Saturday Night Sleep In

It’s 11pm on a Saturday night and I... just made plans to stay home! I had agreed to go out with PartyAnimal and his friends tonight but I just called him and cancelled. ‘DO NOT TELL ME YOU’RE NOT COMING’ he bellowed when I called his mobile. I did tell him I wasn’t going and he was upset and I felt bad. I hate it when people bail on me and he must have hated it too mostly because this isn’t the first time it’s happened. Last night we agreed to go out. Well, I came to Limassol from Nicosia around 8.30 pm. By 9pm I was in bed asleep. I didn’t even have a shower (and I have two a day since I could remember). I just took of my clothes and lay on the bed. I didn’t even cover myself. I got up at 10am! And PartyAnimal went to the club around 12… without me… again. So it is completely understandable that he is upset.
I do not know what has come over me lately. When I was at Uni, I would go out, drink like a fish, get home around 3am (of course clubs shut earlier in the UK) get up at 8am and be in lecturers by 9am. Now, if I have more than two Margaritas I need to take a morning off work. And I can’t do that. I’m BabyBusinessMan, the Business world needs me the way a strip club needs strippers!

Reasons for not going out tonight
1) I need to wax my legs: I don’t care how gay that sounds, I want to wear shorts, and although they are still more or less smooth my ‘stylist’ is in the Bahamas
2) I need to save money. I need to pay of my debts. I don’t work hard for fun you know
3) I feel fat. If you saw me you’d think that I haven’t eaten since 1992. Although I look good I don’t feel it. I need to go to the gym
4) It’s been 53 days since I stopped smoking and I don’t want to start again. I didn’t blog it because I didn’t want to jinx myself, but I’m still worried that I’ll light up on the dance floor if a sexy random refuses to dance with me. Say awwww…
5) I want to get up early to make the most of my Sunday. I’m BabyBusinessMan and so my time is precious. If I’m not getting paid then I want to make the most of my free time.
6) I don’t want to drink too much. I don’t know what is happening to me. Last year I drank Cider by the gallon now a slight aperitif after dinner makes me drunk.
7) I need a haircut. I feel silly not looking extra-good.
8) For some reason all I want to do is work and go shopping. Last month I was so bored I bought a house. I don’t seem to want to go out. Why? What’s wrong with me?
9) I just want to blog for you guys!
10) I’m having guests next week and will show them around Nicosia. That’ll be a big night so I should save for it!

Reasons to go out tonight
1) PartyAnimal called me a 70 year old and another friend said I’m a party-pooper. It’s not true is it?
2) I should go out to prove to them that the above statement isn’t true.
3) PartyAnimal said that I’d meet the girls of my dreams if I go out. I’m tempted to believe him. But the place we’re going, people have sex in the bathrooms, I know this because I was one of those people so… do you want to marry them (That is not to say that I’m not marriage material. I am. The list above this one proves it). (The fact that I used to have sex in the bathrooms proves that I shouldn’t go because I behave badly. Actually once PartyAnimal came into the bathroom and saw my legs sliding from under the door while I was in the cubicle with an… erm… a ‘date.’ I don’t remember this but he said it was funny).
4) To be funny for PartyAnimal as the note above states!
5) If I don’t go it’s like I’m becoming boring and I used to be the original party boy. There wasn’t one drink I didn’t try, there wasn’t one song I didn’t dance to and there wasn’t one club I didn’t go to (because they kept throwing me out).

In the end I’m staying home. I really do want to get up at 7am and go jogging, so I'm using not going out as an excuse. I’m sitting here in my boxers writing this. I’m bored out of my mind at home. I might be bored at the club. It’s a lose-lose situation. I know once I go to the club I’ll have fun, but I can’t even be bothered to put my socks on. I’d rather take them off… but not in the bathrooms of the club though!

Gossip from Laverne

So my friend Laverne who travelled with me on the Balkan Bonanza had some extra gossip to tell me when she was going to London to catch-up with friends. What she really meant was that she was going to speak with her shrink, go to exclusive spas and shop from Primark, despite coming from the OC. I’m serious!

So on her way to her ‘rejuvenation’ trip, to prepare herself for an important social function in… October she calls to tell me her news. Now I was on my way to a meeting and so this had to be important. You decide:

'Yesterday I was at Heathrow and as soon as a this a BRIT-ISH woman (she said British by purposely leaving out the ‘T’ so as to sound cockney although she practically sounds like a Valley girl) arrived from Beijing, no doubt an Olympic fan! She was such a hobo. Anyway her what appeared to be boyfriend proposed to her right there at Terminal Five near the trash cans...but...the woman said ‘no’... the bitch actually said no, and the entire airport was screaming ‘say yes say yes’.... but I guess it was a no... '

‘But do you think it’s the thing that women do when a yes means no and a no means yes?’ I asked her being the hopeless romantic that I am.

