Welcome to the Neighbourhood...

If you remember, a while back I told you I moved to a new apartment in Lycabettus. Well I thought it was about time to welcome you to the neighbourhood. Here are my building buddies (no Monica or Chandler in sight...)

Apt 101 // Bjork

Didn't you hear? She moved to Cyprus. She asked herself 'what's the opposite of Iceland: Cyprus' and so she's moved to Nicosia. I popped round for some sugar and she was glueing bits of paper to the walls and making a dress for her new video that she's going to film at Coffee Beanery. When I asked her why there, she said because FloCafe was already taken by Tamta.

Apt 102 // Gym Junkie
At first I though Apt 102 was a sorority becuase I would see a bunch of women come and go at different times of the night. Then, after about a week I realised that the red, convertible sports car belongs to Gym Junkie. Tall, friendly with arms are big as my thighs, GJ is the man everyone wants to be and all the women want.

Apt 201 // The Rock and Roll Boys

Both twins. Both rockers. Both out of their minds. They are Rock and Roll. That's their names. Rock is eight minutes older than Roll. They hate Bjork because she is to 'quiet' as they say, but go round to her house for some Icelandic ouzo which ice that she specially imports from Iceland. Rock and Roll play in a band and have appeared in New Division and City Plaza where the play tavli for 'inspiration' as they say (lie).

Apt 202 // Vice President

Ms. Hernandez is perhaps the scariest person in Lycabettus. She is the VP of a mutli-billion dollar firm, and her parking space is next to mine - so you can imagine how scared I am. Also she lives right below me and can hear my comings and goings.

Apt 301 // Bossy Boots

She is a dominatrix by day and dominatrix by night who has a degree in philosophy, an MA in psychology and a PhD in Anthropology but decided to become a dominatrix, called Bossy Boots when she realised she could earn more money this way. Clients mostly ential rich and stressed businessman (not me). She is smart, rich, beautiful and in charge. And is my neighbour!

Apt 302 // BabyBusinessMan

If you want to know more... just check out the blog!

The Penthouse // Filthy Rich

The only words for FR are rude ones. But this is a classy blog and so will not appear on the screen, okay bitches! If you were a reader of this blog from the beginning, you will remember that Filthy Rich (who is just that) was married to the Nicosia Housewife. She divorced him when she found him in their bed with her Personal Assistant (he had already slept with his secretary and the nanny) and had moved onto other members of staff. After she kicked him out, he moved into my building in the penthouse which he likes to keep filled with new 'girlfriends' every week. Midlife crisis overload!

And that's it folks. Welcome to my neighbourhood.

The Alpha Male

A recent report has proved that sexist men earn more than the Beta Male; his more sensitive and politically-correct counterpart, by almost $8,500 difference. They are better at their jobs and therefore earn more leading to find them more attractive. The great irony is that women have been, for years campaigning and protesting against such type of men and against the discrimination they face by them in the work place. Then they decide that they find them attractive. WTF?

This is because their brutish arrogance, their excessive amount of self-esteem and the extra money they earn because of this makes them more attractive to women. Women ‘fall in love’ with them and then are treated badly by the men. Meanwhile, the more sensitive Beta Males, who have been told to ‘get sensitive and politically correct’ by society are marginalised by the women and are not found less attractive on their own merit just not as attractive as the Alpha Male and now… lose out concerning pay.

I don’t know which group I fall into. I’m not an Alpha Male because I’m not arrogant. If I’m arrogant I will be dismissed and will no longer be BabyBusinessMan. I’m not a Beta Male because I’m not sensitive – I really do not care about your feelings. So what category do I fall into? I just it’s a letter in another alphabet . Maybe the Hebrew alphabet. In Hebrew then, I’m the Alef Male. Or the Alef Ish (as goes the translation). Guess which letter ‘alef’ that is in the Latin alphabet… and I promise I’ll be nice. Not! Like I care about your feelings!

No - I am not coming to your house at 11pm!

Let me tell you what I hate; indecisiveness and disorganisation. So I was going to go out with this girl. When I asked her when to meet she said we’ll arrange something. On Saturday night she texts me to meet up. ON SATURDAY NIGHT? MEET UP? I’m BabyBusinessMan, I network on Saturday nights not go on first dates. And she texts me without giving me notice to meet up? So we arrange for Sunday evening after her guests have left. I get a text saying she’ll call me after 10pm but didn’t want to meet me in town because… she’s ‘not in the mood to go downtown and would rather be relaxing at home…’ I text backing saying that we should leave it as she doesn’t seem that interested and it is already 11pm. 11pm for a first date? I’m BabyBusinessMan, I have work in the morning. No money for me means no honey. And I like my honey!

Anyway, she texts back saying she was in the shower and ‘sorry.’ And all I’m thinking, ‘didn’t you shower before your guests came?’ So I replied saying ‘another time maybe. It’s getting late.’ Which I think is more than fair from me. I don’t have to be nice you know, but I will be because I’m a gentleman as well as a businessman.

But as always I end up thinking: what if she was the one? What if she just slipped through my fingers? Well I have two thoughts for that, a) if she was the one she would be more organised and would like to come out and meet me for a drink and b) do I have time for her? Do I have time to date? I’m busy you know, I have work to do. I am after all your one and only BabyBusinessMan!

You know you love me!

(After re-reading this, I really should get over myself shouldn't I?)

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…

H in Liberia

It had been ages since I spoke to my good friend H who is working for anon-profit organisation in Africa, so I emailed her to see what she isup to and she replied with the following email. Now I asked her if Icould blog it but she didn't reply. I imagine she is okay with it, sohere it is below (slightly edited). H I hope you don't mind. I justreally wanted to share it because it shows how different and valuableher work and experience is to ours.

It is rainy season out here and about 150% humidity so you can imaginethe state of my giant wig ... I was lucky enough to experience thelegendary 7-day rains, actual torrential downpours all day every day for7 days. There were children floating down the street, Im not evenjoking. There is no such thing as an actual road here, because thecapital Monrovia (where I live) was attacked so many times during thewar the streets have been destroyed by rocket fire and tanks and bulletsand mortar rounds and there are potholes the size of swimming pools onmost main streets. There are also still roadblocks manned by UN - thefirst time I went through one of those was seriously scary. The city iscool though, everyone has been so nice and is looking after me but it isstill very very unsafe, as soon as the sun goes down everyone locksthemselves up in their houses and the criminal gangs come out to play. Iwas living with a family for a while just outside of town but now I havean apartment in the diplomatic quarter of the city - no electricityobviously but I just got running water yesterday which was veryexciting. The food is SPICY, they call chillies 'pepper' out here whichgives you some idea of the amount they use in their cooking - 'blow yourface off hot' is just an average meal. The people are great, I have areally good team who work so hard in between doing their actual jobs andI love them all. I have... a bodyguard who is the most useful person Ihave ever met (there is nothing he doesn't know or know how tofix/solve/sort out).

