First Weekend Back Home

photo courtesy of portfolio.kevinthom.com

So, yeah. I survived my first weekend in the countryside. And it was a long weekend as today is Columbus Day (you know 1492 Columbus sailed the ocean blue...). 

In case you are interested, the weekend was kind of like this:

On Friday night after the car purchasing experience, I stayed home BY MYSELF as my parents ditched me for dinner with friends (see how happy they are that I'm home). So, I ordered  Chinese take-out and watched a documentary on TV (oh man did the millions of channels overwhelm my non-TV watching self) on Hippies that was kind of interesting.

On Saturday I spent time on the phone with the car insurance agency, then ran 4.5 miles and did some core exercises (apparently according to Mr. Personal Trainer, I have a weak core - so I'm trying to improve on this. Damn planks. They kick my ass - or my abs as it may be).

Then I jumped in the shower quickly as I had agreed to meet a high school friend - the boy who shared the locker next to mine for 6 years (poor boy) who I have known since I was 3. Locker Boy had seen that I was moving home on Facebook and had a little too eagerly gotten in touch with me.

He originally suggested that we go hiking in the Berkshires - where he lives now. But as didn't want to drive up to the Berkshires because I hate to drive I had some stuff to do in the morning, I suggested he come down here instead. He then suggested that we go kayaking. It was an absolutely gorgeous crisp autumn day so I agreed.*

As I was rushing to get ready, I realized that this felt kinda like a date. Weird. And while this guy is nice and good-looking-ish and I did have a crush on him for about 5 minutes in the EIGHTH GRADE, these days, he is not really my type. I mean he is the typical, small-town, baggy stonewashed jeans and Red Sox hat wearing, Republican type of American boy.

Speaking of clothes... I realized that once again, as per usual, I had packed like an asshole (it happens every time). I did not have any appropriate country-activity type of clothes with me (remember, I have just 2 suitcases of stuff with me, the rest is on a boat from England). Skinny jeans and high heels did not really seem appropriate for kayaking... Neither did a dress. Besides, what do you wear for kayaking anyway? I have only been kayaking in a bathing suite in the summer. Exasperated with my lack of kayak clothing options and running late (as per usual), I decided to throw on a skirt while fixing my hair and makeup and figure out what to wear later.

Unfortunately Locker Boy arrived before I got around the changing my clothes again. He laughed at my outfit and told me it was not appropriate for kayaking. "Don't you have any jeans?" he asked.


"Ummm... only skinnny jeans."

"Sweat pants?"

"Ummm... no. I will sort something out," I said and left him alone with my parent's dog while I scrambled to assemble an appropriate kayaking outfit.

I finally settled on black khaki-type pants, sneakers, sweater, scarf and jacket. I grabbed the skirt though and a pair of boots and decided to bring them with me.

Locker Boy deemed my outfit appropriate but laughed at me for bringing a skirt with me.

Anyway, we drove up on small country roads taking in the beautiful autumn scenery (seriously, I cannot say this too many times NOTHING BEATS FALL IN NEW ENGLAND) to some small town I had never heard of (we are talking hickville here) and went out kayaking on a big lake. 

photo courtesy of jasonfarnsworth.com



Not to brag or anything, but I do have to admit that I was kind of awesome at kayaking and Locker Boy was struggling to catch up - for real. He had a laugh at this because his father (who the kayak's belonged to) was all worried that I wouldn't be able to kayak at all. Jeez. This family has known me since I was a little kid. They should know how sporty I am!

It was lovely out on the lake - we kayaked from one end to the other taking just over an hour to do so and feeling pretty tired by the end. It was a beautiful day but windy and the water was extremely choppy and we ended up soaking wet! Well let me tell you, I was the one laughing when after getting completely soaked kayaking, I could slip into my skirt and boots and be all nice and dry while Locker Boy had to endure his wet jeans!

We then decided to head to the local pub where they make their own micro-brew (the master brewer graduated with us from high school - see it's that kind of small town that my parents live in). There we had pints - oops... I guess pints are in the British word. I think in America it's drafts?

Anyway, we had some drafts of the local brew. Another thing I LOVE about America: micro-brews! I had yummy American Wheat beer (or 2 or possibly 3) and also a fabulous pumpkin spice beer. Gotta love America and all it's flavour options (if you are American, you know what I mean - and no this does not exist in other countries like it does here - I have never seen pumpkin spice listed as a flavor outside the good old USA). I'm feeling fall festive and so I'm loving pumpkin flavors right now (seems like everything from coffee, to muffins, to beer has this option here).