‘It was certainly a no!’ she said almost angrily. She continued…’while at the same time there was a regal Indian woman (she pronounced Indian as In-Jan) perhaps a glimpse of myself in 50 years, screaming to her assistant that he was a fool for not pushing her wheelchair properly... BabyBusinessMan you just gotta love Terminal 5...

Now you tell me how important that is. I was late for my meeting and could have cost my client five million dollars! I mean… there is a recession hello?????
But I have to admit. Laverne does have the best gossip from Terminal Five!

Balkan Photos 2

More photos from the Balkan Bonanza:

Top to Bottom: Leaving Athens // Herceg Novi, Montenegro // Dubrovnik, Croatia

Russian recognition of breakaway regions

So now Russia has recognized South Ossetia and Abkhazia. No surprise there. And Putin states that the US and the West are to blame for encouraging Georgia (and then not coming to defend it). Talk of NATO membership will of course give Georgia the right to flex what muscles it has thinking that the West will help. It didn’t. The West in repose to Moscow’s actions condemned Russian recognition of the two regions with American asking Russia to ‘reconsider’ (oh how ridiculous does that sound, ‘dear Russia, please reconsider retracting your recognition of these two states for whom you waged a war… love Bush’) and France calling Russia an ‘international outlaw.’

I too, disagree with Russia’s recognition of the regions but I find the Western stance hypocritical. They themselves recognized Kosovo, ignoring UN Resolution 1244 and now turn around and tell Russia not to do exactly what they did in February of this year. We now see an anti-Russian stance in the EU and US with the ascent of a new Cold War, especially when the US sets up bases in the Czech Republic and Poland to protect us from Iran. Who are they kidding? Certainly not Russia. And if you are going to place Eastern Europe in NATO and then moved on the Caucus, of course Russia will respond forcefully. The West has no consistent foreign policy whereas Russia’s is to remerge as a new and powerful nation and since Putin took control it has done just that. Russia is now a force to be reckoned with. It has clearly understood the notion that if the US can invade a sovereign state and carve it up, why can’t Russia?

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…

Cyrpiot football in Greece

Last week I was in Athens airport and I heard a Greek lady saying ‘but who is this Anorthosis… and Omonia? Where are they from? Then I realised they are from Cyprus. Pfffffff’ she said making a spitting sound. Initially I thought she was upset about her lack of geographic knowledge, it wasn’t until I asked about the match that she, like most Greek ‘hate’ Cyprus right now, because we beat them, and they do not understand why a country, well technically half a country, thanks to their junta, can defeat them.

When Anorthosis arrived, Olympiacos’ fans actually attacked the football players bus, forcing the driver to stop for two hours until the riot police turned up. After the match the president of Anorthosis was attacked, raising questions about Greek security at football venues. If you can’t protect the head of a football team, what chance do the supporters have? And last night, the Greeks were calling us Turks. So the Greeks were trying to put Cypriots down by using the word Turk as an insult. Racist is the only way to describe it. Even Cypriots, having half the island occupied by Turkey does not show such a high degree of racism towards Turks or the Greeks.
In that case, if they dislike living or being with the Turks (as they now refer to Cypriots) then the Greeks who come to Cyprus visa-free and with a welcome committee at the airport can pack up and leave. No one is asking them to live in Cyprus; Nicosia is now filled with Greeks. Obviously if you live here, Cyprus offers you something your country doesn’t, in the Greeks case, triple the amount they would make in Athens. And yet they come to Cyprus and behave superior to us, saying comments such as ‘you wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for us’ and that ‘you have no literature or arts.’ But we have money and a more organised civil society. But that’s for another blog post about the delightful opinions of the Greeks.

During the match, Anorthosis’ supports were flying the Greek flag (not Cypriot) as they coincided with their teams colours, blue and white. Olympiacos’ colours are red. And yet the Greek still insulted the people who were holding their national flag. And this is what infuriates me; that Cypriots’ identity has to come from another country. One that clearly does not like us very much because… wait for it… we beat them at football. Only God know how much they must hate the Turks who beat them at war.

Don’t misunderstand me, I have nothing against the Greeks; their nations’ interests are often tied with ours (although each year this is become less likely) and our cultures mirror the other. I like Greeks, they are smart, witty and gutsy. But they also have something against the Cypriot ‘Rich Farmers’ and resent our own country’s success. They view Cyprus as a Greek island while regarding Cypriots as complete foreigners and believe that Cypriot politics weigh Greece down. And the football match exposed their dislike of Cyprus. But the real losers are us. Despite all this, we are still going to continue our total and insatiable love with Greece; we will revere Greece and continue to build our identity around them despite them wanting nothing to do with us. Some Cypriots want to be more Greek, Greeks don’t want this at all, or don’t even care. Let’s hope some of us realise this.

Finally allow me to congratulate Anorthosis, it’s a good day for Cypriot sport.

