Returning to London: Part II - The Date

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So, needless to say after my all-nighter, I was VERY tired when I finally found my way into my very small bed in my very small London hotel room at 7 am. So tired that I didn't wake up until 4 pm and had totally missed brunch with Sexy Single Friend A - which I was really bummed about. I also woke up with a hangover. But, it was Saturday and I was in London for a short time only, so I forced myself into the shower and met my colleagues for dinner and drinks. But it was an early night this time. I was back in the hotel room by midnight. Although... I have to say, if my colleagues had been up for it (they weren't), I could have pulled another all nighter!

On Sunday I got up comparatively early and spent the late morning at the gym followed by some shopping and then I met M and T for dinner and drinks then back to the hotel to get some sleep before the work week.

Monday and Tuesday were busy with work and catching up with old colleagues and of course paying visits to the London pubs around the office and getting my fill of pints.

Nostalgia definitely set in. It was strange. Here I was back in London, it felt almost as if I had never left. Part of me wanted to stay and never leave again.

But let's put the reflections aside and get to the good stuff.

On Wednesday night, I attended a gathering arranged by The Company for some of our field staff. Of course this involved a trip to the pub after and drinks sponsored by The Company. I had fun catching up with European colleagues and doing some networking. But soon enough the pints got the best of me and I had to go to the ladies room. I walked into the women's room, entered the stall and did my business. I was washing my hands when suddenly a man walks out of the stall next to me. He looks at me, then looks around and then looks back at me and sheepishly says in his British accent "I'm in the women's room, aren't I?"

"Yes, you are actually," I said. And then we had a good laugh about it. I noticed that he was tall and attractive although perhaps a bit older (his age was later confirmed to be 37) than the young hotties I tend to go for and perhaps a bit less "pretty-boy" and a bit more "rugged" then tends to be my norm.

We returned to the bar and ordered another round of pints and continued to talk. He was really interesting. He is an actor and a certified London tour guide. Well-traveled and very outgoing with lots of interesting stories. When that bar closed, we went on to a loungey place and continued talking. My colleagues bailed out one-by-one but this guy had me hooked with his stories about travel and London history. But once again, the lights at the bar came on and the bartenders were kicking us out. Is anyone counting? This is the 4th time during the trip that I shut down the bar/club. Actually it was the 5th! On Tuesday night, my colleagues and I were also kicked out of a bar at midnight when it was closing (some pubs in London close at midnight - most close at 11. Clubs and loungey-type places close between 3 and 6).

The British Tour Guide then safely escorted me to a cab. "Too bad, I don't have an extra helmet with me, or I would give you a ride on my motorbike he said." But before I took off for my hotel the following two things happened:

1. We kissed. It was nice. 
2. He persuaded me to have lunch with him the next day before catching my flight to Stockholm. 

"Text me in the morning," I told him.

As I had Thursday and Friday off from work, I got to sleep in a bit in the morning - which was nice since I didn't actually get back to the hotel until 4 am - which is REALLY late on a school night! Upon getting out of the shower, I got a text from the Tour Guide. He was still interested in lunch. Was I? I was interested! Although I was supposed to have lunch with old colleagues... But I'll be back in London soon enough, I can meet them next time... Why not go on a date with the hot British Tour Guide?

It was a beautiful day in London. The sun was out. It was almost-warm (balmy compared to Boston actually). It felt like spring. We decided to walk around an art gallery (Museums are free in London which is really great). It was so much fun to walk around with him! He observed things in a different way than me and kept me amused with his running commentary. Obviously, being a certified Tour Guide means he has impressive knowledge of London and it's history. I learned more about the Chelsea area of London in that one afternoon than I had in all my time living there. Too bad I didn't know him when I actually LIVED in London. Funny how that works.

After the art gallery, we sat outside (yes it was that warm) in the sun and had coffee and continued to talk.All in all, it was a great date! I have not had a single positive interaction with a man since the British countryside incident. It was really nice to be back in the dating game. It was really nice to have a man interested in me. It was a really nice date. He was a really nice guy. Unfortunately, he kind of lives on the wrong continent.*

Sadly, the time caught up with us too quickly - I had a flight to catch, So, the Tour Guide walked me back to the hotel and saw me off in a cab to the airport to head to Stockholm.

Although excited to go meet my friends in Stockholm, I was sad to leave London. I wondered if I would ever hear from or see the Tour Guide again.

Stay tuned for the final installment of this trip: Stockholm! There is just so much to tell you. Also coming soon - a Valentine's Day post! It is tomorrow. It is not my favorite holiday although I've had some very interesting Valetntine's Day over the years in many different countries. And I just might have a date (a blind double date) lined up for tomorrow night! And if that doesn't get you excited, I also met a guy this weekend that I need to tell you about. AND are you curious at all about what has happened with the Tour Guide? Has he been in touch? Are we Facebook friends? Is he planning a visit? Stay tuned and find out!

*Note: I can now check number 4 of my list of dating challenges because I can now say that I have been on a date with an older man! http://womaninternational.blogspot.com/2011/01/dating-update-part-ii.html

It's Raining Men Part II

Thanks for tuning in to my "It's Raining Men" series Part II. Haven't read Part I yet? Do so here.

When this International Woman of Mystery last left you, I had been telling you about the attempted. yet averted kiss from Locker Boy and had been alluding to juicy omissions I may or may have not made on this blog. I also told you that I was not done talking about boys... there is one more boy to talk about.

As for Locker Boy... well, I have yet to return his last text message to me asking me to go to the symphony with him in Boston... I know. I'm feeling bad enough. Don't rub it in.


As for the juicy omission it might be because:

a. It involves a colleague
b. It involves a guy with a girlfriend
c. It involves a lot of alcohol and is therefore a little bit blurry and non-sensical
d. It is a little bit embarrassing
e. I haven't managed to process it enough to write about it
g. It is still playing out and I realize it's either too premature to write about it or I might never be able to
h. All of the above

Moving on...

There is one last boy to make an appearance on the It's Raining Men Series... And I felt like he deserved a whole blog post in itself.

So, without further ado... INTRODUCING NOMAD BOY!!!!

Nomad Boy and I have had a long history together. Let me tell you about it...

I met Nomad Boy when I was 19. That summer I had been living on Martha's Vineyard. The final night I was there, K one of my best friend's from home, came out to visit and help me move back. She talked about going to a party where there was a guy who I would "love." I remember her describing him as a long-haired skater boy (totally my type back in those days). He was a friend of a friend from a town close to our hometown. Well, we never made it to that party and I soon forgot about the cute skater boy she was supposed to hook me up with.

I moved back home to my parent's house for the final weeks before school started again. And a couple weekends later, I went with K to a party in the town next to ours. I didn't really know the people at this party, nor did I have any idea who lived in the house. But while looking at the family pictures on the walls, I recognized a girl who I had worked with at my summer job during previous summers. However, I didn't see her at the party.

So, I'm sitting in a bedroom on the floor and suddenly this super cute long-haired skater boy walks in and points at me. "You." He says.

"Yes?" I say.

"You're that girl!"

"What girl?" I say innocently and flirtatiously - I mean this guy is seriously hot and oh-so my type!

"You're that girl on the Vineyard." He says. And suddenly it clicked - he must have been the guy my friend was telling me about...

I tried to play it coy "What girl on the Vineyard?" I asked. Anyway, we chatted for a bit and I told him that apparently I knew his sister. And we made the usual comments about small world etc. (remember this is like 1997 way pre-Facebook when degrees of separation were so less in your face and encounters like this still seemed weird and random yet meaningful).

And later on that night we found ourselves alone...

"It's so strange," he says. "You know how you make up lives for people in your head? Well, I totally did that with you. I saw you all the time on the Vineyard - you always hung out with that blond skater boy and you worked in that shop and you always wear headbands." Wow. I thought to myself, he must have been totally stalking me from afar because boy had the details down. But he was hot so I decided I was more impressed than creeped out.

"And," he continues. "I thought that you were a Vineyard girl and lived there all year long and that the blond boy was your long-term boyfriend. And then I come home from the Vineyard to find you sitting in my bedroom and find out you're from the town next to mine."

"Funny how that happens," I said. And then he kissed me. And that kiss launched the adventures of Nomad Boy and the International Woman of Mystery - a story that has dragged on for 12 years and has yet to play itself out.