Generally things here are pretty damn good......... How are you? How is the beautiful Cyprus? I HAVE to come and see yousoon, I miss you loads and really really need to chill out with you fora while....

more on Liberia @ http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Liberia

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!

Clothes by... Mojito!

I went out last night with Cake and Co (Co being her posse of cool and artsy people with great hair). Of course, I had a long day, had spent time this new girl I am ‘seeing’ and had already drank

two beers, and some wine. So I was already riding the wave of alcohol when I got to the bar (which I will not name for reason you shall read below).
Of course Cake’s friends are cool and I knew that they’d be cool with my craziness. I’m may be BabyBusinessMan but not after 10pm.

Anyway, I was sitting with them, drinking, laughing and punching Pancake (Cake’s husband to be. I call him Pancake, because he is so easy-going that you can mix him with everyone and everything for all occasions; just like a pancake!) The drinks arrived and the next thing I know I am soaking wet. The whole of my shirt and shorts (casual yet classy) are covered with an alcoholic beverage that I can only assume was a Pancake’s Mojito. Now I assume that if you order a beverage you should drink it not wear it; even if it is a classy and expensive drink. And if you’re going to pour a drink over me, then make sure you get it in my mouth not on my chest.
I was so trashed I kept laughing while Cake and Co just sat there looking at me with mouths open for what seemed like an eternity. The waiter tells me that I can go to the restroom to… listen to this… clear up the mess! The mess that he created on me! So I stand up, the ice that was in the drink and then was on me fell to the ground and everyone was staring. After ‘clearing up’ in the bathroom (how can u clear up if there is no washing machine?) I went back to my seat and listen to this… the waiter comes with the bill. And I paid! I PAID TEN EUROS TO HAVE A DRINK SPILLED OVER ME! And it wasn’t even my drink. Champagne? Yes, I have been dipped in it a couple of times. But a Mojito? Clothed? In Public? First time!

Then, I was freezing, I wanted to take my shirt off and Cake wouldn’t let me. She actually held my clothes down and said that I couldn’t keep undressing everywhere. I was like ‘Cake, if this place is so classy they wouldn’t pour drinks over a customer and I want to show off my six-pack plus I just got waxed and you gotta feel my smooth skin’. Still the woman would not let me.
Now what’s wrong with this scenario?

a) I paid because I didn’t want to make a fuss in case the foreign waiter fired
b) I’m guessing he poured it over me on purpose
c) He didn’t even tell me not to pay
d) I am a Jew. We speak up! I didn’t speak up (due to intoxication and laughter) so that makes me a bad Jew (but a fun one at that)
e) Cake didn’t let me take off my clothes and didn’t care if I caught a cold!
f) Cake told me that this is not London. I know! It’s Nicosia!
g) I was told the mess was mine. It wasn’t. That was rude

So in revenge I trashed the bathrooms. I took ALL the paper towels from the bathroom and took it to the table. That was actually so funny Cake wanted to take a picture. Then I helped myself to a champagne flute and two shot glasses that I assume were part of the ridiculously-priced drinks; that I got to wear!

The thing is though; I don’t need a drink sloshed onto me (clothed). I already have a six-pack on me. The sad thing is; they saw me wearing a Mojito and not my six-pack! I guess it’s their loss.

(Joking aside: the value of an establishment truly does show when the management does not offer the drinks as complimentary after they have spilt them over a patron. I won’t be going back there any time soon. Not because of the mistake, which can happen to anyone, but because it was managed so badly afterwards. And I know this because before I was BabyBusinessMan I was BabyBarMan. I have worked in bars and clubs and I know that a) the service should be excellent and b) customers are always right, even though they rarely are).

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

Fashion and the Individual

In America the individual is celebrated. In Cyprus it’s hidden in the closet. Read on!
In the States due to the wide variety of people, we see many different types of groups and interests. You have, jocks, cheerleaders, queens, artsy-farty, the let’s-save-the-rainforest people, hip-hop (boy do they have hip-hop there), frats, blondes, rappers, conservatives, cowboys, yuppies… anything you can image each with their different looks and styles. Although they do not all necessarily get along (you tell me a hip-hip boy is going to get along with a jock and I’ll tell you that George Bush is my uncle) they have an understanding of the importance of being an individual. Nowhere other than America (maybe Japan) is there such a vibrancy for personal-marketing. Of showing who you are through your own tailor-make style.

In Cyprus we have the above groups to a lesser degree. They are; villagers and high-class for the over 30s and hip-hop, nerds emo and fashionistas for the under 25s. And of course the BabyBusinessMan style (Armani meets silver sneakers). But these are styles more than tastes. You will not get main different streams of people. Although I do have to say that there is a blogging community here in CY – albeit on the internet but still a community. Nevertheless, I find Cypriots very afraid to discover their own vibe and develop it. And if they want to, they go over the top and look ridiculous and no one lets them in any clubs because they look like circus freaks.

I had some American friends over this summer. They wore bright colours; yellow sunglasses in doors; they had big hair; they wore clothes that showed their tats, one amazing friend, actually had Machu Pichu tattoo’d on her back. All in all they were phenomenal and made us Cypriots look like we were at a funeral and it was being held in a club (cool idea actually). Nevertheless I lived that they made an effort to be themselves and show off their personality through their clothes. Refreshing or what! You don’t have to go out of your way to be original but be you. In Cyprus we aren’t. If you don’t look like this then you should stay home. And although we look good as a nation, we are good dressers and take pride in our appearance we don’t take pride in our personality and what qualities we have. We adhere to the sheep mentality and it’s a shame. Fashion isn’t just Gucci. Fashion and style is making an effort to look good with a whole lot of you!