Call me a Clintonista

Many people are rooting for Obama. And why not. He is the fresh new face that American politics so desperately needs. Many other also needed Hillary. In fact everyone needs Hillary. Actually, it’s true to say that Hillary would have made the best president. Now I know half of you are rolling your eyes and protesting, (leave a polite comment if you respectfully disagree) but Obama is the style and Hillary is the substance. Their policies were not that different from each other, but ultimately Obama won because he is just so damn cool. Hillary is establishment. They would have made a great team but in the end, American chooses her presidents according to image rather than content - examples can be found with Reagan and the Governator.

However, now that Obama looks set to win the presidential race, many staunch Hillary supporters are having difficulty reconciling the fact that Hillary lost. Many will vote for McCain instead as a form of protest. Although the idea to vote for him is horrific, it is understandable given the circumstances. That Team Hillary was so close to winning, that she is the strongest candidate and that in this electoral race so many emotions have been tied into making. Eight years after Bush, who wouldn’t be emotional? So Obama’s biggest difficulty will be winning over Hillary supporters. He made a big mistake not having her as his Vice-President, possibly fearing that she will dominate him. A logical excuse.

It seems obvious now that Obama will win the elections. At least this gets the Democrats in office and can repair the mess Bush caused. But the saying is true though, only a Clinton can clean up after a Bush. So we’ll have to see just how well Obama cleans up without the help of a Clinton. Especially the best one!

Clintonistas feel that Hillary lost, not because she was the lesser candidate, (she was undoubtedly the better of all candidate of the bunch who ran from both parties), but because of the sexist media, the hype around Obama’s campaign and the idiosyncrasies in the Democratic electoral system. What’s more, Hillary although having lost the nomination still appears undefeated as she always has done. She stood up for her husband when rumours of his infidelity crept in, she stood by him again during the Lewinsky scandal, she showed poise, toughness and emotion during the campaign and character when she lost to Obama despite knowing full well, as you and I do, that she is the better candidate.

Having said that, as a European I support Obama, but only through default. My vote still goes to Hillary. McCain is nothing but Bush’s third term. He is bad for America and bad for the world. Therefore the struggle isn’t to have Obama win, it’s to convince all those tough Clintonistas not to vote for McCain. And there are more than previously thought.

The fact that she stood up there and endorsed her rival only elevates Hillary in our eyes. True she did not previously endorse Obama (read below) and what she said was true but perhaps now she has to. If Obama loses it could also spell the end of her political career. Or maybe not. Others believe, rather oddly, that Hillary’s career will survive only if McCain winds, because that way Hillary can start her campaign all over again for the next election in 2012, to which she will most certainly win. But what would you choose? Another Republican prolonging Bush’s policies with the hope that Hillary wins the next election, or a chance to get the Republicans out asap and the possibility that Hillary will not run in the 2012 elections?

Hillary on Obama
Dec. 3, 2007: ‘So you decide which makes more sense: Entrust our country to someone who is ready on Day One ... or to put America in the hands of someone with little national or international experience, who started running for president the day he arrived in the U.S. Senate.
March 2008. ‘I know Sen. McCain has a lifetime of experience that he will bring to the White House. And Sen. Obama has a speech he gave in 2002.’
Feb. 23, 2008: ‘Now, I could stand up here and say, 'Let's just get everybody together. Let's get unified.' The skies will open, the light will come down, celestial choirs will be singing and everyone will know we should do the right thing and the world will be perfect.’ (source: yahoo.com)

But the biggest endorsement she could give Obama was slamming McCain: ‘No way… No how. No McCain.’ Will the Clintonistas listen? They are a strong bunch. They don’t listen to just anyone, even if the person they support is a Clinton.

Russia and Georgia

Russia alongside South Ossetians have ethnically cleansed the remaining 20,000 Georgians from their villages in South Ossetia follwing the war this month. The hypocrisy here is that Albanians ethically cleansed Serbs from Kosovo, to which Russia is protesting about, and yet has done the same thing in South Ossetia. Russia refuses to recognise Kosovo but will recognise South Ossetia and Abkhazia.

US President George W Bush made this commitment… saying: "Georgia's borders should command the same respect as every other nation's. There's no room for debate on this matter." This becomes a moral argument, with the Russians answering that after supporting Kosovo's unilateral secession from Serbia, the West is guilty of "double standards" in the Caucasus (source: bbc.co.uk)

Naturally one can argue that Russia has recognised the two regions as independent countries as a balancing act or bargaining chip for Kosovo, which the West has recognised. And again hypocrisy is apparent even with the West which is angered by Russia’s recognition of the breakaway provinces while yet pushing for the independence of Kosovo. This obvious double standards and flouting of international law. It has nothing to do with law or peacekeeping but expansionism.

