As yet Unfinished

Nico and I are standing on the platform of a Berlin train station paralyzed by the overhead speaker barking German with frenzied authority, "and we're boarding a train to Poland" I say. 

The train was in fact heading for Frankfurt, the lesser known village of Frankfurt that borders Poland.  From there we crossed the border on foot.  "Germany marches into Poland again" says Alex in his clipped German brogue twinged with a gay panache that saves his comment from poor taste.   How strange that what I saw of Poland should remind me so much of Williamsburg, Brooklyn. No 90 pound musicians or baseball capped graduates high on the enthusiasm of living in New York but rather those teenage prostitutes in the making wearing colourful squares of mesh and a sequin.  The older folk were thick featured and shuffled about in all manner of sandals and brown toe nails.  Women came with hair in the three colours, black, peroxide blonde and burgundy, all smoking as though it earned them money.

After an evening of laying in a field recovering from our previous nights revelry, Nico, Alex and I decide to spend our remaining Polish currency on ice cream sundaes that we ate while observing a family sat across from our table.

It was the little girl that caught our attention for at the age of 4 she wore the lined face of a middle aged woman.  We stared at this poor child in disbelief spoon feeding ourselves with mechanical regularity.  The girls family, of which there were several members, sat chain smoking beneath a cloud of smoke that hovered above while the old faced girl ran round and around the table.  Nico declared this to be a "horrible tableau" and we vowed to never smoke again, or at least cut back.

In Berlin I had tried to contact Dirk, a friend of a friends I had met last New Years eve in New York, but after several failed attempts for us to get in contact I turned my attention to Yoni, aka "The Party" an old acquaintance from the Williamsburg party days labeled as such for his prowess on the scene.  If he was there, it was a party, but he was never there for long for there were always more spots for him to get to.  If he came back to finish his night at your venue, that meant it was the best.   The Party only chose the best.

The Party answered on the first ring and even knew it was me.  He said he'd be meeting a few friends for Tapas in the neighbourhood and that Nico and I should join them.  Five hours, four large wines, a schnaps, a shot of vodka and thirty cigarettes later we are at Nilgun's place playing the card game Asshole.  Bettie who works for a fashion magazine, Nina who's head of marketing for Addidas and her boyfriend Matheus who is rolling us a fattie are all sat around the table.  The Party is ever slouched  by the corner balancing his hand of cards, a constant text and his cigarette habit.

"Two bitches" he says slapping down a pair of queens.

We played for 3 hours and all the while serenaded by The Whitest Boy Alive, the band Nilgun's husband plays bass in.  Nico buys the band's t-shirt and we both buy CDs while the drunken group dismantles.  

 "Get your stuff," says The Party, "We're going out."

"Parcour!"

Otherwise known as free running, most of you will now be aware of this urban pastime brought to us by The French (its how they get around Paris to buy bread and cheese).   Madonna tried to ride that wave of street in yet another tragic attempt to be down with the kids (and warrant an excuse to sport a leotard and knee pads.)

My friend Clay told me about this spectacular parcur fail executed on a night out in Brooklyn.  Clay witnessed the attempt, fueled by a sense of alcohol and coke drenched super-power,  of this guy jumping from the top of a building onto the hood of a parked car in the street below.   He promptly broke his leg upon impact and was carted off in an ambulance in a fit of roaring pain and shame just as soon as everyone stopped laughing long enough to summon the medics.  "We just couldn't get over the fact he had yelled the word "parcour!" on his way down" said Clay.

I've invented a lower impact, safer form of parcour which involves jumping over say, a fallen paperclip.   But the trick is to shout "parcour!" whilst performing the act, lest anyone doubt your level of commitment.  

Urban.  

This has caught on with a few individuals in the office who will triumphantly sound the cry while getting out of their seat, or tap the edge of an office wall with their pointed foot as they walk by.

We salute you our fallen urbanite, your antics were not in vain.

Peace.

your fan,

a.

Cintra for President

Worship, fools.  

