Over the cliff!

It cost 300P and required some serious negotiating with the taxi driver, but we made it to the edge of the earth, also known as Mulligan's Irish Gastropub, where Haydn was celebrating his engagement with his girlfriend- now- fiance, Dee. Alert readers may recognize Haydn from very early on in my travels in Manila, the  co worker who I met out one night at Heckle and Jeckle, who saw his opportunity to play cupid and while my back was turned, switched seats with Preetam so that when I turned around, instead of mild mannered Brit next to me, this (semi) eligible Indian guy was doing his best to land on me like a piano. Since then, Haydn has been a friend (although if Pree turned out to be a jerk, the story would be different), and I've actually attended a few events with him and his wrecking crew of ex pats: A barbecue  the Xmas party at Mike's, and now the engagement party.

I brought AllwynKent (I call him Kent--actually I call him "babes" or "pumpernickel", I seldom call him by his name, but his close friends call him Kent) and the rest of the world knows him as Allwyn, so generally I introduce him in this manner, after an awkward moment where I went to introduce him as Kent, and he simultaneously gave his name as Allwyn. Grr. He's also Kent to everyone in the States, since "Allwyn" makes people really, really hopeful that I've met some kind of latter day Robert the Bruce who's going to like, supply them with awesome second hand stories of grog drinking, merry making and lass chasing. "No, he's....not Irish. No, he's....not Welsh. Nope, not Scottish. Funny story, there."

 I had to sort of chisel him out of bed, and he was "saving his energy" (also known as "inspecting my eyelids for holes") in the cab on the way over, he was tired. Cut to one beer later and it's go time for him, especially when the food arrived. I swear the man perks up like a pointer hound when food is in a five mile radius. He would eat a tin can, as long as it had hot sauce on it.

The crowd, I was extremely grateful to see, was not only large ( I had terrified visions of an extremely depressed and angry Haydn at a long table with just Dee, Dee's elderly distant family members, and us-- but I sort of forgot that Haydn knows a large group of ex pats, who, when they say they'll go to a party, they actually go), but was people I knew. We immediately went into receiving- line- mode, kissing the cheeks of Ash, Mike, Jaz, Haydn, Akosh, Luca, Preetam, a different Mike (we call him Tall Mike-- although Mike Harris is the same height, Tall Mike is broomstick thin, giving him a generally "tall" look), his girl (Joy?), and a new couple Haydn knows from "out", Richmond (an African American guy) and his lady, a voluptuous, very pretty platinum blonde, who's name escapes me. Shin and his lady Rhia (it turns out he's also from Iran, same as Ash) were there slight later, and 3 Filipinos, from work. Everyone remembered Allwyn, and he quickly refreshed the routine that had made him such a hit at the Xmas party, shaking hands, slapping backs, kissing babies, throwing around the football, helping grannies across the road, etc, etc.. You know that scene from Casino where Robert DeNiro explains the appeal of otherwise nutsy Ginger? "Watching my wife work the room was one of life's most exquisite pleasures. People loved her. Everyone wanted to be near her." It's kind of like that. With a naturally pleasant, easy going personality, ability and willingness to discuss pretty much anything, refreshing lack of "hot buttons", and flattering attentiveness, one can clearly see the "marks" of a private school education in his interactions with others.

Haydn was in fine form, bouncing around getting drinks, mortifying me by not only asking Allwyn which he would choose: his career or me (with me right there!!-- Allwyn told Haydn how, earlier in the party, he had been in the parking lot taking a call for work for like, 20 minutes, and I came out there, and he thought I was going to yell at him, but instead I brought him a fresh beer, and therefore it was 99% me, all the way. Nice, and very politic.), and "confidentially" informing Allwyn that I "go on and on" about him at work. I mean, I do bring up his name here and there, but come on!! Don't salt my game, man! It's all about leverage! But it was SUPER cute when Allwyn later asked me, in his most James McAvoy voice, "Is that true? Do you really talk about me a lot?" I just laughed "The man is at his own engagement party and Virginia is for lovers. And he's tippling. Come on!" But he was happy as a clam at the idea that "his girl" was going on and on about him.

The night wore on, I got to tell the "Apple Clover" story, which I haven't told in a long time, to Haydn, who very gratifyingly nearly had a coronary infarction from laughing over it. We took group pictures, which Allwyn admitted "I've always wanted to do this" (How someone who's been in more than 25 countries hasn't been forced into millions of group shots I have no idea, but he was really into it, so what the hey).

Most people were "around the bend" by the time we were getting ready to leave, including a more than tipsy Allwyn, who was trying to explain how he didn't want to leave because other people were leaving, and it wouldn't do to leave poor Haydn alone at his own party. Mmm-hmm. When we tried to leave, a very irate Pree literally burst out of the front door (he had somehow gotten wind of our exit) with a drink sloshing in his hand-- "What the HELL! You're leaving without a GOODBYE?!" He bellowed, his brow furrowed. Well, things were winding down, after all, but he would not be denied his drawn out, soggy goodbye, complete with "iron clad" plans for another time, etc, etc.