Georgians were wrong to launch and attack into its two breakaway provinces which lead to their total separation from Georgia, but Saakashvili believed the West would help. How can he possible believe so? Because America said they might offer NATO membership? While simultaneously France and Germany would rather see it excluded due to their links with Russia. The President made a big mistake; his beliefs made him put too much trust in the perfidious West who never came to his rescue in the end, his actions have led to war and the loss of lives and now we that Georgia is about to change. Yet, as a sovereign nation, Georgia’s borders should be respected and negotiations should lead to a compromise, perhaps a federation. Which is why, despite launching an attack, Abkhazia and South Ossetia should remain in Georgia. The West should stop meddling in the Caucus and Russia should realise that if these regions gain independence what about all the small republics in the Russian Federation? I’m sure after this the US won’t hesitate in recognising Tartarstan if they ever claim independence.

And this brings me to my point. Why are Cypriots supporting Russia’s invasion of Georgia while our own country has been invaded by Turkey? Yes, I know South Ossetia and Abkhazia are different homogenous regions with their own language and Georgia isn’t mixed the way Cyprus was. But don’t you find it contradictory from Cypriots point of view? After all we didn’t recognise Kosovo nor do we support it, so why do we support Russia’s invasion of Georgia? The only argument for it are the links with Russia. And don’t they realize that siding with Russia they are giving impetus to recognise the occupied areas of Cyprus?

Athens vs. Beijing vs. London

The 29th Olympiad in Beijing has come to an end. In the few days since then there has been much speculation about the success of the Games. Most people will agree that they have been the best Games ever (well if one billion people can’t pull it off no one can). It is also agreed that we saw the most lavish Ceremonies and an Olympic park built in abundance. The Games have been a success… to various degree depending on who you ask and if you discount the whole Tibet protests.

Of course the current Olympiad will always be compared to the previous one. In this case: Athens. Slammed would be the best way to describe the Athens Olympics when compared to Beijing. So, yes, the Greek are like their music, slow at the beginning and then fast towards the end. And there were delays in construction. But didn’t they pull it off in the end? True, the Olympic venues have turned into white elephants and need to be maintained. Does that still have an impact on how successful the Games were? Because if we are going to compare what happens after a Games as in Athens’ case, we should also consider what happened before the Games, such as the protests for Tibet. Or how the Games were won, in Salt Lake City’s case it was with the help of various favours.

One article states that the Games will never return to Athens’ as the Olympic venues are left in ruins. Hello… it’s Greece. Ruins are their thing! Take a look at the Acropolis. But seriously though, if that is a reason not to award the Games to Greece again, (and as the reporter suggests only won due to ancient Olympia) then why did they award them to China as it has such a bad human rights issue. And couldn’t you argue that London only won the 2012 Games only because Chirac insulted Finnish cuisine, and so the Finns voted for London instead.

I was waiting for the backlash against Athens. I’m not surprised by what I read and in fact I expected it sooner. Maybe people are running out of praise for Beijing and feel it’s time to know its predecessor. Not wanting to sound nationalistic (I’m not Greek and so I can’t be) I feel that many people want to knock Greece. Maybe that’s because Greeks just don’t care about what others think of them. Like American they are very self-centric but without the emotions. And this can be very potent. It also leads them to believe that so far these are so good and do not progress, hence the white elephants.

The only uncomfortable consolation is when London hosts the Games, everyone will start knocking the Beijing Games, which truth be told, we a good Games regardless of all the controversy. But let’s face it, will London be able to compete against Beijing? Even the British are admitting that they can’t even beat it.

Moving In

I am not sure if I mentioned it, but about two months ago I was evicted from my apartment in Nicosia. Usually it is neighbours from hell, in m case it was the landlord. I never knew that I was dealing with the devil until he started screaming like a maniac at me over the phone. Of course, the fact that the nice apartment was cockroach infested, that it kept flooding or that I could hear strange footsteps did not occur to me that I could be living in the entry to the underworld, but that’s because I am busy. I am a businessman after all, even if I am a baby still! Basically it was such a bad state it wasn’t an apartment, it was a falling apart-ment! In my new house I’m changing the name to together-ment, or at least make it sound posh and use the French word l’appartement.

So after five weeks of commuting and three of vacations I am have moved in! On Monday morning. Between the hours of 6-8. Before I went to work! Seriously! I drove up from Limassol, waited half an hour to drive 1km, and pulled up outside my new block of flats called Sunrise Heights.

I always imagined that when I move into my apartment, it would be all ready for me, with plush white leather sofas, a leopard-print duvet over my double king size bed with a mirror over it and white mints on the pillow. There would be a butler, two maids, a personal trainer and a flautist (for classical music on a loop). Instead not only do I have no duvet but no bed either. I’m camping in my own house. Not that I’m complaining. I love my apartment! It’s the perfect business accessory!

Of course when moving in I was in such a rush that I dropped three of my shirts in the dirt, left a trail of underwear all the way to my apartment (I mean together-ment) and almost got locked out. Then while I was unpacking I left half my books in the elevator to which I could hear my neighbours (on the first floor I think) say ‘wow what’s that.’ I assumed they were talking about my Kama Sutra book. As I was packing so hurriedly, I threw a bunch of books, magazines and photos together in a transparent box (from IKEA). So when they were going through my contents in the lift they not only saw what I read, they saw what I liked to do, and as I had photos from my holiday, they now know who I am, and probably wish they didn’t.

