21 ways to know me

So I don't usually do these types of things, but I was tagged by the lovely Ray.

1. Are you named after someone? No. I am unique.
2. When was the last time you cried? A couple months ago I think.
3. Do you have kiddos? No. But my nephew and niece are like mine anyway. They have kidnapped my heart.
4. If you were another person, would you be a friend to yourself? Most definitely! I’m fun, crazy, but I am also fiercely loyal to those I let into my world.
5. Do you have a guilty pleasure? Not sure how to answer this. Haagen Dazs and Friday nights, maybe.
6. Do you like your handwriting? I used to when I was younger – before the age of computers and fast-paced corporate life. My handwriting is now like a doctor’s scrawl.
7. What’s your favorite cereal? Cheerios. I buy nothing else. The plain one too – not the sugary one. Sometimes though I add muesli or if I really want to pig out, some Special K or Honey Bunches of Oats!

Cheerios - the best!

8. What’s the first thing you notice about people? Their smile and how they interact with people. You can tell if someone is genuinely warm by the way they smile and greet you. I don’t do fakers/haters.
9. What is your eye color? Chocolate brown. Like the rest of me.
10. Scary movie or happy endings? Meh. I like old-school scary movies like The Omen. New-school scary movies are not scary, so I guess I like happy endings more. However, I like endings that are not cliché so if it is happy for the sake of putting a happy ending, then no.
11. Favorite TV show? I have to pick just one? No way. Game of Thrones, Hannibal. I stuck to two. That’s reasonable. I just want to add that I don't like sit-coms so I don't watch them. I like dramas all the way.

Hugh Dancy as Will Graham in NBC's"Hannibal". Hugh Dancy is my everything! 

12. Summer of Winter? I live in the Caribbean!! I have lived in London and I can tell you though, I don’t hate winter. I LOATHE it. However, being the diva that I am, I love winter fashion, especially being able to wear boots. If I had to say one thing about living in the Caribbean, one cannot wear boots here as a regular thing. I hate that.

Leggings and boots - super sexy, yet casual. Love.

13. Hugs or Kisses? I love both. Who wrote this?
14. What’s the furthest you’ve ever been from home? Somewhere in Europe. I don’t want to check the map to see which was furthest!!
15. Do you have any special talents? I roll my eyes like a champion!!! I also sing and I have been told when I really put some effort into it, my writing is tops. My blog is not a real reflection of that.
16. Where were you born? San Fernando, Trinidad.
17. What are your hobbies? Too tired for hobbies. Lol. But okay okay…cooking, writing, travelling.
18. Do you have any pets? Fidel the dog. He is not really MY pet. He is the family dog and I don’t really take ownership. I love dogs but when my dog was dognapped several years ago, it broke my heart. I have never gotten over that so every dog that has followed, I have divorced myself from it.
19. Favorite movie? Again, I cannot choose one. The Godfather, The Lord of the Rings, Gladiator. Will stop at three. I like dramas here too, but will watch a rom-com or chick flick, depending on the quality. I will watch most anything starring Sandra Bullock for example. She is just a natural rom-com actress.
20. What color is your car? Metallic grey.
21. What do you want to be when you grow up? Happy.

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Italy meets Trininista: A night at Buzo Osteria Italiana

Buzo Osteria Italiana, Port of Spain, Trinidad

Since I have been back home, I have been trying to check out some of the places that had opened while I was away, or just places I had not had chance to patronise yet.

Last night, the girls and I went to Buzo Osteria Italiana, located on Warner Street in Port of Spain. Everyone else had already been but I was going to pop my Buzo cherry. I had heard many good things and believe me, I love Italian food, so I was very excited (and how awesome that Italy is on today in Euro 2012!! woot woot!)

And I was not disappointed. The restaurant's ambience is amazing. Very modern, very chic but not pretentious. My type of place and for a moment, I forgot I was in Trinidad. There is also a great outdoor area where most of the smokers had settled for the evening but even with the disgusting cigarette smoke, it was really cosy and fresh in look and feel. The out of Trinidad feeling was compounded by the stellar service from the wait staff. So used to horrendous and just plain BAD service from local establishments, I was really pleased to not have to sharpen my tongue to answer back anyone last night. I loved that our waiter, Shannon, had an honest opinion of what he would recommend. I hate going to places where the wait staff are just like lumps who tell you "everything is good". Excellent service.

And the food? Oh the food, my lovelies. Let's just say it was as good as it looked. Five stars!

Torcelli with Italian sausages, porcini mushrooms in a light cream and tomato sauce

The lamb...in a mint sauce

The sexy looking salmon

Panacotta and the most decadent chocolate souffle

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Confessions of a Bougie Black Woman

I have been growing more and more fascinated by the whole concept of "being bougie" and what that really means. In Caribbean parlance, bougie can become "stoosh/stush". I have been called both stoosh and bougie and guess what? I own my bougieness.

Bougie.- aspiring to be a higher class than one is; a hacked truncation of the word bourgeoisie, which refers to the middle class in Europe, but a more affluent class level in the United States; anything that is perceived to be "upscale" from a blue collar point of view.

And this bit irritates me -

Bougie - Characteristic applied to African American women who display snobbish traits; often used to describe African Americans who are accused of "selling out"

While I am Afro-Trini, the term "bougie" still seems to hold some negative connotations to it and I am here to debunk this negativity.