The Mini is Hustle

Of course on Saturday night I went out. This weekend I went to Hustle. Great place, but not sure about the name, especially when pronounced with a Cypriot accent. It kind of sounds like castle or hassle. As in ‘you’re such a hassle’ δηλαδή ενοχλητικός. Αλλά anyway… So I went there and bumped into a bunch of people I don’t want to know. First person I saw was an FTF, which means Friends That F… And although we were intimate, we never really got to know each other outside of the bedroom, so although at one point I sat down opposite her we didn’t greet each other because, well... no one knows haw to deal with things like this really. I didn’t really want to say hola but I didn’t want to ignore the chica either. In the end I left it and she kept smoking. And then I told my friend about her who said ‘she did what? Really?’

Then I bumped into the Nicosia Housewife. She was sitting with Fashionista who was looking great actually dressed in black and sipping martinis. But the Nicosia Housewife looked 10 years younger than she looked 10 years ago. The woman’s face was stretched to the limit, it looked like an elastic band, it was botox’d up to such a degree that you thought she polished her forehead. She had better skin than her baby.

Then, sitting down with my friends I noticed a girl who was sitting opposite us. She was more of a guuurrrl than a girl. She must have been about 22 with bleached blonde hair (a natural fake blonde) and was wearing a black kind of top and, get this, white hot pants and heels. And she was slouching on the sofa which made her hot pants ride higher up on her body. And I was scandalized.

If she was at the beach, then by all means dress like that. If she was at a beach bar in Limassol at 6pm, for a smoothie, then fine. But in Nicosia, at 12.30am, in Hustle, in the Coffee Strip (the area between Brewery and Hustle) and is practically lying down, talking to no one showing almost everything is not wrong per se, but it’s not really right either. As Whitney sings ‘it’s not right but it’s okay’.
My friends were like ‘what’s the big deal?’
I’m like ‘hello, this is Ni-co-seee-ah!’
And they’re like ‘so?’
I don’t know, maybe it’s me, maybe I’ve become a psonara, but I was shocked. I mean she looked good, but she looked good for a Victoria Secret catalogue rather than a drink with friends at Hustle (or should I say hassle?).

Love or Money?

If you in a relationship right now, consider yourself lucky. Not because you are ugly as sin and someone has randomly fallen in love with you, but because it is nice in today’s day and age to have someone special there beside you. For those of you who are not in a relationship, consider yourself lucky that you’re single; as you have the option to find someone rich (and hopefully stupid and not too ugly) to marry without cheating on your partner, like relationship people do.
I have a little theory, which most of you will agree with. That some people in this world are naturally relationship people, and other aren’t. My latest girlfriend (GF no.278) was in three relationships, except when she was studying (gee… I wonder what she did in between lectures?).

Anyway, her Rels (relationships) lasted for 4 months, then uni, 4 years and 6 months. How? How does someone move from one relationship to the other? Of course she carries around baggage; no matter what you do, the older you get will mean having more baggage, but at least hers are from relationships whereas mine are from bar-skanks and bad dates… and a couple of dysfunctional relationships thrown in for good measure. So when I enter a relationship instead of jealousy issues I will have issues with you not asking to buy me another shot of tequila while we sit in the kitchen having breakfast (which in my opinion is infinitely better than having jealousy issues of course).

Someone at the office asked me what’s happening with my GF no. 278. I told him that it didn’t work out. ‘Another one dumped you again?’ he asked. It hurt because it’s the truth. And it hurts, not because she was special to me, we had only been going out for two weeks, but I never lose. And here I am entering a new relationship and I lose once more. The again, Amy Winehouse does sing ‘love is a losing game’ so I guess I’m not the only one. I suppose that’s some consolation. But Amy W. is a drug-addict now, I am not. (But she is married and I am not).
So I guess it comes down to the fact that I’m not one of the relationship people (unless a rel with an email account counts – 9 years people! My email should have its own website). So what do you do when a) you’re BabyBusinessMan b) you can’t find anyone good c) no one wants to date you d) you like showing off and image is everything and e) you view everything as a business deal? Guess. Have you guessed? Ok, this is the answer: you trade love for money. From kiss-kiss you go to ka-ching. Isn’t that the best idea?

I know I’m being cynical, but after almost 10 years of dating, I’m tired. If there is something wrong with me, then no one tells me what it is. Maybe it’s that I’m too amazing for you all… but there’s nothing I can do about that. But think about it, looking for love has got me nowhere. It has made matters worse instead of better, and the annoying thing is; I’m a catch. I’m not a psycho, I don’t smell, I speak Spanish and do yoga. What’s not to like? Well… a lot apparently depending on who you ask. So I’m looking for a relationship that instead of enhancing my love-life will enhance my profile and image. I mean I am BabyBusinessMan and this is Nicosia.

Wedding

Cake's getting married soon. Will her wedding look anything like this?

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!

Stop Smoking

Today has been 70 days without smoking. And today I have been so stressed that I really wanted to cave. To be honest I had this feeling a couple of times since I got back from vacation when I am stressed but only one thing kept me from lighting up. The fact that I have 70 days of not smoking. Bit by bit, like bits of Lego I have built a wall between me and my disgusting habit.

To cave and smoke would be a huge defeat. It feels like a country putting up sand-bags to hold back to sea that is about to flood the land, or an army reclaiming back the land it lost. To put my lips even for a moment on a cigarette butt would reduce all my efforts, all the reclaimed land, back to nothing. I would have been at zero again. Back at square one where I’ll have to climb the slippery slope again. Not smoking makes me feel like I have amassed 70 precious stones and by smoking a cigarette would mean I would thrown my treasure in the fast running river.

Ironically I never started smoking in the army. I think I had one. I started smoking when I began dating this English hotel-girl when I was 19. If you read the blog regularly I’m sure you won’t find this as a surprise. I never was a chain-smoker. Actually when I lived in Spain (and I’m not proud of this) I had three packs while I was at a 24 hour party. Imagine the damage to the lungs! But I console myself by the fact that I have many away. But usually I had three a day, of the lightest make I could find. The fear lies that I might cave, and give in and light up a (not so) Lucky Strike. Not only will smoking damage my health but I hate not achieving my objectives: not to smoke! Ever again. Not to an ex-smoker, never ever smoking again is an intimidating thought. Which is why you should take it a day at a time. Say, I’m not going to smoke today and remind yourself of all the days you have collected not smoking.

