Posted by Tilia

So, the new job, which I’m still comfortably settled into is proving to be safe, steady work with a safe, steady paycheck, and a few new friends who are equally safe and steady.  It’s a little boring.

There was this brief period of time where a super flirtatious guy sat directly across from me and would occasionally start up highly inappropriate, hilarious email conversations, the most pointed of which making fun of this 14-year-old kid I’d gotten saddled with for a “work experience” placement for a week.

But, that guy … uh, he moved to Dubai.  Like, two days after we had our first good conversation.  Oh well.  That could’ve been fun.  I did go out drinking with the work folks the night before he left, which was fun, and involved lots of revealing conversational tidbits about the office itself.  And, it’s not to be dismissed that coming into work to see your entire workforce hung over is a life experience that should not be missed, but … yeah, I am bored out of my mind, and I don’t have a good wing person to go explore the social opportunities of the city with.

I had this same problem in Orlando.  The people I was super close with tended to be in relationships, or the type who went to bed at 9pm, or guys, who aren’t the best conduit to an adventurous, meetin’-people night out.  

The exception was Jenna (that roommate you all remember from the earliest posts).  Jenna and I only got to go out once, but now I know what I’m missing, so the hunt for a wing person is on.  Also, as a note to loyal readers, Jenna and the hubby are apparently doing the marriage counseling thing and it’s working out for them.  More power to them.

Anyway, the job has now offered up the potential of sponsorship.  This was my goal when I moved here – to be able to stay with the acquisition of a work visa, but I’d pretty much given up that notion, as I work in a place with a strict no-sponsorship policy, that employs many people on the BUNAC scheme, which I am.

At first, this was incredibly exciting.  I absolutely love London, and would adore the opportunity to stay.  But, I’d already secured a job for February, when my visa expires … here:

My Ski-Town in the French Alps

Now, I’d be working as an au pair there, and the real goal would be to finish learning French, to enhance my resume and continue the life experience of travel.  Honestly, I found this is as consolation that I wouldn’t be able to stay in London, but now … I’m not sure if I want to.

As crazy as it sounds, I feel at the end of many work days that I’d be happy teaching English in a threadbare classroom in Ghana than I am doing monotonous data entry for an industry that I’m not really interested in pursuing in my life.

Then again, I’d be throwing away a hell of a resume enhancer by turning down being the first sponsored, global employee for this company (which is quite large and prestigious), and a promotion … I really don’t know.

I left America to travel, to avoid the 9-5 (or 9-6 as it’s become), and see the world before getting locked into responsibilities.  This would only be another year or so, but I don’t know if it’s worth it.

I’ve been looking at archeological digs in Romania, nature conservation in Peru, newspapers in Calcutta, film shoots in Singapore, a summer camp that uses theatre to teach English in Milan, a backpacking year in Australia … and I want all of them, desperately.  

May I always be stuck between such divine options, really … but at the moment, I’m kind of feeling trapped in Sophie’s Global Choice.  

Opinions in the comments area from blog lurkers (and I know you’re out there!  WordPress has viewing stats!), and friends would be fantastic.

Yes We Did!

Posted by Tilia

The reason for my prolonged absence has had to do with many a thing.  Financial woe, the impending election, the fact that romance-wise, my life has been having a dry spell. 

In all honesty, there’s plenty to blog about outside of my libido, but that is what this blog is for, and I’ve been lazy. 

So, coming right up, the most creative way I can spin my lack-of romantic activity.

Posted by Tilia

I work in Oxford Circus.  Every evening, when I get off of work, clamoring to get into the tube station is a paradoxical nightmare.  Today, after a three hour sabbatical to East Acton to request a National Insurance number, I was in a hurry to get out of the office and onto the tube before public transit got crazy.

I raced down the station stairs, shoved my way through the automated pay gates, and did the step-shuffle down the escalators, happily accepting my daily edition of The London Paper from that nice guy with the waist-length dreadlocks, who knows to have one ready for the girl in the white coat.

I swung into the Northbound Victoria Line corridor only to be stopped short by a gaggle of people clogged right out into the walkway.

Whatever, I thought … It’ll clear up in a sec.  I flipped open my paper and read with blatant disgust about Paris Hilton considering staying in London permanently, and an English missionary/school teacher who’d been gunned down in Kabul.  

