March 27, 2011
For some reason this week I’m feeling really out of sorts. Perhaps this is due to various calamities which befell me. These calamities included my phone being robbed, serious stress in work and the realisation that yet more of my really close friends are soon to leave the country.
Rather than write a full post (which will inevitably be angst filled due to my mood), I’m going to form a ‘photo sentence’. Hopefully I’ll return with a sunnier disposition next week.
When I am:
I would love someone to give me:
March 20, 2011
First off, apologies for the lack of photos in the previous post. As I looked back over it last week it seemed rather flat due to the lack of images. The reason for the thrown together post last week is that I am currently without internet at home. As a consequence, I am bumming wifi from various friends and cafes in the vicinity in which I live. This is a tad annoying when trying to compile something a tiny bit creative.
So here I sit on Camden street on a lovely sunny afternoon wondering what pressing love related issue to tackle this week. I am at pains to admit that this area of my life has become somewhat stagnant of late. It’s not that I’m not going out and meeting guys, I am. It’s more that I’m meeting guys who really do nothing for me. I realised the other day that it has been ages (and I mean a really long time) since I’ve met someone who I’ve really fancied. One or two of the more recent encounters could have developed into something slightly more significant if the respective guys had been even slightly bothered to put in effort but this effort never materialised for varying reasons. From this lack of effort I must take it that these potential developments just weren’t meant to be and move on.
So now I am faced with the task of shaking things up a bit. I mentioned in one of my early posts that I have a bad habit of meeting someone and building this massive image of their personality in my head before even really speaking to them. When I eventually speak to them I am more often than not left in a state of disappointed because they do not live up to the oh so amazing image I have in my mind.
The very imaginings took me over once again on a work night out a few weeks ago. We have a social committee in work that we pay into each month. Every so often we then head out on some lavish evening which usually involves fancy food and wine. Two weeks ago we all headed out on a wine and cheese tasting evening in a city centre restaurant.
I am very partial to good wine and even more partial to nice cheese so I was looking forward to the evening. When we eventually were seated in the restaurant our hosts for the evening entered. They were wine and cheese experts from a famous local cheese shop. The cheese guy instantly caught my attention. ‘Was this because of his expertise in cheese I hear you cry’, not quite…There was something incredibly interesting looking about the guy. My work colleagues knowing me quite well, all commented on the fact that ‘there’s Julie guy’ with much light hearted embarrassing winking and nudging ensuing every time the poor guy attempted to speak.
When he entered the room I would have put him at about 30 years old. However when he eventually spoke he sounded younger. He had big black rimmed glasses (a personal love of mine on guys) and was sensibly dressed in a cashmere type jumper, shirt and brown trousers. All very fashionable in an understated way. I like that in a guy.
Anyway, as the evening wore on (and the wine kept flowing), my waffle levels increased. This was all the time encouraged by my ever positive work colleagues who love a good chat up story. I could tell from the way the guy presented his information, he was quite shy. He clearly knew what he was talking about but perhaps was not used to speaking to large groups just yet. I found his shyness endearing.
All the while the talk was going on, I was doing my usual ‘I wonder what it would be like if I spoke to him? I’m sure we’d instantly bond over our love of cheese and live happily ever after…’ As I mentioned, as the evening wore on, my capability for waffling grew and grew (due mainly to the amount of wine I was ‘tasting’).
By the end of the night, myself and my work colleagues had decided I was going to call into his place of work and try to suss out the situation further. I got very brave by declaring ‘I’ll just go in and have a short talk about Comte and then present him with my number’. At the time, this all seemed very possible. Why wouldn’t I just walk in and give this attractive cheese guy my number? What’s the worst that could happen?
Well as you can imagine, in the cruel light of day, this didn’t seem as easy a feat as it did the night before. Ever the enthusiastic bunch, my work colleagues did a quick search on Facebook but found nothing of relevance to my cheese guy. However, not ones to admit defeat, one of the enthused ladies walked by the cheese shop at lunch time and rang me report that he seems to work in the shop on a daily basis.
This fact did open a window of opportunity if I so wished it. Was it time to put my money where my mouth was and actually call into the shop? Before you get too excited at the prospect of a story of utter humiliation I must tell you I did not call into the shop. I was going away the next day and sadly work commitments took centre stage over my cheese guy stalking.