Locker Boy was interesting to talk to and surprisingly a good conversationalist. Although the interesting part is that we were so different. He was Mr. American and I was Ms International... He was all waxing poetic about why guns are great (Yes Europe, I'm so serious here) and I was all like - "guns are illegal in Europe and therefore the homicide rate is lower." I told him that cops in the London do not even carry guns (thank you Mr. Sexy Policeman for that bit of info) and he found this hard to believe. Although we were both stumped over the question of how to "de-gun" America if it ever came to that (I admit that would be a hard one), leading him to conclude that my visions of a gun-free America are ridiculous and therefore I should suck it up and learn to love guns. If you can't beat 'em, join 'em right? Right? Well maybe that will be my next purchase after the apartment - KIDDING!

He admitted he has conservative views - i.e. he is was against abortion and gay marriage and thinks Obama's an idiot. I actually kept my mouth shut and left him to his right-wing views without trying to argue for once - actually I was shocked silent since I had forgotten that yes, this is America. I realized that I'm kind of ill-equipped to go head-to-head on American politics at the moment. I need a quick brush up on American politics and to figure out where I stand exactly on key issues (it's strange but it was easy to not pick sides on American politics while living abroad, and I'm used to being the conservative one when discussing politics with Europeans).

And of course I talked about my life abroad and my travels. He seemed impressed with all the places that I had been. And of course talking about traveling got me excited and all I wanted to do was get back on a plane and go back abroad. (Sob).

And then we had this conversation which I feel perfectly exemplifies why it's going to be so hard to fit back into American life:


Him: "Like are there any countries you would never go to? I mean, like why would you want to go to Iceland? You wouldn't ever go there right?"

Me: "Well, I was actually there on Wednesday..."

Silence.

Locker Boy: "You are kidding right?"

Me: "Well no, I technically was only at the airport so that doesn't really count. But yes, I was in Iceland on Wednesday for 2 hours, so I'm not lying. But I hear it's a cool place and it is somewhere I really want to go and hang out..."

Silence.

Locker Boy: "Wow. It's kind of hard to talk to you. You have done everything. I have done nothing unless you count going to New Orleans two years ago."

Silence.

So... there it is. My life as an International Woman of Mystery is over. And not only that. Having that experience makes me weird and just plain hard to talk to. Great!

And so the date ended - and admitedly conservative talk aside, I had a really nice time. I went home and hung out with my parents and their dog and their cat and my blog.

On Sunday, I laid out at the pool and willed the autumn sun to give me some color - it did but only a little. Then went for a 6 mile run followed by more exercises. Then my Mom made me my favorite lobster dinner!

On Monday, I spent the morning searching apartment listings in Boston (next task) and doing more move-related emailing (i.e. trying to get my security deposit back from my London apartment, arguing on the phone with British Telecom over my bill - again, trying to figure how to wire my money from my London account to my US account, and hassling with the movers over my customs documents). And then I spent the afternoon at the mall wherea among other things I purchased an IPAD!!!!

As if it wasn't enough that I bought a car this weekend, I had to then rush out and buy and Ipad too (say nothing of a few new clothes to update the back-to-work wardrobe). Let me tell you, the Ipad is soooo cool (except for the fact that you cannot blog on it - you can read blogs, but you can't blog, or at least I can't find the right app - does anyone know of one)?

Is it really bad that I secretly think that my Ipad is cooler than my new car? Although I might change my mind tomorrow when I actually take possession of the car.

So, that was it. My exciting first weekend back in the US. A far cry from my club nights and meeting hot boys in London... And a bit more expensive too.*

*When talking about what "moving home" would be like, my Swedish friends tried to reassure me that my life in the US wouldn't be so different than my life anywhere else. I told them they were crazy. I was all like "Hello? Boston is a small city with a very student oriented night life. The bars close at 1 or 2 am. There is no hot single 30 something scene like there is in Stockholm. There are no nightclubs like there are in London. My life is totally going to change. I'm going to spend my weekends hiking and doing outdoorsy sporty country things."


But Swedish ladies - here's your proof! This International Woman of Mystery has become a Country Girl!

They didn't believe me...

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.

The Sexy Cop

So, there is this guy on Match.com that I had been writing back and forth with for awhile. He seemed to check the boxes: tall, dark, good-looking, "over-educated" (whatever that means), and to top it all off - he is a cop! And well let's face it, that's kind of hot! Right? We had been talking about meeting up for some time, but as usual I kept being a bit reluctant.

