Taking some lemons and making Spanish Fly.

After an exhausting and emotional year and 2 months, we're taking a 10-day vacation.

Yes, that's right. I made an executive decision. I thought to myself, fuck it. We have to find a way to take some sanity breaks every once in a while. So I started a feverish search for anywhere with vaguely warm weather, as well as something that I haven't seen in a while- this round, yellow, really bright thing that hangs in the sky for about 11 hours every day and is supposed to be really amazing. Apparently, a lot of people see it, though in England it's a bit of a myth. I think it's called... sun.

So, where exactly are we going?

I'm getting on a plane, strapping my ass to a seat for 10 hours, and landing in sunny San Francisco. The mister has been working there for a bit (read: he's been in one room with 20 people for a week with the doors closed, working 14 hour days and chain-smoking), and his meetings are finally over with tomorrow, so I decided rather than having him come all the way back to London, I'd meet him there and just go exploring. I've never been out west, and here's my opportunity! Though I know I'm being a tad bit optimistic in thinking that I can flaunt my pasty body in a bikini every day, at least there will be an ocean to look at. And sunshine. And fresh air. And the sound of the waves crashing. I can't tell you how desperate I've been for any kind of weather that doesn't in any way resemble the inside of a cold, wet, grey plastic bag. And just going to sleep at the same as the mister and feeling his long legs curl around mine will be absolute unadulterated heaven.

Okay, I have to stop thinking about it, though. Just seeing how grey and miserable it is outside is tempting me to chisel a Myshka-shaped hole through the window of my office.

I defy you not to smile at this condom ad

This is pure, unadulterated, sexy fun:

http://uk.youtube.com/results?search_query=durex+dog+ad&search_type=&aq=f

Oh, those European advertising agencies know what they're doing.

See you next week, my angel. I love you more than anything.

This is what I found on our kitchen table this morning, written on a printed out picture of us, next to his usual half-drunk cup of coffee.

I thought last month was hard. This month was worse. The day that we got back to work after New Years, the mister and I have had a weekend-marriage (very Danielle Steele), since he's working on this new piece of business. Since the beginning of the year, we've had dinner together twice. The other times, he'd drag his tired bum home at 2am and try to eat cold spaghetti or a soup and a sandwich. I would try and stay awake to welcome him home, but mostly I would end up with my Sudoku book lying on my face and my pen (yeah, I'd like to think I'm that good) dangerously close to drawing a dark line on the white comforter.

That has been our routine.

And this past week has been very sparsely dotted with a kiss in the morning and a kiss for my half-asleep head when he comes home at night. For a few blissful days he was told that he wouldn't have to go at all, and damn if that didn't get my hopes up and heart racing. I started fantasizing about breakfast in bed, not being tired all the time, not hearing the Blackberry alarm (I swear, it sounds like Satan's ice-cream truck)... but I decided to assume that he was probably leaving, and just get on with life. My act of self-preservation.

And then this morning came. And predictably, no matter how convincingly I said "hey, don't worry, I'm fiiiiiiiine", this morning was really, really hard, as he left at 6am for a flight to the other side of the world. His voice on the phone as he boarded the plane was even harder to deal with. I was cracking jokes and making him laugh, but he couldn't talk to me for very long (because he was sitting right next to one of his work colleagues). He sounded so far away and so tired. The poor guy, I just imagine his body, pretzel-like from all the long nights, and I just wanted to hug him and tell him to take care of himself. I tried very hard not to let my voice crack and be tough for him. But you must have an idea of how hard that is when you miss someone you love and just hearing their voice makes you happy and sad at the same time. He kept asking me "are you going to be okay?" and I had to be honest, my first thought was oh, but you're the one that has to deal with 14-hour flights and 2am nights and looming projects. will YOU be okay? So I smiled through my teeth (it's like he can tell when I'm trying to be brave) to say "I will be." Not "I am", 'cause that's not fair to me. I will be. I'm a tough cookie, but I'm not made of steel, that's for damn sure. So both of us, after just staying on the line listening to the other, not wanting to hang up, just ripped off the band aid and said goodbye.

Yes, it's only a silly little week, I know. I'll be fiiiiiine, and before I know it I'll be at the gym in a couple hours sweating out all the negatives. But the first day is always a bitch. I never get used to it. I never get used to turning over in the morning and feeling a slightly warm indentation where his tall body was, just an hour earlier. I never get used to how quick those few kisses feel before he leaves- they never seem to sink in far enough. Maybe I'll be used to it, one day. But so far, my tactics of going to the gym more, seeing friends, painting, cleaning the house, paying the bills... all of those distractions are necessary, but they don't treat the undercurrent. So I have to see the words solidify on the page in order to get it out of my system, let myself be sad, have a laugh at some point and move on. So there.