So, one long taxi ride, some cheddar cheese with red pepper jam, and some pillow talk later, our night was concluded.

The Found Weekend

The Weekend:

Sat day I spent just lazing around with Kent, who was taking a much needed 12 hours unplugged from work. Around 5 I ordered a pizza and after eating, I got ready to go to Internations and he took off to go back to work for the day. The event was held at the Tower Club, a swank private club in Manila proper. The club was rather oddly organized- a bank of elevators lets you out into a hall, which is parceled out on one side into book- lined, couch- dotted alcoves- pleasant, but also quite public. The hall terminates into two rooms on either end of the floor- a function room (where the party was held) and a private dining room (which led to a smoking room, which was lined with cigar boxes and was---and I’m probably showing my roots here—one of the most intimidatingly posh places outside of historic homes I’ve ever been in). The place screamed money. And not just any money. Old White Fart Money.

 The invitation specified that the drinks would be on tap at the “competitive” prices of the club and the food was top notch: this was only true if you were using some kind of sliding scale, akin to when you jokingly laugh off a broken ankle “Eh, it beats being the victim of Ebola!”. The drinks were 290P (almost 8 dollars) each, and the food was just okay (and actually, the cheese and ham on pan de sal that they usually serve was almost better)—chicken skewers, tortilla chips with green and red salsa, some little fried things, and some egg rolls. The main issue was that the party was attended by a huge crush of people, over 200, and the place was criminally understaffed- 2 sweat soaked waiters failed miserably to service the bar, which had to make do for about 30 people at a time.

The crowd was actually rather young—usually the demographics are 70% doddering old gremlins and the “ladies” who “love” them, but this made little difference to the angry Pole that I encountered in line. Paul, who was 25 and extremely dapper, was at his first and last Internations. He witheringly explained how in other, cooler cities the crowd was made up of people more like him (he was wearing a very unusual tuxedo vest that had a pair of suspenders integrated into it—I complemented him and that’s how we started talking. But unlike in the US, where a dapper, hip outfit almost always signals a liberal outlook, Europeans can fool you: the hippest looking dude in the place can actually have the same general outlook and attitude as your grandfather) but this group was the pits.

The main issue (although the men of the club would frantically disagree) is that it’s very discouraging for young, attractive, gainfully employed white women to look around and see as their only counterparts Sarong Party Girls in bandage dresses and Do-Me heels. And where there are no chicks, there are no dudes. Hence the usual makeup of 80% salespeople of some kind and 20% confused first timers who are writing it off mentally as a bust.  My friend Haresh explains, and he has a point, that the group can’t prevent sales people from Alphaland (TWO OF THEM won the raffle prizes at the event. You know what I DON’T want to see at Internations? Some 21 year old blushing ditz in a skin tight dress and spike heels tottering up to claim her raffle prize to the drooling admiration of the over- 50 creeps in the crowd) and the ‘girlfriends’ of the members from attending, so what are we supposed to do? Well, I don’t know. But I do know it’s tiring. I’ll still keep going though, I’ve made a few connections and I enjoy chatting with people there.

One person I spent a very enjoyable hour or so talking to is this guy Kelvin. Kelvin was at the super bizzaro Christmas party, and his personality can only be described as “piquant”. When introduced to me and Kent, he, after getting an eyeful of us, bounced away from Kent so fast it was comical, only to later relent and allow himself to be drawn into a long conversation with him. I can only surmise he didn’t want to “waste” his time talking to another Indian male, and saw, or thought he saw, ‘the look’ in Kent’s eye—the look of “Hey! Let’s chat!”. Later that night I mentioned his name to Kent, only to have Kent growl out “Why you are thinking of him now?”—a reaction so common it made me giggle. I have literally never had an Indian friend who is not wildly jealous of my other Indian friends. As exhibit A, a married Indian friend asked me recently upon finding out I was dating someone “It’s not that Indian chap is it?!”

 Kelvin is from Northern India, which I have come to realize imparts a very specific personality on its residents, much like the American South or Texas—you know it when you hear it. Kelvin has the kind of self confidence that one finds in, say, characters like Criss Angel, stage performer and “Illusionist”—it’s so intense it almost has its own scent, but it’s somehow enjoyable. Kelvin is a doctor who bopped over to China to study and now lives in the Philippines due to his fiancé, a Filipina who he met in China. He’s also writing a book, called “Go Beyond”, which is a philosophical treatise on…. This part is a bit unclear, but it’s basically a “how to” guide from someone who knows how to: him. He confidently and somehow amusingly, held forth on a variety of subjects, including how parents should treat their children (“Respect their wishes”), if one should just make money or do something good with one’s like (Do Something), and so on. This was punctuated with a very endearing high pitched, rapid fire chuckle that, for those of you who are familiar with Brideshead Revisited, made me think of Anthony Blanche.