If bougie means wanting to be successful, self-reliant, awesome and aspiring to create a legacy my kids can be proud of and aspire to, then I am bougie

If bougie means not having my junk spilling out of too-short skirts and too-low cut blouses, and not making a spectacle of myself via my mode of dress, then I am bougie

If bougie means that I can walk away, risking the wrath of those who may call me a coward, because I choose not to "run up some girl's chest", pull her weave, cuss her mama etc, in the middle of town, over nonsense, like a man for example - cite me - I am bougie

If bougie means I avoid certain events because they cultivate the type of behaviour as described above, in favour of less volatile environments, then I am bougie

If bougie means I have an appreciation and love for culture, whether it is a ballet or a night at the theatre, as much as I do for a fete, then I am bougie

If bougie means I don't drop it like it's hot in a public forum, get drunk or pass out after a night out, then yeah, I am hella bougie

If bougie means that I am willing to sacrifice certain things, so I can be independent and not have to find a baby daddy to "mind me", then yeah, I am mega bougie

If bougie means I also like, not prefer, but also like, eating in a certain way, in certain places, and having certain types of food and beverages such as sushi and wine, then I guess I am indeed bougie

(Let me also say, I am not a great patron of street food, not because I am "bougie", but because I am anal about food preparation, and the flagrant neglect of public health regulations. That's not bougie. That's a bit neurotic and I confess in this case, I bloody well am! And in this case, I have cultivated a love for cooking to circumvent the risk of food poisoning. lol)

If bougie means I will, without batting an eye, dismiss a man who disrespects me verbally, physically, emotionally, either in public or in private moments, then hell yes, I am bougie

If bougie means I will appreciate a man who treats me well, respects where I am now and where I have come from to get there and supports me in going even further, and even if he is not black, then I guess I am bougie. (God forbid he is not black, then I have sold out in the worst way!)

And bougie does not mean one has to look down on anyone, or be a snob. It should be about empowerment. I am not only bougie but I am true to my bougieness and committed to being a bougie black woman. I own it.

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The 411 on Trininista: December Edition

I know I have been really scarce on the blog and you are clamouring for updates. Well, maybe not clamouring. Okay here goes:

- Started my new job last month. I had a few immediate offers and chose this one. How has it been? So far, so good. I don’t blog about work so this is all you are probably gonna get for now.

- Got my new car last week after a month of hustling public transportation. Oh my God. P2* life in Trinidad makes me truly appreciate TFL in London. It is truly a nightmare trying to get around without a car, a friend who works close to your office or in your office, or a dedicated driver. I got home angry every night after braving the unreliable bus system, the life threatening taxi system, dark streets (I leave the house at 4.30am and got home nearer to 8pm) and the roaming pot hounds trying to be Rottweillers. Nightmare.

- I have been so busy and/or tired that I forgot honestly about single life. Not that it makes much of a difference. The proposals so far have ranged from slightly amusing to downright annoying or scary. I had cause to give one guy my phone number for a totally professional reason and he just took the opportunity and ran with it. Blowing up my cell phone with useless calls – useless in terms of him having nothing important to say and only “called to say hi” and also, useless in terms of me not being presently, or ever will be interested.

- My birthday has also come and gone and it was lovely. I have a few more grey hairs than I did last year and it was my first birthday in Trinidad in a long time but it was a good one.

- As for Christmas, well, I have not really gotten into the whole Christmas thing really. I am at the office while people are out shopping and doing other such ridiculous Christmas things. I am listening to Muse and other non-Santa related music all day so no vibes there. I have literally not put on my tv all week out of sheer exhaustion and also for fear that I will unfortunately encounter some silly, sappy, feel-good Christmas movie or special. No. Not interested.  

- I miss London still. Not the weather, but some things. Like my cocktail bar. Cider. Wine on sale. Hmmm…seems like there may be a trend here. The great restaurants and the very diverse cuisine. The sights and sounds. Not missing the mass of tight-lipped, sour people, but I do miss my friends. But I will be visiting in early 2012 for graduation. Looking forward to it.

- As I mentioned in a previous  post, we had Secret Santa at the office. My Secret Santa got me chocolate as part of my present. Never a good idea. Dark chocolate to boot…my favourite. It’s already done. I am so fat it is scandalous. And yet I am not slowing down either. After work yesterday I had the best lamb gyro.  It is the season to eat and drink, not so? Sigh. I foresee some type of post-holiday boot camp. 


So what’s next? Survive the Christmas weekend. Get loads of rest. Host my friends next week, which means some level of cooking and preparation, which means I need to get the rest well before that. Start working out next week or face asking for the seat belt extension on the plane. Lol. And prepare myself for whatever 2012 brings basically.

*P2 – Cars in Trinidad have licence plates which indicate whether the cars are private, heavy, hired, or rentals. So an example of a private car registration number would be PCS 3452. P2 suggests you are a private commuter… but by foot. Lol. 2 feet – get it?

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These Heels Were Made for Working

So it's been a while since I posted, so I owe you one.

I resumed high heeled life yesterday - aka work. I did not return to the job I had originally (long story) but started somewhere completely new. It's been interesting, but of course, I never blog about work. I can however blog about other things like my new hair and corporate adventures.

Not much to say about my new hair, other than it's a new look and low maintenance. lol. In terms of the corporate adventures, well, I swear on my dog that I sent HR a harmless, work-friendly photo for the intranet announcement of my arrival. However, apparently my photo was "sexy" and I had a "come hither" look about me, which apparently has found an appreciative audience among certain staff members. This was the feedback from two of my friends of the male variety after they and their other male colleagues saw the bulletin. I am innocent I say!

I spent Day 2 out and about at a conference where I not only learnt stuff, but also met people I have not seen since I came back and so there was a lot of kissing and hugging and "oooohing" and "aaaaahing" and catching up. It was nice. I felt loved. I also felt tired. My body is taking its time getting used to the graveyard shift hours. I wake up at 3.30am on the nose and I am heavily caffeine dependent before the day really gets going. Not good.

Other than that, nothing exciting to share. I am car shopping - an urgent purchase. As you all know I loathe public transportation and it's really bad here. I dread each day I have to take a taxi to get somewhere. Besides the general rudeness of some drivers, you also have the smells and antics of the other passengers. Today's award winning odour came from a woman who clearly wore pumps all day and then changed into flip flops this evening. The trouble was, her feet were stink! Really stink!!! The driver had no choice but to switch off the a/c and turn the windows down. Thank God it was a short ride.

This already feels like the longest week ever!

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My (Very) Sordid Confession

The lovely Carol-Anne from La Familia Aissa bestowed this award on me weeks ago. I am horrible with awards and I think at this point I should say, I am a nightmare with them. I have gotten this one twice before so I think I am all 7-thinged out. However, there is one random, albeit amusing fact I can blog about. Brace yourself, folks...this is a doozy.

I have been a contestant in a pageant.

Now, don't get too excited. It was not Miss Universe or anything like that. Not even Miss Trinidad and Tobago, though looking back, that surely would have been the best thing I could have done for my life, since clearly it makes one employable in Trinidad and Tobago. But I digress...