And it’s not the nicotine I crave. It’s the action. The act of smoking becomes a ritual. ‘Hmmm’… you say, ‘let’s go outside for a chat and a ciggy’ and a little more pollution to the lungs. Or after a long day a cigarette and a glass of wine can do more than the usual trick. Or a way of networking; ‘hi, do you have a lighter’ opens conversations more efficiently than the doorman at the Hilton. Or for looks; doesn’t Carrie Bradshaw look trendy with the cigarette hanging out of her mouth? (But even she gave it up). Or in bed, when you share one together… hmmm. Or before the bed, when you’re on the date and you’re nervous. (Yes, I can see you nodding. Or if you don’t smoke acting totally holier-than-thou). Or when you’re stressed, one cigarette, to collect your thoughts and then on with the battle of the day. But how does it help? How does a burning stick to your lips help your problem? The answer is: it doesn’t! And that is the most important message I tell myself when wanting to light up. The truth is you don’t want to smoke, you want to ritual. The little Marlboro tradition.

So here I am, writing this, with cigarettes on the brain and no nicotine in the lungs. Fine, my stress levels are through the roof today but that’s because I’m an obsessive-compulsive BabyBusinessMan who is a control-freak. I would have been this way anyway whether I was going to have a cigarette or not. So the sooner I unlearn the Marlboro tradition the sooner I can breathe easier and realise that tackling day to day problems, which is nothing when in the scope of more serious things, will not be solved with a cigarettes.

I look like a Communist?

I don’t vote according to political parties. I don’t vote according to ideology. I vote according to my interests and what the presidential candidate is ‘offering’ Cyprus. Therefore the left wing think I’m a fascist and the right wing think I’m a communist. I’m neither.

However, the other day at a cocktail party sipping on a martini (shaken and stirred) when someone told me that I look like a communist. I was wearing my Gucci shirt and tie and Armani trousers, my Cavalli trousers and environmentally-friendly faux alligator-skin shoes. I couldn’t have looked more high-class unless I came out of a limo. And I still looked like a communist?!
I want to know what rich, consumer-driven communist nation this person was talking about. I thought communists wore red. I mean isn’t that their colour? Or maybe they wear Omonia colours; green? I was wearing a white shirt and grey trousers! And I still looked like a commie! Was he insane? My communist friends think I am the most materialistic, shallow, selfish person (with a good heart tho) who roamed Nicosia. And now I’m told I look like a comrade? I’m confused.

When I asked this person to press on he said it’s because I look like I have a cold attitude towards people. Cold as in Russia? Maybe he got the feeling of those cold Russian communist winters around me. Or that I’m too authoritarian, like Stalin. Or maybe it’s because I’m all about sharing the love. I just don’t share my drink.

Speaking of communism. I really want to run Russia. I can actually see myself running the place from my office in the Kremlin. Ok, I hardly speak the language and all I know about Russia is vodka, but I look like a communist apparently which I’m sure they’d like, although Russia is now ultra-capitalist, but I like challenge so I should run the place.

The Writing on Nicosia's Walls

My theory is that the writing on the wall of a city shows what the people are thinking and how they are feeling. Here are three random and different shots, all found during the same day in the walled city of Nicosia. Guess which is my favourite one. 100 euros to the right answer.

Re... pame ston Loui?

The Nicosia Housewife's pleasure comes in the form of a LV handbag. Her new fiance's happines comes in the form of a little blue pill.

Mytilene

Abandoned Kitten

I never thought I'd write the words 'Abandoned Kitten' on my blog, but here I am writing them down like Maty friggin Poppins! During my trip in the Balkans this summer, my friend Laverne's friend, runs a vet and came one day after a swim (in Mytilene they go swimming during their lunch break) to find a kitten abandoned outside her practice. Of course my friend Laverne who is the UN incarnate had to feed the kitten and hug it and stroke it and... So by chance I found photos of it on my phone and thought I'd share them with you guys. The reason I did so is because I am thinking of getting a cat so I am in a pro-animal mood! Enjoy!

Limassol and Nicosia

Top: Nicosia, from my old apartment at sunrise

Bottom: Limassol, the beach by Flo Cafe (i.e. muscle and fashion beach)

A fight over Nicosia

If you have not read the below blog I suggest you do so before carrying on with this one.

So as you probably read, the below blog talks about this whole Nicosia vs Limassol 'fight' we have been having since Cyprus got electricity. Well the next day I had a conversation that made me realise how much closer I am to Nicosia than I thought and how much I will stand up for my adopted city. Here it how it goes...

I was meant to meet up a delegate from a European embassy for a 'date' on Friday night. We met a few months ago and decided to get to know each other over drinks on Friday night. She got to the capital late, then I went to the gym, then I went for drinks, then she went for dinner and I went to Zoo (that's for another blog post though - maybe tomorrow) and so our date never materialised. So she called on Saturday morning for a chat. Instead I got a laundry list of why she hates Nicosia.

ME: Hi Embassy Bitch, how are you?

EB: I'm wondering around Nicosia and I hate it.

ME: Oh? Why so?

EB: There is just nothing to do and there is no sea and nowhere to sunbathe and I just hate it. I've been wondering around the city centre and it's just so hot. Why do they have the capital here? They should move it to the sea. They should move it to Larnaca.

ME: Well, Nicosia has been the capital of the island since 1000AD, that's capital of 1,000 and 8 years and the British made it the administrative centre of the island and so you can't change it because there is no sea. Plus Nicosians are rich, they all have holiday homes in Protaras. Nicosia is a corporate town filled with businesses and moving the capital as you say to Larnaca will run up debts of billions of euros. If Nicosia seems ugly it's because you are in the centre and because of the invasion and division the suburbs have been developed mostly. (Have you been to Engomi bitch?)

EB: Oh. Well... still... The hotel staff were rude. They said they don't iron t-shirts and I need it ironed... and there is not enough privacy to check my emails.

ME: The staff were rude? Nicosians are busy people. You're lucky they didn't banish you to... Aradipou!

EB: And I joined a dating site for Cyprus. All the guys want up to 30 years old.

ME: How old are you?

EB: 35. No. Oops. 36, I'm 36. 36

ME: Hmmmm

EB: And the guys are conservative.

ME: It's a small society. Reputation means a lot.

EB: Yes but Luxembourg is small and they are not conservative.

ME: You can't compare a north European country that is more or less a rich city where it's been liberal for years to Cyprus where reputation is worth it's weight in gold.

EB: And the men are so hairy. I can't deal with it.

ME: So don't. And for the record, most men wax. Even I do.

EB: And they say they are not gay! What queens!

ME: It has nothing to do with being queens. It's that Cyprus care about their appearance and are very fashion conscious and want to look their best. No self-respecting Cypriot will dare to go out looking good and want the whole package to look good.