After about an hour of chichat, the room became hot, crowded, and loud, so Haresh and I moved to the dining room, which had a bar and three waiters, just waiting to serve drinks to the four or five people there. Connected to the bar was the smoking room, which was constructed in such a way to wrap around the outside of the club itself, to look out into the hallway. Inside the smoking room, several Brits were gathered, eager to chat, so we chatted with them for a while, then agreed to go to grab a late night pizza.

Then listening to a cover of the Furs in the car on the way home, then home to go to sleep early- ish.

Next day: brunch with an entirely new group of people!

About a month ago, I was having lunch at Sala Bistro, by myself, and there was a table of about 12 or 15 women, American, Brits, and Ozzies, clearly having a party of some kind. On the way out, one woman stopped and asked me “Are you here by yourself?” After gaining the affirmative, she very nicely asked me to join her and her friends down the street at a club called Spicy Fingers, but I had to move on to work and didn’t want to bust in on a private party. She gave me her card, which I slipped in the book I was reading. Cut to a month later, when I picked the book (non- fiction) back up and the card fell out. I emailed her reminding her of our meeting and encouraging her to include me in any events she had coming up, and she immediately emailed back with a contact name of a woman who ran the local ex pat events group (no name that I’m aware of, just an informal gathering type of thing). Well, this woman, Camilla, emailed me inviting me to a brunch that same Sunday, and of course I RSVP’d. The brunch was at 10.30 and I had to force myself to go, but I am incredibly glad I did!

 The group was all under 40 (ish), three men, and the rest women. I was at the head of the table and therefore had access to quite a few women, taking four cards / numbers in all. The women there were mostly employed, under 40 and with no children. One man there was single (!!)- -the other two were married to the women at the table. The women there were educated, bright, outgoing, funny, sharp, liberal, interesting, and down to earth—so glad I went. They all had the same goal of trying to meet more friends, and what a relief it was to talk to women about their REAL experience of trying to make friends (all agreed it was really hard).

When I am questioned by my local work friends (I have no local friends outside of work—Exhibit A of how hard it is to make friends), I explain that I spent over a year inviting people out and getting either outright turned down or accepted and bailed on later. The reasons may be complex, but it boils down to the fact that if I want friends, they’re going to have to be ex pats. That’s the hard reality here, at least. It may be very different in other countries, and it’s very different for men than women.  (among the reasons for this is the ease of finding local girlfriends, the safety factor, and the business factor—as well as the fact that outside of the US and Europe, it’s a man’s, man’s, man’s world—meaning most social clubs are designed for, around, and by men) it was a huge relief to find I was not deficient in some way, and that these women had experienced the same difficulties and heartbreaks in finding and making friends.

Counting in the friends that have recently “come home to roost” (a few contacts made at the beginning of my time in Manila just now getting in touch/ back in touch with me), I have tripled or even quadrupled my social circle virtually overnight. So nice.

Do feminists wear lipstick? Yes, and it's red, darling.

I was talking with my mom earlier today about self improvement, specifically all the things I've done since I've been here, which fall into two (intertwined) categories: outer and inner.

One of things that prevented me from making major changes in my self, appearance and otherwise, was not wanting to even admit that there was a problem- naming it makes it real, and if it's real it's not going away by magic. One of the things I admire most about my friend Becky is her very courageous move on her fitness blog of posting a pic of her in her bikini and writing about how feeling embarrassed about her body was one stumbling block to getting to her goals and that was going to stop now.You can read her inspiring blog here:
http://flabtofabbecky.blogspot.com/.

I was given a unique chance by moving across an ocean from everyone who knew me to start over, make over my life, from top to bottom, without any well meaning objections, worries, comments, and bad reactions from the peanut gallery. So in the last 3 years I've done a lot, and changed a lot.

Inner changes:

The biggest thing that's changed is how I see my market value, both in the working world, and the romantic world. Having a real career that I'm very good at, and having a high demand job in a buyer's market will do a lot for your self esteem. Now, all that can of course be taken away at any time, but I've worked so hard for so many years as a nanny, store clerk, day care worker, and the like, to finally make it to a decent job where I can do rewarding, creative work, is a wonderful feeling.

On the romantic front, I somehow managed to reset the whole game here (partially by no effort on my own, I increased my market value to supermodel level just by being white and decent looking, but it feels good to be a high status partner and sought after, even if it is a bit hollow at times), so that I am no longer dating men who are far, far, below my level so that I feel safe that they'll never leave me, and if they do, no great loss. Dating Kent is sometimes a bit scary because he's such a high status partner, a true equal to me, and someone that I don't feel superior to, but yet he's not someone I put on a pedestal (anyone who manages to lose three phones in three weeks isn't James Bond). I've dated some really sweet, wonderful people who, while they were very nice, were way below me in career ambitions, intelligence, overall "having their life together", looks, or any combination of all of the above.