Then, as soon as I was about to reclaim my belongings, a stunning business woman was in the lift wearing heals, a purplue like shirt and a big leather handbag. ‘Hi, I’m BabyBusinessMan’ I said extending a sweaty hand. ‘Hey, I’m Monica’ replied. ‘And Chandler?’ I joked. She didn’t get it. But her dog is named Joey! How funny.

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!

Balkan Photos 1

The reason I have not been updating this blog is because I was away on what my friend and I call, the Balkan Bonanza. It was our backpacking trip in the Balkans in Greece, Serbia, Bosnia and Hercegovina, Croatia and Montenegro. Below are some photos from our trip.

From top to bottom: Sarajevo, Belgrade, Athens

(More photos coming soon)

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!)

Phonecalls to my Hater

So when I go on holiday I’m going to do things I always wanted to do and couldn’t do in Cyprus. I did it in Vegas, I did it in Tijuana. Now I’m going to do it in Sarajevo. And what am I going to get up to, you may be asking? Get revenge.

Confused? Don’t be. Let me explain. I’m the kind of person who ends up attracting the wrong kind of people. Not necessarily bad people, rather, sociopaths, sycophants (of others), ex-groupies, swingers, Scientologists and randoms who don’t know what they want.

And so I end up with a disproportionate amount of emails, phone calls and texts or people asking odd things. Things that are mostly illegal in places like Iran and Chechnya. Last week, I received a text saying: Hey do u remember me? Would you like to meet up today for some fun?

It fun means bashing the people you hated at school in a giant boxing ring, then sure. If it’s anything else, then no. So I replied diplomatically by saying: Who r u? How the hell did u get my number? No reply. Nothing.

So, when I get to the Balkans, I am going to call this person and all the others who have double crossed me, from every single country, city, village I visit and phone box I pass. They will receive calls from Serbia, Bosnia and so on, that they’ll go mad and wonder who is calling them at 3am (you don’t expect me to call them at convenient time now do you?)

So beware, if you start getting number with a rather strange dialling code, then it could be me, calling you from inner Albania from a phone box in a crumbing village, laughing all night, while you lie there, in your bed, panicking and wondering, who’s out to get you. It could be me. Or it could be the Albanian mafia.

The Importance of Sleep

When I was a kid, I never wanted to sleep. All I wanted to do was read, play in the fields or go cycling. Sleep to me was an unnecessary thing I had to do. Now, that I’m a little older, and ever so slightly wiser, sometimes, after a busy day at the office, I cannot wait for the evening to end so I can go to be. There it is placed, the bed, like a machine, that freezes time, like a warm, quilted spa, always welcoming, always cosy, waiting for you to slip between the sheets, snuggle up and drift off into a land, where it’s okay to dream and drift, and laze around innocently like a child in a lazy-river.

I used to remember going to bed on a Sunday night, laying my head on the pillow and hating it, knowing that once I shut my eyes, the next moment, I would wake up and have to go to school. The dread. So I used to stave off sleep, but it would always drift over me, like a cool breeze. You are unable to resist. And at the end of the day, when you’re sleepy and drowsy, a plump pillow and clean sheets are such a delight. The bed is a substitute womb; it keeps us and our dreams safe. It’s a hug of fabrics (and with a right detergent it can smell like lemons or oranges or lavender).
Sleep is when our soul debates the events of the days. It stores to good ones and discharges bad feelings by resolving them with unpleasant dreams. The soft bed cements our memories and stores facts that only our REMs can see. Sleep keeps us alive, gives us dreams that keep us going. A little like fuel from an astral level.

And we all need sleep, not too much but not to little either. Seven hours should suffice. I read that the sloth sleeps for 9.5 hours a day while dolphins and whales can stay awake for their first month.

Have a feel-good routine before you sleep. Don’t drink too much, or eat. Make sure you wind down. Read a book, flip through a magazine (no, not Play… or…) or even a photo album of your good times. Don’t read the newspaper, or watch the news. The stories will stay with you all night and your sleep won’t be smooth. What you want are seven silver hours of sleep. Think, hot chocolate, marshmallows, a cool glass of water, a hot water bottle, a teddy perhaps, someone to cuddle up with, and good feelings. Relax, breath deeply and rest. And the most important thing of all. Don’t forget to dream…

sssshhhhhhhhhhhh...
Goodnight…

zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz

BabyBarMan? Maybe?