Cintra Wilson I can safely say is one of my fave authors penning such classics as "A Massive Swelling:  Celebrity Re-Examined as a Grotesque, Crippling Disease" which devotes, amongst many others, an entire chapter to my nemesis, Celine Dione (please die) starting the chapter with the words "all those terrible bones under the angora".

I know, right?

I'm reading her latest right now, "Caligula for President, Better American Living through Tyranny" with a "plot" that essentially provides a vehicle for socio-political commentary spanning from ancient Rome to Bush spawn in waiting. Plenty of Lindsay Lohan and Britney references thrown in, natch, since they are more noteworthy than politics and certainly attract more media attention.  

Her description of Ryan Seacrest and his "startling inability to ever look sincere about anything" should be etched into stone, dipped in gold and flavored with saffron.  

The entire book is one run on sentence and at times my attention shifts to the guy in the tube who's breathing too loudly, but mostly I am engrossed and occasionally do that annoying little burst of involuntary laughter, that "bet you wish you were reading what I'm reading" guffaw that usually grants my book cover with a second glance.

Thanks for helping my January, Cintra.

your fan,

a.

My place in the line

Getting a head start on Christmas shopping over the weekend. Waiting in line at HMV scannning the criminal inventory I hold for purchase.

One Susan Boyle CD (for mother), one Michael Buble CD (mother again), I book - Eclipse, 3rd in Twilight series (guilty).

And I was wearing Ugg boots. Why don't I just tattoo a Starbucks logo on my arm?

Your statistic,

a.

p.s team Jacob all the way!

Dying to be Thin

God damn its been a while.  

So long, I had to change my username and password in order to access my blog after failing to log in a number of times.  But enough about my great lapse, and onto pro-anorexia, a world for which I have recently developed a small obsession.

It all started when I came across a documentary Fearn Cotton had done on pro ana websites. For those not familiar with the work of Fearn, she is a young female British radio DJ and presenter who lives up to her name delivering news and banter with all the intelligence and charm of a plant and/or plant product. 

"I just can't believe, like, that girls are actually starving themselves in order to be thin" she states, getting to grips with the whole concept.

But a fascinating subject nonetheless, not to sound completely clinical, but I find fascinating the world of obsession for I can understand how easily it takes a hold and warps the shit out of everything.  And this particular affliction is the mother of them all, affecting so many women,  killing a staggering amount.   All from a compulsion that obtaining a goal weight will fix all the ills.  And it never does, so the compulsion spirals out of control until there's nothing left to lose but life itself. 

And I totally get how it could take hold for I  myself am prone to a wee compulsion now and then, nothing drastic - little bouts of cleaning when I get stressed, certainly nothing that prohibits consumption.

This new found obsession led me online where I became a frequent visitor of a pro anawebsite and specifically, the guestbook where all the girls chat.  I became fascinated by their stories, as they detailed the limited food items they had ingested for the day in pitiful detail, share tips on how to pretend they ate so their families don't get suspicious and the like.

Night after night as I climbed into bed, I'd check on their "progress" and as I grew to know the girls, where they lived, what boys they liked, what their stats were and their goal weights,  the anthropological stance from which I launched this venture shifted.  I became concerned for their safety, increasingly so and would be relieved when they returned the following night.

Especially one or two of them.  Especially the one called Perfect Disaster who if we are to believe her stats is 5'10 and 105 pounds.  That's 7.5 stone my British friends.  She's the one who cuts just for good measure.  She's the one they all look up to. 

Then there's Patty who throws up 30 times a day, who throws up blood and the other girls tell her to stop but she can't and I wish I could drive her to a recovery center and sit by her side as she mends.  But clearly that will never happen.  

I don't even drive.

I contemplated logging on myself in an attempt to infultrate, befriend and eventually, guide the ones I could away from the sites.  But conscience took over, I clearly wouldn't know what I was doing and these girls are fragile, fragile things, trying through their weight to control the pain of life they can't escape.

So I logged off and left them to it. 

...plus I started really noticing the amount of food I was eating and lets not even get near that slippery slope.

Once in a while, you'd find an entry from a girl who wanted "tips on how to lose 10 pounds really quickly".  For the most part these would go unanswered, especially if it was a model claiming she had pounds to lose before a photo shoot in a few days.  Probably not sort of thing a miserable girl in Idaho wants to hear.