Finally gaining street cred-- and finally wanting to leave the game behind.

After a literal lifetime of chasing the high rollers, parachuting into a city, clocking all the big fish and setting my cap to roll with them at all cost (Lesbian High Council, anyone?), when I got here, I was handed the keys to the city in a way by my well connected friend Ha-Ha, and while we rolled around in his well appointed car on our way to another hotel bar to drink top shelf liquor and look out over the whole city, which he sort of own, I thought to myself "Do I really want to start this up again? Do I really want to Gucci Gucci Louis Louis, Basic Bitches?" I still don't 100% know the answer to that, but especially on New Year's Eve, surrounded by the top of the ex pat crowd, in an ultra lounge, toasting the New Year with free champagne, I felt the melancholy that can only come from seeing the ultimate hollowness of the dreams you used to have, that have now gone dark.

The scaffolding (outer changes)

I've written about some of these, such as choosing to dye my (mostly white at this point, anyway) hair back to its natural color (brown with auburn highlights) after 15 years of coloring it red, but I've also made other changes one by one.

Seeing a dermatologist about my skin. I never, never, ever, talk or write about my skin problems because it's an extreme sore spot with me, and even though it's been handled now, it's still sensitive, so I'll keep it short. I worked with a doctor to get out the big guns and take care of my unresponsive breakouts and it has made a huge, huge difference in my mind. It hurts me to write this, but I'm doing this for those of you who wrote something like this that touched me and that I could relate to: I felt like a failure of some kind because of my imperfect skin, it was always there in the back of my mind, every time I looked in the mirror or a lover looked at my face. I felt like I had to compensate in some way for this flaw by being extra lovable, and I always wondered if I was getting passed over because of this flaw. Now (and fingers crossed in the future) I don't have to worry about those things anymore. It's been 20 years that I had this problem. 20 years. I'll never be perfect, in fact I'll carry some of the scars forever, but it's a sea change from what it used to be. And that was a priceless gift that only those who've been through it can understand.

I went to the dentist for the first time in 10 years. The dentist was thrilled and kept exclaiming over my perfect teeth ("if anything you brush too hard!" He sang). It wasn't too bad, I just got my teeth cleaned and whitened (subtly, not glaringly) as a Christmas treat for myself, and they look great.

I started eating "clean" (mostly fruits and veg and little or no bread, dairy, preservatives, or sugar) during the week, with "cheat" days on the weekend, and I also just hired a personal trainer so I can combine the modified eating with exercise. The lifestyle I'm leading (at a desk for up to 12 hours a day) won't allow the weight I'd like to kick to the curb to lose itself and as much as I'd love to believe shopping burns calories, it really isn't cutting it.

Because it's so reasonably priced, I now get regular professional services at the salon, such as hair cut and color, and bi monthly manicures, pedicures, and foot spas. It's made a subtle but significant change in how I carry myself and how I see myself.

Investing in how you look, as a female in a male dominated business (and the upper ranks of the call center industry are almost ALL men) is a must- it sends a message that you're serious, and you're a contender. You take yourself seriously and you value yourself. I could argue all day about if it's acceptable for a self identified feminist to modify my appearance to raise my value, but the bottom line in the real world is it works, and I'm glad it's a choice I can even make.

Three Christmases

Three Christmases:

One of which has already been written about--this is the Internations Christmas Party from Mars.

The other two:

Christmas with the United Nations, aka, Mike's house party.

This party was the party everyone sort of wishes they could go to after they get married/ get engaged/ grow up a bit and are too old for keggers but yet dread stuffy dinner parties where everyone nips at each other in a kind of slow motion shark tank. Mike, the host, and myself were the only Americans (although not the only Caucasians), and the crowd was Iranian, Indian, Hungarian, Filipino, Brit, and "other" (a painfully shy Middle Eastern man who hardly spoke two words). Mike made turkey, ham, sweet potatoes with marshmallows, stuffing, cranberry sauce, enough liquor to choke a horse, and everyone brought food (we brought naan). I brought Kent, who was as happy as a clam at high tide to settle onto the smoking balcony and talk philosophical politics with the most dangerous man at the party, Ash.

Ash is, no exaggeration, the most magnetically attractive man I've ever seen. His eyes, which are the most beautiful I've ever seen, are huge, hazel, prominent, and fringed with sooty lashes. The man also manages his chi like it's his job, and is most often found draped over various couches like he's being handed an invisible cluster of grapes by a nymph. It's impossible not to try to flirt with him, even though I'm really not, on an intellectual level, interested. But when he gives you that simmering stare, you can feel the rest of the world melt away, and you feel the melancholy pull of a dangerously beautiful man who is not only aware of his beauty, but is an old hand at using it to get what he wants.