I went home that night slightly tipsy and overly euphoric and I woke up my mother to tell her in a typical International Woman of Mystery over-dramatic fashion, that I had met the guy I was going to marry.*

I can't say that Nomad Boy and I ever had a serious thing. We haven't. What we've had is a series of summer flirtations and random hook ups, stolen kisses on the couch in his basement while his dad watched TV in the room above us, many steamy late night conversations, flurries of exchanged emails, gmail chats, facebook messages and (sometimes dirty) pictures. We've also had years where we haven't seen each other and we've had many "just missed" connections were we thought we would meet up, but at the last minute it didn't work out - like this summer when we had plans to meet up in San Fran but he suddenly moved to Hawaii just days before we were supposed to meet (the life of a Nomad Boy is this way I suppose).

I sometimes blame our lack of substance on the fact that Nomad Boy and I have never lived in the same place at the same time. Our colleges were nowhere near each other. And since college I've been jet setting around the world and he's been wandering around the US... But for some reason, we have managed to keep in touch all these years which in days LONG before cellphones and when Mark Zucherburg was still in diapers, this was a BIG deal. We actually had to work at staying in touch by doing things like calling eachother's parents houses to find out how to contact each other. Of course in the later years we eventually moved to email and more recently Facebook (Nomad Boy is one of those strange people without a cell phone).

So, to bring you up to the present date... A couple weeks before Thanksgiving, Nomad Boy contacts me via Facebook to tell me he's going to be around the Boston area for Thanksgiving. We were supposed to meet up last Wednesday night in Boston but in typical Nomad Boy style he cancels at the last minute (I'm proud to say that I've finally learned not to be dissapointed by him - or any boy these days). We've been in touch a bit over the holiday and today he told me that he's around in the are for the next month and is planning to come to Boston on Thursday and stay with me over the weekend. 

We will see... Nomad Boy is not really a man of his words. Nor is he to be trusted. But I can say that I would like him to come. I welcome the distraction. And I would love to see what he's up to these days.

I'll be sure to keep you posted.

This concludes the International Woman of Mystery's "It's Raining Men" series. Although it's obviously "To be continued."

So, there you go from nothing to many things. To still totally lacking anything substantial.

In the meantime, I have recently received some awesome awards from some awesome bloggers. Stay tuned for my acceptance speech and pass on of the awards.

Love!

*My mother was typically unimpressed (and annoyed that I was waking her up) but I must say that in my 32 years this is the ONE AND ONLY time the International Woman of Mystery has ever proclaimed she has found a marriable man.

It's Raining Men Part I

So, after feeling all sorry for myself about the dry spot I was going through. Things suddenly changed and now there are boys everywhere!
The first boys to enter my life were my brother and his cute friend who came through Boston last Monday night to play a show (my brother is pretty much a nomadic musician these days but that's a whole other story).

My brother felt the need to send me an email in advance that said - and I'm quoting directly from his email here: "don't attack cute friend though.  he's tall and attractive and Germanic looking and he's kinda got a gf.  ;)"

I'm happy to report that I did not "attack" his cute friend - although he was cute and tall and had a really nice smile. He was also very sick with a sniffly sneezy cold which made him definite hands-off material (although I caught the stupid cold anyway it seems).

Next up was American Boy. Remember him? Here's the deal with American Boy (as I'm sure you are wondering what the deal is - oh what? You aren't? Too bad. I'm going to tell you anyway). American Boy unfortunately managed to move from Boston to San Fransisco right about the same time I moved to Boston - another sign that any sort of relationship between us is not meant to be - no matter how awesome he is. American Boy and I actually met for dinner this summer but outside of a kiss on the check, nothing happened between us. In fact, it was so uneventful I didn't even bother blog about it. And although American boy remains the hottest, coolest, cutest boy ever... I think that we are probably going to remain in the friendship territory. Unfortunately.

Anyway, American boy caught a ride home with me Wednesday night after work. So, we battled the 3 hour day-before-Thanksgiving car ride (normally 1.5 hours) together and spent the time chatting, catching up and listening to good music. It was actually kind of fun to drive with him. I tell you... he is really the perfect boy.

Being in my hometown brought forth lots more boys. On Friday night - Black Friday (btw - can someone pleas tell me when this became such a big deal? And wtf is cyber Monday? Clearly, I've been away too long), I met up with 4 boys from high school at the local pub in the town where we grew up. And although we are 14 years out of high school (damn we're old - although the bar tender did pull me aside to ask me if I really graduated with them because I look "way better" and "way younger" then them - I kid you not. I can't make this stuff up), it took about 5 minutes of conversation before it felt like we had never left high school as our conversation immediately regressed to high school immaturity levels.

And as sometimes happens when you catch up with the boys from highschool on Black Friday and find yourself as the only girl of the group, "handjobs" naturally became the the main topic of conversation. How does this even come up as a topic you ask? What is there to even say about handjobs when you are in your 30's? I have no idea... But that's how it goes with these boys.

So, handjobs was a recurring theme throughout the night. Awesome. And I kept telling them to be quiet since they were yelling the word handjob in really loud voices and I was embarrassed since I felt like the entire bar could hear or totally inappropriate conversation. Which come to think about it is probably why they talked about this particular subject for so long... I was giving them the total reaction they wanted. See? Just like high school. Awesome.

The other topic of the night was farting - but that's kind of the norm for one of those guy friends who has always (and I mean ALWAYS - I've known him since we were three years old) been abscessed with flatulence (high school friends who read this blog - take a BIG guess who I'm talking about). But what really amazes me is how this guy can bring farting into any type of conversation. And what's even more amazing that we have all known him for years but he still manages to make us laugh with the absolute outrageousness of his farting comments. For example, I was showing him a picture from a mutual friend's wedding this summer and he looks at a picture of the Groom and goes. "I bet he rips big juicy ones!" I mean who SAYS that? And who is even thinking that when they are looking at beautiful wedding pictures?

Alright. Enough potty talk. Sorry about that. Moving on...

One of the boys in the high school group was Locker Boy - who I have not seen since our kayaking adventure a month or so back although have been in some contact via text. Locker Boy actually picked me up and delivered me back home after the bar escapade. Upon dropping me off at my parents, Locker Boy made his move and tried to tried to kiss me (something I should have seen coming) and I politely declined by turning my cheek (seriously - this also felt like high school all over again - yes high school readers stop laughing and DO NOT tell him about this blog). Then I felt terrible... (and I kind of feel bad about blogging about this - I deleted this passage and then decided that I had to put it back in cuz this blog is supposed to be about boys and lately I'm omitting too much of the juicy stuff - more on that later... maybe -sometimes I can't don't tell you everything that's going on). I Especially felt bad when he texted me a really sweet message the next day apologizing for trying to make a move and telling me he hoped it wouldn't be awkward between us and asking to hang out again.

But that is not all... don't you worry. There are even more boys around that I'm going to tell you about. But as to not run the risk of writing a very LOOOONG post, I've decided to cut it into two parts.

You will have to come back tomorrow to read the next chapter in this International Woman of Mystery's "It's Raining Men" series.

I'm out. I'm going to work on over decorating my awesome new apartment for Christmas. If you are lucky there will be some pictures coming at you soon!

See you tomorrow.

Peace.

A Breif Romantic Encounter in the English Countryside

This post was supposed to be about my weekend in the English countryside. It was supposed to provide a portrait of picturesque rural life. It was supposed to be about rolling hills and sheep. It was supposed to be about the quaint village and the quirky village people. It was supposed to be about the Cricket game and the afternoon tea and the after Cricket pints and party. It was supposed to be about the Sunday walk through the hills to the charming local pub where we had a Sunday roast in the garden. It was supposed to be about the fresh countryside air and the cool autumn weather.

All weekend I planned this post. I took pictures to include. I talked to the villagers and found out about their lives. I mentally noted interesting observations in anticipation of telling you all about it. And as I sit here at my computer ready to begin, I realize that post I was planning all weekend, is not the post I'm going to write.

And while the lovely British countryside will certainly serve as a romantic backdrop, I apologize that this post will not be about the rolling hills, the sheep, the Cricket, the pub, the villagers, the fresh air, nor will it be about the crisp autumn weather.

This post will be about a boy.

This weekend I feel in love and then lost in just 24 hours. 