"Dying to be Thin" by the way is this terrible made for TV movie about a girl training to be a ballet dancer who ditches food when her dance instructor makes one too many fat comments. As with all made for TV movies, it was completely awful so I watched it all the way to the end.

Thus ends my first entry in almost 2 years.  not a cracking start, but a start all the same. 

I promised a friend I would try.

your fan,

a.

Back with Another of those Block Rocking Blog Entries

Its been a while, I know all two of you have been wondering where I've been all this time, well let me tell you, it takes a while to get used to the whole new job / new apartment / new country / new life dealio but I'm handling it like a fucking pro, its like I've always lived in England though to be fair, I did sort of spend 15 years growing up here, but lets not split hairs.


I'm enjoying my new job a lot and thats pretty much all I've got to say about it, and I'm enjoying the new man in my life who understands fully that the way to my heart is bacon sandwiches and shark movies.

Which leads me neatly onto this knowledge bomb:

Simply put, Shark Attack 3.



Don't even bother with Shark Attack 1 or 2 (we fast forwarded the "plot" until it got to good shark bits) its all about no. 3. This movie, made in 2002 which is unbelievable (I thought 1985 max) has a budget of about 50 bucks and the main starlets lips appear inflated / deflated from scene to scene. If thats not awesome enough, the shark is a megaladon which simply put means its about the size of NY state and swallows entire ships whole making Jaws look like cranky plankton.

More awesomely, all the killer sharks in the movie make groaning noises when they swim about because thats just how evil they are, the literally go "grrrrrr" and it never ever gets old. The shots are cleverly intercut with national geographic footage of real sharks but only a film major like me could spot the subtle differences like the fact that the real sharks are swimming in tropical waters in the daytime one minute and choppy waters at night the next.

Obviously, the movie is all about the attacks and while I don't want to ruin it for you or anything, I think you should have a little taster to......whet your appetite?

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Thats not even the best bit. Cuz the best bit is the dialogue, and its not just B movie dialogue (that necessary noise bridging one shark attack to the next), no no....Shark Attack 3 is home to the best single line of dialogue ever written..nay, improvised, ever. You can youtube the clip if you must, its under shark attack 3 with a header of something like "THE LINE".

I was warned that the reel of watery genius that is Shark Attack 3 is home to the best line of dialogue in movie history. I kept thinking I had heard it but I was calmly reassured that just like my first ever orgasm, I would know when it happened.

There's really not much more I can say about Shark Attack 3 except that you should all buy it as I have, even if part 1 and 2 come with, it should only set you back a couple of dollars/quid and in some stores, you might actually be paid for its removal.

More movie gold coming soon cuz now I've got a partner in crime who doesn't think its weird to watch werewolf movies upon awakening on a sunny spring day.

your fan,

a.

Take a Worm for a Walk Week

Possibly one of the best lines in Karate Kid I? Its definitely debatable.

I've been watching parts 1-3 this week, and it occurred to me that I have never seen Karate Kid 3, like ever! I somehow went straight to part 4 with Hilary's Wank (that was for you, Ric) which shouldn't even be a part of the compilation, no Miagi..no Ralph..no Cobra Cai..no worth.

I haven't finished 3 yet but damn is it good so far, Ralph's trousers are pleasantly high waisted and he never keeps still, like he's eternally coiled in fight preparation, (now that he's a champion and all)..but its weird, he's constantly jumping around and shifting his weight from foot to foot which leads me to believe that he's got mad junky itch. Controversial.

Then there's also the fact that Machio is pushing 40 in part 3 and I was made aware today by a most reputable source that the pony tailed gold chained slick villain was actually younger than Ralph for realsies.

The villain is perfect, he soaks in a bath half the movie talking on a ridiculously large 80's mobile, sipping crystal, smoking Cubans in between bouts of evil laughter. When he's not soaking it up, he's wearing pin stripped suits or non spiritually training in karate and when he's undercover as a good guy, he tucks his jumper into snug fitting jeans. I'm a fan.