And today, God, or one of his shop assistants, just gave me a giant bitch-slap of perspective, because I managed to walk out of the bathroom and into a meeting not realising that I had my skirt tucked into my tights at the back, showing my knickers to the world.

Who the fuck is in charge up there? I need to speak to somebody.

I'm my own Energizer bunny.*

*Why does that sound vaguely sexual? Or is it only me that has the filthy mind? Yeah, thought so. Oh well.

Okay, I'm feeling damn feisty.

Not in a bad way, either, so put your crash-helmets and body pads away.

For the past few days, I've been feeling really up, and then really down, and then a little bit loopy and absent-minded. Ugh, damn PMS. Just this morning, for example, the mister jokingly commented that I should probably brush my hair before work, and I literally felt like crying and strangling him both at the same time, while screaming obscenities.

Anyway, after I pulled myself together and he peeled himself off the ceiling (while saying yes, I do love this woman, oh how I love her under his breath), I walked to work and noticed something.

There's been an underlying current of feeling running through my thoughts, my actions, my feelings. Even during the days when I feel like I want to slap every other person that crosses my path, there's this tiny bit of electricity pushing me along. Poking me. Firing me up. And calming me down at the same time, oddly enough.

The only way I can describe it? Feistiness. Sarcasm. Bravery. Contentment.

Even when I have my moody episodes, I'm much more likely lately to acknowledge it to myself, or to the mister, deal with it without being hard on myself, and let it move on. Oh, don't get me wrong, I'm still learning, I'm still mostly a neurotic stress-case, but for the first time in a long time, I feel like I'm more in the driver's seat about who I am and what I'm about- and for once, the emotions and the sensitivity and the moods don't cloud that windscreen. I've always been a tough cookie, but the fact that we've moved twice to different countries in 2 years maybe gave me an excuse to hide that part of me a bit, and spend that energy on discovering a new country, new digs, new jobs, new me. And maybe that part of me is coming out more. Wants to play and banter more. Recharged its batteries.

This is not the case with everything at the moment, it's just with me. My spirit. And that's the most important thing, I think. I realise that maybe some people learn about this earlier in life, and that's really amazing, but this is my timeline. This is my path (albeit I tend to walk off of it, get lost and bump into trees a lot).

I'd like to figure out where this came from, and why, and how I got here, but I think that would ruin it. It feels really good right now, so fuck it. I'll just leave it alone and let it be, for once.

Passive agressive Brits

After being here for almost a year and a half now, I've noticed that the British have a tendency to beat around the bush a lot. Now yes, I just happen to be someone who's lived in New York City for 10 years, so you could say that I come from the land of "oh, just shut the hell up and tell me what you really think". Not the best communication tactic, but, whatever.

Here people think have this weird, passive-aggressive (some call it extreme politeness) way of trying to get stuff done. It's more of the "hmm, well, do you think you could.. sorry, don't mean to disturb..". VERY much like Hugh Grant's character in Four Weddings and a Funeral.

So, the other day I noticed that this characteristic is also present in their weather.

The mister and I were in the car the other day and I was chattering away on one of my many "wow, did you ever know that..." observations of the world. And I mentioned the fact that this weather lately is really frustrating.

"It's weird how, it's this 40-degree weird winter with a tiny bit of rain and mostly cloud, and then it starts to get colder and colder, till it's about 3 degrees. But there's no snow, and sometimes it still even rains a bit. What the hell is that? Mother Nature over here is really freaking passive-aggressive. At least in New York, if it's freezing, it's that bone-cracking cold that slaps you in the face and dumps 12 inches of snow on your feet, and still continues to be bright and sunny."

And the mister said something that made me laugh so hard I thought I'd crack the windscreen:

"Yeah, it's like it says 'Hey. Fuck yous. Here's winter.'"

Man, I really miss New York sometimes.

People really amaze me sometimes.

You. Yes, you, dude. Is it really worth it to create a vile tempest, a seething storm, a raging fury over something as simple as a detailed question from your colleague? Is it really worth writing the equivalent of you idiot, you don't have a clue about what you do for a living, stupid woman. I could teach you a thing or two, that's for damn sure just because I asked a question about a project's timeline?

Umm... hang on. Let. me. think.

Yeah, nope. That would definitely be a NO.

I am still dumbfounded that some people exist (nay, thrive) in a successful company by treating other people (preferably ones in positions beneath them) like total horseshit. I don't get it. I'm proud of the fact that I was taught never to be mean or treat anyone badly, because that' s just bad karma. But, meh, maybe that's just me.