Anyway, he was safely tucked away on the porch for most of the party, talking to my date, while I talked to this kid Tomas, a shy, sweet, slightly dorky guy from Hungary, who was solo, his wife being ill that night. He was super nice, and super earnest, in that Germanic way some travelers have, and we talked about astrology (!!). The night wore on, and people got plenty rippered (me and Kent included, we had to leave before things got too crazy), and we cranked up the music and danced a bit, before going home to sleep it off.

There's some things I'm leaving out, of course, like Akosh, the huge Hungarian dude, who barreled around saying things like "Everyone gets drunk now!" and grinning through his Popeye mustache (which was brick red). And Ash flirting with this girl by slipping her sandal off her foot with his foot, which is a move so far advanced even I, a professional flirt from the old school, have never seen anything quite that smooth.

Christmas with the Ozzies: aka, Alison and Stewart's Xmas day dinner:

This was significantly less wild, as it occurred during the day, for one, and for seconders, most of the parties involved were over 40. Alison and her husband, Stewart, were nice enough to make Christmas day dinner for us, and her mother in law and step daughter. The food was excellent, there was champagne and Kent--who is Christian, and whose family celebrates Christmas, (who I brought to this event, as he was stranded here-- his original plan, which I knew would fall through, was to go to India for a few days for his nephew's christening, but this fell through when his boss begged him to stay and work--and I couldn't stand the thought of him being all alone all day, so I sold it to him hard and he came for a few hours) gracefully fielded all manner of questions about India. But in everyone's defense, when you explain that having a good elephant on your coffee estates is "just like having a good farm dog", you kind of leave yourself wide open for a deluge of questions after that. Just sayin'.

After the meal, when we were laying around talking, and he suddenly gathered me up in a closer cuddle, and said "Thank you for inviting me". So nice. No matter how old, how much of a workaholic, or where they're from, nobody oughta be alone on Christmas. And they never will be as long as I'm around.

Pleasures

Layers of pleasure have been given to me as the Universes' Christmas gift. Thank you, from the bottom of the safe deposit box I call my heart.



All the different pleasures I've had in the last few weeks:

The pleasure of knowing I'm marketable: Our India office is looking at "stealing" me from the Philippines to India. The interviewer's opening salvo? "I have a TON of work over here for someone of your profile." It's nice to know all the heartache, blood, sweat, Excel instructional manuals, drama, late night phone calls, etc, haven't gone to waste.

The pleasure of hearing a clever joke and then repeating it to someone who gets just as much out of it as you did when you first heard it. This has so many layers to it, the pleasure from this is still going on, days later. My work friend Ivan told me this [naughty] joke (I have changed a few things to make it a bit more accessible, as he transliterated it from Tagalog and his telling was oddly disjointed).

You, the teller: "There once lived a shape shifting princess who could become any animal. She grew up isolated since her parents didn't want her to be stolen by the rival kingdom for their own uses. But she was lonely and longed for a mate and a tribe. So finally the rival kingdom's king died, and the princess was allowed to go looking for her mate. She didn't really know what form she would assume, so as she wandered the land, she changed her body to match whatever she saw--- lion (roar!), pug dog (arf!). Then she saw a beautiful creature: tall, with long legs, large eyes, and the most beautiful spotted coat. 

"Oooh, what are YOU! I must change myself to match you! What are you?" She exclaimed. 

The creature responded "I'll tell you what: go to bed with me and I'll tell you what I am." 


"Okay." She replied. 

Afterwards, she said "oh, that was terrific! I especially loved your long....neck." 

"Thanks" said the creature. "Now I'll tell you what I am. I'm giraffe." 

"Thanks giraffe!" the princess said, and off they went on their separate ways. 

A few weeks later, she was wandering again, changing to a frog (ribbit!), a butterfly (flap!), and every thing else in her path when she came across a magnificent creature with large fluttering ears, and massive strong legs, and the most delightful trunk.

 "Ooh, what are YOU! I  must change myself to match you! What are you?" She exclaimed.

 The creature responded "I'll tell you what: go to bed with me and I'll tell you what I am."

"Sure, what the hell?" the princess said. 

Afterwards, the princess lay in a daze. "Oh, creature you were amazing. I especially love your strong, thick....trunk." 


"Thanks" said the creature. "Now I'll tell you what I am. I'm elephant." 

"Thanks elephant!" the princess said, and off they went on their separate ways. 

A few weeks later, the princess was out wandering again when she ran across a lulumummum.

Listener: "A what?"

You: [give them an arch look until the penny drops, which it usually does within a few seconds]

Ivan told me this and the pleasure of being flirted with combined with the intense pleasure that comes from "getting it" creates an almost indescribably sweet kind of enjoyment. I was still giggling over this (relatively mild, but very old fashioned, almost British in its coyness) naughty joke.