So I went clubbing the other day. And behaved like a maniac as usual. The while drunk I thought about applying for a job as a barman while I forgot that I was BabyBusinessMan. Although before that, I actually was BabyBarMan. So I went up to the manager to convince him to give me a job that would match my current salary. He said ‘that much?’ I didn’t know if he was being rude about my salary or admirable about it. Then I thought I got the job, although I was wearing a sombrero because it was Mexican themed night. And I looked ridiculous. So of course I didn’t
Then I went to Mya Aljazeera and told him that I asked for a job. And she told me:
‘When you apply for a job here, he takes you out to dinner and asks about your life. And if it was good he’ll hire you.’
Firstly, how does Mya know about such things? And second, tell him about my life, and hope I would get hired?

If I went to a job interview and told them about my life they’d probably sue me for indecency. And all I would have done was talk! I mean what are you going to say to such an interviewer? ‘I’m a Leo. My middle name is…’ who cares? Apparently he does. But what do you edit?
To m friends, I am interesting because I’m nutty and rude and fun and know about my life. To colleagues I’m bossy and shrewd and professional. Never interesting. Because they don’t know about my life outside the office. And let’s face it, offices are hardly breeding grounds for mayhem.
So how does he hire the staff for the club? And what do they say? I guess it goes along the lines of: I’m a model for Calvin Klein. I was in Emmanuelle 3. I used to be a lifeguard. I can tie my shoelaces with my tongue. I can rap in French, etc.
And what would I say: I can talk about stocks and finances. ‘Anything else?’ he’d ask. I’d say ‘yes, it all happened in Vegas. But you know the law. What happened in Vegas, stays in Vegas so, sorry, no can do…’
And that’ll be the end of that!

The only upside is that if he doesn’t hire you, you got a free meal. Assuming that he’s paying. If not, then you’re unemployed and owing the restaurant €150! And that’s just mean

Not so Hot Holidays

For me a holidays is a break in a city, where I can visit museums and sip lattes by day and go clubbing and drink by night. Or Vegas! I love Vegas! You can drink and gamble and people don’t even judge you! They judge you if you don’t. It’s like the expect you to be bad! How can you say no to that?
For my holidays, I don’t need to sit by the pool, because, well… I have a pool at home. So for me a cultural break, involving walking in circles around a city, getting lost, eating strange food and talking to odd-looking natives who smile strangely at me when I hand them my camera and say ‘Pho-to!’ is pure joy. I assumed that this appeals to everyone. Not so. Some people have very strange holiday choices. Such as:

Ayia Napa
I don’t get the appeal. Personally I found the beautiful Church in the town centre surrounded by all those neon monstrosities much more appealing that the bars and brawls that Ayia Napa has in abundance. Maybe they have the Church there so people can go pray for the sins committed the night before. Nevertheless, despite bringing in money to the country, Ayia Napa is ghastly. I used to like it. But maybe that’s because I was drunk. Take everyone there sober and they’d be swimming home.

Camping
Why anyone would sit in a fabric hut and sleep on a soggy mat is beyond me. Some say to get back to nature? You want to get back to nature, then try walking to work and living without broadband on a Thursday in Nicosia. Camping are for people who have everything and need to pretend to be martyrs for a while. No running water, no lavatories, shops or electricity. Why would you do that?

A house in the country
Some people do the odd thing of renting a small house in the country, like in some random county in England surrounded by sheep and forests and haunted castles and sit there, without… much! And drink. And do nothing. And talk. Why would I want to talk to you when I can blog you?

Then there are the holidays that don’t like you. In my case: Summer Camp when I was 14. It actually turned out to be Church Camp, which explained all the prayers and Bible stories (that I enjoyed) but they threw me out after swearing! Oops! Maybe they had the feeling that I was to become a Jew! Now I’d gladly go to Jewish Camp! I can imagine us learning Jewish Karate, and business skills and ways to turn everything you touch kosher!

*****

Then there was this other time when I went to Paris and bought a t-shirt saying just that on it. ‘Are you from Paris?’ someone asked me. I was flattered but replied ‘Do I look like I am?’ ‘No. Where are you from?’ he asked me. ‘Jerusalem.’ I replied. ‘You do look Jewish.’ He stated as if finally seeing the obvious, or maybe he was one of these people who just got back from Ayia Napa.

Another time, I wore another of my t-shirts that read ‘I heart TJ’ which stood for Tijuana. A Mormon from Kentucky wanted me to give it to him, because TJ were his initials. I said that if he wore a t-shirt saying ‘I heart TJ’ then he’d be lying, and that’s a sin. I am from Jerusalem you know. As if that’s not a lie. Someone else thought it stood from Tom Jones. It doesn’t. When I explain to someone where Tijuana was (Mexico-US border) they asked if I was from there. ‘Do I look like I’m from TJ?’ I asked. He said he didn’t know what a person from TJ looked like. I said they looked like me. ‘No’ he said ‘you look like you’re from Vegas.’ I guess I do! Or maybe Jerusalem*

* But if I wore a t-shirt say ‘I heart Jerusalem’ it’ll have to read ‘JerUSAlem.’