EB: How odd.

ME: It's not odd, it's a different culture. Just because the culture isn't banger and mash it doesn't make it odd, or wrong or strange. It makes it different from yours. And that's the colonialist mentality you need to work on.

All this because the Embassy Bitch hated Nicosia and Cypriot men.

Why does this keep happening to me? I swear to you. Cypriot girls find me too 'foreign.' Foreigners find me western but Cypriot enough to think that a) I'm exotic but b) that's I'm western enough to slag Cyprus off to me. When in fact it's my country. And they say that Cypriots are arrogant. You know what I say? Good! I'm glad they are. It's a form of pride, albeit wrong, but still... I just wish Cypriots too more pride in what they are rather than how they look or wanting to be Greek, or Euro-Cypriot or some of this rubbish. Cyprus is great. Act like it is!

(Another Big) Nicosia vs Limassol Debate (again)

We have all heard the (ridiculous) joke that goes: ‘what’s the most valuable site in Nicosia? The sign that says: To Limassol’. The rivalry between Limassol and Nicosia is funny at best. Despite this, there is still a deep seated rivalry between the people of the two cities. People from Limassol will tell you that LMS is better than Nicosia and every city in Cyprus. I’ll agree that is it a lot easier living there than in Nicosia; there’s the sea, it’s wealthier, you drive in straight lines and it’s more laid back. But I’ll have to agree that Paphos is the nicest city in Cyprus. But any other town other than Nicosia and Limassol is instantly regarded as small and provincial and is disregarded from the debate.

Nicosian’s will tell you a) that LMS is better or b) that true Limassol is nicer but… why do Limassolians have to keep saying so? To Nicosian eyes, Limassolians come to Nicosia and compare and criticise. First on the list is: no sea. Nicosians will say ‘yeah but you’re city has ugly beaches.’ Then the Limassol guy takes out his Kalashnikov.

I think Limassol is great. But for work Nicosia is better. My standard of living in Limassol would be higher but my pay won’t be as high as in Nicosia. It’s a double-edged sword. I also think that Nicosia, was once very pretty; we see this with the walled city and with the amount of greenery there is in the city. No other Cypriot city has this. But it has been divided, then rebuilt hazardously and its main areas have been left to disrepair, giving the city anodd modern/ex-war-zone feel. And so it is not as picturesque. Nicosia is not as pretty as Limassol, but it doesn’t mean I don’t like it. It has parks (I love the Linear Park), it has great coffee-shops, a growing art scene and a plethora of shops. True the traffic is suffocating, the pavements are cracked or non-existent, it’s a big city in a small, cramped space and there are no ‘escapes’ from city life. In short, it’s Cyprus’ only urban area. With Limassol you still get a touch of the resort and of new money; of shipping and hotels and dodgy Russian businesses. In Nicosia, its elite is old money; plantations and art and the establishment.

When in Nicosia do as the Nicosians. There is no point behaving one way when everyone else behaves another. Integrate yourself. True Nicosians are no as friendly as say, Paphos. But that’s because Paphos is small, with a village/small town mentality where everyone knows each other. Nicosia is corporate where 70% of the labour force work for the state. Who has time for nice? I know I don’t unless you give me a bottle of wine; which is why there are lots of bars.

But I also think Nicosians are to blame for not looking after the city. It’s my city now and I want more results. The Mayor, Eleni Mavrou is great. But still, Nicosia is lacking not only what other capitals have but what other towns in Cyprus have. Ayia Napa has a bus system. Paphos has water. Limassol has a great coastal road. Nicosia has the walled city, and small areas like the Engomi strip, Kallipoleos, Plati, and the Mall. But what about our city centre? They are going to re-do Plateia Eleftherias by an architect who never visited the area! And it’s going to be concrete and have an underpass. Do you know how dangerous and unappealing underpasses are? So we are reconstructing our area wrongly.

There is no tourism in Nicosia. Is it because there is nothing to see or because there are no hotels? There are things to see, but are not promoted or provided for and there are about three hotels and a few smaller ones. The city is not pedestrian-friendly, there are few open spaces and not enough resources for tourists. They say when the tourists come they’ll do all this. Well why would they come if there is nothing to see and do? Fix it first and the tourists will follow. Why isn’t the street next to Ledra filled with shops? Wouldn’t it be nice if there were coffee shops and such lined up there? Nicosia has not taken advantage of its assets.

Limassol was smart by capitalizing on the Russians and Arabs who brought money to the city. In effect they funded Limassol. Limassol made what it could of the promenade and the coastal road. It has built more sporting venues and capitalized on areas around hotels. That is why there is no actual centre in Limassol. Commerical areas run along central roads. O Paraliakos, Kolonakiou (which has only just become popular), Griva Digeni, Makariou, Enaerios and Anexartisias. That is not to say they are perfect though. Anexartisia has a lot to be desired and desperately needs a make-over. But with the creation of the University, the Marina and Castle area will only enhance Limassol’s image. This will not be to the detriment of Nicosia but to the strength of Cyprus.

And what Nicosia needs is not more development but redevelopment. We have great infrastructure in Nicosia, we have huge avenues, a mall, massive government buildings but we don't have pavements in soem areas or even proper parking facilities. Once these are dealt with we will have a people-friendly city for the capital we all love, even if some of us are jealous of it, or hate it or love it nevertheless.

But the next day I had an arguement with someone about Nicosia that left me fuming...

Tips on Israel...?

To the new reader, Maria
Hi, glad you like the blog!
What kind of tips of Israel would you like?
Travel? Clubs? Books on Israel?
Leave a comment below and I'll write something up for you! :)

BBM

Lycabettus. Not Athens, NICOSIA!

I love my area! It’s like a mini-Athens. And I have to admit that Nicosia can do with a little botox but Lycabettus (Not Athens! Nicosia) is without a doubt the best urban area in our nation’s capital. Don’t believe me? Fine, let’s examine the evidence; there is the university, which means students, which means alcohol and fun. Alcohol = fun and fun = me! Bottom’s up! On Kallipoleos, there is a gym, a DVD club, a phone shop to top up if you need to, a psistaria, a fucking PSISTARIAAAAAAAAAAAA Beeatches! Do you know what that means? It means that I don’t have to cook and that I won’t poison myself. And in like five minutes from the city centre! There is, a coffee shop called Café City, although I called it City Café because I’m fake-high-class-psonara-wannabe, there is a Greek restaurant and, get this, a Chinese restaurant, and ok the traffic is bad, but that’s only because people drive by to see the area because it’s too cool. But the best thing about the area is my apartment block, Sunrise Heights (could the name be any more Beverly Hills?). But the real stars of the area are my neighbours. And I’ll tell you all about them soon. But you’ll have to wait. You don’t expect me to be telling you all the gossip right away now do you?