However, for some reason I can’t seem to get this guy out of my head. This could be because my obsession for cheese has reach new heights since my ski trip to France or it could be that I’m a bit bored. I think it also has to do with my new found interest in the idea of chance encounters. I love right place right time stories and I want to have one of my own.
So, I have decided I will throw myself to the wolves and call into the said cheese shop to try and suss the elusive cheese enthusiast out. Being completely honest, I’m not going to commit to giving him my number there and then. I would love to be that brave but I want to go back in first to see if my imaginings mildly live up to what the actual person is like. Obviously I will try to have a deep and meaningful conversation around the topic of brie and wensleydale where by I will charm him enough to provoke him into giving me his number… OK so that may not be a realistic expectation but I do want to call into the shop just to see how the conversation will go.
I’ll report back next week on the budding cheese shop relationship.
In other brief news, the blog has hit over 2,000 views so thanks to all who are reading each week. I’m glad my ramblings keep some of you mildly amused!
March 13, 2011
I arrived home safe and sound from my ski trip yesterday. I have been skiing since I was 13 years old with my family. I absolutely love this type of holiday and some of my fondest memories are of ski trips in the past.
This year was slightly different as I went with my two friends. This gave me more socilaising maneuverability. Previously I have been on ski trips with my three uncles and a rake of their children so going out to bars etc.. was not top of their agenda.
In saying this, the two friends that I was away with are a couple so going ‘on the pull’ ( I hate that phrase) was not on the top of their agenda either. However if I’m honest, I really was not in the mood to meet any randomers while I was away. Sometimes I go through phases like this where I am just not that bothered. I was reading a brilliant book while there and I was happy to be engrossed in that for the week.
Not to sound like I was a total social recluse last week, you will be happy to hear dear reader that I did in fact manage to pull myself away from my book long enough to meet two guys who will serve to make this post slightly more interesting.
I met the first guy in a bar we went to on our second night there. Upon arriving we initially thought it was a gay bar. It turns out that just vast groups of European men like to go on ski trips together and decided to frequent this particular bar in the French Alps.
We had been there a while and the bar was playing incredibly loud European techno music (not my favourite genre of music it must be said). Yet another hoard of men arrived after about an hour of us being there. French men it seems have slightly more backbone when approaching women. A guy called Damien came to the table and asked could he sit down.
The conversation that ensued consisted of us screaming at each other over the music while also trying to contend with the fact that his English was not exactly fluent and my French is nonexistent. During this painful conversation I learned that at 24 he had already moved in with, was engaged to and broken up with his fiance all in the last two months. Although I did feel sorry for the guy I couldn’t help but think, God I wish I wasn’t listening to this on holidays. However, a high point in the conversation came after he had poured his heart out for about 25 minutes. He stated in his best English/ French accent ‘Zo now I im ere zo go zkiing ind schzagging. In plain English, he told me he was there to get laid at which point I burst out laughing and excused myself from the conversation. However, not really taking the hint he mentioned that he could not remember where his apartment building was. God really has to love a trier and no men try as much as the French it would seem.
The next guy I’m happy to say was a little less obvious. His name was Pieter and he was from Holland. He joined out ski class late in the week where we got chatting. He had perfect English and goes back and forth to Dublin a lot with work so we had plenty to talk about. He worked in the financial industry and seemed to really love his job. Me being perhaps one of the least financially minded people around politely listened to his tales of banking, stocks and shares.
We ended up going to this crazy bar in the middle of two valleys where the rich and the beautiful of the skiing community go to dance on tables and drink champagne while gyrating up against one another on table tops. Hundreds of people gather by the bar to watch this spectacle.
As often happens when skiing, Pieter had never properly seen my face while I was skiing during the week as it had been muffled with a hat and sun glasses. As we were at this rather poser-ish bar I thought it may be an idea look less like the Michelin Man so I took off my hat and glasses. Pieter noted that I look ‘really different’ without them on. This comment must have been meant in a complimentary fashion because he text me later asking us all to come out for a drink.
For some stupid reason we ended up back in the the ‘gay’ techno bar. Again, more shouting ensued. By this time it was the last night of the holiday and I was wrecked. The night ended early with Pieter politely giving me three kisses on the cheek (must be a Dutch thing) and I departed. He is over and back to Dublin a lot so I mentioned I’d drop him an email on Facebook. Whether or not I ever see the financially minded Dutch man again is another question.. It’s all in the lap of the great Facebook now….