The thing is, as I have expressed before, I'm shy! I get super nervous to go out on dates. So, it takes a lot for me to work up to going out with someone. I don't know how some people can do it. It must be more natural or less stressful for them. I have friends who go on multiple dates per week with Internet matches. I can hardly manage multiple dates in a month.

BTW. If you want to meet a girl who totally knows how to rock a dating schedule - check out Date Me DC's fabulous blog. Her blog is what mine aspired to be before I realized that I neither had the time nor the energy and was too inclined to an overload of pre-date stress to date that much. But she does truly inspire me (and she writes a hell of a blog - so check her out)!

Unfortunately to add to my dating stress, going on a date inevitably involves taking the dreaded subway (or the Tube as they call it here). I think I honestly have a mild disorder. I'm actually sadly serious here. My friends might tell you that I don't take the subway because I think I'm too posh, but actually, it unfortunately goes much deeper than that.

I have never met anyone who dreads the subway more than me. The big factor is that I need space and I need control over my space. I can't stand being enclosed in small  areas with lots of pushing strangers (although oddly nightclubs and bars even when crowded are usually ok - Thank God). I do not like strange people touching me - even by accident. So, being way deep underground on the hot crowded subway with massive amounts of people packed into small fast moving cars with no escape from people rubbing up against me, well this folks is a nightmare for me. I actually have to count in my head the whole time I'm on the subway and mentally calm myself down.*

But really the fastest (and cheapest) way to Central London is to take the Tube and also I admit it does seem kind of snobby and overly posh to tell a guy you are meeting for the first time that you are arriving by taxi to meet him at the subway stop.

So, for this sexy cop, I braved the subway. Luckily it was not rush hour (like the last time I took the Tube and had a small panic attack and vowed to never take it again). So, it wasn't too crowded. I decided to stand as it was just 6 stops. The other reason I do not like the subway is that it gives weird people an opportunity to talk to you. Of course there was a guy standing across from me staring at me who eventually came over and told me that I was "absolutely stunning." Umm... Thank you kind stranger for totally being totally creepy (I moved away from him fast) but also for kind of boosting my confidence before a date. I mean, what woman doesn't want to be told they are "stunning." A compliment is a compliment even if coming from a weird looking track-suit wearing guy of indistinguishable age on the subway.

The Sexy Cop is standing there waiting for me when I exit the Tube station. I always find it so awkward to greet these "blind" dates! And trying to make small talk as you are walking to the "date place" is always a bit painful. To make matters worse, I'm wearing super high heels and we are walking on cobble stones and I'm teetering around and not doing a great job at keeping up the small talk because I'm trying not to fall on my ass!
We eventually make it to a wine bar. As we enter he asks me "You do drink, right?" And he looks relieved when I say "yes." But inside my head I'm actually screaming. "Yes please! Give me a drink now!! I just took the subway and walked over cobblestones in high heels. And I'm nervous to meet you! Yes, I want a damn drink."

Luckily, the drinks come quickly and we settle into a table and being the "first date conversation." But unlike with my last Match date, this one seems to go pretty smoothly. There is no awkwardness or hesitation. He kept up his end of the conversation extremely well. I was really interested to hear about the life of a British Police Officer.

But get this. This guy is no ordinary Cop. His self proclaimed "over education" that he mentioned on his profile... well how about a full on PhD IN ASTROPHYSICS no less! But he said that Academia bored him and working for NASA just didn't really get him going. So, he decided to trade it all in for the life of a London Police Officer.

And now he chases gang members in the bad "hoods" of London. Literally - on foot. He described endless foot chases to me. Do you know that in London, the cops don't even have guns? So, he basically chases gangsters with his baton. Crazy. But he seemed to love his job and it made for interesting conversation.

Anyway, we stayed for three drinks (I was a bit tipsy toward the end of the night) and we there were no awkward pauses or hesitations. All in all, it was a good to great date! Although, I'm not sure we really had any chemistry. And I definitely don't think we have a future. - his face kind of fell when I told him I was not staying in London much longer and he sent me a text message later that basically said: "Was nice to meet you. Good luck with your move." So, it doesn't seem like a second date is in the plans. But I was glad that I went on this date.