It was back in my undergrad life. Dorm life. It was one of those things you did cause you were desperate, not cause you thought you were hot. I was not hot during my undergrad years. I had not yet unleashed the hotness I carry with me today. I was still breaking out of self-consciousness. So how on earth did I enter a pageant? Well, to keep my space in the dorms. Hall (dorm) life in Jamaica (where I did my undergrad) is akin to being in a sorority or fraternity. There is no "free" room. You had to earn your place. Each hall was a power by itself of course, but also within each hall, there was sub-frats or sorors, and you had those bragging rights to win as well. So be it sports, or the arts, you had to be doing something.

Wendy Fitzwilliam
Miss T&T and Miss Universe 1998

I love sports but I cannot play a sport to save my life. I failed miserably during my short stint as a cricketer during high school. Our team was rubbish but we won "Best Dressed" - a sure sign of the future! lol. Track - I sucked. Field events - sucked. Volleyball, netball - sucked and sucked.

But, I can sing. It's a hidden talent but it's one I am proud of. So when I was scoping out ways to keep my room and avoid the hell of off-campus accomodation, this seemed to be the way to make a splash. A pageant which they marketed as more talent than beauty, but there were no ugly girls in the pageant and the guys were excited and placing bets, so yeah...it was a damn beauty pageant.

I mean, in the end it was fun and I can tick it off my bucket list but at the time, it was a nightmare. Nightly rehearsals of my song - "I Still Believe" by Mariah Carey, followed by the nightly dance rehearsal. Oh yes, we had an opening dance. And not some crappy "I'm too sexy in my heels" pageant dance either where you "skin teeth" and do a two-step and a twirl, but a proper, booty shaking dance. The nightmare! Oh you should have seen the outfits for said dance. Black leotard, black tights and a green grass skirt. I still watch the photos and laugh and sorry, I will NOT be sharing the shame with you. But we danced to this song and admittedly, the dance kinda looked like this:



Jamaica being a proud sporting nation, we did not have swimwear (thank you Jesus!!), but instead modelled sports wear, and this is where we did the obligatory...

Good night ladies and gentlemen. My name is Trininista and I am a 2nd year communications student from Trinidad and Tobago..blah blah blah.

...with the big smile and pushed out chest. lol


Our hall colours were the always awful and never flattering yellow and green, so all the sports options were in those colours, except the cricket option which ta-da, your girl sported on the night, complete with pads and cricket bat. LMAO. Typing this makes me laugh. I mean can you picture it? lol. I kinda looked something like this...only cuter.

T&T cricket legend and world record holder, Brian Lara

Then we had African wear and I opted for a less voluminous beige number with a headband, which again set me apart from the pack in bright, huge dresses. These again, like the sportswear, were donated. I think I looked pretty on like boiled corn in that dress as well. For real.


We then had the talent segment, where out of sheer terror, I sang 90% of the song with my eyes closed but hit every note and somehow managed not only raucous cheers and foot stomping from my hallmates who never knew I could bust a tune, but a standing ovation. The long nights croaking out those lyrics had paid off.


Then there was evening gown - and we did not have sponsored gowns this time. You had to dig up something yourself. I must admit, I looked pretty hot in my midnight blue strapless evening dress.

But the segment that killed my chances was the question and answer section. Now, I am not sure how they do it in other pageants, but in this one, they gave us the questions and we were to formulate our answers and memorise them, cause they assured us we would have to choose a question from a hat and answer it on stage and these were all the questions. Great, cause all the questions were about the university (crap like motto, history etc) or Jamaica, none of which I was a master. But guess who got the only rogue question for which I did not know the answer? lol. Total nightmare. I remember my answer being a complete disaster and walking off the stage, not feeling like an Honours student but a complete idiot and my chaperone trying to convince me, but I think more trying to convince herself, that we could still win. Yeah right. lol.

But in the end, it was good fun and I had a room for the next academic year and I can tell my daughter one day that her mother was an almost-beauty queen. Riiiiiiiiiiight. Thanks Carol for digging that one out of me. Hope it made up for the delay in posting the award.

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Mastering Aloneness

The Eiffel Tower, Paris, France

I remember when I decided I was going to Paris. It had always been my girlish dream. I had studied French for 7 years at high school, studied the greats like Camus, Mauriac and Sartre, studied European History and just had an overall lusting to visit Paris and  bring to life all these amazing moments I had so far only experienced in books.

I was young, had no major commitments, had a good job and could afford to plan this trip of a lifetime on my own. It was my single girl adventure. I bought a French CD to brush up on what was then my horrible French - the result of neglect and lack of practice after high school. I would plop it into my CD player in my car and while baking in rush hour traffic, I would perfect my accent and have conversations with Claude on the CD. I booked my hotel, my ticket on the Eurostar, bought my guidebooks, my maps. I was so ready! I was excited.

I told friends and family about my trip. The responses were not dripping with excitement. Instead I got a lot of this:

"What? You going Paris by yourself??"

Ummm...yes. What was wrong with that? Apparently, plenty!

On my mum's side, she was more concerned about my safety. This would have been my first trip to anywhere without a buddy, or a family member or friend as host. She had already conjured up these images of me being robbed, kidnapped, and worse.

Musee d'Orsay, Paris, France

"And what about the language? You can speak French?"

This is the lady who supported me throughout my academic life, bought all my textbooks and should have known better. lol.

But the others were not as concerned by my safety as they were by the idea that it was simply unheard of to go anywhere alone, and worse yet, a city like Paris. Travel? Alone? What kinda thing is that? None of your friends can go with you? This is why you need a mister.

And I do admit, Paris is a romantic city and it's the kind of place you want to experience with a loved one, but if I had to wait for Mr Right to make that trip, I still would not have made it to Paris. I would still be sitting here, dreaming of all that could be, could have been and never may be.

Le Sacre Coeur, Montmartre, Paris

So when I ran across the book, Solemate: Mastering the Art of Aloneness, I thought, that is a great title and I am sure it is also a great read.

