Protaras Baby!

So I went to Protaras for the second time in my life last weekend. I loved Protaras. I think it’s great. Like a mini Limassol just for fun, or perhaps it’s more like Nicosia-by-the-sea and classier English tourists (the trashy kind go to Napa). Anyway, Protaras is fun, even the pavements are fun!

But because it’s fun it’s also busy. So busy in fact that you need to get up at the a$$-crack of dawn just to get a bed by the beach. By 9am, if you’re not on the beach and have no bed, you might as well go home and organize your cupboards.

Well, we went out on Saturday and didn’t get back to the hotel until 7am. Everyone wanted to sleep and then go to the beach. I warned them that they would not get up if they slept in the bed and it was better to sleep on the beach like all normal party-people but no one heeded my warnings (and believe me, I know about these things, I used to be an international party boy). But the were asleep without even having finished my sentence.

At 12pm we head to the beach and stand there staring with our mouths gapping, except me who was trying not to smirk. The only people who can navigate Protaras (even better than people from Protaras) are Nicosians. In fact, I think Nicosia should become another municipality of Nicosia, it’s the Capital-by-the-Coast. I was with Lemesians, and I swear to you, Limassol people are only good for communing in Limassol. I hate it when my Limassol friends get lost in Nicosia; they have more chances of finding their destination in the Labyrinth of the Minotaur. So you can imagine dealing with Lemesians in Protaras who have no clue of where anything is (excluding the beach- and that’s only because they know what it looks like, having a beach in LMS) but think they do.

‘What? No bed?’ was the response. We scoured Fig Tree Bay (FTB) for beds but you couldn’t even find one. People actually went to the shops to buy umbrellas. Then we went to the one next to FTB, is it called Sunrise? Whatever it is called, there were no beds. Surprised? I wasn’t. The others were.

What do you frigging expect at 12pm on a Sunday in June? An empty beach? You personal water-boy? Endless expanse of sand? The sea was packed, and with so many people on the beach you could barely see the colour of the sand.

Chilling out is like everything in life. You have to be organized. If the others wanted a bed so badly, then get up and get one. Don’t go to sleep and expect to find one when you get up. You have to work for it. A bed isn’t going to magically appear. And if you arrive and there is no bed, don’t moan. You didn’t think, then you need to deal with it. I then suggested sitting by the pool but the others went for the golden beaches of Protaras. They certainly got it, all because they didn’t bother.

I had a great weekend, but by the end of it I was sick of the sea and wanted the pool (most Lemesians go to the pool; the only people in Cyprus who enjoy and appreciate the beach are Nicosians). Anyway, I left at 3pm just before traffic. When I got home, I experienced that warm feeling when you’re away for (what feels like ) a long time; when you’re back in your habitat, surrounded in your comfort zone, with your personal belongings and wrapped in silence. The blinds were drawn, the house was quiet and it was nice to sit there on the balcony with lemonade and fruit – doing nothing but enjoying the moment (and then reading a magazine; Nitro with Vissi on the cover). I had a good time in Protaras but I was so happy to be back in Nicosia. I missed my newly adopted city and I missed sitting in a real bed, minus sand – even if it is golden and soft.

Lipstick / White Wine / Red Wine / What?

I went to an exhibition the other night and as I hadn’t found my friend I went to the bar for a glass of wine, as it’s not nice to wander around empty-handed. A drink in hand always makes it easier to mingle (hold it with your left hand. Your right hand you use for shaking hands of people you meet and no one wants to shake a cold or clammy hand).

I went up to the bar to order and noticed that there was only one white wine. With lipstick marks on it.

‘Can I have a glass of white wine please?’ (red wine stains your teeth but is good for your heart).

‘Take this’ said the guys serving me, who was from the ex-eastern bloc.

‘Look’ I said holding up the glass and pointing the lipstick marks. He examined it for what seemed like a year.

‘Okay then’ he said. He took the glass of wine, got a new glass and poured the same wine into another glass. He was giving me someone else’s wine in a new glass. And this is at an exclusive exhibition in our nations’ capital. I started laughing.

‘Is all I have’ he said handing me the glass.

In the end I settled red wine. Stains your teeth but good for your heart. The only other alternative was wine drank by a woman with red lipstick. But there was so much red lipstick I came to assume it was a d. queen, who usually slather large amounts of make up on them. Hmmmm… must be an interesting exhibition I though, as I walked in. Red wine in hand.

Is Zoo the new Fight Club?