I managed to eventually get onto the platform, struggling to turn pages to find out which restaurants and musicals were being shut down due to the credit crunch as not one, not two, but five trains went by before I made it to the hallowed Yellow Line.  When the next train rounded the corner, there was a surge and the girl next to me started screaming as she slipped, nearly tumbling into the rail pit.  Two Indian guys reacted really quickly pulling her back up almost the moment the train entered the station which, somehow, didn’t calm everyone the hell down.

I pushed with the best of them, pulling myself into the tube car, and then gave into the mass, eventually becoming pressed firmly between several bodies, and accepting the fact that my newspaper musings would have to wait for a few stops.  The train lurched, sending everyone into awkward bouts of intimacy with each other, and we were on our way.

Warren St. provided very little solace, and Euston was just as bad, though at Euston, on came someone who caught my eye, if only briefly.  He had close cut, dark auburn/brownish hair and deep blue eyes.  He was wearing a suit, and had a doctor’s bag that would’ve made Jane drool, slung over his shoulder.

The doors slammed shut, and suddenly I was jostled almost face-to-face with him.  We briefly caught eyes and laughed at the awkwardness of the forced closeness, then, in an attempt to escape the discomfort, I leaned my head on my raised arm, still firmly gripping the railing, and closed my eyes.  

As the train tore through the underground, I did occasionally open my eyes to admire his torso, or attempt to steal a look at his face, which was quite pleasant.  I had a feeling he was doing much the same.

At King’s Cross, the crowd altered, and I ended up facing the other direction, and somehow, he ended up behind me.  I swear this all happened independent of any design on the part of either of us.

If we’d known each other, the positioning would’ve felt very territorial.  As we didn’t, I’ve probably ended up in that very stance with a number of faceless strangers over the past few months, and probably shouldn’t have noticed it, but there was a very keen awareness going on there.  When the train would pull, my arm would brush against his chest or stomach.  He could’ve moved away, or adjusted, but he stayed perfectly still, as did I, and allowed it to happen.  

Somehow, between King’s Cross, and Highbury and Islington, it the whisper of space between me and this guy became an electric thing, that continued to grow gradually smaller as we inadvertently allowed the gap to shrink.  It was so intense that I was expecting some sort of deliberate contact very soon, and it spooked me.  I could feel the heat of his body behind me, the way you feel the heat of someone lying next to you in bed.

At the next stop, I spun away, to the railing next to the seats, turning back to face where he stood, and wrapped my arm through the space between the rail and the glass.  

I spent a the very short transit between the next stop very aware and amused at all the quick, stolen glances he kept casting at me, and not really trusting myself to move or look up at all.

At Finsbury Park, the usual mob of people piled off of the train, my short-lived paramour included.  I eased into a seat as the doors slammed shut and was surprised to spot him facing the window.  He happened to glance up and catch my eye.

I felt a smile spread over my face, and I sheepishly raised my hand and gave a little finger wave.

He broke into a grin and winked, then, shaking his head, and running his hands behind his head and onto his neck, he turned away as the train pulled out of the station.

I’ll probably never see that guy again, but he certainly made an impression.

Posted by Jane

So we all know Tilia has an unhealthy obsession with the, I must admit, fabulous Jon Stewart, but I also must admit I have my own. And funnily enough, she’s kind of the female version of him. Rachel Maddow is the hottest pundit on American cable television (for gals like me ) and I’ll tell you why. 

1. That smile. Damn. 

She’s just cuter than a button, and the smile is usually genuine, unless she’s trying to smugly shrug off some dimwit guest’s unavoidable liberal attack. Not only is her smile beautiful and warm as sunshine, it’s also endearingly nerdy and a little goofy, which I find hopelessly attractive. 

2. Her energetic conviction. This woman could tell the American people cows were purple and I’d believe her. Speaking of which…perhaps her future lies in politics. She has a way of getting her guests undevided attention by speaking straight and truthful to them, and you can tell she always genuinely wants to get down to why they disagree, which is hot. She knows when to laugh, when to attack, and when to let her guests make asses of themselves. And she always….hands down…wins an argument. Because of…

3. Her intelligence. She’s smacked down the likes of Pat Buchanan on the Keith Olberman show, and does it not only with wit and charm, but just cold hard intelligence and decorum. She flashes those pearly whites, speaks in that desirably deep voice and out spouts impressive vocabulary and political fact doctrine. She’s not afraid to stick it to the man. And she’s really good at it. Best thing is she doesn’t want to do anything else with em! 

4. Her passion. I can’t tell you how refreshing it is to have such a talented woman on a cable news network amongst all these boring white guys with bad ties. She ultimately comes out on top, though, because of her passion for politics and what she’s reporting. She’s a self proclaimed political nerd but because she cares so deeply for what she’s talking about, her show doesn’t come across as a blaze, propaganda news show, but an upbeat, exciting one. 