The book:

Mastering the art of aloneness is about having a good relationship with yourself. It’s about becoming the person you were meant to be, treating yourself well, and shedding the old beliefs and behaviors that limit your ability to live a healthy, happy, satisfying life – with or without a partner...(read more)

My life:

I think I have been very successful to date at mastering my aloneness, i.e. having a life without the burdens of what if, I wish, why me and so on. I think my family and friends have also come to terms with this and some are actually quite envious that I can just pick up myself and just go, without feeling self conscious or pathetic or without feeling the weight of any social conventions on my shoulders. My uncle always tells me each time I announce some new adventure, that I am so brave. I'm not really, but I am not willing to sit around feeling sorry for myself either.

Sure, I would love even more to have someone to share all these experiences with, but in mastering my aloneness, I also feel pretty secure in doing things by myself. If I want to do something, I don't wait...I just do it. I go to the movies alone when I really want to see a movie and noone else wants to, though some people look at me in horror when I say that -like, how could you do that?

If I am hungry, I have no qualms about asking for a table for one. I mean, convention would probably prefer that I catspraddle, dry-mouthed, in the middle of the road from starvation rather than enjoy a great meal by myself.

I have been witness to many nightmarish relationships, born out of fear of being alone...fear of not having someone else to "complete" one's being. That is one of the lines they peddle to single people to make them buy into bad relationships, stress and unhappiness, instead of enjoying life while waiting or looking for a good relationship, bliss and contentment - this "complete me" dotishness. It is very possible to be complete without the mister.

My glass is pretty full...and extremely good.

There are so many experiences I have enjoyed because I decided I would enjoy them, no matter what anyone thought. It's not about being fearless, but it's about loving yourself and taking care of yourself - treating yourself to...well, life. It has changed me in a lot of ways as well. I've learnt to be more outgoing, I talk to more strangers (shhh....don't tell my mother) and thus meet new people. I walk into pubs here and just talk to people...though in London, that can sometimes be like the kiss of death, or at least a reason for them to call the madhouse for you. But, I am more self-sufficient, braver, more outgoing and pretty much a solo superstar.

I don't feel I need to buy a book at this point of my life. It may be a good read, but I have lived as well. I really try to look at it now, not as a glass that is half full rather than half empty, but it's a pretty damn full glass. A daiquiri glass at that...with yummy strawberry daiquiri and 2 plump strawberries, waiting to be loved and devoured. Mmmmm.

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Can You Handle the Truth about Me?

Happy Friday everybody.

Now I am really terrible with awards. I get so many of these awesome awards from so many great bloggers and then I am so busy or just forget and the awards go unrecognised. I apologise belatedly and in advance. I have received the Versatile Blogger Award from the lovely Chasing Joy. Please go over and visit her blog.

I am supposed to tell you seven things about myself. Well, okay, if you insist!

1. I am one of two kids and I am the oldest. My brother is 4 years younger than I am.

2. I hate milk. I love telling the story my mother told me about how I stopped drinking all types of milk - breastmilk and formula - at age 3 months. She had no choice but to start me on solids, or risk ending up with a dead baby because I was just not having it! To this day, I will not have a glass of milk  - not regular milk anyway. I love soy milk. I live on Silk Vanilla soy milk which I cannot get here!!! Ugh. I will also have regular milk in fun stuff, like ice cream and milkshakes!

3.I love men with a full head of hair. I don't care if it's grey, once it's there. Bald men, I feel for them, but that is not really my problem is it? lol. Note: I have dated bald men, but it just..never worked out. Some of you may think that's really shallow but I have had one man already tell me he does not date women who wear glasses (the absolute horror, those glasses that cannot be taken off). So excuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuse me, if a girl wants a full head of hair!

Sundried tomato hummus and rye crackers. Yummers

4. I am the proud auntie of an almost one-year old nephew. Aunties' Day is this Sunday. Need to have a word with the little one!

5. I am hoping to have twins and not have to do that whole pregnancy thing twice. I am one of those women who don't think pregnancy is cute. lol. So while I really would like kids some day, for various reasons, some more sensible and rational and serious than others, I really do have a deep fear of the whole pregnancy thing. That being said, there are two sets of twins on mum's side, including the mum herself and one set on dad's side so there may be a way to have my 2.5 kids without going beserk with fear and angst for 9 months. God help me!

6. I love hummus. I think it's a great summer food. I had some again today, with a bottle of Swedish cider.

7. I attended all girl schools until I left high school at 18. It's not so weird in Trinidad, but something to know. We did not even have male teachers, except for one dude in secondary school and he did not teach me ever.

I'm not going to tag anyone because everyone who reads this blog (well, almost everyone) is awesome. Feel free to take the award and let me know if you do the Q&A. Have a great weekend everybody!

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A Squashed Social Life

When I woke up this morning, it was not good. Not good at all. I dragged myself to the bathroom, took a shower and went down to get myself some breakfast so I could pump drugs into my system. I am funny like that. Not about pumping drugs into my system, but about breakfast. I cannot, most times, eat breakfast without first having a shower. I guess I can add that to my list of neuroses - must be clean to eat a bagel. It's not as bad as all that. I have had breakfast in my jammies, but it's one of those meals I don't have as often as I would like, and it's also one of those meals that you can, when you do have time to have it, lounge about and relax - read the paper, read blogs, watch a little tv, etc. In any event, I don't like sitting around all morning in post-wake up mode - wake up face etc. Once I have rolled out of that bed, I like to have my shower first thing!

Anyway, despite feeling like rubbish, I still managed to do the house bunny type things. I cut up bits of dead chicken, seasoned and left to marinate, chopped veggies, and made not one, but 2 awe-inspiring meals - pelau and roasted butternut squash soup. The former I knew I could not stomach today with my poor tummy in knots, but which would be lunch/dinner for the rest of the week and it would be better to do everything today so I would not have to face the nightmare of cooking a second time this week. The latter, which I have been craving for weeks and which goes well with the crummy weather and crummy tummy, turned out pretty fabulous if I say so myself.

I was up until 4 this morning transcribing, and still managed to roll off the bed at 8.45, so I am pretty wiped out, especially after all the cooking and cleaning. I have not left the house since Friday and even though I am not feeling well, I sure as hell am looking forward to getting out this house tomorrow. I hope that's still on - no word yet from the tomorrow planner. But rain or shine, I am outta this dungeon.