Single: Part 3

Single: Part 2

Earlier on, I wrote about the ‘joys’ of being single, only because I’m too tired to date. And it got me thinking, about being in a couple instead of being in a relationship with your take-away place. And I was wondering if it is so great being in a relationship, then why aren’t there any great couples?
And then I realised that there were great couples… Brangelina. Although Jolie broke Jen and Brad. And this blog supports Aniston!

There is my friends Laverne who is a long-distance and successful relationship with her man.
There’s Cake and her shrink. But then again, being married to a shrink, wouldn’t you be ok? Think of all the free pills! That could work with me.
Then there are my gay friends who are in perhaps the most balanced, fair and caring relationship I have ever seen. I can’t even have that with myself. I’m going to go to couples councelling for the relationship between me and my alter ego.

Then I need to have another session of councelling for the most important relationship in my life, between me and my email account. Hotmail’s been feeling neglected because I spend too long on Facebook. I say it’s just a phase, but there’s been trouble ever since I posted those after those photographs of me with my… anyway… even my virtual relationships are dysfunctional.

Single: Part 1

I just read another article about why it’s depressing being single. I feel depressed now. But, until I read the article I was fine. Ok, maybe it’s because I’m swamped with work before the holidays but still, I have secretly been enjoying being single. How do I know this? Because I haven’t’ wanted to date. And if you read below, the dates I was about to go on, I couldn’t have cared less about them. In the mean time, I’ve been working, reading, chilling under the sun (true despite sounding like an oxymoron) shopping and generally being single and cool (in the heat. Another uncanny oxymoron).

Yes being single can be horrendous, and incredibly frustrating if you’re a man. But after two and a half failed relationships in the first half of 2008, countless dates, unanswered phone calls, stalking expeditions, horrendous amounts of money spent on clothes and beauty treatments, blind dates, secret dates, dates where I wish were kept secret, mistaken identities, stolen identities etc, etc, etc… I have not succumbed to being single. I am merely too tired not wanting to be single. Even if I am clubbing and you want to give me your number, I’m too tired to punch the number onto my phone. Even if you write it in whipped cream across your chest… sorry it’s 11.30… off to bed! Alone. Thanks for the offer.

And you know what. Sex and the City the Movie says the opposite. Unless you’re Samantha (the exception to the rule) the other three cannot be happy without a man, or a bunny (not the one that eats carrots). And women buy into this. And then THEY call themselves a feminist. It’s totally anti-femenist, and they don’t even see it. Even I am more feminist than they are and secretly I’m a misogynist. I hate women! There is so much pressure, from movies or elsewhere to ‘not be single’ that any relationship should do and that it’s miserable being single. True, it can be. But what’s the alternative? To get into a relationship with just anyone so you won’t be single? It’s a label. Like designer clothes. This is Gucci. This is in a relationship. THIS IS A LOAD OF CRAP PEOPLE!

But as I said. I’ just too tired to date. And I don’t care.
Which is why I don’t hate the player, but I’m just too tired with the game. And right now, it’s time out in my dugout for me. Correction, time out in a spa and/or bath, with a bottle of Moet and chocolate truffles. For one.

A date in a parking?

I was about to go out on a date. Now this girl, cancelled on me once before. Ok she didn’t exactly cancel, but she didn’t ring to confirm the arrangements I made, and I didn’t ring back. The next time we spoke I put the ball in her court. It turns out that it was more like a ball and chain for her. She couldn’t make a decision but told me she wanted me to pick her up from the Carrefour parking so we can go together. I tried to look at the bright side, that it could have been Lidl instead of Carrefour, but that’s only the bright sie by default, as there is no Lidl in Cyprus (if only it was Ikea).

So she wanted me to get her from the Carrefour parking as we can go to the café together. You’d all agree that that is a little odd. Anyway. She called back saying that she was going to see friends, then go back home then to Breeze, and so she wouldn’t have had time to meet up that night. Fine. So I let her make all the decisions and told her that if she wanted to meet she could call me. She didn’t call. And I’m glad. You know why? Because she is not ready to date. I don’t know if there is such as thing as ready to date, you just go on one. It’s not like you’re being asked to go on a frigging rollercoaster now is it? Although I can see why some would rather go on a rollercoaster ride than on a date with me. Some say I’m too much. I say: they need bigger mouths

Mya Aljazeera: Part 2

Dedicated to my friend: NA...
...who I've known since back in the day...