5. Her gayness. Yeah. She’s out and proud. And it’s not only hot, it’s groundbreaking. Rachel is the first ever out lesbian to have such a powerful position in cable news. The fact that she’s gained so many fans and admirers, both gay and straight, both male and female, in such a short amount of time since her show aired, is a very positive step in getting rid of social prejudices people may have of the gay community. Well done Rachel! And…marry me?

Posted by Tilia

Okay, first of all, let’s acknowledge that Jane likes the ladies.  

Done?  Okay, round of applause to Jane.  Let’s hope that her one-time comment about liking, “Super thin, athletic girls … with big boobs,” doesn’t turn her into a frat guy.

So, listen, this changes my relationship with Jane absolutely none.  It simply means my mom and her butch girlfriend approve a little bit more of my American bff here in London, and I have to be more careful about the relationship jokes when talking to my mom so she doesn’t get her hopes up, because, much to her chagrin, I still prefer the penis.

That said, Jane and I accidentally had the perfect (platonic) date at some point last weekend.  In a moment of identity crisis, directly preluding the out-of-the-closet epiphany, Jane went to get her ends trimmed, and ended up chopping all of her hair off.

She called me, incoherently ranting about short hair and “not knowing what I want.  I don’t know what’s happening,” and I suggested we meet in Holborn, because, damn, girl, don’t jump off a bridge, I’m sure it looks pretty.

We met up with relatively little incident, though there’s always a little, and walked around looking for a place that was still open to grab a bite or a drink.  Unfortunately, London goes to sleep early, and when we were pushing that radically late hour of 10pm, everything was getting boarded up for the night.  It really takes an amazing amount of self control not to bang on the glass door of Bento and say, “I can see that sushi you’re throwing away!  Hey!  Don’t ignore me!  GIVE ME THE SUSHI!”

Oh well.

What we ended up stumbling upon was this Thai restaurant above a posh gastropub very close to Holborn Station.  I think it was called Thai Smile, and the menus featured a very creepy picture of what PacMan would look like if he turned to face you, smiled, and wore a top knot.

The restaurant itself was clearly a very posh, very romantic spot sometime in the 1940’s.  The walls were a deep red, and though the paint was chipping on the varnished gold settees, and the window overlooking High Holborn was glazed with age, the once-romance of the place still shone through.  Jane and I walked in, and stifling laughter, looked at each other.

“Are you going to propose later?” I asked.

The waitress sat us at this secluded table right next to the afore-mentioned window.  ”Oh yeah, this is definitely the will-you-marry-me table,” I said as I shrugged my overcoat off.  Jane opened her mouth to say something smart assy, but we were cut off by the waitress flying in out of nowhere with a lit candle to place between us.

It was difficult to talk for the laughter after that point.  The pad thai was fantastic though.

Following this, we walked down to Embankment, through the brick alleyways lined with Saturday-night party-people and bohos begging for change by playing accordion or whatever’s at hand, and to the Golden Jubilee Bridge, lit for night-time over the Thames.

Yeah, we live here.

We leaned against the barristers, gazing at view, and appreciating the fact that we were really standing there.  It was a slow progression across the bridge, and onto the South Bank, where a resident jazz band was playing.

Jane argued with herself over her sexuality, and I nodded, supportively, occasionally tossing in my … tuppence.  (Ha, that’s British for – two cents)

We walked past the Eye, past a roller rink/bowling alley that Jane got weirdly excited over, and through a tunnel onto the foggy, lamp-lined strip facing Parliament.

We settled into the prime-viewing bench, with the following view:

Not an Exaggeration.

And talked late into the night, until we were forced to haul ass back to Waterloo station to catch the last trains home.

My experience on the tube that night is also something incredibly memorable, as a bumbling, plain looking 20-something English guy boarded the car, and managed to get the estranged group of commuters into a very involved conversation between three stops.  I will never forget that guy.

The following day, I discovered that gorgeous guy I work with, whom I call Mr. Darcy, is also gay.  This is tragic, as the man is just … just gorgeous.  And successful and healthy and wicked intelligent, and he reclines in his chair, merging companies, in his starched white shirt with the top few buttons undone, with the nonchalant air of someone who is good at everything he does, which you know … includes the bedroom.

Really, just incredibly unfair.  I suppose I’ll go back to thinking of Guitar Guy until the next would-be British love interest comes along.