Either way, I guess I am still naive then, since people like this still really amaze me. And what really puts the cherry on my cupcake is when it's a man and he gets all superior and puffs out his chest to show that he is a man and I am a woman, and thus, (in his head) I am the business equivalent of that ink stain that comes out of the copy machine when toner is low. So, undesrtandably, my knee-jerk reaction is to want to stick my fist in their mouth to shut them up and show them that hey, whaddya know, this fragile little creature actually has a black belt in Karate! (yep, true.)

But hey, I guess that's their problem, and life's too short to waste energy on losers like that. Enough said.

**********************************************************************************

So, I got a lovely message from Cat the other day, who happens to be a really cool writer. And she asked me a rather rockin' question:

If you have one London Eye, where's your other eye? Or are you a cyclops?

Now, without even knowing me, she touches on a rather geeky tendency of mine, which is to spend days on end asking myself (and the helpless loved ones around me) really random questions. Sometimes I sound like a 5-year old. But hell, I can't help it. A lot of things excite me, and I'm a very curious person.

So, to answer that question, no. I am not a cyclops. And where is my other eye while I'm writing these observations? What magical things is it exploring and taking in? Hmmm...

I like watching people when they're talking and eating

I like watching body language in a couple

I like watching late Autumn sunsets in Vermont

I like watching a snowstorm in the middle of the night (and hearing how dense the stillness is)

I like watching animals entertain themselves with random objects

I like watching horseback riders do a jumping course

I like finding random addresses on Google Earth and seeing what they look like up close

I like scanning anatomy and medical books and knowing how the body works

I like re-reading all the love notes that I've ever gotten from the mister

I like scanning any large body of water for sailboats

I like watching how many random colours I manage to put in one outfit before going out the door

I like watching people greeting eachother at airports

I like watching a musician play his intstrument

I like watching weddings

I like looking at old pictures of Babchya. I just like looking at her, period.

I like seeing lots of laugh lines etched in someone's face

I like watching how cream slowly unravels in coffee when you stir it in

I like watching bees up close while they're gathering nectar

I like watching TV programs about the psychology behind serial killers

I like watching babies try and mimic adults

I like watching wind fill the sails on our boat

I like watching an object shatter when thrown from a great height

I like watching the stars and wondering which ones are my two grandfathers

And that's a little something about my other eye.

And you? What does your eye take in?

Hi. I'm back. Much better, thanks. Bottle of wine last night helped.

Today I went to work dressed in my pyjamas and hot pink fuzzy socks. No, I wasn't sleepwalking. To be honest, they were less pyjamas and more like a sweater/tights/comfy socks/Uggs combo, but that's as close as I would get to letting my co-workers see me in sweats, t-shirt and herbal facial peel. It was my company's birthday, and they decided to host an entire day of games, treats, etc. And they encouraged us to come to work in pyjamas. Seriously? Yes, seriously. And it's really quite nice, considering the winter we're having right now.

It is about 2 degrees in London right now and still no snow. I've had to cover my entire body in layers of fleece, down, a hat, scarf, gloves...I think I heard from someone that it's even warmer in New York. Wow.

A new thing that I decided to do today is start knitting. The other day I found an after-work knitting club that a bunch of girls have started, called Stitchin' and Bitchin', and they meet once a week at a bar in central London, learn how to knit, drink some wine and just relax.

Yeah, laugh all you want, but I'll make the best damned scarf EVER. Or at least try to make something resembling one, and that actually fits me. Because knowing me, if I don't pace myself on the booze, I'm going to finish the evening dancing on a table triumphantly pumping my fist in the air, clutching my 2-inch long scarf, declaring how everything in the world should be made in miniature.

Don't laugh, it's happened before.

And now, to end the day on a rather positive note, while I sit in a warm house holding a half-full glass of Rioja Reserva, I leave you with this warning: Always remember to keep your pecker protected from the icy cold. Pecker posicles are potentially quite painful (try saying that one five times fast).

The two people in our lives: Apple and Xerox.

Apology to those who come to my blog for peaceful, expletive-free descriptions of life and love in London. I'm about to blow your head off with some really nasty ranting. So if you need to, change the channel. I'll understand. And if you choose to stay, I'm totally humbled. And here are your earplugs.

I'm pretty goddamn pissed off. I know I should channel this energy into something positive, like going for a 4 hour run in 2 degree weather, or taking a boxing class. But I'm sorry to say that today I'm digressing into a temper tantrum. Yes, you heard right- I'm not apologising for what is about to be a very juvenile, whining, woe-is-me piece of writing.