I then told this joke to AllwynKent (the guy I'm dating), a man who's repertoire of dirty jokes is extensive, who got it right away and rolled onto his side overcome with waves of laughter, with his eye squeezed shut, from the pleasure of being told a dirty joke by his normally very straight-laced girl [well, compared to my Taurus, there], and of "getting it".

The pleasure of attending a party and being the most visibly "in love" two people there. I could marry the guy for this. Rarely does a man who is earthy, physical, and sensual make for a presentable walker, but this rule is generally suspended with Indians, who of any men I've dated make for equal "husbands" and "lovers". While still holding his own and circulating around, Kent also managed to give me just the right amount of affection and make sure every man in the room knew I was his date. People liked him, and he took the odd party (it was held in an elementary school in the middle of nowhere, with the children's chairs as seats!!!) in stride and was Mr. Romance in the taxi on the way home. When I first started seeing him, I was not as strongly "into" him as I am now- I was just 'toes in' the water, but last night I felt the internal fireworks that signal the beginning of deeper infatuation and liking-- the heady, giddy, weightless sensation we mere mortals call "falling in love". And people, he agreed to watch Moonspinners with me! (In case you don't know it's a feather light spy caper Disney movie set in Crete, made in around 1965 that was a summertime classic in my house for years while I was growing up) Bliss.

The pleasure of being the bigger man: I gave a very expensive, classy, and well chosen gift to my biggest office enemy. He melted enough to grunt out a goodbye at the Xmas party- target acquired, locked on!

The pleasure of showing off your favorite secret spot to a newbie

The pleasure of making an acquaintance into a shiny new friend

The pleasure of feeling accepted back into a group that you felt was a bit cool to you lately

The pleasure of stopping after 1.75 beers and a shot

The pleasure of contemplating moving to a new country

The pleasure of seeing the returns on your project and seeing they are terrific numbers

The pleasure of having a "nice to meet you" email answered in just a few hours

....and on and on....

Where are we?

Well, hello US! I'm back! For now.

In my work contract I'm given a free ticket back to the US once a year, so this year I saved all my vacation days and took about 10 days off, and split the time between the ROC and Buffalo.

The Rochester leg was a bit of a bust, since I was really sick the first two days, but I was able to see Irene and Jessica, who stopped by Kelsey Grange on their way to Buffalo for a reunion-- quite a few people were in town for Andy Capp night and Thanksgiving. That was the much vaunted "Harpie Reunion" and "Harpies Descend", featured on FB. The girls brought me wine (they know me well) and we hung out for a few hours just talking. I loaded them with swag from the Kultura part of the department store, and they seemed like they liked it well enough. The bummer is that I wasn't feeling better- I was having a hard time keeping up with the conversation as I felt like an animated corpse the entire time.

Sat/ Sun/ Monday I just hung out and did little, but Monday however, I met up with a fellow ex pat who's repatriated recently-- this kid Trip (super preppy abbreviation for a III) who worked for my company and who quit and moved back to our hometown about 2 months ago. It was delightful to gossip about work and commiserate about the challenge of hanging out with "civilians"-- either people who've traveled very little, only as tourists, or only worked in places like London, or Toronto. (First world English speaking cities, in other words). It's not that I don't love my friends, miss them terribly, and love hanging out with them, but in general people tend to sort of think it's either doing Red Cross work in Haiti, or a white sand bungalow vacation every day. Which it sort of is an unholy combination of both that takes a longggg time to explain to those that aren't there. It's hard to catch someone up on 2.5 years of cultural immersion in 3 hours.

Anyway, we went to this place:

http://www.highland-park-diner.com/

which has amazing food and a great atmosphere and is easy to get to. Trip looked great, healthy and sassy, and talking about going to Columbia to work there with the company again, and of course be with his fiance, who lives there.

Tuesday my friend Adam from Buffalo picked me up and we tooled out to Buffalo for three days of fun! Actually it was like 2 and some change, since we don't count days that were mostly made of travel, but anways! Upon arrival, Adam and I fixed ourselves several bourbon and waters and spent like 5 hours just talking. Then off to the nicely appointed guest bedroom for me, where I slept like a baby.

 

 

We got up early and went to Betty's, pictured above, which has always had the most amazing brekkers food ever and is open early. After that, we tooled off to Target so I could buy socks and torture Adam by slowly browsing the "undergarments" aisle, and then off to the AmVets so I could buy Kent (the guy I'm seeing) a tee shirt. Kent is a truly cosmopolitan man of the world who prides himself on being well traveled, liberal, and knowledgeable politically. Naturally I immediately hit on the perfect gift, described below.

I threatened him "I am going to get you the most offensively jingoistic pro America tee shirt I can find. It's going to be like, red white and blue camo, with Playboy trucker girlie silouettes on it and it's going to say "Amurrrica! Love it or leave it!" or something equally awful! We were in stiches laughing about it, as it was tickling both of our funny bones picturing him wearing this monstrosity.