One major plus of London over Trinidad is that the vast majority of my friends are all single, which makes going out more fun. Once upon a time, my friends back home were single and we would be out and about, enjoying life.

Then came men and marriage and babies and death sentence. Death sentence you say? Well, maybe that is being overly dramatic but while I recognise that life changes after marriage and I accept this - and would not really want to be friends with young mothers who stumble out of nightclubs drunk and disorderly after 3 in the morning - life really just ended. More so for the single friend. lol. Me.

Life definitely changed. For them - it probably changed for the better. For me - not so much. I think this is where my independent streak started - doing stuff I liked doing, no matter what. Going boldly where no cute Trininista had gone before...and on my own. It has made me bolder and more adventurous in some ways and more open to stuff I would not have done before while swathed in the normalcy of girlfriendhood.

Now my girlfriends had husbands and babies and somehow, despite our best efforts, we just did not do things together anymore that often - not even sister neutral things - things both the wives/mummies and the unencumbered single friend could do and enjoy. No resentment, but I just needed to fix my mix in my own way because life was still hurtling along - with or without them.

Still, it's always more fun to have buddies to share your interests with - even if you have to do them in the rain.  Thanks, London.

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Why I'm a Great Catch

I was having a chat with a friend of the male variety last night, over some hummus (I love that I can just go to Tesco and buy any variety I want without having to make it myself), and he asked the million dollar question: Why are you single? Well, buddy, if I could give you an answer, I would have. I can probably say maybe it's my bad habit of rolling my eyes at men who try to impress me, or the fact that I don't tolerate nonsense, or the fact that I don't like bald or balding men which seems to be the norm here (snicker). But he did point out why I was a great catch, in his own funny "man" way.

The obvious - I'm cute. I won't go on too much about this for fear of being called vain. But I am.

Again, not going to expound but I am also smart and hella funny.

I love sports. I do. I love watching sports and going to watch sports. During the World Cup, if you are not a football fan, you are persona non grata in my life. Yes, I can appreciate the male form, but I also do appreciate the game. However, there has to be some balance as well. While I complain about my cousin watching football for hours on end, this is only because it interrupted productive student life. I also find something very pathetic about anyone who will sit for hours and hours and hours watching sports, or tv in general, when life is happening around them. It's the same way I feel about people married to their smartphones, Twitter etc. Go out...do something. But anyway, guys like a woman who not only loves sports but can appreciate THEIR love for sports. So when they are watching basketball or football, the woman understands why they don't want to snuggle at that exact moment. lol.

One of my many masterpieces

I'm a great cook. I love how he said this as he munched on store bought hummus. lol. There is immense truth in the saying, the way to a man's heart is through his stomach. I have spun my magic web around the fragile consciousness of male homosapiens just by twirling my pot spoon. I need to take greater advantage of this magic power.

I appreciate other people's space. I love having my "me" time and in the same vein, I appreciate the other person's space as well. I have seen too many girlfriends who do not give a guy a chance to breathe - always calling, nagging. My cousin had one of his typical boys' nights here and one of the girlfriends came over - uninvited. Why, honey? Don't you see there are only men here? What was even more annoying, somehow I was left to "babysit" this twit when all I wanted to do was watch my chick flick in the other room. By myself. Clinginess, on either side, is never cute.

To add to the above, I have my own interests and I am independent. Some men say they want an independent woman and then cannot deal with all that entails, but my friend pointed out that generally, the fact that I have my built a life and I am not obviously desperate to find a man is apparently attractive. My female relatives, in their sweet, old school way, would have me believe that marriage is the answer to all my problems. Getting a Master's degree and moving along in my chosen field, buying my own house, travelling - not so important to them. lol.

I am the anti-hoochie mama. Sure, I get upset and angry about stuff, but you will never see me doing a "Maury" in public or even in private. You know what a Maury is - a crazed woman who starts cussing, scratching, throwing things, having to be physically restrained from physically hurting the man. No. Or doing a Lifetime - the woman who starts crying and acting hysterical for no good reason. Yeah. That's not me. I stay pretty calm during disagreements. I think that is scarier - sitting and smiling at them, because then they go to bed with one eye open. lol. But seriously, I have crossed the threshold of teenaged behaviour. I believe there are definitely more grown-up ways of facing conflict. Yet I have seen women in my age bracket and older, who just simply act a fool, and then wonder, why the man vex!!!

All this however does not really help me at this point. But the hummus was amazing. I love hummus. Now, that's a great catch! The dude who can bring me hummus! lol.

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The "Me" Day That Wasn't

The official mascot for my blog - Pablo!

Firstly, special thanks to EVERYONE who visited me and commented on my blog on my SITS Day. I cannot tell you how overwhelmed I was by your kind words about my little old blog. I have been really trying to visit everyone who commented/followed but it is a work in progress.If you have not seen me on your blog yet, have no fear - I will get there. Eventually. But thank you! I feel very blessed.

The plan yesterday was to have a quiet day with myself. I woke up late, took a shower, had grilled cheese on an onion bagel with some sorrel, and then looked up the trains I would need to get to Leicester Square to meet this overwhelming craving I have been having for Haagen Dazs. I had already packed my book, which was a freebie cause I am being asked to review it and freeness is and always will be a huge plus in poor student world.

I certainly, based on what I have read so far, recommend it

However, in the middle of my bagel, I got a text and then somehow invited this guy on my ice cream run. So we met and I ordered my Chocolate Waffle with extra whipped cream, cause yes, Valerie, I am bad ass! lol.

I think I had an orgasm after the first bite. God, I am so easy! I did struggle to eat it all though. Got some help.

We talked, and laughed and then the sun came out (eerie).

The plan after that was to just go to Tesco, make my groceries, head home, have dinner and get back to my book. My cousin was going to be out and I would have the house to myself. That did not happen either. We ended walking through Covent Garden, I tortured myself by trying on jewellry I simply cannot afford but which looked ravishing on me nonetheless, and taking in the quirky sights and sounds of the market.

The plan was further decapitated when after said Tesco stop, somehow I found myself dressing for a party and heading out the door, never coming back in until 4.30am*. The book is sitting on the bed, laughing at me.