*You will be happy to know that I try not to let my subway phobia too drastically affect my life. I just need to live in walking distance of my work (been fine for the past 6 years) or driving distance as you do in the US. I will also tell you that I have been on some of the most crowded subways in the world including Moscow and Shanghai where there is literally someone whose job it is to "push" people in and pack them into the subway... So, I'm not totally dysfunctional. It's just better for me and everyone around me that I try to limit my subway use. And let's face it, I can afford the occasional taxi. So, it's so not a big deal.

An American Affair in London

A Monday night in London. Two hot single Americans meet up in an apartment in Chelsea. After doing the required round of casual catching up, what else is there to do in London, but go to the Pub? So, off to the Pub we go. But unfortunately we only have time for one pint before we are kicked out. For some absurd reason Pubs close at 11 pm here - even on the weekends. So, said Pub sends us over to strange "smelly" (they did warn us) dive bar/lounge across the road. They were right, the place smelled bad and at 20 pounds for 2 drinks, it wasn't even cheap! I mean if you are in a dive bar/lounge, at least the very least the drinks should be cheap! After one drink and several funny pictures later, we decide that the only good thing about the overpriced and smelly place was the company (meaning us) and the conversation so we decided to head back to my apartment and continue to drink there.

As I've decided this blog is rated PG 13 (I accidentally told my parents about it), the rest of the night is censored, but you get the picture - cuz you're smart like that. But let's just say the boy still looked fabulous without a shirt on!

After approximately 2 hours and 25 minutes of sleep, needless to say, the next day at work was not fun. I found myself unable to finish any sentences because I kept loosing the point of what I was saying and forgetting to listen when other people spoke. It's amazing what sleep deprivation can do to you (and I am not even a person who generally needs a lot of sleep). I actually managed to speak on the phone to the manager of my Russian team for about an hour and hang up with literally no memory of the entire conversation. However, because I am kind of awesome at my job, I have perfected a very good auto-response mode. I can make really good sounds as if I'm actually listening to people while paying absolutely no attention at all. I think I'm pretty good at this - at least no one has really called me out on it yet. I also have a really good radar that enables me to tune back in for really the important parts. The problem is that by the time I realize that they are actually talking about something important, it's a bit late and I have to ask them to repeat themselves. But this is usually taken care of easily by a simple: "I'm sorry. The connection is bad and I missed that last part, can you repeat it? (Thanks to Skype and poor international mobile phone connections - this is usually pretty believable)

Anyway, continuing with my newly found rock star lifestyle, the Hot American Boy and I decide to take on the London nightlife on a Tuesday night. What do you know? There is quite a lot of nightlife to be found in London on a Tuesday night! After an amazing dinner of Indian food with the best Chicken Tikka Masala I have ever had, we went to Boujis a nightclub rumored to be a fun place during the week. Let's just say Boujis lived up to its reputation. To quote the Hot American "A Tuesday night in London is way better than any Saturday night in Boston." The place was great. The music was ok (he is a DJ so we did spend a lot of time critiquing the music and talking about how he could totally do it better). He liked to dance. I liked to dance. And we had great fun dancing and drinking together.

But the best part of the night was definitely the extreme mopping. Suddenly not one but two men wielding mops appeared on the dance floor. It seemed that their instruction was make sure to keep mopping all the time for as many hours as the club was open. HILARIOUS! I have never seen anything like it. We speculated a lot about what the reason could be behind the extreme mopping... We convinced ourselves that there must have been a major incident - possibly even a death - that caused the need for this particular club to pay TWO men to mop all night and physically move unsuspecting dancers and drinkers out of their way so they could make absolutely sure they kept the floor absolutely slip-free. The mop men took their jobs very seriously. They had their eyes to the floor the whole night circling the club - at times shining flashlights to make sure there weren't any puddles lurking about in the shadows. We were a witness to one serious crash as a drink fell and smashed all over the floor sending dangerously spraying liquid all over the floor where drunken dancers might accidentally fall victims. But we were very relived to see that the mop men had it covered. They seemed to have a special radar because in 2.5 seconds of the glass crashing, both mop men were there, running from across the room to clear the glass and liquid ensuring a safe environment for the drunken dancers.