Converting - 2

When speaking to other people who converted religion, they say it’s because they hate their ‘old’ religion and look forward to having a new one as a way of ‘cleansing’. I think that is wrong. I believe that converting to another faith should be done out of love for the new one rather than out of hate or spite for the old one. If you convert because you dislike your previous faith, you are only carrying with you your upset emotions into your new life as a freshly converted.

Many say they want to change religion because the previous one was too conservative/hypocritical etc… Firstly you have to remember that you make the religion what you want it to be. You own your faith and so you interpret beliefs in your own individual way. For example, you might not believe one part of the Bible, and that’s fine. Or you might question one set of values. Again, it’s fine to do so and it doesn’t warrant hating the whole religion. Secondly, remember that just because religion is institutionalized it doesn’t mean that the religion is bad. Religious corruption, unfair practices and discrimination happen everywhere, does that mean you will hate everything? It is important to separate the religion from the institution (to an extent) which I believe enables you to see it more clearly. Church and State are separate (or should be) and so religion and the religious institutions should be separate when we contemplate faith.

Other people openly hate religion. Their (wrong) argument is that it creates war. It doesn’t create war, man creates war. Fanatics/nationalists/the extreme right wing use religion as a vehicle to wage war on another set of people and on another set of beliefs. No religion preaches war, none (and I know what you’re thinking now – no! it does not say that at all). It is the wrongful interpretation of religion and the use of faith as a political act which helps wage war. Why then do you think that there is a demarcation between Church and State? So war will be used properly, for spiritual guidance etc, rather than for hatred. There is no room hatefulness in faith.

Personally there are some things in both Christianity and Judaism that I believe and don’t believe in. The list is too long and too serious for a light-hearted blog like this. But for me, the values of Judaism draw me to it. And just because I’ve chosen to be Jewish doesn’t mean I have anything against Christianity. It still is a beautiful religion with many wonderful beliefs and I won’t abandon all of them. But just because I lean more towards Judaism does not mean that I hold any discontented emotions towards the Christian faith. Quite the opposite, I still have the highest respect for it – as I do for all religions. As I hope you do too.

Converting

When people aks me why I decided to convert to Judaism I give them an array of answers. For love. It feels right. I’ve always felt an affinity with the religion. Like believe in the values. I feel closer to it… etc, etc. Truth is, all are true and none are 100% true. Or should I rephrase, none are 100% more true than the other. Two years after I decided to convert I still do not have one solid reason for it. Be that bad or good, that is the way it is.

At the time, I wanted to (note: wanted to and not asked) to convert for my ex. The relationship did not work out but just because I was no longer committed to her does not mean that I shouldn’t be committed to the religion. And so I kept my promise (to whoever) and continued with finding out more about Judaism. I then moved to Manchester where I went to Temple and began converting although I had to stop it short as I return to Cyprus.

Reactions have ranged between full on support, to people asking why and grimacing to out and out hatred of my decision, not because of Judaism but because they disagree with ‘betraying’ your religion. I explain that God transcends religion so as long as your are religious that is all that matters but they insist with the firm belief of a Priest that I should remain part of the Greek Orthodox Church. My favourite reactions from non-Jews has been ‘so if your converting to Judaism does that mean you’re going to be a Jew?’ and also ‘are you going to Bethlehem… is Jordan in Bethlehem.’ Καμία σχέση.

The reaction from Jews has been extremely positive. Apart from one man who asked ‘why bother?’ (there always is one who ruins it isn’t there?) I have had 99.9% positive feedback. So much so, that Jews and Israelis have actually taken me under their wing at community events, invited me to Yom Kippur dinner and labeled me ‘mishelanu’ meaning ‘of us’ with one of my Orthodox Jewish friends saying that I look ‘more shelanu every day’.

But then again I did immerse myself not only in Jewish culture but Israeli culture. Today I’d call Israel my second home, after Cyprus. My relations with the UK are based on social links, such as with family and friends and my relationship with Greece is merely a cultural affiliation. Cyprus and Israel; my island and the Holy Land. When I went to Israel the people were much more embracing than in Cyprus. ‘To me you are Israeli’ I was told by my new friend Nava. Or I’d hear ‘aval ata medaber yvrit?’ they say surprised when I told them I speak Hebrew and come from CY. Whereas in Cyprus they insist I am foreign calling me ‘Charlie’ or English and not always in a joking manner. Ironically when I ask them ‘do I look English?’ they say ‘no, you look Jewish’ to which I always smile, and accept as an unintentional compliment.

Good Luck Cyprus: Reunification Talks Begin

Tomorrow we see the beginning of the reunitfication talks between the two sides. I don't want to say anything to jinx the process and for once I won't give my opinion.

But I do want to say Good Luck! Let's hope we can we stitch things back together and prove to the world and to ourselves that we can live together as one people again.

Go Team Cyprus!

Cyprus sent four athletes to the Beijing Paralympics. Two so far have scooped medals. Karolina Pelendritou not only won gold but set a new world record in the 100m breaststroke (New World record was 1:16.82). Her success was followed by Antonis Aresti who won silver in the 200m T46 race.

Well done guys! We’re proud of you! Go Team Cyprus!

Not joking. As I was writing this I just heard Karolina won Bronze in the 200m! Bravo, you did us proud!

No Water?

For the third time in 6 days I have no water again. And I’m blogging it. Which not only makes me boring and whiny it makes this the most boring blog ever. I guess things don’t always go well in the Hidden Empire (maybe I should move). But yes, no water. What fun!

My landlord (or should I say lond-lard?) treats me like a kid, and gives me ridiculous excuses. He is uncooperative but helpful whenever he wants something. Whenever he asked for payments for the apartment, he speaks clear, articulate Greek. Whenever there is a problem, such as no water, he mumbles, coughs, runs into the garden to water in plants because they are looking a bit weather or decides to treat him wife to a foot massage. I doubt he has even heard what a massage is let alone treat his wife to one.