Am I complaining? Hardly. I had a good time. Dude had a good time and was a good sport cause it was  mostly Caribbean music (of course) and Caribbean people, and he was very at ease in the midst of the bacchanal. I can have my me time today. The house is empty again and the book is next to me. And I probably should not answer any text messages today.

*Of course, I had to face my greatest nightmare which is having to take the night bus. I think the world knows I HATE the night bus, but luckily I had company. Still, it did not make it any less revolting. The young woman 2 seats ahead of me - if you cannot hold your liquor honey, don't drink. She was a total mess and sick too. She proceeded to "light" up my life and the bus, when she threw up in a bag. She then placed said bag on her lap, at which point it started to leak...all over her hands, her dress...and the floor! Her friends then proceeded to double bag the mess, but not before spilling some more of her puke all over the floor. I almost had to do a long jump over the mess to get off the bus. I kept saying to myself - I miss my car...I miss my car...I miss my car. 

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Trini Salsa...or not

Salsa! Baila!

So last night, I went salsa dancing. Having never danced salsa in my life, I was excited and a bit anxious - because while Trinis are great at gyrating and wining, I was not that confident in my Latin dancing ability. The hip movements, I had down but I looked at the intermediate dancers and thought to myself - they expect me to be able to do all that?

In any event, I did not feel like I got a real chance to show my skills. The classes were enormous and totally oversubscribed, leaving very little room for movement. I kept bumping into people and getting my own toes stepped on. Not fun. Additionally, it seemed like some of the patrons' 24 hr deodorant protection only lasted 10 hours, and my eyes were soon glistening with tears as a result of the acrid smell of sweaty underarms. The room itself was very warm, so this did not add to my enjoyment. Needless to say, I was not a very attentive, committed pupil and the eyes of weird, tusty looking men on my form also did not help my comfort levels (although there was one stunner who kept staring at me - high five!). After 10 minutes of bruised toes, burning nostrils and the searing virtual pain from the eyes boring into my ass as I 1-2-3'ed, I stepped to the side and called it quits. It was a sad day for the men of London but a great day for my feet.

The date itself was also a bit bleh. Nice dude, but waaaaaaay too eager for my liking. I foresee a lifetime of clinginess with this one, who already wants to come to my house. Today. Ummm....no.

But as always - it's a great story for my grandkids one day. If I ever get to the point of populating my uterus.

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Foodie Pics: Curry Tabanca

I always say, I could eat curry every week - maybe not everyday but definitely once a week and it had been a while since I had a good curry. And my mantra is, if you want something good, best you do it yourself and so I did. I had promised a friend to come over and cook Trini curry for him this weekend and we did that, while watching my dismal cricket team play India. It was lovely. And so after introducing a Brit to Trinidadian curry on Sunday, and ultimately teasing my own tastebuds for the spicy goodness of a curried chicken, yesterday, I went to Tesco and got chicken, chick peas, potatoes and chapatis.

First, I seasoned the chicken last evening so it could marinate overnight. Lots of onions, garlic, green herbs, , peppers, geera (cumin) and curry powder. Chief curry powder, and Chief ground geera - not the crap they have here. It looks beautiful doesn't it?

I love cutting drumsticks in half for curry. To me boneless chicken for curry is sacrilege

Then this morning I cut up my potatoes into small cubes. I also chopped some onions, garlic, peppers and threw them in some very very hot oil, with some whole geera, (I just love geera) before adding curried powder mixed with water for the chunkay. Then, in went my chick peas and then later my cubed potatoes. Bubble bubble...

The channa, better known as chickpeas, bubbling in the curry

With my oil extremely hot in my dutch pot, I added the seasoned chicken and allowed that to cook in a covered pot for about an hour. I nyammed on a toasted sesame bagel with a scrambled egg white and some hot chocolate while this was going on. Did I mention I started cooking at 8am?

Putting the chicken on to do its magic

I finished cooking before 10am which was great and cleared the kitchen and packed everything away until 2pm lunch hour. I did make dhalpuri from scratch on Sunday but there was no way I was doing that today so I picked up some chapatis and heated them in the microwave for about 20 seconds. I also, last night, brewed some green tea and added the juice of 3 limes and some sugar for a thirst quenching iced green tea. Lunch was then served.

Tuesday lunch - curried chicken, curried channa (chickpeas), chapatis, iced green tea with citrus

Close up of the meal, with the chicken so tender, the flesh was falling off the bone. It was bliss. Jealous much? Back to work.

Curry a la Trininista!

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"Accept Your Destiny" and other Friday moments

Me - the killer of romantic dreams

I guess you want to know what my title is all about. Well, most of you know I seem to attract the nutters of the universe. Most of you also know that I seem to attract the Nigerians of London. You also know I am not a fan of Nigerian men. Too aggressive. Too annoying.

Today.

Get on the train to Tesco. Dude staring at me like I am a piece of sausage. Avert my annoyed gaze before I burn a hole into his skull. Get off the train. Go to the store. Lo and behold, look who followed me in. I say nothing. Pasta aisle. Bread aisle. Me - feeling up some bagels. Suddenly.  Next to me - Mr Special.

"My sister, we were on the train togeda".

Nothing makes my blood boil more than this my sister dotishness. I don't care if it's sista or sister - it's annoying. And what? Because I shared a train ride with you, you must follow me? WTF! I was NOT impressed. My response? "So?" and a bad Trini cut eye. My brother got the message and he was gone.

So I text my friend, Nicole, and she replies with no sympathy

Accept your destiny! LOL.
The other winning moments/thoughts of today

On the train  to Waterloo, I had the misfortune of sitting in the cabin with the chatty teenagers and worse, the bawling baby. I always seem to end up in the cab with the noisiest passengers, hence the reason I walk with my music at all times. But let me now adjust my description of this child. He was not just bawling...he was a bleedin' nightmare. The child, no lie, was straight out of The Exorcist. This child could not have been more than 2 years old, and he was bawling at the very top of his lungs, then he started slapping himself. This continued for about 15 minutes without any signs that this child was going to stop. I felt sorry for the mother, who tried everything - toys, food, soft talk. Nothing. I was wondering if anyone else was annoyed by this Child of Chucky because noone seemed to be perturbed as I certainly was. Until...