The female interest in part 3 has better chat than Elisabeth Shue in part I and that Japanese (was she even Japanese?) chick in part deux..though she sure knew her way around a fan. I love the way the beginning of each movie recaps the last and the first line of the film is always about why the love interest from the last film is no longer around, why his mother is no longer around, and why Miagi and Ralph get to hang out with each other all summer..yet again (gay).

So as I google imaged karate Kid 3 in search of baddie visuals, I came across this chunk of gold:



Its from a website called "stupidcollege.com". This guy is my fucking hero. Crotch rip? Check! Three feet of air? Check! Bigger tits than me? Check!

So I've started my own karate career here in London..am I the only non Indian female? You bet. I'm training for my black belt..but damn am I out of shape and pretty much forgot everything I've learned so far. So basically, I'm a 3rd degree brown belt thoroughly qualified to shit myself if I get attacked.

Your fan,

a.

Dudes My Mum Fancies

Here's the latest list in no particular order of importance(it changes, I may have to make this a regular feature).



This year's X-Factor winner (for you Americans, its like American Idol but there is no age ban, of course Leon here is but 18.)
Leon was this year's underdog up against classically trained Welsh Rydhian who my mother thought looked like a Nazi. Leon is Scottish complete with thick cut brogue and sad single mum sob story. He's got a velvety Sinatra like voice and is about 5ft 2. My mother says:

"He's like a little toy. I want to dress him and then make him sing."



Have I got New For You's Paul Merton has been a favorite for a while.
Mad respeck moms for diggin' the smart funny dude with the double chin. Merton's clever quips and lightening retorts send my mother into a hand clapping frenzy.
My mother says:
"I want to go to dinner with him and then maybe have a cuddle."




Last but not least is hipster comedian and ex heroine sex addict Russel Brand. My mother was won over by his performance at the Royal Variety Show and his blatant piss taking of the Queen who was sitting up in the balcony with Phillip and her tiara.

My mother says:
"He's so cheecky. And he has beautiful beautiful features, a perfect mouth, nose and mouth...but I think he's gay." (Americans, this is funny because he's not.)

That's it for now.

Happy Holidays!

Your fan,

a.

No Comment Necessary

Foolish Sucka

I watched this movie on my flight back from NY - its basically the New Zealand version of Napoleon Dynomite starring my new favorite person Jermaine Clement of Flight of the Conchords fame. I fancy him for the same reasons I fancied Jack Black.

And any of you who know Jen, Rain's roommate...this girl is the spitting image, or perhaps her which is why Rain never sees Jen...because she's shooting indie flics in New Zealand.



Not super happy to be back in England after NYC but as Ric pointed out, at least I'm closer to Chabal.

your fan,
a.

My Hairy Rambo

My fascination with Sebastien Chabal has officially turned to attraction and I am horrified, HORRIFIED, to learn that I am but one of many. Not only that, he's married with two daughters and most disturbing of all, he's younger than me. He's younger than me!! Does this look like the face of a man 3 years my junior?



No. It doesn't.

So Sebastien is from the south of France (my spiritual home) and I would like to sit on his massive man lap and feed him raw meat while petting his stringy wet hair. Weird? Perhaps.

And,

I love him.

So apparently he was voted the sexiest man of the rugby world cup, his lady fans call themselves Les Chabalistes and have made him the poster child for “the antithesis of metrosexuality”.

It seems we ladies are torn. One day we want sensitive acoustic guitar playing chappies to make love to us and the next we want a Gallic 6ft 3, 117 kilo Hagrid look-alike to throw us over his shoulder and take us back to his cave for the heaviest of all petting. I read that last one straight from my wish book.

My English friend Francis (an acoustic guitar playing sensitive chappie)was delighted by France's defeat adding "Sebastien Chabal clearly didn't eat enough babies that day."

My friend Thanos (not English) said "I second the Sebastien Chabal comment (refering to what Francis wrote on my Facebook wall), I would love to kick him in the back and run like there's no tomorrow."

For men, Sebastien represents the drooling monster from childhood. The one who loiters in your closet or under your bed, waits for you to fall asleep, eats you and then dates your girlfriend.