But let me rewind and start at the beginning with Friday evening when M (of my favorite couple M and T) showed up at my apartment with French guy CC - a friend from our China days. Then Sexy Single friend A and her friend showed up and we did what we usually do at my apartment - have some pre party drinks, listen to music and get in the mood to go out!

CC was only in town for the weekend, so we were determined to show him the best England had to offer. The plan was to head out on the town  Friday night and then get up early on Saturday and head out to T's family village 2 hours outside of London where they were having the annual Cricket Game (I had attended last year and it was so much fun, I had begged to be invited back). So, on Friday night we headed to Kensington Roof Gardens and got our groove on, stumbling home in the wee hours of the morning.

Saturday morning came way too early and in a cruel manner with a relentless pounding headache and a nauseous stomach and an instant regret for that damn shot of tequila I had done (say nothing of the vodka, gin, wine - although my bets are still on the tequila).

Not even a Bloody Mary and a full English breakfast helped to improve my condition. In fact, as I struggled to keep the meal down, I came to the unfortunate conclusion that a big meal and a drink had only made it worse (whoever says hair of the dog is the best way to kill a hangover, is completely out of their mind).

Despite sleeping most of the way on the train to the countryside, I was still  not well upon arrival in the charming little rural village. The taxi ride from the train station almost did me in (rolling hills and winding roads are not so quite so charming when you're hungover). Luckily however, we did make it to T's quaint village cottage with our stomachs intact.

So, we are sitting and watching the Cricket game and I'm still concentrating on not throwing up, when slowly through the thick fog of my hangover, I become aware that there is a a rather attractive guy on the Cricket field. I ask M who he is and she informs me that he is a childhood friend of T's and unfortunately, he is taken (although sans girlfriend for the weekend). Well, that figures. I mentally cross him off my list of potential flirting partners for the weekend.

The boys come in from the Cricket field to take their turn at bat and I'm introduced to the cute boy. He is even cuter up close - not beautifully aloof in the Beautiful Swede way, but roguishly handsome in a rugged, disheveled, manly way. "I didn't think he would be your type," M would say later.

But up close, it was perhaps less the way he looked, and more the way he looked at me that commanded my attention... He gave me "the look." You know that one where he looks you up and down slowly starting at your shoes, noting the shape of your legs in your fall boots, taking in your blue autumn dress, momentarily lingering on your breasts and then looking right in your eyes as if he can see all the way through to your soul. And from that first "look" I went weak in the knees and I have to admit that I was a bit smitten. Reluctantly smitten. But yes, smitten.

And although I was still very aware that he was "unavailable," I concluded that there is nothing wrong with a little harmless flirting (especially if initiated by him), right? And I promise that I was only joking when discussing sleeping arrangements with M that I would offer to solve the crowded house sleeping arrangement problem by sleeping with him.

And I swear that I did not seek out this boy nor did I intentionally try to turn on the charm (believe me, I can be quite charming when I want to be) but it just so happened that after the Cricket game ended, we ended up standing at the Cricket Club bar together where he convinced me to drink a pint of lager (much to the loud protestations of my stomach and still pounding head) and then proceeded to engage me in a conversation that left me not only smitten, but absolutely fascinated.

You see, he is a former journalist turned (as yet unpublished) writer who is working on his first book. Therefore, I will now refer to him appropriately as "The Writer." And if his looks had been the interesting factor before, I quickly realized that his personality was even more attractive. As a person who is (obviously) interested in writing and dreams of writing a book some day, I of course had lots of questions for him about the book writing process. He patiently answered my questions and gave me some interesting insight into a writer's world.

And we talked a lot about reading (another passion of mine) and it was quickly obvious we had read many of the same books. To my delight, he even begrudgingly admitted to having read (for professional reasons of course) and kind of liked the entire Twilight series, despite not being able to relate to all the teenage girl angst and being slightly disappointed on Stephanie Myer's failure to "understand the male psych."

And the more he talked, the more interesting I found The Writer. And slowly, it began to dawn on me that chemistry aside, this guy was kind of sort of my "dream guy." He was witty, intelligent, interesting and full of life. Well traveled, well educated, athletic, and well rounded. The first guy I have met in a long time who I feel is multi-dimensional enough to match me on many levels.

Apparently our connection was noticed by others around because just minutes into our initial conversation, one of the old drunk villagers interrupted us by asking "Are you two married?" And The Writer looked into my eyes and therefore into my soul, and we both just laughed.

And his eyes - hazel specked with brown, and full of warmth and life... I had trouble looking into them because those eyes sucked me in and made it so hard to look away that the second I did I found myself longing to look back again.

But, if I wasn't smitten enough already, as the night went on and more pints were drunk, he somehow started singing to me in a wonderful singing voice Susanne and Famous Blue Raincoat - my two most favorite Leonard Cohen songs - and it was at that point that I just fell. Head over heels. Hard.

We continued to talk the entire night. I kept trying to pull myself away from him, but found myself completely unable. When he was not standing with me, I found myself searching for him and I found that he was more often than not looking at me as well. But I still considered him "off limits" and honestly there was no overt flirting going on, we did not touch each other and we did not stand too close to eachother or do anything else that would be considered inappropriate, although I can't deny the fact that I was by this point doing some serious "wishful thinking."

Ok please stop reading now if you are:*

a. My parents (although, mom we kind of already discussed this - I just left out the details - you don't really need to read them - dad, neither do you)

b. My colleagues

c. T (of M and T)

d. A person of strong morals who is going to judge me

e. A mean anonymous commenter

 So, the evening progressed and we finally had enough of drinking and dancing and we turned off the lights and music at the Cricket Club and headed back to the house to get some much needed rest.

And I'm not sure if it was the planets aligning or some cruel trick of fate, but suddenly it became clear that the only place for me to sleep (without doing some serious waking up and rearranging of people) was in the spare bed in the room that he was in. (I immediately regretted saying what I had said previously about the sleeping arrangements).

So, we both pretended that this was cool. And I was seriously questioning how cool it really was - engaged in an internal battle of feeling that maybe I should sleep on the floor somehwere else and really really wanting  to sleep in the room with him - to see where this night long charade would take us (because at this point, I really had no idea). But one thing was clear... it was all too easy. We had the perfect excuse to do what we wanted and it was up to us to choose the final outcome. And The Writer seemed ok with the proposed sleeping arrangement... so, we both went with it, although I'm sure his internal battle was even more intense than my own.

So everyone got into their pajamas and we all said goodnight and then The Writer and I closed the door to "our bedroom." And suddenly it was like the world started to spin and we just looked at each other in silence for what felt like an eternity. The sexual tension was on intensity overload, my heart was in my throat, I was weak in the knees, and I swear that the room was on fire. And as much as I told myself that I should walk over to my bed and just lay down and go to sleep, my legs refused to listen and with a mind of their own, they began to move in the other direction - toward him just as he was moving toward me. We met in the middle and he touched my arm and I swear that it there were not only sparks, it was a freaking electrical storm.

Are you sure you want to do this?" I asked. And his response was the slowest most amazing kiss.

"You can't deny chemistry," he said and his fingers were like flames moving over my body.

Later though as the awkwardness set in, he did admit to feeling guilty (which was both weird and relieving all at once. Weird because well... do I need to go there? And relieving because if he didn't feel guilty, well it probably means he does this all the time. And no, I didn't get the feeling that he does). I mumbled something about what's done is done and regret is a pointless emotion. "You're right. I just need to put it in parenthesis," The Writer said.

The next morning came too quickly and when the rest of the house began stirring, we decided to get up and head our separate ways. The day was full of trivial conversation and longing glances exchanged across the room. I was oversensitive and over aware of his presence at all times. And when he was standing close to me, all I could think about was wanting to reach out and touch him and overwhelmed by the unfairness of the fact that it would be totally inappropriate to do so.

The closest we came to an intimate moment was on the way to the pub for Sunday brunch when we were both walking dogs on leashes and the leashes managed to wrap around each other in such a way that we were pulled together and forced into an awkward moment of closeness as we tried to untangle ourselves and the dogs. "This is how they met in The Lady and the Tramp," The Writer said...

And then it was time to say goodbye and head back to London in separate cars. We both climbed the stairs to "our bedroom" and gathered up our belongings. And then once again, we stood awkwardly in the middle of the room. "I guess this is goodbye," he said. "Yes." I replied and then he took me in his arms and gave me one last lingering kiss full of sweet longing, regret and things that "could have been".