This no older than 2 year old child said "F... You" to his mother. I thought I had heard wrong but then I saw the woman in the corner rise from her seat, then the granny on the other side, then the man in front of me and the chatty teenagers' eyes opened wide like two saucers. I turned around to see the red-faced, self-mutilated little boy still bawling and all the eyes in the cabin on an equally red-faced mother. I could not believe it. The Exorcist was an understatement. This child was posssessed. Clearly he hears the profanity from somewhere but to use it like that was really shocking to me.

Then, with the exception of myself and my Trini friends and Cat, do all black women in London wear weaves? Oh.My.God. I got on the train first to London Victoria and then to my Tesco and then the bus to my house, and there was an assortment of fake hair surrounding me. Not saying Trini women do not wear weaves, but the proliferation of the bag-hair in this city is mind boggling to me. Somewhere in London, there is a group of black hairdressers making a killing off false pride and vanity. Hairlines across London are in dire straits from the strain of Indian Remy hair on the scalps of black women.

Then, before heading to Tesco, I needed to use the bathroom desperately. After my stunning lunch, with my equally stunning lunch date, and the huge cup of coffee I had afterwards, my bladder could not take the stress and I was forced to use...wait for it...a train station loo. I did not know WHAT I was gonna meet, but I certainly did not expect to meet a toilet wrapped in caution tape. I kid you not. CAUTION TAPE. If that does not tell you something....lol.

And as an aside, lunch was awesome. :-)

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Fabulous Friday...Not

Warning: This blog entry is very lame. I am waiting for my show to download.

London is extra grey today and add some crazy winds, bad stomach pains and exhaustion and the chicks' night out became a chick night in. I am so tired and after a Tesco ready meal of chicken chow mein, some orange juice and some meds, I am tucked in under the covers - at 5.23pm. Oh sure I have set the "assignment wake up call" alarm but this is as good as it gets this Friday evening, especially based on how I feel physically at the moment. It's not a great feeling. So red light district this is not. But it does not get better than this for me. The party is here. In this bed. With a heated sweater and fluffy socks. And mini doughnuts. I feel better already!

And even better - cheese!

Thanks to smashing Shala for the cheese delivery, straight from New Zealand via Trinidad. I saw the Sainsbury's British cheddar cheese shed a tear as I placed this magnificent block of "down under" goodness in the top drawer of the fridge. It takes very little to make me happy. It was also nice to hang out with the Shals today and catch up.

Streaming last night's episode of Grey's Anatomy, and then I will take a much needed nap and hopefully wake up feeling inspired to work on this assignment. That's a big "hopefully".

Sorry this was not more exciting than this but life happens.

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No Paparazzi, please

There are the cute blue heels that are my avatar.

I am really tickled to be one of the Editor's Picks on Bloggers.com today. I mean, there is no red carpet, no flash bulbs, no prize money (the worst part...lol), but it's cute. So yaay me.

It's pretty amusing to realise 1). how many people actually read my nonsense, 2). how many people actually enjoy reading my nonsense and 3). how much I enjoy writing my nonsense. It is the one part of my day that is not frustrating, and is completely mine.

So thanks to everybody who ensures it is not a solitary experience.

Sephora, Florence, Italy - I had a time in here

Almost every day I get my email from Sephora, torturing me with the specials and sales, and I ask again, Why isn't there a Sephora in London? I mean, y'all taking this Britishness thing too damn far, man. I cannot get NZ cheese. I cannot get American Cheerios (I don't like the Cheerios here - half sweet, half plain, in one box. Gimme 100% PLAIN Cheerios!!! OMG!). And now I cannot get Sephora? Every trip to Miami, the PT and I must hit up Sephora. New York - Sephora. I made it a point to visit Sephora in both Paris and Florence cause it is just one of my favourite shops ever. London - great capital, home of the queen. Why? Why?

Maybe it is for the best since I can barely afford food, and have to resort to getting excited in Boots. Needless to say, I needed a toner and bought one from Boots - a Boots brand and I selected it after reading the reviews, because let's face it, if I was going to buy a toner for under £2, I wanted to make sure it was not going to set my face on fire or burn off my eyebrows. Really one cannot go wrong with witch hazel and tea tree oil.  I had never had a toner that was a blend of both and never used a cheap toner either, but kudos to Boots for this godsend product. Easy on the skin and easy on the pocket. It is as good as a toner can get. Take the free plug, Boots.

A winning beauty combination, ladies. On a budget!

Of course I also got my Mudd facial mask and it really does give a boost of beauty confidence. How I survived this long with just soap and water, and my L'Oreal scrubby wubby is a miracle. I am now leaving it for "special" occasions, which means I may never use it again. Kidding kidding.

Still, Boots is no Sephora. Let's just keep it real now. I am glad I had the presence of mind to pack at least 6 months' supply, though it might really be 8, of cosmetics for black, tropical skin, or I would be a hot, nashy mess. It was a funny story at lunch on Sunday, about a black girl who was using a brand that shall remain nameless, bought here in London, and thought she was swanky, until she went back home to her black friends, and everyone asked her what on earth she was using to be looking so grey. lol. The darkest products here were clearly not dark enough for her but funny that noone thought it would be nice to tell her this. I guess they thought her face was grey? lol. Thank God for Pennywise - the Trini Boots - and my stocks. Looking grey is not an option. Funny that there are so many black people here and still a dearth in GOOD black beauty supplies (emphasis on "good"). Hmmm.

I'm working on my second assignment. As I said before, blogging is the only time I am not frustrated or vexed. lol

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Friday: Let's Talk Beauty (Vanity)

I've not been sleeping well. I go to bed at oh...3am..latest was 5am, and set the alarm to wake me up 6 hours later, so I can start a new day on this assignment, and 3 hours later, I am wide eyed. Not so bushy tailed. Here I am again - 3.5 hours later. Unable to sleep.