For me, Sebastien embodies all that is male and the fact that he is French (the superhero of girlfriend snatchers) makes it all the more pungent. He's a double threat - like Whitney Houston's singing and acting career, sans the crack.

Or maybe its just that guys take one look at him and see one big ugly hairy motherfucker. I won't rule it out.

As for my own personal attraction, I'm not quite sure. Initially, I thought he was pushing 40 and reverred him for his resiliance and high calcium consumption. Once that myth was shattered, I noticed him for his refusal to tie up that long stringy hair, despite the fact that it could so easily get ripped out or split ended. Then I noticed his thighs. Then I saw him smile and it was all over.

There's also the fact that he kind of looks like an ugly, shorter, cro-magnon version of the volleyball player who by the way sent me a long long email recently written in such poor run on sentance structure, I had to read it ten times to make sure I dislike him. I miss him though.

Sebastien lives in Cheshire with his two young daughters and his wife Annick (which by the way means "I fuck" in Arabic). Maybe I shall buy a train ticket to wherever Cheshire is and start roaming the countryside where I am sure to spot him running naked in search of squirrel meat.

Or maybe I'll just head into London and watch the rugby final with my sister and friends and pretend to give a shit when England lose.

your fan,

a.

Dinner with Friends

I'm back from France. I won't whine anymore about the volleyball player, suffice to say that he tried to contact me a whopping two times.

Anyway, going back to France was a really good idea. Shame Jerry Hall wasn't there, celebrity sympathy would have been a definate tonic. Instead I made do with the company of my regular old friends who work the summer season en France.

Since September and October is quiet on the French Riviera (populated by 20 English and Swiss German people, average age: 75) we got to spend a lot of time together. Mostly I wrote a lot and slept and walked and smoked cigarettes and watched movies. The opposite of my summer, except for the cigarettes.

Before leaving I invited my local friends to dinner chez moi. The adonis came. Remember the adonis? He's the one who looks like The David but with proportional hand size. He's the one who looks like he could turn a tree into a canoe by smiling at it. Then he would push it out into the water and go read Hemingway. He came to my dinner party all gussied up clutching a bottle of champagne looking like the cover of a romance novel if it was called "First Date." Nothing happened nor did I want it to, I'm having a man break and am still in mourning to a certain degree. That and the fact that if my libido was a food it would be a frozen pea.

This guy wanted to get it on wid me.
He loitered at the end of the dinner party and asked if I wanted him to stay the night.
"Why? Are you going to puke?" I asked him playing dumb and hoping the word "puke" would kill the mood.
"No, no I'm fine," he replied so I gave him a "then what the fuck are you talking about" face, but a nice one and he left without fuss.
There were herbal refreshments brought to my dinner party so naturally when the guests left, I finished them off and then cleaned like a true obsessive compulsive, its my favorite thing to do when marinated, that and watching reality TV with Clay.

Its the first time I've invited kids to play at my place in France. I was super excited. Sitting around the dinner table chatting and chewing, I came to realize that I have absolutely nothing in common with these people. At one point they had a twenty minute conversation about the dangers of ham slicing. Then this chick told me how if she hits an animal on the road, she takes it home and cooks it for dinner. Not like a dog or cat but pretty much everything else. I thought she was kidding so I laughed.

An ex boyfriend of mine once said "whenever I have people come over I want them to leave eaxctly 20 minutes after they arrive," (Nader) and this time I totally agreed. With the exception of the adonis of course, whose company is just delightful.

I had a wonderful time in France, waking up to a sea view and mountains is beyond description, then watching Top Chef on my laptop while eating breakfast, well...thats pretty special too. I didn't want to leave.

Am in England now, the weather hasn't been too bad but I just get depressed when I'm here, mainly because I'm living at my mother's and super swell as she is, its not the same as being alone en France. I'm temping today, at that same company with that woman who looks like Andew Lloyd Webber, remember her?

In one week today I'll be en route to NYC to see my beloveds.

And I don't mean to sound ungrateful about my French peeps, lets just say that maybe I wouldn't have been as content as I thought about raising 8 foot babies with the athlete in this small southern French town.

your fan,

a.