And in that moment before we reluctantly pulled ourselves apart, the bittersweet images of a life that almost was but would never be, played out in my mind - the cozy nights at home, the fun parties with friends, the trips around the world, the dancing in each other's arms, the beautiful rambunctious children that we would never have. And just as soon as the thoughts had entered my mind, they withdrew as quickly as his lips left mine as I guiltily remembered that this life is real and not a romantic English fairytale (or a chick lit novel), nor am I Elizabeth Bennet and he is surely not Mr. Darcy. We are just two people who shared a night who had no future outside this room in the English countryside.

And so, we left the room together as strangers. 

And finally, we endured a public parting - in front of other people and I swear they could all see the electricity sparking off our bodies as we touched and air kissed each other goodbye - one remorseful kiss on each cheek. And after saying goodbye to everyone else, when no one was looking, he blew me a kiss and walked off to his car, looking backward at me the whole way. And I felt an incredible sadness wash over me as I knew that I had just met an amazing guy who was absolutely not mine for the taking. An amazing guy who probably has an amazing girlfriend. An amazing guy, who I was never going to see again.

And I have to admit that I felt sad. It's now two days later and I still feel sad. And I've thought about him more than I want to admit. I'm struggling to deal with myself on this one. I've gotten used to not caring, not feeling. I've gotten used to meeting lots of shallow beautiful men who are more suited to one or two dates, to one kiss, to one night - they essentially mean nothing to me and leave no more imprint on me than the empty words posted about them in this blog. I've gotten used to meeting men with many good qualities but always in the beginning - usually in the very first encounter - I sense a strong "but" that I know can't be overcome, that I know makes that guy not right for me in the long run (if I'm honest with myself, even the Beautiful Swede was ruled out in the beginning by the "but" and deemed not suitable for long term potential).

But for the first time in a long time, I felt in The Writer a lingering potential, a beautiful possibility that I had not felt in a very long time (maybe ever).

But he is taken and I'm leaving London in less than 2 weeks, so this is the end of the story. The end of the British countryside romance. It began before it started. I loved and lost in just 24 hours (although it could certainly be said I never "had" in the first place).**

So, that's it. It's over (I keep having to tell myself this). It was awesome and bittersweet and confusing all at once. And now I'm left feeling empty and alone with a wonderful yet guilty memory and  the unrealistic romantic fantasies of a whirlwind romance that will never take place and the unmistakable longing that I will hear from him again.***

*And if you do continue reading, do so at your own risk and try not to judge me, or him and know that this post was one that I really struggled to write.

**I'm not that girl who "falls in 'love'" easily. Or at all. Or ever. In fact, I'm that girl who is not even sure she believes in love. I'm that girl who guys think are cold. And while I'm obviously exaggerating here when I say "love," I did fall for this guy. Hard. More than I ever fall for guys. And that kills me.

***We didn't exchange any contact details.

The End of Summer

It's official summer is over. Here in the UK the August bank holiday that marks the official end of summer here has came and gone two weeks ago. And this past Monday was Labor Day in the US - the official end of summer for Americans.

My question is where the hell did summer go? I feel like it just started yesterday!

And because I live in London, I think that I do have the right to bitch about the weather. So, let me start by saying this summer was a complete let down! Although it started off well enough. And the weather I had while on vacation in the US was amazing! I was expecting to return to London in mid-July to experience some nice warm summer days in London. Boy was I disappointed! It was rainy and cold in London all summer! Other than the 4 weeks I spent in the US, I feel like I had no summer at all. Boo!

Alright, enough complaining. Let's quickly review what I did this summer...

To start with, I hit up the wonderful country of Spain twice in one month - first Barcelona and then Madrid!

I watched the second Sex in the City Movie.

I stressed about my summer of weddings and what I was going to wear and how I was going to face all those weddings ALONE as a single gal.

I went to the first fabulous wedding in Sweden and where I kissed a younger hot boy. I saw a dear old friend get married in Western Massachusetts. I went to San Fransisco where saw my "other brother"  get married in the most over the top kick ass party non-traditional wedding of the year.

I chilled at home in the USA with my parents and their pets and thought a lot about Americans. I went to one of my oldest friend B's beautiful wedding on Nantucket where I got to dine on yummy lobster and catch up with old friends.

I spent some time on boats on the Thames. The first time, I got to DRIVE the boat. The second time I met a hot Swedish guy dressed like Chuck Bass.

I went for a fantastic weekend trip to Smogen with the girls where we ate lots of seafood and I kissed a cute boy in the rain.

I experimented with leaving Chelsea. I went on boring date with a Scottish guy from Match, but I had more fun dating myself. The best date however was with the sexy cop - but unfortunately, he wasn't that into me.

I thought a lot about what it means to be a foreigner and what men should clearly not do when Internet dating.

I also offered up some words of wisdom.

I wrote my first unfortunate drunk blog. I went clubbing and met hot boys.

I went on a totally awesome trip to South Africa and saw 7 lions while on a safari!

And after all that overindulgence and alcohol this summer, I decided that since my clothes no longer fit right, I need to hit the gym and therefore I started to see a personal trainer who makes me do really crazy things.

I also found out my Ex-Boyfriend got engaged! And the Beautiful Swede reached out to me again. I have not written him back though - I'm proud to say!

So, what does the autumn bring for this International Woman of Mystery? Well, funny that you should ask? Because MASSIVE changes are on the horizon. I mean huge. But more on that later.

Stay tuned for an update on my awesome trip to Stockholm.

Toodles.

Paying For Men

Ha! Got you!

Obviously, this is not what you think. I do not pay for sex with men - obviously. But today I did meet two hot men who I paid for their services. Well technically, I paid one of them and the other I agreed to pay next time we meet which by the way is next Thursday at 9.

I'm talking about my hairdresser and my personal trainer of course! What were you thinking?

It all started with a haircut at lunchtime. After my regular stylist left, my colorist had recommended me to a new one!. Little did I know he was the super hot hairdresser who I had been eyeing while I had my color done! Boy was fine.

I spent the entire time he was cutting my hair trying to figure out if he went for women or men. I decided women, although I wasn't totally sure. He spent the entire time flirting with me and also chopping off MOST OF MY HAIR INTO A CROOKED HAIRCUT!

I was so glamoured by him and his stupid boyish good looks that I didn't even notice that my hair was like 3 inches shorter and crooked until I got home. Damn! This is why you do not have a hot guy cut your hair! Way too dangerous. You get a little distracted and suddenly you have a freaking haircut like Pink!* And now I HAVE to go back and check him out again make him fix it.

The second guy came as a surprise. It's been pouring rain here in London for days (seriously, London weather is living up to its reputation - while the rest of Europe and even Russia has had an amazing summer, London has never been more cold and miserable) so I decided to hit the gym rather than brave the rain and run as I usually do. The thing is, I hate the gym. Actually, I just kind of hate this gym I go to in London. And if the weather is good, I would rather be out running.

So, there I am all sweaty and grumpy working the elliptical machine like a mad woman when a trainer comes along and starts a conversation with me.

Let me tell you, I was SO not in the mood. 95% of me wanted to tell him to "Leave me alone! Yes, I know that I could be working out harder and that you could show me cool moves that kill my body and make me look better but I DON'T CARE. I want to read my magazine and do my shitty work out in peace."

The other 5% of me knew that I've been slacking on my workouts lately, not pushing myself hard enough and feeling totally uninspired and unmotivated. Say nothing of the fact that I've spent the entire summer drinking and indulging and my clothes are feeling a little bit tighter than they should and I've really been meaning to get back on track...

Because I'm a total masochist, I of course listened to the annoying 5% of me and let the trainer lure me away from my boring but easy work out and magazine. Plus, he was kind of hot. So, what the hell?

An hour later as sweat poured off me and I marveled at the fact that my legs were for some reason no longer supporting my weight properly, I found myself agreeing to book 6 more sessions with him at 50 GBP a pop! (Today's session was free at least).

So, back to the topic of this blog. Yes, it seems that I do PAY FOR MEN. In fact, it seems I pay quite a lot for men.

The haircut plus the hair revitalizing treatment he gave me plus the 2 products he convinced me to buy came to 89 GBP (and that's with a 20% discount I somehow negotiated cuz I'm good like that). And it was 300 GBP for the 6 personal trainer sessions...

