the house (let alone his bed) he can't exactly go speed dating. Speed is not a word that could ever be associated with him for starters. Did he meet her online? But what girl would agree to turn up to a request that says 'meet me by my bedside!' She must have thought he had something else in mind. Perhaps they met through a friend. The scenario would go as follows. The man's friend would bring over the 'date' he would woo her by his pillow talk (after all that is where he is talking from) and BAM! He has a girlfriend in 5 minutes flat.

So now they are dating (if you can call it that as he can never leave the bed in the living room because the stairs might collapse- seriously!) and she is now tending him. Not girlfriend tending like cooing in his ear, or kissing him randomly, or acting all soppy and then demanding flowers. Oh no! This woman is great. She cooks for him, cleans, talks to him (about what? Atkins?) and get this… washes him… in bed. She sponges him down, because, again, he cannot get to the bathroom.
What he has, is so much more than a girlfriend. She is his cleaner, his mother, his lover. She is his slave! Pimps treat their b!tches better!

But what I don't understand is how heeeeee, has a girlfriend, if he doesn't leave the house. I have done it all and I am still single. From blind dates, to rock-climbing, to cooking-classes (where I learnt nothing), to going on endless amounts of dates (where I learnt even less), to snake-charming and fire-breathing, to hip-hop festivals, to write rap music, to Church and then to Synagogue, to praying for an answer… to beach parties and volunteering for political parties, to wedding -crashing and gate-crashing other people's parties. And nothing! What is wrong here?

Maybe I am trying too hard. Maybe I should just become a slob, gorge myself constantly, change my name to Dwayne and lay in bed.

I'm sure that will having running like mad towards me. I mean what could be sexier than an obese man in bed waiting for you?