Until then, I can keep accidentally going on dates with Jane.

Posted by Jane

My section of the blog is going to take a turn from now on, I’m afraid, for better or worse really. So what would make my focus different, you may ask?

I’m gay. Okay? I just am. You wanna know why I know I’m gay? It’s not because guys find it hot and it’s not even necessarily because I want to be. It just is. 

Picture a scene.

2 girls walking down the street, an attractive male walks by. But the attractive male also has a very attractive brown leather doctor bag across his chest. Girl 1 says oooh check him out, and Girl 2 says, oooh check out his bag. Girl 2 was me. And girl 2 is GAY. 

Now I know I’ve been writing in this blog about MEN quite a lot, but having weighed up my past and recent experiences, I’ve come to terms with the fact that I’m an OCD, tennis luvin, ball breakin, LESBIAN. 

Case in point: I’ve never been in a relationship with a man for more than a month at a time. 

Case in point 2: I’ve never had actual all the way sex with a man because I chose not to…because it was weird. 

Case in point 3: While I admire men’s physicality at times, the thought of actually having them on top of me is a bit frightening. 

Case in point 4: I love women. Not just any women. Lesbian, boyish women, also known as “butch” to some. However, I like mine pretty and respectable, not scary motorcycle drivin carpet munchers. Cause. Bitch please. And like Tilia says, ‘homey don’t play that.” 

I have been struggling with this fact for a while now, for almost 5 years, and that fact that I’ve actually come to terms with being gay makes me feel extremely happy, and almost complete. Because I’m not lying to myself anymore. I’m not trying to be someone I’m not. 

And that feels damn satisfying. 

I hung out with Carla the other night and she even said there was this natural glow about me that didn’t seem to be there before. It must be the rainbow in me baby. 

There will be many challenges to living as a gay female, but there are just as many challenges for straight people so I’m not feeling sorry for myself in that regard at all. In fact I feel quite lucky to know what I want. 

I’d actually like to use this blog as a way to reach out to those who may be somewhat confused about their sexuality and be able to express my humble opinion of the situation they find themselves in. 

So by all means, if you feel like sharing or engaging in this type of pedagogical discussion, bring it on, male and female, alien and animal alike. Bring. It. On. I’m ready to tell you how I really feel. 

Because I finally know how I feel. 

Posted by Tilia

Let me just start by saying that it’s really effing difficult.  It’s like that first year of college, for people who didn’t immediately join 8 campus clubs.  You just kind of look around, knowing you should be having a blast, but feeling like your options are a.) walking around alone or b.) renting season 5 of 24 … again.  

And I’m not just talking about meeting people in a romantic sense, though that’d be nice too.  I mean, I hate to say it, but my stint at the Scary Pub was really the best social facilitator I’ve had so far.  I got a date out of that, a few nights in other pubs with people, and even that house party. But, alas, that job was just not worth the social perks.  

So, here’s the deal.  I’m not content experiencing London sans new friends.  I’m a very social person and I like to meet new people and have little adventures, since adventurous things tend to happen to me once I’ve put myself into the ballgame.  And yeah … a hookup or two wouldn’t be bad either.

So today, being on a budget and all, I discovered London is Free, a website dedicated to things I can do without dishing out a ton of dough, because let’s face it, this city is seriously expensive.  I’ve drifted automatically to the film events, specifically the short film showcase that’s listed, but there are some other things I want to check out too.  Specifically, that book club in SoHo with the Vaudeville theme … that sounds fantastically insane.  I’m hoping straights are welcome, regardless of the clear theming.  

So, soon, I’ll be able to review a few free events here on the Meet-People-Meter, which I will soon devise.  If the package my mom supposedly mailed me over a week ago would arrive, I could even take some pictures, since it includes my recently-repaired digital picturebox.  

In other news, there’s this gorgeous, Mr. Darcy-esque man who works at the far end of my office … but I work with a bunch of glam-bots, girls-next-door, and other assortments of dream women, so chances are, that’s not a very hopeful prospect, even though we did finally speak on Friday, and it was pretty flirtatious.

And also, paying my internet bill involves knocking on Lithuanian Guy’s door … and it’s still fun, because he’s still hot.

Posted by Jane

So now that my political rant is complete, I can move on to less important issues, such as, well, loooove, and life and all the crazy parallels that go along with it.

So I’ve just begun a new position at a very prominent TV station in London which is very trendy and posh posh, but I digress. A couple people in my office were heading down to the monthly British Film Institute pub quiz and invited me along. But just as fate would twist, I had drinks the very same evening with some of my old classmates at Gordon’s Wine Bar, the oldest wine cellar in London.