So, in total today I paid men 389 GBP.** And as I noted before, I do not pay pay for sex with men (obvously) but you could theoretically say that I've just paid both of these men to make me more sexy so that I can potentially have sex with more men. Hmm... Interesting way to look at it huh? Sorry... I'm I have low blood sugar after that work out. I may not be thinking clearly... So, let me know if that logic is totally off.

All I can say is OWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW! WTF MY QUADS HAVE NEVER HURT SO BADLY! No, for real. I'm whimpering and laughing at the same time every time I try to move. It's pathetic. And it's bound to get worse before it gets better. Tomorrow morning is not going to be fun.

And next week the Trainer says he will give me a "real workout.: Oh what have I gotten myself into? This hot trainer guy better make me look freaking awesome.

So thank you hot men that I pay for for giving me a crooked haircut and making it so I can no longer walk.

XOXO

*I'm totally exaggerating as usual. It's not quite as short as Pink's hair. Actually, I think it's probably a good deal longer. It might still be classified as long hair. It is still below my shoulder. But it is short to me and I'm pretty sure it's definitely crooked.

**Do NOT - I repeat - DO NOT translate this into dollars. And if you do, do not tell me how much money that is in dollars cuz I think it's kind of a LOT of money in dollars. I will try to not think about it. Instead I will focus on how awesome I am going to look after my super expensive training sessions. And I will try to remind myself that my poor poor long hair that is now so so much shorter, probably really needed to be cut off in order to be healthy and look more beautiful in the future (or that's what the hot hairdresser tried to tell me when I almost started to cry). Sob!

The Hot German Boy

So, I was getting a little bit worried that I wouldn't have anything exciting to blog about this weekend. I've been feeling a bit blue these days (for reasons I will inevitably address in another post) and the terrible London weather is not helping (I have never witnessed a more miserable summer). In general I'm feeling a bit uninspired.

As of Friday at 5 pm this International Woman of Mystery did not have a single plan for the weekend, but I was kind of feeling ok with that - thinking that I would just wallow around in my misery and spend some time alone. As you do when you are feeling down and at.

At the same time, I was realizing that this might not be a good idea and I should probably find some energy to force myself to do something if for no other reason than for the sake of this blog and my faithful readers (I now have a total of 13 official followers - btw, click follow if you have not done so already) and being able to write about something mildly entertaining.

Sexy Single Friend A saved the night on Friday though, and we decided to meet up for drinks at my favorite Chelsea pub The Phene to celebrate her new job. However, as much as I'm excited for her, it was a low key evening and I was home by 9: 30 in bed catching up on the latest Jersey Shore episode. I love me some GTL!!! Fist Pump!

On Saturday I woke up in a not much improved mood. I had two options for the evening and then the one I was leaning toward kind of fell through (or at least got a bit overly complicated) and I was seriously contemplating just staying in Saturday evening as well. But again, realizing that my days in London are dwindling and I should make the most of my time here, I searched deep inside to find some inner motivation. And then I did the following: went shopping at French Connection and spent too much money, took a power nap, went for an 8K run, threw on a sexy LBD, spent a little extra time on the hair and makeup and locked up my apartment and hit the street!

I decided to meet some work friends for a birthday dinner. The problem with this plan was the fact that the majority were work friends. And while I like most of them very much, we do an awful lot of work socializing in general and sometimes I need a break from work (because inevitably we talk way too much about work). The other problem was that I'm not exactly getting along with a certain colleague right now for reasons that I won't go into as I try to make it a policy not to blog about work stuff cuz let's face it it's boring and I spend way too much energy on work as it is. I knew he was coming to the party and I was so not interested in any possible altercation with him.

In the end it was a nice birthday dinner and copious amounts of wine and sangria helped create a fun party atmosphere and the colleague that I don't get along with made an appearance late and I didn't really need to interact with him. So, all was good.

Then we decided to go clubbing. As we had not put much thought into where we would go (i.e. we were not on any lists for the super exclusive clubs), we ended up at our old standby Valmont on Fulham Road. The scene of last weekend's crime. But I didn't mind. As I have mentioned before, I really like this club. It's small, they play good music and the people are usually ok and it's not as much of a "scene" as many of the other clubs nor does it have the high price tag.

So, there we are dancing together in kind of an obnoxious circle when suddenly the friend of the colleague who I do not get along with approaches me. He starts asking me about living in the US and making some small talk. The conversation doesn't really go that well since he is pretty intoxicated (thankfully, for once, I am less so) and the music is loud. Actually, I realize that he is really drunk. And that he is possibly attempting to firt with me - or else he is just trying to grab my hand to maintain his balance - I'm not entirely sure. I'm a  nice girl and I try to be polite but eventually need to move away from him to the other side of the circle. But suddenly there he is again - crossing the entire circle to get to me so that we can have this conversation:

Drunk Swede: So, I really think that we should go home together.

Me: Oh really? Why's that?

Drunk Swede: It will be a really good time.

Me: Umm... Let me get back to you on that one (walk away - FAST)

So, after that little interesting episode that made me laugh. I decide to escape to the ladies room. On my way back to the dance floor, I decide to stop at the bar to get another drink - I mean I'm going to need it if I have to keep interacting with the Drunk Swede.

Standing at the bar is a guy who from behind looks like he might be interesting. He is tall at least. I decide to go and stand next to him. He immediately notices me says something to the extent of that he can make room for me. He is paying for his drinks and is about to leave. He is GORGEOUS! I do not want him to leave... But what can I do?

I try to think of something quick and witty to say to grab his attention and make him stay... but nothing comes. Oh no! He is turning away! C'mon International Woman of Mystery - say something!!!! But he is already headed back to the dance floor. Damn. I look back at him again and see him hesitate and then turn back around, take steps back to the bar and look at me. The bartender is asking me for my drink order, but I am too busy watching the boy. Oh this is awkward! What do I do? I can't think. But the chemistry between us is so strong it's amazing - I can't let him get away.

He starts to leave again and I turn back to the bar. And finally I turn around again and he is still hesitating. We have to speak... So, I blurt out a very smooth opening line: "What's your name?" (Oh jeez is that all I could come up with)? And of course his name is something difficult to understand in the blaring music and I have to ask him to repeat it like 3 times before I get it. But, he has now come back to the bar and is standing next to me looking at me with amazing eyes. So mission accomplished. 

I am so distracted by his total hotness (seriously, this guy is beautiful enough to rival the Beautiful Swede) that I'm still totally unable to get a drink at the bar. I know I should be ordering the drink and I can tell that the bartender is getting a little annoyed with me as are the people behind us who are pushing to get bar space, but I can't take my eyes off this boy. Have you ever met someone where your chemistry just clicks and you are just really drawn to someone? Well, this is how it was for me in that moment. It was totally overpowering and completely awesome.

We enter the standard conversation of where are you from and what are you doing here and I finally manage to put in the drink order. I find out the hot boy is from Germany and is visiting for Investment Banking training - what else? (Seriously, I sometimes feel like there is no other profession in this city). Unfortunately, he has three checks against him: 1) he's an investment banker (or even worse, an investment banker wanna be), 2) he's German (actually I once dated a German for quite awhile and that was okay but in general they are not really known for being the most interesting or fun people) and 3) he's only in the city until Friday.

But what the hell right? He seems interesting and smart enough. He's young - 27 (perfect age). He's tall. And he is just so damn hot (I realize I have mentioned this before, but had to say it again)! I love the cute black glasses he is wearing (for some reason I find this style of glasses so sexy on men - as long as they can pull it off). And the attraction between us is incredible! When he leaned in to kiss me... well let's just say it was amazing. I actually think there were actual. So, we head off to the dance floor and dance the night away together... (Remember that this blog is rated PG 13).

So, the weekend was a success after all. The only thing that could have made it more successful is if the German boy was not leaving this week and I would see him again. But alas, it was only meant to be a one night fling. But sometimes, that's all you need to get back in the game.

Speaking of getting back in the game, stay tuned for an update on my date with the Sexy Cop!

XOXO

Smögen with the girls

Hi Y’all. So, I’m back from my latest great adventure. Did you miss me? I missed you!

Let me start by saying WHAT AN ADVENTURE these past 2 weeks have been!