This of course means I look like utter rubbish. I have been "self medicating" with shea butter moisturiser to try to put some zap in my skin, and a lot of cold water splashes to minimise the puffiness under my eyes. This does not bode well for the evening where I am supposed to go out and look cute. Back home this would have meant - strong coffee, and a quick facial. You know, when they put you under the steamer and you fall asleep, and then the gentle massage takes you to dreamland, and then they leave the face mask on and go outside to check on other customers for 20 mins and you doze off with a smile on your face. By the time you leave, after your super nap and the relaxation, not to mention exfoliation and super skin crap that you know is probably not much better than the cheap crap you can get in the beauty aisle, you're positively glowing.

Fast forward to me, in fluffy socks, with puffy eyes, with not even enthusiasm to go to the kitchen, much less go outside. But go outside I must. I have been excited about going to good ole Boots all week. That's pretty sad considering all the things I could be excited about. But I'm a girl. I realise I miss being a girl. I went on their website to look for super skin crap to pre-empt a rubbish look this weekend, and realised all the stuff I had been missing. lol. Revlon. Clinique. L'Oreal. And when I saw this, I was super excited. I wanted to run down to Boots right then and there - at 1am.

I have not seen this in forever. This is not a plug for them cause noone pays me to rate their stuff - though they should. But this mask is awesome. I used to use it waaaaay back in the day, when I still wore a school uniform and when school was fun. Actually my mum used to use it, and I used to sneak into her beauty bag and steal some. Then one day she came home and felt like "masking" and the bottle was empty. She was not amused, but my skin was awesome. So when I saw Boots had it, I got so exciiiited. Maybe it can magically transform me from this

It's true. I am not too far off from looking like this today

...to this in...oh...10 hours?

The lovely Gabrielle Union

That would be a 21st century miracle but, I am optimistic. I continued browsing the website, looking at girly stuff. Fun. My fave nail polish is £8 though. That kinda killed the excitement somehow. It's the same way I felt going into the mecca of Trininista aka the M.A.C. store and knowing that £11.50 single eyeshadow was not as important as food. Sigh. How life has changed.

I always remember a man asking me what my favourite brand was and I said without blinking - "M.A.C.". He goes, "Oh you're an Apple groupie." Stupid. lol. Don't you guys know?

Courtesy M.A.C. - Freshwater

Hope everyone has a beautiful Friday. We all deserve to feel pretty and beautiful today. And if I don't get my mask in my local Boots, I am gonna burn the store down.

Smooches.

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Trininista takes on the World - one issue at a time

I went to Tesco today, as opposed to Sainsbury's to get some rations for the week. There is a full "ethnic" section in my local Tesco, with stuff I don't always find in Sainsbury's. However, my grouse today, and this is not against Tesco at all, but a clear indictment of Trinidad and Tobago's manufacturing industry -

Why are all the Caribbean products from Jamaica?

I was really annoyed by this and this, again, is nothing against Tesco and nothing against Jamaica. In fact, kudos to Jamaica for making their presence felt. I could get their awful tasteless crackers as opposed to a bag of yummy Crix...

Whole wheat Crix trumps the competition in my opinion

...their seasoning which I don't like the taste of, as opposed to a bottle of Mabel's green seasoning; their hard dough bread, which I actually do like but I rarely eat white bread nowadays. I am really disappointed T&T. Really unimpressed. Is it any wonder why people think Trinidad is a town in Jamaica? REALLY?


However, with my care package coming direct from South Trinidad via British Airways and one lovely lady, I now have proper seasoning, my fave soy milk so I was loving the cereal aisle once more and proper cold meds after the Great Flu of 2010 depleted my supply. But had I remembered, I would have asked mums to send me a huge block of New Zealand cheddar cheese. I have tried. I have given it a good shot. I really experimented with it. But...

I hate British cheddar cheese. I really do. I love cheese and though I have my select cheeses I have when sipping on a glass of wine on the weekend, they aren't cheap enough for the every day student life sandwiches, nor yummy enough. But ugh...British cheddar is gross. Every 2 weeks, at my neighbourhood Hi-Lo, I would buy a block of Anchor light cheddar cheese. It's just the best cheese ever. A cheese sandwich here is just not the same. Macaroni pie is not the same. It's probably for the best - a few calories less. But I would kill for a block of NZ cheddar right about now. My first macaroni pie attempt here in London was not too shabby, considering it was a three-cheese pie because using British cheddar alone would have killed it. The Red Leicester topping gave it an awesome colour. The third cheese, if you want to count it, came from the fact that half of the pie was made from a box of Kraft Mac 'n' Cheese - so American sharp cheddar? lol. It's great!

Macaroni pie. Yummers.

Come to think of it, I had cheese issues in Jamaica as well. I always took my cheese with me from home because the idea of cheese in a tin was odd to me. What was odder was the fact that the cheese did not melt. I mean, you put that crap in the oven and unlike regular, normal cheese, this stuff did not really get gooey and stringy under heat. How could I eat that?

And as I am talking about national differences, from product placement to cheese, just a quick note on language as well. A man today told me I did not sound like a Trini. I am not sure which Trini he was comparing me to but I can assure you, my accent is very Trini. This is the thing - we all don't sound the same, buddy. Depending on where you live and your education, your accent is bound to be a bit different. This is not rocket science. All Brits don't sound the same either. My Greek professor pointed this out earlier this week when someone said the word "computer" as "compu-ah". He was a bit flabbergasted in that way he gets flabbergasted. I thought it was hilarious because though not sure how that accent would be classified by location, the omission of the "t" sound here in the land of English, is a great source of amusement for me.

Boh-uhl - bottle
Wha - what
Keh-uhl - kettle
Compu-ah - computer

Hilarious. Jamaicans have swapped the "h" sounds so that where there is an "h", there is no sound, and where there is no "h", there is the sound.

Onda - Honda
Hunder - under

Trinis often use the word "does" where it does not need to be, and they know better but it's part of the dialect.

I does tell him - I tell him
I does do it - I do it

But not all Brits say compu-ah, not all Jamaicans do weird things with the letter "h" and not all Trinis use double verbs. So when this bright and farse man tells me today I do not sound like a Trini, and mind you, he is not a Trini, I had to ask him when was the last time he went to Trinidad. This was in direct contrast to the Bajan lady in the poultry and meat aisle who asked me something about the price of a pack of wings and upon hearing my accent - "You from Trinidad? You would know that accent anywhere, girl".

Silly man.

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