Well, apparently those of us who buy those type of shirts wear them to rags or keep them under glass, because the best I could find was a "Proud American blood donor" shirt with a flag waving on the back-pretty good, but a far cry from the horribleness I wanted. I WAS able to get him this shirt (below), however. It's gonna look so rad on an Indian:

 

I got myself a similar shirt (716 area code pride), but that was on day 2, so back to day 1.

 

After AmVets we called Todd Gibney, my old manager from the collections shop, and we tooled out to North Tonawanda to meet him at work. He was on an 11-8 so he couldn't get out for lunch with us, but we sat and talked for a bit, and it felt great to see him. As always, he was a melencholy Buddah, with a warmth and charm that hid (not very well) an iron hand and a sense of sadness that makes one both admire and pity him. I also saw a former immamorta, this kid Tony, and thouroughly enjoyed scaring him a little by taking his number (he left his long term girlfriend for me for a bit, and now that I was back in town he took pains to tell me that things were back on with the GF and it was all going well, etc.) and watching his face flicker between attraction and happiness at his luck in running into me and fear that I would come back and blow up his life again, all for nothing, just like the first time. But of course I was just twitting him, and enjoying it a bit too much. Heh.

 

Then it was off to lunch, and then home. I foolishly fell asleep at like 2 PM and couldn't really rouse myself, so it was a super early day. I went to bed at like 7 PM.

 

 

The next day we toddled off to Spot Coffee for breakfast (in what would be a long string of eating adventures, it was like I did all the eating for the entire trip in this one day), and then hurried over to Sarah's in Williamsville to pick out an engagement ring for Joann, Adam's soon to be fiance. I also got the aforementioned teeshirts on Elmwood and took some pics for FB.

 

 Then it was off to lunch at the newly and gorgeously renovated Hotel Lafayette. I met Sarah Hansen and Christine (the Silver Fox) and we had lunch at the staid, but perfectly acceptable, Pan American Grill:

 

This picture does not really do full justice to this amazing space, most of which was just opened and redone in the last year: https://www.facebook.com/HotelLafayetteBuffalo

It is incredible. It makes me really long for Buffalo- it's things like this that made me love living there and made me so full of hopes and wants for something more, if only it weren't just out of my reach.

After this, we zipped back home to change, then off to my old boss's new office (my old boss is Chris, Adam's best friend in Buffalo), where he and the rest of my former co workers were just wrapping up the work day. Interested workers not so subtley eavesdropped as I chatted with my former coworker Bill Childs, who was an excellent listener and asked all the right questions, and then Chris swept me and Adam down to Witter's Bar and Grill

a little hole in the wall where the Buffalo Chicken Wings are only 35c. (Nothing's too good for our out of town friends! Heh.) Chris and his wife Megan have set up call centers overseas, in Russia, so they were able to compare and discuss the ins and outs of setting up the biz and they were both very gratifyingly excited to see me and happy I was doing well.

Then off to the newly renovated "Blue Monk" for dinner (Duck Fat Frites with special dips like Thai Ginger Melon Ketchup and Black Truffle Ketchup that were to die for!) where I met Amy, a Buffalo friend who follows my blog!!

 We had a nice dinner, and hopefully she'll be able to come on out to meet me in Thailand, Singapore, or Japan this next year (2013 is officially Asia travel year for me).

Well, that's pretty much all I did- a few things of course I wasn't able to get to or didn't mention (Weggies with my mom, a few phone calls to some other friends, etc, but on the whole, this is it), and next edition will be: I know what you DID, now how did you FIND IT? More later....



Back to the USSR

It really is true: the minute you swear off men and dating forever, a really good prospect arrives on the scene.

The scene: after several smaller and one large heartbreak(s), our heroine has decided that dating in Asia just isn't cutting it. Reasons:

1) Local men are generally either already married or in a serious relationship, and if they aren't, there's a damn good reason why they're single.

2) Ex pats (American/ European) are here to date 18 year old, 4'9", 87 pound girls who speak almost no English and won't give them any lip when they play their iPod at dinner (seen it!).

3) "Other ex pats" (ie, Indians) have given me a million laughs, and a million headaches. (Enter Ant, who I broke up and got back together with about 4 times in 5 months). So they're out.

There's a lot of other reasons, but the big one:

4) I genuinely don't want a BF at this time-- it's a lot of work, trouble, and risk for something that may or may not work out. I see a serious relationship almost like a part time job, and since my full time job and my part time job of trying to f--ing make it in a 3rd world country without losing my mind keep me pretty occupied, I kind of gave up.

Well, I have a stable of "Chapsticks"-- eligible, friendly men (Haresh, Pree, etc) who can squire me around, and who look good in a sports coat and jeans; but who don't try to give me "the business" in their every spare moment. So my life isn't man- free, per se.