But even rock stars need their sleep, and after another late night we finally headed home. I had decided to take the next day off from work so thankfully we got to sleep in. Miraculously we woke without hangovers and decided to go for a run in the park. I am a really good runner and I work out a lot. Usually when others work out with me they tend to regret it for the next few days as I make them do interval running, push ups, lunges, squats, step-ups for a minimum of one hour. I also have a competitive spirit that borders on unhealthy. So, of course I felt the need to tell the Hot American Boy it was ok if he felt he couldn't keep up with me... BAD IDEA. Note to self, when a guy has a six-pack, do not challenge them to a running competition. I was trying to make out like the tough girl that I pretend I am, but secretly I wanted to die the entire run - I couldn't breath! We ran way faster then I'm used to and did lots of push ups and burpys (not sure of the spelling here buyt it involves throwing yourself on the ground then jumping straight up in the air over and over again). He even did lunges better than me! When we finally got back to the house, I claimed "first shower" and hid myself immediately in the bathroom where I laid on the floor for the next 10 minutes trying not to throw up.

The rest of the day was spent in a more relaxed and less competitive manner with a trip to the V&A Museum where we saw an amazing Digital Design Exhibit, followed by afternoon tea (how British) and then a trip to Harrod's. I really hate shopping but for some reasons Harrod's is one of my favorite places in the world! It feels more like a Museum than a department store and I find it amazing how may luxury, unique and random things you can manage to stumble upon. Then back to my apartment where we opted for a night in with take-out and movies and cuddles on the coach. I admit... I was starting to really fall for this guy.

One interesting dynamic between me and the The Hot American boy is that we are both from the same place. We went to the same school, had the same teachers, knew the same people, had similar childhood experiences and reference points. I have lived abroad for so long now, that I forget what it's like to connect with someone just because we are from the same place. In my office of 150 people, we have 32 different nationalities, I spend my days explaining myself, trying to understand others, trying to relate to other cultures and looking for common ground. I had forgotten how powerful a connection of "hometown" can be.

But more important than the hometown connection, we seemed to be able to connect in the present as well. To be honest, I had kind of thought of his as just another pretty boy... I didn't expect much from him intelligence-wise or compatibility-wise. I apologize in advance for whoever I'm about to offend with this next part - it is most likely (as you will see has been proven) that my prejudices and stereotypes are part of my own ignorance and not the other way around... The thing is, this boy is from Western Mass. He is AMERICAN (I haven't dated an American since I left America 8 years ago). I expected him to be like the stereotype I have of an American boy from Western Mass (I won't go into details here). I also kind of expected him to be stupid or at least not that intelligent (because he's hot, not because he's American). But the Hot American Boy totally proved me wrong impressed me with his worldly knowledge and experience (he has traveled to quite a few places). In addition to having an impressive job and being seemingly a reliable and honest person, he is completely open-minded, moderately well-read, and open to new people and adventures, and curious about the world. He loves to travel and seemed envious of all the travel I had done and didn't seem to mind listening to my stories. Our common interest in traveling and general curiousness about the world even had me in a brief delusional moment vividly fantasizing about backpacking through South East Asia with him (something we both want to do)...

In addition to his general hotness, the fact that he looks fabulous without a shirt on, that we had tons of fun together, that we had great conversations, everything with him just felt so easy. We just got along. We never ran out of things to talk about, but were able to exist in silence without it being awkward. There was no arguing, no complications, no hidden agendas, no manipulations, no stress - just fun! He even gave me compliments on how I looked "your hair looks amazing" and on my clothes! If all that wasn't enough, the deal sealer was the boy even helped clean up around the house! Seriously. He won major points for making the bed (I can't stand an unmade bed) and doing the dishes and when he noticed that the table we had been eating on was messy, he even found the Windex and wiped it down! I love a man who knows how to clean - especially when he doesn't have to be asked (or nagged). What can be more sexy than that?

If the days we had spent together could be considered a first date, it was one of the best first dates ever! It almost restored my faith in men. It was admittedly the most fun I've had with a man since my Ex - the Beautiful Swede - he was maybe even better than the Beautiful Swede. My time with him was at least definitely way better then when the Swedish Adventurer came to visit. Rather than counting the hours until he would leave, I was wishing that time would stop and we could keep hanging out. But all good things must come to an end. And sadly, no further relationship was discussed and no feelings were revealed - I am not one for sappy relationship conversations and in fact, I try to avoid them at all costs. What would be the point anyway? He lives in Boston. I live in London. And also, I have to admit there was still a little bit of awkwardness surrounding the fact that I was essentially still "just his friend's sister." So, when he shut the door to go and catch his plane, I turned back to my empty apartment to face the harsh reality that my fun fling with the Hot American was over. I hate to admit it, but I felt really sad when he left and I kind of miss him...

I guess it's back to good old Match.com for me.