Excuse 1: ‘You’re using too much water!’
I had three showers of 5 minutes in two days, which is nothing. How much water do you think I drink? It’s not like it’s alcohol coming out of the taps! Does he think I have a whale in my bath tub and hire someone to hose it down all day? Or that I’ve got some kind of aquarium in my living room? Please, I don’t even own a stove!
Excuse 2: ‘Someone’s been stealing your water’
How? How will they do that? Did they open up the tank and take bucket loads out? And what will they do with the water is their tank is full? Drink it?
Excuse 3: ‘Your neighbour, Vice-President has been using a lot of water and it goes to her instead of to you’.
So then there is a problem with the system then, are you going to fix it? His reply: Erm… well… no… you know… the water… it dissolves… blah blah blah…

How can the problem be solved if he doesn’t acknowledge the problem? How can I live without water if no one is helping rectify the situation? What am I going to do now? I know, I’ll come to your houses to shower. Dear readers, did I ever mention that I love you? You are the best blog readers ever! Now can I shower at your house? If you let me I’ll get you a present. Maybe free foot massages from my realtor. Now that’s an offer even you can’t refuse!

At the time of writing this I still had no water and I’m in a bad mood.
I’ll blog you when the situation changes (i.e. when it rains cats and dogs).

Moving Makarios

I don’t understand why they are moving the statue of Makarios to the mountains. ’Oh. Because it is too big’ they rant. So? Aren’t statues always meant to be larger than life? And so now the statue, which has become a monument in our city will be taken to the mountains, where no one can see him because it doesn’t fit in with the surroundings. But it is precisely that which makes that area so special and different. It is a unique thing to be there and see this giant Archbishop/President standing to attention outside the Archbishopric. We have no great monuments in Nicosia and what we do have is being relocated. Shall I assume that the Statue of Liberty will be moved to the Great Plains of America because she’s too big for Ellis Island?

The Turks are smart and have gone in the other direction. Not only is their nation’s founder, Ataturk everywhere, but his statue is everywhere in gigantic proprotions. My friend who went to the occupied areas even told me that there is a monolithic carving of him near Pentadaktylos. They even went as far as painting a flag made up of many football pitches on the mountains for all of us to see. And that’s the way to do it is you want a national feeling and a sense of pride in your place and history.

But in Cyprus where Cypriots have no aversion to big things, such as their egos or their cars, they have decided that the statue is too big. Funny though, I never hear them complain about their salary. Maybe we should give them a ‘mountain-salary’ as well instead of the fat cheques they receive in Nicosia.

Apparently some people do not even like the statue and threw paint on it saying ‘down with idols’. In this case I’ll assume they mean role-models. And if they had any role-models they wouldn’t be throwing paint on a national monument and our nation’s first president. Or maybe they really wanted the statue to go to the mountains.

OMG!

After a breakup, when the tears have dried and the wounds have healed we often go through a time of reconciliation with two aspects. Reconciliation with the person who broke our heart and reconciliation with the present; the fact that we are no longer with the person and are back at square one, alone, single, and having to date again. It can be a daunting task when placed comfortably in a relationship where we no longer feels its me against the world but us against the world. Dating = me against the world but I need to find someone.

Eventually, we wish the ex the best, hope that they are happy and wish them the best if they are with someone new and has set up the business you encouraged them to do. This was the case with IsraeliBaby. After it ended I was shattered for about a year and half and when I came out from under her spell I could talk to her and function like a real human-being rather than a nervous wreck. She got back with her ex and set up her own company in Athens, Tel Aviv and then Jerusalem. I felt happy for her and wished her all the best in her relationship and life in general. She always had a special place in my heart.

That is until recently. When an ex hurts you again after it’s over then the battle line must be redrawn, ammunition must be bought and a thick-skin should be re-grown. Certain places are out of bounds: cafes, clubs, cities even whole countries. I claimed Limassol as my territory but as she still lived there, I went on holiday to Tel Aviv, making the city mine. She then took revenge by coming to Cyprus all the time, claiming the island as hers. Technically an ex can’t hurt you romantically after it’s over. But you’d be surprised. I mean, when a country is randomly attacked by another, the first reaction is surprise. And then you say: I should have been prepared. I should have seen it coming. But you never do.

PartyAnimal invited me out one Friday night. I declined as I had to finish off a project I was working on. The next day he told me all about an Israeli girl he has been talking to (and more) that night. The more details he gave the more she sounded like IsraeliBaby, with a few differences, such as she had short hair. He mentioned that he wanted to see her again but she was flying back to Tel Aviv on Monday and that he really liked her hotter, blonder friend but settled for her instead. I shrugged off the strange feeling in my stomach as too much Mexican food. But my instincts never lie. Which is why I ignore them.

A week passed by when I logged onto Facebook. IsraeliBaby had updated her profile to >>IsraeliBaby is: Back from Cyprus<<. And uploaded photos of her with a) her short hair and b) her hotter, blonder friend. I felt like I was hit by an oil tanker! I called up PartyAnimal and asked what her name was telling him that he had been with my friend. ‘I can’t really remember’ he said unfazed as if he had just swallowed a kilo of tranquilizers. Either he felt bad and was lying or was so drunk at the time that he couldn’t remember, which knowing him was an actually possibility. ‘What’s her number?’ I asked. He gave me the last three digits to see if they corresponded when in fact I really wanted her number again (I deleted them after I began dating BabyX which ended in disaster as you well know).

IsraeliBaby ended our engagement to get back her ex and now that she’s having ‘stands’, it must obviously be over between them. So she left me to get with her ex and now that she’s single again she hooked up with my friend? Wow. The irony. I swear all this is true. I am not making any of this up. I mean, who would think of a scenario so outlandish? And the funny thing was, to me she was beautiful when in fact, my friend wanted her friend. Oh the humour!
And what’s more. I’m the Jewish one! I don’t know what I want to say here; but I’m the Jewish one! Jews stick together. It says so in the Bible (somewhere).

The thing about PartyAnimal that annoyed me was that he was unapologetic that he had been with my ex. But I had no reason to be angry at ether of them for the simple fact that: they never met. I never introduced IsraeliBaby to PartyAnimal because we weren’t friends then. They didn’t know each other because I didn’t know PartyAnimal at all. So I couldn’t be mad at him because it was no one’s fault.

And that’s when I heard it. A big crack just ripped open and all the feelings I had for IsraeliBaby broke. They instantly vanished. From IsraeliBaby she became Israeli-eBay; I’d give her away in a heartbeat. At the time, even though she wasn’t in love with me, I still loved her. She didn’t call me but I thought of her often. She didn’t call me on my birthday but I sent her a card. She still meant something to me. And now? Nothing. Ani margish klum; as they say in Hebrew. I feel nothing. And that’s what’s actually upsetting I held her in such high regard. Once I said I’d love her forever now I don’t even care.