Efraristo,Thank you, Merci

This goes out to all my peeps in London, Brighton, Greece, New York, Belgium, Connecticut, Switzerland, France and LA that have been my rock during this difficult time . Mad respeck to y'all, I'd be 2 meds away from shaving my head if it wasn't for you.

Right now he's trying to get a hold of me to "explain" but my phone is switched off and I'm not responding to his email, just gonna disappear into the night like the international woman of mystery that I am.

Next stop southern France for 2 weeks on my own.

Peace out Greece!

a.

Check Out My Horoscope for Today

Alexia,
Love, relationships, beauty, and pleasure are emphasized now. You feel especially attractive or friendly, and the warmth you radiate is noticed and appreciated. A new romance or friendship may ensue. Artistic efforts are also fruitful.


SWEET!!

The Skinny

Ok, so I removed the picture of me and Bertrand with the dates we were going out and the RIP - it was a touch melodramatic even for me, but I still think its important to share that I once found a Kenny G CD in his car and it was in a Johnny Halliday CD case. Johnny Halliday is my French version of Celine Dione which I tried to explain to Bertrand and he was like "you don't like Celine Dione?"

I never said he was perfect, but I liked him anyway.

The last two weeks I have made excuses for the fact that I was hearing from him less and less. That he was tired from playing with balls and other men, that he was getting to know a foreign city and his fellow ball handlers.

So it was mostly me calling and if he picked up he sounded distracted and eager to get off the phone. As opposed to the week before that when he would call me through out the day to tell me how much I was missed, to share his day or yes, just to hear the sound of my voice. Ok, so I made the last one up but I don't care anymore, I'm like a Sex Pistol.

So then I get a text from him saying "it would be better for me if you called and texted on my French mobile only", and his French mobile was always switched off. So I called and texted on his Italien mobile to let him know and resume contact. But he never picked up when I called.

Last week I sent him a text asking if anything was wrong, I never heard back. So then I call him and he doesn't pick up. So then I become Glenn Close and resist the constant urge to call him on the hour.

Eventually, realizing that I wan't going away he picked up and got me off the phone in about 10 seconds flat. He said he would call me the next day and explain why he had "disappeared". He was so obviously not alone when I called.

So I waited for his call the next night like a coiled spring and jumped 3 metres in the air every time the phone rang. And guess what? He never called.

My dad was like "whatever you do, don't call him!" and of course I wait til my dad goes to bed (i.e watches movies in bed until 3am) and call him. And he doesn't pick up.

At this point I feel like I've eaten a shit sandwhich that I can't throw up. I sleep like half a minute and the next day try calling him again. Both mobiles are switched off. Doesn't he know who I am? Didn't get get the memo?

Later that day I get a text from him saying "sorry I've disappeared, i need some time to get my head together, I'm confused and in times like these i need to be alone. I need some more time and then I will call you. If I make you wait its because I like you and want to make sure that I make the right decision about what I want."

Isn't that hot? so right now I'm supposed to be waiting to see what he wants. If he wants me. As if! Naturally, I have switched my cell off forever.

Its obvious to me that he has met up with his ex who lives in Italy..I'll spare you the details but even though he promised I wasn't a rebound relationship because he could see himself with me forever, I'm 98.7% sure that he's spending time with her and therefore doesn't know about me anymore. So he strings me along until he decides what he wants. Awesome.

So I wrote the core friends an email because I felt like such a dildo for sending emails professing love and attaching pictures of shiny really tall happy people holding hands. The responses I have gotten have kick started the healing process.

Here are some of the highlights for you:

Ric: (Talking about Bertrand's inevitable suicide by volleyball): "Some kind of ritual death by spiking where his team mates take turns to repeatedly slam the ball into his face until the court resembles the beginning of saving private ryan. Something like that. (Tom Hanks cameo optional...)"

Andy: "The girls in my office, who know your story from the last email, are devastated... will you let me be your man? I can sing that Wham song to you..."

Christine: "God I hate the French!"

Rain: "BALLSACKS!"

