Leaving on a Jet Plane - The Runny Mascara-free version

Tequila!

I have been just awful with my blog and Twitter and all the stuff that helped me stave off insanity while I was still officially a student. But you see, I have my life back and I can do things I enjoy doing without guilt or regret - like going out, watching movies, having drinks, reading books. It's wonderful. So forgive me for being very absent. Absent online. Very alive offline!

Well, my time here in London is also drawing to a rapid close (2 more weeks, though I have not booked a flight yet, so you neverrrrrrrrrr know) and I will admit, it terrifies me a bit.

On the one hand, I am happy to be going back to regular blue skies and sunshine. My skin has taken a real beating in this dry, cold weather. I slather on copious amounts of shea butter lotions every day to avoid looking dry and (n)ashy, not to mention scratchy, and maintain the "mmm...mmmm" goodness that is my chocolatey body. lol. On a serious note, I am happy to be seeing my family, as crazy as they make me sometimes, and my nephew especially cause I have already missed almost a year of his life. My friends - yes, everyone keeps emailing me about how much they miss me and want to see me etc. I have a job to go back to - which puts me in a much better position than most people who have to go back home after a year away.

On the other hand, and I have not said this out loud to many people, there are also reasons I am not too excited about the prospect of going home either, some of which I would be wise to not discuss in any detail here, for real real life/offline life reasons. On a lighter note, one of my friends sent me an email on Friday saying he did not want me to stay here, and would prefer me back home. My reply was "It is funny how everyone wants me home to see me, but when I am there, noone makes the effort". I got no response. lol. But when I wrote this post, it pretty much summed up what I meant by that comment.

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. 

While I go about life on my own beat, not really dependent on anyone really, it's been nice to have people do things with again. I think hearing my own voice over and over while doing hours and hours of transcription reminded me that I sometimes need to be around and enjoy life with other people. Leaving behind the people I have become close to here will be tough. There are a few who have made being here worthwhile and for whom I would probably endure a winter for, and as you know, I HATE winter. That's one of the hardest parts - the people part. I have spent the weekend with some of my favourite people here and I would like to believe that the separation anxiety will be on both sides. I will truly truly miss these people.

No matter what life brings you, the people you meet always leave the greatest impact. And after countless adventures and disasters, I have managed to meet awesomeness. It's kinda hard to leave awesome behind.

Professionally, I can learn a lot here, but one would need to actually get a job wouldn't you? That's the tricky bit. Complications of visa, money,blah blah blah. Don't want to get into the blah blah blahs.

There is a certain independence I have in Trinidad, for sure - including private transportation. Big deal, people, and I say this after another night of running to get the bus to avoid a 30-45min wait in the cold. I really want to reiterate how much I hate public transportation. lol. But there is also an independence and greater courage I have honed while being here. It has been good in that I have learnt a lot more about myself - I have been thrust into a much bigger world than I was accustomed to and really had to dig deep to discover who I am, how deep my strength ran, how completely fabulous and amazing I am. I can tell you typing this is making me well up a bit but I am truly grateful for the experience. I have had a great many adventures here in ole Blighty and what does the future hold? Hopefully even more amazing new experiences.

I wholly believe that when life gives you lemons, you get some salt and some tequila and take a shot - and make the most of it. And so I will.

And, to cope with the separation anxiety and small island stagnation, when life, or the embassy, gives you a visa, you go to Miami for some much needed retail therapy...just to ease one's way back into it, you understand. Baby steps. lol.

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The Anti-Dating Spot: The Nightclub

Now that I have ended academic life, I am having a life. lol. Sorry for the lack of posts, but between mental and physical exhaustion, and socialising, I just was not in the mood for social media. Hope everyone is well though.

Anyway, I wrote a post about the so-called best places to pick up guys, according to one magazine. I don't think there are many people though who would argue with me that one of the worst places to go man-hunting is a nightclub, if not THE WORST. 

As an aside, I wondered if I am getting too old for nightclubs. Besides screwing up my face at near sexual acts on the dancefloor, like an old grandmother, the patrons are younger and younger. Don't these kids have parents? lol.

But I digress. In the past couple weeks, I have taken my lovely female self to two different clubs here in good ole London and the experience was generally the same - bad. Sure I had fun in a "I love to dance and release" kinda way, but do men really think their approach in nightclubs will work? Of course they do - cause they are drunk, stupid and overconfident (because of drinks and other substances).

Exhibit A - The half-Trini, as he called himself. Probably the most successful last weekend, cause he got a phone number. But it was not mine. He had his eye on my girlfriend. So why does he make my list? 

Dude, if you want to talk, dance, screw or whatever with my girlfriend, be my guest. However, dude was really spoiling my good time. I mean, we had an initial conversation when I realised he was a bonafide member of the flock (Trini) and we high-fived etc, but okay, you're not interested, I'm not interested and you are scoping out my friend. Great for you but don't come to ruin my good time with idle, slurred conversation when you really want to talk to my friend. Is this frickin' high school? Am I the intermediary? At a night club? Your "game" is ruining my night. Boy, please. Move along. He was - an-noy-ing.

Exhibit B - The Nigerian. You already know where this is going if you have been a loyal reader of my blog. No? Stellar encounters like this one. So I am in the club, and the deejay is putting down some wicked urban beats, and then to my amazement, dropped some Machel, and I am shaking what my mama and Haagen Dazs gave me, and this guy is looking at me. Not even close to my type - short, round head, looking like a bowling ball in a t-shirt. He raises his glass, I dunno, in appreciation, solidarity...whatever and I willed myself not to roll my eyes so instead I nod and avert my gaze back to my drink. Bad move. Worst move ever - don't do it ladies. Rule #1 - never acknowledge them, because in warp speed this dude was in front of me, grabbing my hand like it was his to grab, and trying to pull me on the dancefloor with him. Darling...no. I was like, wtf! 