Sarah Palin: Wild and Remote

The more I read about Sarah Palin, McCain’s choice for Vice-President the more I like her and yet dislike her. What I can’t stand is that she is a gun-totting creationist who is so anti-liberal she makes Uzbekistan look like Amsterdam. Her beliefs not only horrify me but horrify any Y2K liberal and open-minded European. Yet, despite her beliefs which I find outlandish at best I like the way she not only has clung onto them, but she has made everyone else (who is Republican of course) like and support them as well. The fact that she is not, and I quote her part of the ‘Washington elite’ actually makes her more appealing. An outsider in the most powerful club in the world? Albeit she was hand-picked by McCain himself, but after the Republican convention she really fired up the Republic party which until now was looking dower, bland and boring. It’s true that the Republicans are just a collection of old men one as similar and bland (and older) as the next. Like Russian dolls they are the same mass-produced men with slight variations. And then this stunning librarian goddess comes on the scene and shakes things up. Even I can’t help but be mesmerised by this conservative ‘hockey mom’ and I’m a confirmed liberal.

And that’s my point, although I do not agree with anything Palin says and think she is a hypocrite for having an unmarried pregnant 17 year old daughter and shoving her into the spotlight while simultaneous banning S- - education at school I like the way she stands by her beliefs and is defined by them. Not many people are like that. Not even Obama who touts change and yet hasn’t been half as vocal as Palin. She does not believe in abortion and so actually had her down syndrome child. Whatever party you belong to, that is admirable. It’s not easy raising a child let alone a differently-abled one. Her zest for life, the fact that she is a runner-up to the Miss Alaska title, her ruthlessness even at playing basketball and ‘sorting out’ unethical practices within her own party such as selling her predecessor’s private jet on eBay, makes her a force to be reckoned with. She is the life and soul of the Republican Party that they so dearly and desperately need. Without her it’s just a bunch a wrinkly white men. She has truly resuscitated the McCain campaign. If McCain wins, it’ll be because of her. And if they don’t win the election, then she’ll just be another joke to the Republicans, because no matter how good you are, big boys clubs like the Republican party only look after big boys regardless of how strong the girl is.

I’m still supporting the Democrats (without Hillary unfortunately) but I have a feeling that some of the swing-voters of the Democrats who backed Hillary won’t resist being seduced by Palin and her politics. But I’ll tell you what, I’m curios to see what she’ll be like if they win. Although that will spell disaster again for everyone (another four years of Republicans? Oy!) I can imagine that she’ll shake up Washington and the world in ways Bush only could with his incompetence

Water?

So it’s week two in the new house. Actually, it seems more like the Big Brother house as I have no curtains and I have about 17 windows and all the neighbours can see everything. But that’s not my problem today. I have no problem being watched. Watching me beats T.V. Anyway, no my problem is that last night I ran out of water. Now, you have to understand that if it’s one thing I cherish, more than food, more than clothes, more than winning the lottery is having warm showers and running water. I have two showers a day and I am a fair person who like to compromise where necessary. I do not compromise on showers. That is non-negotiable. So imagine my delight after coming back from the gym to find the water decreasing while I am in the bathtub. I realize there is a drought in Cyprus but it seems to affect mostly me, following me around from apartment to apartment. Why is that? I ask through clenched teeth and soapy hair? Luckily somehow I finished my shower and have not needed to use the toilet… yet. And that is something even I can’t control, and believe me… I am a control freak! If I can organize my bowl movements I would do so.

I called my realtor up and he said to go on the roof and check the water pressure pump or something that sounded like spare parts for a UFO. I didn’t want to tell him that I’m afraid to go on the roof as I might throw myself off it as I becoming more desperate by the minute.

You see dear readers, this has been a very stressful week for me, I am in a bad mood, I have no furniture, I have no internet and therefore no email or blog, I have not had time to go shopping… for food (I am not talking about clothes here people), I am swamped at work, I need a haircut and I want my wax. So the thing I look forward to the most is a shower (warm please) at the end of the day. And that is taken away from me? WTF? Sometimes I feel I should have moved to Israel a long time ago. I bet even in the desert there they won’t have this problem.

So here I am. At work. I have to wait until I finish to go home and check the water-pump pressure thing to see if the water is pressurized or something like that. You want to see pressurized? Come and look at me. If things do not get sorted this afternoon I’m moving to a hippy camp on the Dead Sea. You’ll be receiving this blog from Israel.
Then again I should put things into perspective. Health is the most important thing, and it’s important that we remember that.

Cherchez le Sugar Daddy

So while on the Balkan Bonanza, Laverne (who I had renamed Jablonski) and I were sitting in Athens Airport. Of course for the umpteenth time I had to visit the bathroom because I am a neurotic. I get back and see Laverne (aka Jablonski) sitting there with a furious look on her face. No if you met Laverne you will instantly recognise that she is the sweetest, kindest person to walk the Earth and wants to save the world. I on the other hand am the opposite who would rather take over the world and then sell in on eBay bit by bit. Why we are friend is quite beyond me.

But today it was different. Laverne was in a foul mood. ‘Don’t look now, but the guy over there was blowing kisses to me and making rude gestures.’ I glanced over and saw an aging 50 year old, waeing white from head to toe with an open V-neck shirt, exposing his greying hairy chest. I could tell me was Greek from the gold cross he was wearing. ‘So you know what I did’ continued Laverne, ‘I did NA!’ she said slapping one had over the other. I glared at him and he looked away, ashamed of his actions. What a grubby old man. But it gets better, moments later his wife arrived, followed by his son who was our age and is a Brat and his daughter who looked like a goth-gone-cheerleading.

And what’s more, they weren’t just Greek. They were American-Greek. Laverne who comes from LA and is well versed in American pop-culture could easy tell me about the lives of these people. And so she began to dissect their characters bit by bit: they’re from New York. But not from the city. Maybe upstate. Maybe Long Island. You can tell their marriage is held together by material objects. I mean just look at the wife’s tan and bleached blonde hair. The son (who was lying on the sofa taking up three seats or so) acts like a brat. The father surely has affairs and…

She stopped because the wife who was chain-smoking got up to get the son another magazine of Maxim because he lost it and was moaning. He’s 24! What?