Kristina: "But just think, this way you avoid freakishly tall kids, so it's really the best for all parties."

Jerry: "I wish I was there with you, a bottle of booze and a fist of meds to stroke your freshly ironed hair."

Rachel: "Did you send him that email? i hope he cries over his computer and it gets water damage, I hate volleyball."

I was going to send him this email I wrote that would make him cry. I've read and revised it so many times by now that I honestly couldn't tell if it was just the word tomato 400 times. I realized that the email I wrote to send him was really just for me to get everything off my chest. My sister "suggested" I not send him anything at all. My father agrees adding that this will make him feel "unsettled and uncomfortable." I like that.

So I won't send anything. I've switched off my phone. And I've changed my flight from Verona to the south of France.

Bertrand isn't a bad guy, he's just not terribly mature at 25 as I thought he was. He told me that his ex girlfriend was so jealous he couldn't talk to other women. "Its so nice being with you" he would tell me, "I never realized how easy a relationship could be."

I guess that makes him a loser.




your fan,

a.

Skinny Small Greek Wedding

I tried to get in as many professional pictures as possible, lets see if I make it in the Vogue spread.

The wedding was super fun, very low key and chill. Excellent music all night (not a Greek song at all) dancing at a tennis club spitting distance from the acropolis (ok, you'd have to be a mutant spitter), open air dance floor littered with b list Greek celebrities and fashionistas. And the guy that dropped me and Thanos home is an indie rock singer who's had a few number one hits in Greece and apparently sells out stadiums in minutes. I like him because he drove me home and I was a little drunkola.

Here are some highlights for you:

Check out my bling as I chill on lawn furniture before heading to the wedding:
















The Groom



























The Bride




























Me and Eleni










Me and Thanos







Hot!







Me and Kim, (the mad sweaty englishman)







The Last Thing I Remember..



your fan,

a.

Me Smelling

Greek plants growing on my father's terrace. Look how I am enjoying them. For those of you who know me, you will of course realize that this is just a cheap excuse to show off my freshly ironed hair. Oh Greeks, you understand my hair so.

Day 3 in the fatherland and if I never hear Greek music again... my father's a big fan and likes to blast it through the house at all hours. He tried to do this when he was married to my mom and it caused bitter rows. If it wasn't Greek music it was German opera, equally painful. My mother would say "that woman sounds like she got knifed in the gut" while my father would openly lament the fact that he had married outside of his race.

Speaking of which, tomorrow I'm going to a wedding of people I don't know. But the chick is a famous fashion designer and lots of celebs will be there, my friend Thanos whose cousin is marrying this chick assures me that the guest list will be internationaly fabulous. Greek Vogue are doing a 6 page spread on the event and I will try to bend and snap my way into as many pictures as possible. Don't have an outfit blingy enough for the event so here comes Sophia my dad's girlfriend to the rescue. She's really nice and younger than him and so should have some good stuff though like all Greek women, it will border on the Vegas showgirl. Maybe there will be a Versase...

Went to the beach today. Fell asleep with my chin touching my chest so have weird red stripy burn mark on neck. Woke up to screetching and nasal cords otherwise known as The Greek Woman Speaking. Some lady with watermellon boobs yelling after her fat grandson. Made Janice from Friends sound like the BBC World Service.

More soon.

your fan,

a.

Opa!

That's right. I'm off to Greece tonight.My dad is super excited as I don't get to see him on his turf all that often. I'll be there for 2 weeks, which means two weeks of hearing about how everything Greek is amazing, how I musn't forget that I am a Greek (like the fact that I can braid my leg hair isn't enough of a reminder) etc etc. But I'm totally looking forward to it. And I still have those meds..that aren't freaking me out as much anymore and the itching has mellowed too.

Oh happy coincidence, my friend Thanos who I know from university will be visiting his mom in Athens while I'm there. Here he is looking very inch the professor he is.
The last time I was in Athens, I bumped into Thanos walking down the street. He was visiting his mom then too. Turns out his mom is my dad's neighbor. This is totally uninteresting except for him and me. Anyway, Thanos and his excellent girlfriend Eleni (big fan of 80's montage too) will be in town most of my two weeks and I've been invited to his cousin's wedding on Sunday. Apparently Italian Vogue will be there. I'll be the one in the pasties looking bored.