I don’t know where to start.

Although South Africa is on my mind having just returned today and visions of lions and zebras (oh yeah - I saw both) are dancing in my head, I guess it’s most logical for me to start with the girl’s trip to Smögen.

And let me start by saying that my Swedish girlfriends are totally awesome. No seriously, they rock. I have never met a group of nicer kinder girls! And on top of that they are all cute too! The best thing is that we travel together at least once a year and amazingly we never ever fight. They are so drama free. It’s very refreshing. I love hanging out with them. This year our annual girl's trip was even more important for me because I don’t get to see them as often now that I live in London.

The only sad thing about the trip is that my oldest Swedish friend (and the reason that I know all the other girls) was not able to come with us this year due to the fact that she recently had a baby. We really missed her!

The other sad thing was the weather. It was oh so cold and rainy the whole time in Smögen. But we didn’t let a little grey weather spoil our fun. Oh no we didn’t!

Let me remind you that Smögen is a small harbor town on the west coast of Sweden. And it’s a major stop on the summer party sailing scene. Swedes are pretty big into sailing and one of the cool things to do is to rent a sailboat (if you don’t have your own) and go out for a week or 2 with a bunch of friends stopping at all the party spots along the route.

As we weren’t able to devote a whole week to sailing, we decided instead to drive the 7 hours from Stockholm down to Smogen (8 girls in a mini bus) on Thursday morning and stay until Sunday and hang out, catch up with each other and of course, party!

Despite the long drive, the rain, the cold weather and the very tight fit in our rented house, we still managed to have a super weekend!

I think the best way to explain the weekend is to revert to list format. So, here we go:

Things that happened in Smögen 

We pre-partied on a sail boat. A BIG sailboat. The first night in Smögen was the best night. It was the night that most of the sailboats came in as it was the place to be on the sailing route. I had mentiond to a Swedish colleague (who I do not know that well) that my 7 girlfriends and I were going to Smögen and he was like “well, me and my 7 boyfriends will be there as well. Come and join us on the boat for pre-party!” Well, ok! And so we did. And it was so much fun. My colleague and his friends were great hosts. They were a very international crowd of young professionals and therefore very interesting to talk to. And he had a particularly cute friend who was Swedish but lived in Dubai...

Blame it on the rain, but I totally had to kiss the cute friend of my colleague. The cute friend of my colleague and I exited the club together into the absolute pouring rain! There was nothing to do except run to his boat which was nearby. By the time I undid the strappy high heels I was wearing, and managed to climb over the boats moored together to get this his sailboat (note to self, do not wear hard to take off high heels when partying on boats -especially iu the rain it's impossible to walk across boats in high heels so you must take the off), we were completely soaked. I’m not sure why being barefoot and soaking wet on a sailboat wuld lead to kissing, but he was cute, so it did! And by the way, he was a good kisser. Admittedly, it was just a bit awkward when my colleague (who I did not know very well) came home later and caught us and laughed at us. I should note that he had been encouraging us all night so I think that he was laughing in a good way - let’s hope!

The girls surprised me with a spa day! I told you that they are awesome! The last time I was in Sweden, they had a birthday dinner for me and had given me a card with an IOU for a birthday gift in Smögen. But then they didn’t say that much about it. On Friday morning we were all feeling terribly hungover from the previous nights party but the girls told me that we were going to go swimming (in the ocean). I went along knowing that there was no way I would swim in the cold ocean on this cold rainy day. We did dip our toes in the cold water. But I was totally fooled. Until we walked into the hotel, I had no idea what we were actually doing! But it was a nice spa with a pool and hot tub and of course a sauna and we had a very relaxing day. The perfect remedy for a hangover.

I got a hot stone massage from an 18 year old boy. Before you jump to conclusions, this was actually a gift from the girls and the 18 year old boy was a certified (I checked) masseur at the spa. 18 is even too young for me. the hot stone massage was a new experience and not something I would have necessarily picked for myself but it's good to try everything once. I’m not sure I would do it again. But the whole massage situation was made slightly hilarious because this 18 year old boy who was giving me the massage, basically proceeded to talk to me the whole time while rubbing hot stones all over my body. So, it was kind of awkward and not that relaxing. But definitely an experience. It would have been a better experience and definitely more fun to blog about if he had been a totally hot and hunky 18 year old. But unfortunately, he truly looked 18 with the spots and the awkwardness to go with it. However, he seemed like a nice boy with lots of potential cuteness and I do think that he will grow out of it and become a heartbreaker someday. Maybe I will check up on him when he is 23 (that seems to be my lower age limit).

We ate so much amazing seafood! Smögen is famous for it’s seafood. We ate lots of shrimp, lax, crayfish, crab, and fish soup. The only thing that was oh so good but also oh so not good at the same time was the aioli. Shrimps in Smögen are uusually consumed dipped in aioli. I love aioli. I could eat it plain. And eat it I did. A lot of it. The problem was that it was not so conducive to kissing meeting men.

Seafood market

 

Räk Mackor (Shrimp sandwiches)

Dinner at the house

We ate this amazing sandwich called landgård! It has shrimp, crayfish and lax all on a piece of bread. Seriously this was the most amazing thing I have eaten in a long time. And we had fish soup on the side. Yum!

 Landgård = Yummy!

We enjoyed walking around the quaint town of Smögen and checking out the small shops. Seriously, how beautiful is this place:?

We partied with lots of boys boys boys... The best part about being in a sailing town was the fact that the guy girl ratio was way off. There were so many boys! And so few girls. My sexy single friend H and I were the only single gals in our group and we got lots of male attention. So much so that it was almost not really a good thing. Especially the first night when I was hanging out with the cute Swedish friend of my colleague. He seemed irritated by the boys grabbing me - it was irritating. I enjoyed the attention at first but it got annoying quickly. 

 A scene from a Smögen nightclub: lots of party! And lots of BOYS!

BOYS, BOYS, BOYS

Of course here was a little fun boy drama. And for once it wasn’t my drama. But my Sexy Single friend H who had the drama, has agreed that I could share her funny story. After the nightclub one night, H and I were for some reason sitting on the bench outside the nightclub. And of course due to the dispraportionate ration of boys to girls ratio as mentioned above, we did not manage to sit alone for long. H started talking to kissing this guy who flat out told her that he had a girlfriend but that he really wanted to kiss her anyway. I guess H decided that the girlfriend was his problem and that kissing on a bench was harmless enough. The drama ensued the next day when we went for lunch and the guy and his girlfriend were sitting at the next table! Ooops! The guy had forgotten to mention that his girlfriend was actually WITH HIM. We all had a good laugh about this. The always calm H, thought the whole thing was hilarious and didn't seem phased at all. We did joke about her going up to him and his girl and introducing herself as "the girl from last night.:" But, we aren't really that mean. We left the guy alone. Although poor girlfriend. Someone should tip her off that her boyfriend's a creep.

I met a boy who wanted to make me his partner in crime. Literally. While my sexy single friend H, was talking to kissing the boy on the bench with the girlfriend. Another boy was speaking to me. At first glance, he seemed like a very good looking boy. But he soon proved to be crazy. Literally. This was basically how our interaction went:

First we had a very annoying conversation that I tend to have often with very annoying Swedish men which involves me convincing them that I really am American (usually by showing them my American driver's license) and them still doubting me and thinking that I'm really Swedish and just pulling one over on them. I should have walked away then because the conversation continued to detriorate from there:

Him: Let’s commit a crime. I’m feeling crazy tonight.

Me: What do you mean? (realizing that he MIGHT really be crazy but still hoping he is joking)

Him: I mean, I want to rob a bank or something... Do something crazy.

Me: Well... I don’t see any banks around... (fortunately)

Him: Let’s rob a store then (tries to kiss me)

Me: (pushing him away) Sorry buddy, but my crime committing days are over. This one is all you.

Him: No seriously. Let’s rob a store together. I want you to do this with me. C'mon!

Me: I don’t see any stores around anyway... but if you feel like committing a crime, I’m not going to stop you... I’m not going to participate either.