As I didn’t want to pass either opportunity up, I decided to pull a Mrs.Doubtfire and play 2 roles in the same night .(without as much switching thankfully, which would have included a mighty expensive, and most probably incompetent taxi driver enslaved to me the entire night)

So I made a decision to commit to both, walked down to the wine bar after work and, to my utter surprise, Mr. Grey decided to show his sodding face. I found this out by walking up to my old mates and seeing him in the corner of the table, saying, “hello there.” Ugh.

Bastard.

So I decided to make the most of it, and chat everyone up. Three other classmates showed and 2 of them bought bottles of red vino which I promptly drank and got tipsy. Mr. Grey, true to form, had no alcohol but chatted me up the entire evening, buying me a packet of crisps and asking me how long I was planning on staying in London. And, true to form, I let him…Bad, bad Jane.

Luckily I had my other event to head off to, so I promptly said goodbye and walked across the Embankment bridge towards the BFI IMAX theatre where the quiz was being held. I couldn’t help but stop and gasp at the beauty I witnessed on the way there. I had had a couple glasses of wine, it was a brisk clear evening, and I was standing in the midst of every landmark in London, as well as a bright half moon. This truly is one of the most captivating sights on earth and then I realized how ironic it was that I was actually, literally crossing a bridge, leaving my past behind and going towards my new life.

So my work colleagues and I ended up having more alcohol, which I promptly got drunk from, but everyone was so lovely and we had a mini bonding session. Then we came in 4th place, which was impressive since there were quite a few groups there and the questions were uber hard. I even phoned up a sleepy Tilia to ask her about the Charlie Chaplin round!

But yes, I have definitely crossed over into the future, and hopefully, will be able to put the frustrating Mr. Grey saga behind me. Though he does happen to work literally right next door to me…

To be continued.

Posted by Jane

Okay, so I know this has nothing to do with the basis of our blog, which covers relationships and situations of looove if you will, but I must, I repeat, I MUST get this off my chest before I explode into a red white and blue balloon full of American peanut butter that never made its way to Afghanistan.

As the bouncy, sprightly Dennis Kucinich said during this year’s Democratic convention and for the lack of not being able to say it better, ”Wake up, America!” And please smell some liberal colored roses on the way up the hill! What is wrong with some of the people in our great country today who have been joining these violent, anti-Muslim, anti-black, anti-”other” rallies that both Sarah Palin and John McCain both lead, condone and encourage?

What’s wrong with those who would rather shout racist, violent obscenities somewhat reminiscent of the Klu Klux Klan instead of moving forward and ridding the country of this kind of irrelevant and static behavior? More so, what’s wrong with a presidential nominee, and his partner in crime who actually encourage such antics at their rallies, whose audience enjoys and gets off on calling Senator Obama names like “terrorist” and “that one” and probably lots of other horribly offensive slurs?

Not only does Barack hold more decorum and class in his little pinky than McCain has in his entire body, but he’s more prepared to act as a peacemaker between us and the rest of the world, and possibly even between Americans!

The fact that Governor Palin and Senator McCain are appealing to fear and uncertainty, ultimately creating more hatred of ethnic and religious differences really makes my head spin like a Guru Dev on Prozac. And if I had a farm, it would “makes alls my chickens and cows tip and keel over.”

So I have nothing but contempt for those 2 at the moment I’m afraid, which honestly, I feel bad saying, because 1) I am aware that McCain has done some good for this country 2) I am aware he’s a former POW and that is only something to be respected, but 3) he fought in Vietnam, and with all due respect that makes him, well, UNBALANCED. If you don’t believe me, what more proof do you need by the woman he chose to run beside him as his pit bull with benefits?

But I digress. No more of the attacks, I promise. What I do hope, though, is that undecided voters can see through their tactics and realize they pose a genuine threat to American society as we wish it to be, not what it has become in the past 8 years. I sincerely hope those of you unsure of this election will chose the side that promises a light at the end of the tunnel, and not a “nuc-u-lar” weapon.

PLEASE! Don’t do a Homer and ‘doh’ when you realize you’ve made the wrong decision when McCain starts another war, a draft is reenstated, our health care becomes more expensive and we undergoe another great depression (which may happen regardless of who’s president anyway!)

So please. I beg you. Wake up and drink the fairtrade coffee. Help to make America tolerable again and vote for Barack Obama for President of the United States.

Thank yee, and God Bless America.