My tan has faded to a pale walnut so glad I can top it off. Must get one of them 3 way mirrors.

News from the volleyball playing new man. He has hurt his ankle, so training has been reduced to doing crunches in the corner while the rest of the team get to run and jump.
"I haven't been able to touch a ball in over a week" he lamented while I wondered how to say "you said ball" in French. 19 days and counting until we are reunited in Verona. Hopefully his ankle will be healed so we can do that slow mo run in the airport.

Half an hour until the cab picks me up for the airport. I'm temping at reception in Maidenhead again. Its deathly quiet, everyone has gone home..and soon I will too.

I'm comin' papa!

Mellow Anxiety

I threw my back out. Carrying my suitcase through the tube and train stations of London on my way back from France. When I say suitcase I mean a large ghetto duffel bag that I throw over my shoulder without bending my knees or nuttin, cuz I'm a crazy fucking bitch.

My back starting hurting badly and that scares me considering the last time I had a back ache I temporarily lost the use of my legs. So I got a prescription for some muscle relaxers and painkillers and those who know me well will know how happy this makes me. My friend Gisela thinks prescription pills are tacky but I disagree, I think crack is tacky.

American doctors give percoset and vicodin so I was curious as to what my British counterpart would subscribe. Fearing "lots of fresh air and a stiff upper lip" I walked into the Dr's office with an exagerated limp and permanent pained expression. It worked, I limped out with a prescription for two types of meds, one with codeine and the other with good times.

But unlike vic and perc, these drugs are making me a little anxious while simultaneously chilling me out. Its a weird combo. So I'm mellow yellow but on edge and jumpy. But then get this, the other night I'm curled up on my mom's sofa watching the movie The Queen. Its super great by the way. So I'm sitting there watching and scratching - my scalp, eyelids, thighs and hands until it hits me that I have junkie itch. Like Jamie Foxx when he played Ray Charles in the hit movie Ray for which he won the oscar. Anyway, not cute.

My back feels better so I can decrease the meds but obviously I'll keep taking them until they are all gone.

your fan,

a.

He Plays with Balls

Some of you have heard about the new man. I've decided to blog him, make it offish. Of course if we break up in three weeks when I go see him, I'm totally gonna feel Aniston exposed. She's half Greek too, you know.

So Bertrand, pictured above. He was doing the underbite to amuse me, I told him how BFF Jenny and I in adolescance would do underbites. Once we had a really good one sticking out, we would ask each other out on a date.

Immediatly after taking this picture Bertrand asked "do you want to go out with me?" but the French accent added sex appeal thereby negating the desired affect.

I know what you're thinking and yes, he's a professional volleyball player based in Verona, Italy. When he isn't getting paid to work out, play with balls and other men, he plays World of WarCraft.

isn

Some of you got an email from me when I got back from France that details celebrity frienships, new found romance and tan hue. This is a sample of the feedback I got from the NY posse.

Clay: "Your boyfriend is hot! You should try and pregnancy trap him, move back to your apartment. You could probably set up a volleyball net in there." (remember when Daryl Hannah fills up the tub with water and sea salt in Splash?)

Nico: "So glad to hear you're dating a hot athletic dude. He looks very cute in that 1x1 photo you sent."

Benjy: "What happened to the other Adonis? Did they duel for your love? In speedos? Wouldn't you love to parade him by Nader? Of course he would faint and them hump Bertrand's leg."

Anne: "Volleyball? Thats not gay at all!"

Kristina: "You didn’t mention your boyfriend is almost a minor. Sweet juvey summer loving!"

Gisela: "Can he read?"

I miss you all so much.

So Bertrand and I are getting along great and he wants me to move to Italy and he wants to come to NY in May when the volleyball season is over (they have seasons just like weather!) but if experience has taught me anything its that just cuz they seem in love doesn't mean they like you. And he's never seen me not tan. And World of WarCraft may become the other woman.

I'll keep you posted...

your fan,

a.