So we made our way across the clubs of Nicosia and then got a taxi ride to Limassol where we went to Breeze at the last moment as Mya knew the manager or someone. Or everyone.
So there we were in our table when a boy whose jeans were so baggy they were practically down to his ankles and was wearing a 70’s puck rock t-shirt (that was so dirty it needed to be washed at least twice) came up to Mya to ask her a question (although I have to question how he got into the club looking like that).
‘Yo Maha, what’s up? What’s up?’ he said to Mya, obviously stoned. Mya in response blew out her cigarette smoke, inhaled another drag and proceeded to speak, but not without taking another sip of wine (medium white).
‘Fine- how are you?’ she said coolly.
‘Okay. I got some questions to ask you Mia.’
‘It’s Mya.’
‘Yes, that’s what I said, Mona. So- I bought this weed from this guy- Sanders? You know him?’ Mya didn’t but as that would show that she was not living up to her reputation she did know him ‘I mean Flanders- not the one off the Simpsons- a real Flanders, you know him?’ Mya didn’t and was thankful that she didn’t. ‘So he sold me some weed. And it was shit. Actually it wasn’t real weed it was grass or stock cubes or something.’ Mya blew a puff of smoke above his head and nodded as if she understood and cared. ‘So you know you do law and shit…’
‘I’m a lawyer’ she said in a low voice that could still be heard over the wailing music.
‘Yeah, well cool… well, I was wondering if I could take him to court- or if you can? I’ll pay you.’ He shook his head as if to correct himself and added ‘I mean I’ll pay you in weed- like if you want’. Mya finally looked up and answered:
‘So let me get this straight’ she began in her authoritative tone ‘you want me to take your drug dealer to court because he sold you fake weed? Am I correct?’
Apparently she was. The stoned guy nodded vigorously.
‘First of all stoner. No. I won’t help you. Secondly, I don’t want to. Thirdly I don’t think such a case will stand in court, and fourthly, change that disgusting t-shirt, it stinks and it isn’t in style. I think the fashion police should come and arrest you and then maybe we would have a case, if you plead insanity for wearing such trash.’
The stoned guy looked at her as if hurt and then bent over double, laughing. Mya’s phone suddenly rang. She took it out of her Prada bag and looked at the tiny mobile screen. ‘Urg! It’s my stalker again’ she said nonchalantly, she got up and walked out of the room to take the call. All you could hear for the next five minutes were screams and Arabic swear words thrown in for good measure coming from the next room.

Mya Aljazeera: Part 1

Last night Party-Animal and I decided to go out and celebrate. Celebrate what, we didn’t know, perhaps that fact that it was summer. We were sick of staying seeing the same people at the same clubs and so Party-Animal called his friends Mya Aljazeera and Pineapple Head.

Mya Aljazeera was the closest thing any of us would come to meeting an Arabian princess. Coming from one of the mysterious countries in the Gulf, Mya embodied the luscious Arabian look with her dark doe eyes and permanent tan and combined it with her chic attitude that could make European royalty look cheap, a flair for fashion, good taste and good manners. You could tell that Mya (like the news channel broadcasting all the news) was one of those people who were born cool and bred well, she was so hip it hurt and could easily be compared to famous faces like Donatella Versace and Angelina Jolie.

Always sporting the latest designer gear and the most expensive brand of cigarettes, Mya always picked the best and most interesting people to make friends with and it was natural that she would pick people like myself and Party-Animal.

We met Mya through Eurotrash, who were both doing Law at university along with their friend Pineapple Head. Pineapple Head was Mya’s sidekick, originally from Nigeria she earned the name ‘Pineapple Head’ as she wore her curly African hair collected in bun that collapsed like fireworks over her head. Pineapple Head, Mya and Party-Animal soon became good friends and because of my good friend Party-Animal, was I initiated into their ‘group’.

This group they called ‘Group Gorgeous.’ Now this group was well known throughout the university and even better know in the Hidden Empire, but no one knew who was in it or what it stood for. The closely knit Group Gorgeous was a creation of Mya’s that had somehow spiralled out of control sucking everyone in it.

Mya, as the founder of the group held the title of High Priestess. There was a closely followed hierarchy in which Party-Animal had somehow been promoted to Vice-President and so on… I who was just initiated, with the nickname ‘Way Gorgeous’ into the group had so sign a declaration preventing me from speaking out against or about the group and had to come to the meetings. ‘But what exactly do we do?’ I asked Mya.
‘Well, you’re Gorgeous aren’t you? Isn’t that enough’ she snapped ‘and don’t ask questions I’m busy’ she said pouring herself a drink.

More to come…

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

The Sun, Whose Rays Are All Ablaze

For the August 1st Solar Eclipse.

The day before my birthday.

The sun, whose rays //Are all ablaze With ever-living glory // Does not deny His majesty // He scorns to tell a story! // He don't exclaim // "I blush for shame // So kindly be indulgent."But, fierce and bold //In fiery gold // He glories all effulgent!
I mean to rule the earth // As he the sky —We really know our worth // The sun and I!

I mean to rule the earth // As he the sky —We really know our worth // The sun and I!

Observe his flame // That placid dame // The moon's Celestial Highness // There's not a trace // Upon her face // Of diffidence or shyness // She borrows light // That, through the night // Mankind may all acclaim her // And, truth to tell // She lights up well // So I, for one, don't blame her!
Ah, pray make no mistake // We are not shy // We're very wide awake // The moon and I!Ah // pray make no mistake // We are not shy // We're very wide awake // The moon and I!