It was at Internations, with one of the aforementioned Chaps, that I met "him". I was sitting on a bench with Preetam, who is a magnet for other people (I can choose my Chaps- everyone I've brought to Internations is one of those naturally attractive souls that radiates good will) and this cheerful, pudgy dude comes up.

This is Anuj, who looks like Pooh Bear with a tan and glasses. Anuj is holding forth on business (pretty much the only topic Indians want to talk about, other than the quality of women they see, have known, or are about to hit on), and Pree is as happy as a cricket on the hearth. ( I sold him on going to the event not by talking about the free wine, the hot white chicks, or the chance to get out of the house. Nope. I mentioned "It's a great chance to network." I had him at "network".)

Now, Anuj is part of a large group of men, who have arrived rather late in the game and are roaming around as a whole. He beckons them over and my mother is proven right (she pegged me as "surrounded by a group of men at any given party" in her fashion type quiz) as within a few minutes I'm swarmed by a group of *very interested* Indians, all trying to be cool, yet studly, all while being visibly torn between the prospect of hitting on a heretofore unknown white girl, and talking business with a heretofore unknown businessman.

Heh.

In the crowd is Allwyn. Allwyn makes no bones about his intentions and (wisely, as it later turns out), forgets all about trying to network and sits down next to me, chatting me up and getting my number. Allwyn has a significant leg up over the other men, as he has a lush, jet black Van Dyke goatee, which suits his face perfectly, and glasses, which gives him the air of being a very tan, hipster Dr. Freud. In contrast to his fashionable exterior, he is extremely earthy- you know those people you meet who are very human but somehow possess a very animal side as well? That's him. His family are coffee growers, and everything about him is warm and dark, like coffee.

In a very gratifying show of interest, Allwyn follows up later, while our two parties have gone our separate ways (him and his group to a club and me and mine to a speakeasy), and he invites me to join him at his club. I'm in the middle of a drawn out, intimate, candle lit discussion with Pree and Haresh about [something or other, this was about 5 cocktails into the night], and I have no intention of dropping everything to rush off to be with a guy I just met. So I offer up "recovery breakfast tomorrow?" He's in for the next day, but he's scheduled to do some damned volcano trek, so it will have to be dinner.

Well, the next day we meet up at 9 for dinner. We have dinner and coffee, then go back to my place to talk and only at 4am, do we reluctantly part ways, having talked through a movie that we finally just turned off to talk uninterrupted.
I had decided to just treat him as a friend, but keep the slightly flirtatious angle and rigorously check for red flags. Marriage/ kids minded? Nope. Into drugs/ heavy drinking? Nope. Sexist jerk? Nope. Local Yokel who has never been outside of his home town and the current location? This is someone who *voluntarily* went camping in Mongolia, people.

Anyway, long story short, he's boyfriend material. I've never really experienced something like this- the light hear-ted flow of talking to a friend, not walking that "don't say the wrong thing" tightrope while trying to read a man's mind and tell him what you think he wants to hear. And yet, I still felt a strong spark of chemistry with this guy, it wasn't like the "friend window" was now closed and we were suddenly dude bros.

So we met up for lunch a few days later, and then had after- work drinks on Sat night. So Sat night we had a little chat, where I really laid my cards on the table and spelled it out. "I'm theoretically OK with Friends Plus, but I have tried it and for me, it's just not going to work. If I'm going to be intimate with someone, it means something to me, and it doesn't have to be dead serious from Day One, but it has to be headed in the direction of commitment."

For me, I want a man who likes and respects me enough to say "I want her all for myself and long term." In general, and in my experience, when a man really likes a girl, he wants her all to himself and wants to make it serious. I've actually had men outright tell me (in the process of trying to date me) "I want you to be my GF!"

He told me (and I believe him) "I knew from talking to you that you weren't someone who plays around, and I asked for your number and asked you out knowing this. I can't be Mr. Romantic, texting you all the time and that, but I want to be with you, and I want to see what happens. And I don't want anyone else."

So that's it, I'm seeing him and while I won't say it's "serious", neither would I entertain offers from other men. He's a handful anyway.

 Basically, I've done a lot of thinking about this, and I have decided that for my purposes (a drama free life), it's either really just friends, or a traditional dating set up, where both of you are interested in finding a long term partner. I don't want to waste time "hooking up" with men who aren't quite right for me, and furthermore, having "question mark" men in my life leaves the field cluttered and crowded, shooing off quality men who are looking for a "girl who doesn't play around."

I have never had a man say that to me, which means that I have internalized this way of thinking and reorganized my life to the point where it's visible through my body language and my choice of words: "Serious Customers Only. No Looky- Loos." Nice.

We'll see. If it works out, great. But if for some reason it fizzles, of course I'll be disappointed but I won't be devastated, since it's really a plus, not a raison d'etre. And people, he's adorable.