Him: C’mon. I need a partner. (Tries to kiss me again with way too much force)

Me: (Tiring of the conversation and him forcing himself on me) See ya. (Grab sexy single friend H and run away from the crazy guy).*

We danced and danced and danced. The dance party started at the house fueld by glasses of rose and then we continued dancing each night in the clubs on the watefront. The second night, we went to a plac with a particularly good DJ and managed to find a small stage in front of the air conditioning unit to dance on. It was so much fun - although we had to keep getting rid of annoying men who wanted to join us - beat it boys! This was a girls’ night. The following songs will forever remind me of summer 2010 - if you don’t know them, check them out:

• Stereo Love
• Alors on Danse
• We Speak No Americano
• Dancing on My Own - Robyn
• (One) Your Name - Swedish House Mafia 

We had a great time with great friends. We all missed the party in Visby a bit. But it didn’t matter where we were because we were all together and that was what mattered. Thanks for yet another great weekend girls. You are the best! Krammar!

*I swear that this ridiculous conversation really happened. In fact, it lasted for around 10 minutes and was even more ridiculous than I managed to represent here - but I had also consumed high quantaties of rose wine so my memory did not allow me to take down the full 10 minute conversation so this is just a high level recap.

Back to London and being a Faux Swede

So, I’m back in London now and I’m kinda struggling to get back on the work schedule but in fact, a very strange thing has happened: I don’t have that much to do at work. There are some reason behind this which I will get to at a later date, but this is a very weird experience for me. I’m used to being really really busy. I don’t know what to do with myself when I don’t have 15 hours of work that I’m trying to cram into a 10 hour day! Oh dear... what is wrong with me? Why am I even complaining about this. I’m thinking that I should shut up now and just try to enjoy it.

I’m also thinking that now that I have some free time again, maybe I should pursue the London dating scene again! I’m simultaneously trying to pursue the work out/eat healthy/get in shape scene again - but that’s really not as interesting for me to write about and there are enough blogs out there about that!

I decided to jump back into the London scene Swedish London scene by attending a Swedish Chamber of Commerce event with my sexy single friend A. Ok for real. Why did I not do this before? It’s the perfect place to look for my future Swedish husband pick up cute 25 year old Swedish boys. But more on that in a minute - first I’m going to sidetrack a bit and talk about being a faux Swede - one of my favorite subjects.

The thing about Swedes is that you can spot a Swede a mile away. They stand out! But for good reasons. They look good, they dress good, they carry themselves well... overall they just have a good style.

As I have mentioned before, I look very Swedish - or at least that’s what I’m told over and over again by Swedes and Non-Swedes. However, it never fails to amuse me when people mistake me for being Swedish. I do take this as a really great compliment. I love being a Faux Swede!

So, after that introduction, let me get back to the weekend.

Friday night we hit the bar for After Work (as the Swedes would say) or Happy Hour as the Americans would say. Since I’ve moved to London I’ve been waiting anxiously for The Phene, a pub very near to my house to open. It’s been under renovation since I moved here but it looked like a great place with a huge outdoor terrace. It opened while I was on vacation and is seemingly a big success (especially with the Swedes who seem to have a good sense of nice pubs).

So, we headed there after work for a few drinks and let me tell you - it is my new favorite place! Fact. I plan to live there this summer. It has a great outdoor terrace and the inside is really nice as well. In fact, the whole place is really “Swedish” meaning I feel like I could be in Sweden and considering that the clientele was mostly Swedes (mostly my colleagues and their friends) I guess that is not exactly surprising.

The only downside is that I heard the food was not so great and you have to exit the terrace around 10 pm due to noise regulations. Oh well. Despite that, it’s still pretty good. And on this night there were even cute (Non-Swedish actually) boys to flirt with like Tom the investment banker... who gave me his business card but was too arrogant for my liking... Why is everyone in this city an investment banker? And even worse, it just seems like investment bankers are not my type. I wish I could meet a nice and interesting one and then I would literally eat my words. But I’m thinking that’s not going to happen.

So, a funny thing did happen at the Pub. I was speaking to a colleague who works in a different product that I met for the first time that night. So, we are in this long conversation which did involve me explaining some of my life including the fact that I lived in Sweden for 5 years but I started working for my company in Boston etc. I did feel that at different points of the conversation we were having trouble connecting, although I couldn’t quite understand what the problem was. So, about 20 minutes into the conversation I mentioned something about my Swedish being “not very good,” and she was like “Why not? Did you live abroad a lot as a kid?” And I was suddenly like “ You do realize that I’m American, right?” At that point we both realized that this whole time she’d been sitting there thinking I was Swedish and that had led to our small miscommunication! We had a good long laugh about this! But once again, unknowingly, I was posing as a faux Swede! I swear, I’m not even trying to trick people. It just happens!

Saturday night was the Chamber of Commerce event: a BBQ boat ride down the Thames. This time, I unfortunately did not get to drive the boat, but it was still a fun night for other reasons.

So, I’m waiting for my sexy single friend A to make an appearance - I am oddly early and she is oddly late. And I’m standing at Westminster Pier watching all the Swedes and reflecting on how amusing it is that you can easily spot the Swedes as they really stand out from the other tourists and Londoners. One of the organizers of the event (enter the aforementioned 25 year old Swede) comes up and asks me (in Swedish of course) if I’m Swedish and if I’m there for the party. I tell him in English that technically no, I’m not Swedish (just a Faux Swede - but I don't say that out loud thank God) but I am here for the event. And he is nice enough to make small talk with me until my friend arrives. Once again, I’m amused that he thinks I’m Swedish until I tell him that I’m not. There were obviously other foreigners at the event but I could easily pick out who they were. What makes me more Swede-like? Swedish followers? What do you think? Comments appreciated.

I was also amused by the 25 year old’s “oh-so-Swedish” outfit. The party was actually a theme party. The theme was ironically “The Hamptons” which I think he actually came up with. Ironic because here I was an American looking like a Swede pretending to be an American! Did I loose you yet? I think I lost myself... Anyway, back to his outfit. He was going for a Chuck Bass (you know from Gossip Girl) Hampton’s look and had actually Googled this picture below and managed to succeed in rocking this style:

The “oh-so-Swedish” part however was the socks. He was of course wearing pink socks (which were highly visible with all that white and because the pant legs were cut perfectly to show off the pink socks - So Swedish)! Seriously, why do Swedish men all wear pink socks. The Beautiful Ex Swede has like 5 pairs. It is hard for me to imagine an American man wearing pink socks*...

Anyway, the night progressed. The boat went up and down the river as the rose wine flowed and people started to get to know each other. And most importantly there were lots of cute boys to entertain my sexy single friend A and I. The night continued at a Mayfair club called Whiskey Mist which is a pretty fun club. It was actually a pretty good night! Fun to go to a club with 120 people you have just met. Makes you feel like you know everyone and sets a good party mood. The club was good. The music was good. The people were good. I was drinking champagne and dancing with the cute 25 year old Swedish boy dressed like Chuck Bass. And you know I can’t resist me some Chuck Bass...

And so I will end the night there... No need for more details... ;)

Hope your week is off to a great start!

*Shh... don't tell anyone, but I secretly like pink socks on men. This might be even more proof that I'm a faux Swede! Help!

A San Francisco Wedding

Well I'm back (in Massachusetts) from my California adventure and trying to dry out after a crazy San Francisco wedding extravaganza. Weddings these days seem to be very long events with many nights of overindulgence. But so much fun! And this wedding (while exceptional and awesome in many ways) was no exception. It was a fabulous time! But let me start at the beginning to give you all a proper update of my California adventuure.

First of all I travelled to California with my parents. This was a strange experience since we had never been on a plane together. Despite the fact that I am an International Woman of Mystery and my brother lives in Barcelona half the time, my parents are pretty much homebodies.Oh yeah - we rebel!

Although a bit strange to travel with Mom and Dad, the experience was actually kind of nice. I felt a small comfort that reduced the fear of flying when I realized if I died on the plane, at least I would be with the people I loved (although I did have a few moments of panic about what would happen to my brother if we all died together on the plane and also a bit of a panic about my brother's flight - he was en route to San Fran from Barcelona at the same time - but overall panic level was down a bit as happens when you are with your Mom). Also, when I couldn't get the top off of my vodka (the family that flies together, drinks together) Dad was there to help me out! Nice.

First stop in California was Sunnyvale where my Aunt and Uncle live. Sunnyvale did live up to it's name - it was sunny the entire time we were there. We took a ride and went out to the Redwood Forest - which I had never seen before - to check out the old and gigantic trees. But mostly we sat around and caught up on family stuff and ate tortilla chips. Not but for real. A BIG BAG of tortilla chips was consumed - see below for a very American image (remember what I said about Americans and their love for the SUPER SIZE)?