Okay, so you probably read my previous entry about being really patient about our year. The missed trips, birthday, time away, etc. And about what was our crazy December. We had very little time together, and then the manic Christmas organisation was upon us, and then more work, then New Years, then a couple days of sleeping until 1am to recover, and then back to work. Our December seemed non-existent. Went by as if it were one of those really great hugs that you still feel for a few moments after, and then it's gone. And to top that off, after a solid month and a half of stopping smoking altogether in October, the mister picked it up again. With a vengeance. Why? Because his entire brain and every fiber of his being is working on a new piece of business, and the stress level is at that dangerous point where he actually appears weirdly calm.

So, January rolls in, and I promised myself that I would take things in stride and make 2009 my zen year. Zen my ass. It's like we never left December.

First day of work, he's hunched over his computer and the copy machine until 2am. Tonight will be more of the same, as will the rest of this week, most likely.

And then he tells me (actually, he emails me, because I think he would rather avoid the hearing my voice go super-sonic) that they need him in the US for two weeks, starting next week. And he has to be there, because he's determined to make this project amazing and he wants to help the company sparkle in this grey fog of recession. That is, if it doesn't completely kill him first.

Did I write him back? Yeah. Unfortunately, it also included the dramatic words "angry", "this is getting ridiculous", and "we'll never be able to get time together!", so I wasn't exactly constructive, but oh well.

I desperately want to throw something and hear glass shatter. I want to put my foot down. To yell "NO NO NO NO NO NO NO" until the sound of that word comforts me. But for what? What good will it do me? Us? He will just be even more stressed out as I point my finger at the broken trees, rather than the developing forest.

How the hell can we ever plan to move to a bigger place? Buy a house? Make a plan? Have a family? How do people do it? How do they maintain their sanity with this kind of work schedule? How?!?!?!!!!

I've seen so many people in the advertising and media industry mentally and physically broken by their work days, and yet they seem perversely attracted to it. It's like Stockholm Syndrome- they end up falling in love with their captors. The money is attractive. The parties are attractive. The status is attractive. When does it all calm down? When can we get a moment where we can take care of our personal life? Do wives get a power of veto? Can I say "stop"? But then, what would I be stopping? I don't know how to voice what's bothering me, really. Both of us knew what we were getting into when we got married, and that it was going to be a hard 3-5 years making our mark. We thrive on chaos, and the only way we've learned how to balance it is by me taking a much less stressful job to not only save my/our sanity, but to help us organise our life better. Otherwise, not only would we never see each other, but we'd only have one can of beans in the house.

Don't get me wrong, I love chaos- but for me, it's another kind of chaos I've grown to love. I love the chaos that comes with organising trips, doing family itineraries, doing the banking and the grocery shopping and the laundry and the washing up and cleaning the house. Life chaos. Work chaos is a completely different thing, and makes you feel like a hamster on a wheel sometimes. Luckily, the job I have is more project manager than super-executive, so I'm lucky. I have my own projects at my own time, and an amazing boss that trusts my time frame and the integrity of what I deliver. There's manageable stress, but not the kind of chaos that I used to have.

Of course as the trajectory of most emotions go, I was really pissed off at the beginning of this post, and now I'm biting back tears as I write this. Not because I'm sad or bemoaning my life (because I know that I'm blessed, honest), but because I'm completely and utterly frustrated. I know he is too, but he deals with it differently. He doesn't say "no". He plays the game. He tries his hardest no matter what. He puts a smile on, he comes home and goes to bed and repeats the same battle, day after day, without so much as a grunt or groan. He just lives it, until they latch him onto the next project. This is how he got his great rep in the industry. This is why people know him not only by name, but by his face. His 120%. But it's the small percent that I have to keep sacrificing to them that hurts.

Why do I feel so passionate about all of this? Yes, I have my own things and my own life and activities and don't rely on the mister for my sole amusement, but when the few hours that we have in the week magically converge, I try and keep that space as open and flexible as possible, to make sure we see eachother for a much-needed hug. Even if that means staying up until 2am.

I know I have to just be strong and not worry and know that life throws us all tests for a reason. I know that someday, we'll have a house and a family and we'll be a bit more settled. I know that I have to just smile and just get on with my day and hope that the mister is okay. I know that Tato only saw Mamo and I once a week for 5 years while he worked in New York City. I know that people do it, and I'll have to as well.

But, wow. It really really fucking tests the very cliff-edge of my patience sometimes, you know?

Okay, back to our regularly scheduled program.

A blank page to add to our book

A new year.
New adventures.
New smiles.
New kisses.
New challenges.
New plans.
New hopes.
New dreams.
New laughs.

And to my partner, that keeps helping me develop our amazing story. Here's to the next chapter.

Happy New Year, everyone- may your 2009 be magnificent (and significantly more sober than we are in the picture below)