There was a huge fight in Zoo this Saturday. Apparently one man told the man behind him not to push him (and we all know that the way they pack people in there like sardines, you can’t help but push people). Of course the man couldn’t help it the man at the front turned around and punched the guy who ‘pushed’ him. He was a little foolish though, as the guy who started the fight didn’t have (m)any friends with him (or any friends in real life) and all the friends of the guy that was punched beat him up so badly it took three bouncers to protect him. In fact it was so bad people called the cops. How’s that for loyalty.

My biggest fear isn’t getting into a fight. That’s already happened (especially in you live in Manchester, also known as GangChester/GunChester). What worries me is if my friends don’t stick up for me. That would hurt more than any punch. If that ever happens, and it has, they are no longer my friends. I will cut them out without a second thought. Because true friends are there for you during the bad times (not only during the good) – and it can’t get any worse than being kicked in the face. So kudos to the guy’s friends – I guess that’s what true loyalty is.

One of my friends went to Greece on vacation and he was telling me about his friend who was beaten up for telling someone not to queue jump to get to the toilet. When he opened the door of the bathroom the man, punched the friend in the face. The Greek bouncers (this bit is so Greek) instead of breaking up the fight, they just removed them from the club and continued fighting in the street outside. ‘And what did you do?’ I asked my friend. ‘Well… nothing’ he said. ‘Why not?’ I asked. ‘I didn’t want to get into the fight! I didn’t want to get beaten up!’ So basically he just stood around, sipping on his Vodka and Coke and trying to blend into the club while is friend was being punched in the face and spitting blood. I didn’t say anything of course; I’m sure my expression of disgust said it all and I secretly downgraded our friendship.

So if your friend’s ever in a fight and your thinking ‘should I help?’ the answer is: don’t bother – for it’s too late if you’re still toying with that thought as your friend is busy defending him/herself.

St Patrick's Day '09

I had such a long day. Work until six, then another project until ten. No food. No water. No rest! Aw, poor me! Whatever. I still managed to arrive at Finnbars to join Cake and Co for St. Patrick’s Day. It was our third consecutive St. Patrick’s Day together so I couldn’t miss it! So I did better than arrive there! I surprised her! The bar was full of course and covered in green. I would say 50% of the people in there were Irish, 10% English, 39% were Cypriot and 1% were Amazing. The Amazing ones? Well us of course.

I got talking to one of Cake’s friends who works in a company similar to mine who incidentally knew lots of the same people as I do (welcome to Nicosia).

‘Do you know Gretchen?’ I asked him. ‘No’. ‘Do you know John?’ ‘No’ ‘Do you know Crayola?’ ‘No’. ‘Do you know Anna?’ ‘No.’ ‘Do you know Kanye?’ ‘Maybe visually.’ ‘Really? Where did you visualize him? Ha ha ha ha!’ ‘Do you know Naomi’ ‘No’. And on it went.

So although it was booked up we managed to find a table where after 10 minutes Cake started dancing on the chair. I remained clothed this time (although last year this guy got totally crazy on the bar). For a change I did a robot dance – which was hilarious. And Cake and I discussed who was and wasn’t going to…

The only drawback? I ordered a Stella and I am still waiting for it. Everyone else got their drinks – what about me? Am I meant to become teetotal? I stopped smoking, I cut out coffee, I keep Kosher – and what? Now I’m meant to cut out alcohol as well? I might as well become a Buddhist monk. Or Sting. And then write a book about it.

Last year I went out with Cake and Co I ended up wearing my drink as the waiter spilt it all over me – and now in this case, I am still waiting for my drink. Reader, you decide what’s better – wearing your drink or waiting for your drink. And while you decide can you pour me a pint? Cheers mate!

Snooping around

So I have to admit it. I was snooping. I can't help it... it's just too juicy this time of year. Yes... it's because of facebook. Everyone is having parties and posting all the evidence of fun on the website that I cannot resist checking out the photos they've uploaded.

Who is seen holding what drink. Who is hugging whom. What club are they at? Did they buy that tie in M&S and is that an S&M bar? Why the hell didn't he shave and he's friends with her?

I love it. It's like Big Brother stills into their life and what they have been up to this Christmas. On the other hand it makes me feel that I have not been out in what feels like a century (work work work) so I need to make a special effort to look good and go out.

So I am going to do two things tonight. Go for coffee and check out your pics on facebook. Until then, have a great week guys!

G xoxo

PS - Cake I loved your party last night!

MILF Bar

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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).

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!

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

Boy Behaving Badly

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

Hotel Wreckers

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

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

I’ll tell you.

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

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