After much pulling and tugging, I managed to rescue my hand from the vice-like grip and he then engages in more club conversation. Dudes, clubs are not for, as the hood rats would say, "conversating" (lol). I don't wanna talk to you - about your life, your career, your mama. I just wanna dance. If I find you attractive, I will dance with you. If I feel like you need a charity grind, I will dance with you. But I am not interested in screaming at the top of my lungs about my hopes and dreams for the future. Why do they do this?

Anyway, during this shouting match he tells me where he is from (no, made me guess, cause I was privileged enough to have a Nigerian wanting me...my luck) and wants my number. No chance in hell. What's even worse, if you want to be a Grade A nuisance, can you ensure you smell good at least? The guy stank. His 24 hour underarm protection clocked out after maybe 16 hrs, and after hunting high and low yesterday for my regular brand of mouthwash with no luck, I understand why his breath was also as sweet as a city dump. I had to get away. And I did.

I came back from my sweet escape to find him gone and I started shaking again. Within 5 minutes, he materialised like a la diablesse beside me again. And grabs my phone which I had in my hand. Grabs my so and so phone! This guy had his chance to escape without unleashing the brute force of my disgusting Trini mouth, but enough was enough. Needless to say, he spent the rest of the evening on the lower level of the dancefloor looking up at me, like a kicked dog, while I continued shaking my ass - alone.

Exhibit C - Last night. Do you think approaching a group of beautiful black women and going  "I like black girls" will really get you a date, buddy? I mean, he was a cute Scandinavian type and before he opened his mouth I thought, nice. But really?? He left with his love for black women still intact I am sure, cause my friends were not too harsh, but he left without a phone number or a dance.

Exhibit D - The dude who stepped on my foot by accident causing me to physically push him away. He was very apologetic but his brand of apology I could do without. "I am sorry" still works. I did not need the hand holding and the kiss. I don't know you, buddy. WTH!

These were the major highlights, but it is an important reminder to single women everywhere. 

If you are looking for sex - nightclub.

If you are looking for a practice ground to perfect your eyeroll, your fluency in profanity and your dissing mechanisms - nightclub. 

If you are looking for the man of your dreams, you might be better off with Cosmo's picks like the Apple Store and my personal "favourites" - the cocktail bar and the supermarket.

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Blazin' over that Finish Line

One year ago, I quit my job and made plans to hop on a plane to London to commit 12 months of my fabulous life to academia, stress and chill here in London.

Today I submitted my Master's dissertation, ultimately ending my life as a student - re-entering normal adult life. I am ecstatic. It is raining like a mofo here but there is sunshine in my heart.

I am frickin' DONE! There are simply no words to describe this amazing feeling. No words.

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Are you a 30-something Geriatric?

Disclaimer: This is by no means a sweeping indictment of all 20-somethings. I mean, I used to be one and I was pretty awesome then too! And if you ARE a 30-something geriatric, we need to talk, Dr Phil style!

I left the house yesterday to wander through London, ending up at Haagen Dazs for a bit of chocolate orgasm and having the misfortune to sit next to a young lady who apparently had parrot's bottom for breakfast cause God...the girl talked and talked and talked...and talked. I looked over at her friend to see if there were any tell-tale signs of wear and tear on her ears and saw none that were visible but I am sure she was traumatised. While I tried my darndest to ignore her conversation - about her upcoming wedding, her job as an events assistant, her fiance, Canada, who's coming to the wedding, what she had for dinner the night before, the rehearsal dinner - it was really hard not to feel like I was at her table. But one comment that stuck with me was when she was describing some guy named Anthony (??) and she said

"It's incredible. He's 32 and has soooo much energy."

I almost choked on my whipped cream - if that is even possible.

The girl is clearly young, and a bit daft, but when did 32 become geriatric? Energy at 32? OMG. The horror! I felt my insides shrivel up and die at that moment - my 30-something year old insides. I should not even be talking about heels and flip flops. I should be reviewing wheelchairs and walkers!

Cheers to 30!

I'm not sure who the 30-somethings in her life are, but 30 is awesome, baby! After this postgrad experience, being around undergrads and just-out-of-undergrad 20-somethings, I honestly have no desire to go back to being 22, 23, 24. Maybe 27 - cause that was an awesome year for me, and I remember my birthday party - I was smokin', but I am pretty okay being a ravishing 30-something, with all the wear and tear of experience on my face (though I am not feeling the grey hairs, Mother Nature), in my smile and on my wisdom and outlook - which for the most part is as as sunny as London is today and it is pretty damn sunny outside.

And just as an FYI, 20-something year old motor mouth - sure you might have a few things up on your 30-something counterparts, like perkier boobs, fewer laugh lines, higher metabolism, but if you want to talk about energy:

When we hit 30, certain things get worse -- our boobs, ability to pull all-nighters, and energy levels -- but our sex life is not one of them - Yahoo! (read more)

Sleep with one eye open if the woman next to you and your hubby at the breakfast buffet on your honeymoon is over 30. lol.

Anyway, the evening ended being surrounded by other London geriatrics, who all seemed very alive, and enjoying life, and many many cocktails and then today started with some soca in New York - Kes The Band on Good Day New York, representing my beautiful country, Trinidad and Tobago - a land known for its energy, joie de vivre and resilience.

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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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