Then we headed into San Fransisco for the beginning of the wedding festivities.

Let me start by saying that I thought a lot about Mark Twain while in San Fran (at least the first day). Mark Twain infamously said: "The coldest winter I ever spent, was a summer in San Francisco." Boy did those words ring true. BRRRRRR! I knew that I was going to be clothing challenged when we drove through the streets of San Fran on the way to the hotel and everyone was wearing heavy coats, scarves and even gloves in some cases and the wind was whipping their hair everywhere. People looked COLD! I suddenly had a bad feeling that my suitcase full of shorts and sundresses were not going to cut it. I did not even bring a jacket! I knew it was supposed to be cold, but I wasn't expecting it to be THAT cold! Note to you all: if you are in San Francisco in the summer, bring your winter clothes.

The first wedding related activity was a wine soiree at Terroir - home of natural and organic wines and a very cool place. It was nice to see C and S - the bride and groom - and meet and mingle with the rest of the people in the wedding party - especially the lovely Maid of Honor J. At this point I must introduce the Best Man to the story as every story needs a cute guy as either the hero or the villain - or both (I think the best man could be either one depending on the perspective). First of all. I have known the Best Man since we were very young. Second of all I actually used to BABYSIT the Best Man when he was young. Third of all - boy grew up to be HOT! Imagine Mathew McConaughey (although possibly without the abs - and no, I did not check). Actually, forget that, imagine him with the abs because that makes it better. But seriously, he was totally Matthew McCoounghy in looks and in mannerisms and even voice. Actually, thank you Google image search, he totally looks like the two pictures of Mr. McConaughey below. I did a side-by-side comparison (I don't show people pics here but friends check out my Facebook page if you are curious) and it's eerie:

 

 

Unfortunately, as if trying to live up to his movie star look-alike, Best Man was not only was he married, but Best Man brought another woman to the wedding/wedding activities! Thus the hero or the villain comment. I will not comment any further (God knows that I can't judge anyone else) except to say that several things I witnessed on this trip (not just with him) lead me to conclude that relationships in California are a bit more fluid then those back here in the conservative East. Well glad that CA lives up to it's hippie free love reputation. But to me the Best Man was a hero for making some good eye candy and being someone to inappropriately flirt with.

Side note: So, the Best Man kept calling my brother and I the dynamic duo. He reminded us of the fact that we were all in this after school care program (for children whose parents worked - not in any way as common back in those days as it is now) and that my brother and I essentially took over the whole group and made them play crazy games that we invented. We also made them sing a lot of songs if I recall. The adult actual leaders could never actually get any of the kids to do anything because my brother and I were always stealing the show! Well, some thing never change... Ha ha...

The second day in San Fran reared it's ugly head with a wicked hangover - thank you organic wines (although I fared better than most of the rest of the people who were up until at least 4 am with us, my brother was praying to the porcelain God and the bride hadn't slept all night). I decided that I would suck it up and go out and about with my parents - also suffering from hangovers. We went down to the docks and walked around in the cold foggy San Francisco morning weather. Of course I had to take the requisite photo of the Golden Gate Bridge - see below. The amazing thing is just about right after this picture was taken, the fog cleared off and it became a sunny beautiful (almost warm) day.

 

The evening culminated with the rehearsal dinner - which really had nothing to do with a rehearsal and more to do with gathering family (in our case almost-family) for a pre-wedding dinner. The venue for this event was Millennium which served awesome vegan food (vegans and non-vegans alike should seriously check this out). I should note that the bride and groom are long term vegans and many of the younger people at the wedding were vegans or vegetarians as well. As for me after 15 years of being a vegetarian, a little vegan food is fine with me. As for my parents and the rest of the older generation, I think they were crying a little bit and missing their steak. Oh well. It's good for them to live a little!

But now to focus a bit on the main event: the non-traditonal and very unique wedding of C and S. But first, a bit about C...

C is a very old and dear friend. In fact, I have known C since before he was born - he is four years my junior. He is for all purposes "my other brother." Most of the events of my younger life include C. His parents and mine have been best friends since before I was born. Over the years we have spent a lot of time with him and his family. In fact when we were younger, our parents would hire one baby sitter for the three of us while they went out and partied. I have spent more New Year's Eves with my brother and my "other brother" then anyone else (we even met up as adults on New Year's Eve 3 years back in San Fran - although none of us really remember that night). As adults we have taken over the party train from our parents in a way that we think would make their younger selves proud even though it makes their adult selves not so happy with us at times. But like mother like daughter... like father like son... right? The party tradition between our families lives on!

But as younger brothers tend to do... C has grown up into a very handsome, interesting and just kind of really awesome guy (not that he wasn't when he was younger - but who ever thinks their younger brother is all that cool) who met an absolutely beautiful woman. The irony is that C, the youngest brother, got married first! Who would have guessed (well probably anyone who knows my brother and I).

C and I have not been in touch as much as adults (although he does read this blog) but I absolutely consider him to be family and I hope that I will have a chance to hang out with him much more in the future as well as get to know the beautiful and lovely S a bit better.

As you know I'm very fond of lists...

So, here are the best things about C and S's wedding in San Fransisco in list format:

The amazing wedding venue. It was held at the Foreign Cinema  in a very nice and bright room. If you are in San Fran, I highly recommend that you go to dinner there.

C's amazing Paul Frank very slim tuxedo

S's beautiful purple and black Betsey Johnson dress (that's right, she decided to completely forgo the traditional white wedding dress) that looked fabulous on her

The awesome ukulele music played by my brother as the bride and groom walked down the aisle and the looping later on

The great rendition of "Such Great Heights" by my brother and the Maid of Honor - who by the way also looked fabulous!

C's college roommate serving as the justice of the peace and doing an amazing job at telling the story of C and S while interweaving life lessons learned from C and S. My favorite part was when he described C's progressive taste in music as "robots meeting robots."

Both the bride's Father and Mother walked her down the aisle

The bride and groom said their own vows

The parents of the bride and groom were asked if they approved of the marriage (and of course both said 'we do').

The Best Man's speech which for some hilarious yet inappropriate reason managed to include a story about C crossing the Mexican boarder (and I quote) "with a pill of Ecstasy strapped where the sun don't shine." Luckily I think that most of the adults missed the reference (or at least my mother did).

The long poem read and written by the Best Man about Frankenstein-esq Monster (which he said was NOT a metaphor for the relationship of C and S) meeting another Monster and falling in love. A bit of a strange choice... however, I guess at the end of the day, we are all monsters and love is indiscriminate and can make even the most terrible monsters human.

The amazing tapas style food catering to both vegans and meat eaters alike, that was passed around all night -especially the amazing watermelon dish with pine nuts and goat cheese (sounds gross but was soo good - wish I could get the recipe). The funny thing about the food was in the beginning it seemed that everyone was panicked that they wouldn't have enough to eat so some scavengers were literally standing by the door the waiters were coming out of and grabbing as much food as they could. OK, I admit I was kinda one of those people. About an hour into the food serving I asked my parents who were not scavenging food by the door, if they had anything to eat yet and both hadn't! I felt bad and scavenged them some food. However... there was really no need to panic as the food went on being passed all night and I'm pretty sure that by the end of the night everyone had more than their fill. I swear my dad must have eaten 20 plates.

The nightclub Vessel http://www.vesselsf.com/ where we went afterwards where things got even wilder and dancing on the tables ensued. And the best part was that the majority of the wedding (old people included in both the club going and the table dancing) actually joined and we shut down the club! Oh yeah!

The after party in the bride and groom's suite where we continued to dance and overindulge but at the end of the night most passed out in bed with the bride and groom and chatted about the highlights of the night (I told you this was not a traditional wedding).

The only thing that was not fun about the wedding is that I had an 11 am flight with my parents the next day. Mom's wake up call came just one hour after I fell asleep. Ugh. But I survived - and luckily I lived to tell about it.

Congratulations C and S!
Your wedding was fabulous. I had such a great time and it was so good to see you. I'm sad to be missing the East Coast event as I'm sure it will be a good time, but I hope to catch up with you again soon. You are always welcome wherever I am. 
XOXO