| 100 in 1000 |
- Spend a week up a mountain learning to ski
- Visit Karoline's place in Moravia
Hold a conversation in Czech (only)- Drink 500ml of each of the following beers:
PilsnerStaroprammen- Budvar
- Velke Popovice
- U Fleku
GambrinusKrusovice
Respond to at least one GOARN request (WHO and MSF are
also acceptable)Travel across the AtlanticReturn to South America- Read a book to, or with, an impressionably aged child
- Participate in one NanoWriMo Challenge and come within at least 10,000 words of the goal length
Have my nose pierced- Have my next tattoo drawn
Purchase the perfect jeans (x 2 pairs)- Attend a spin class 3 times a week for 8 consecutive weeks
- Bake Viv's cheesecake
Make David's casserole Make David's Chicken Cashew-nut StirfryInvite 4 people who don't know one another too well to dinner- Ride from Vienna to Venice on a motorbike (pillion acceptable, those less desirable)
- Attend a book group for at least two books
- Go on a choir weekend (learn and perform difficult piece in two/three days)
- Visit Madame Tussaud's (in London)
- Take an architecture appreciation course
Join an all-girl group and sing a soloPublish in a scientific journal (top two authors)Cook a duck or other 'waterfowl'. Locate the Al-Timimi's from Doha Veterinary PractiseHave a pedicureMaintain a Brazilian (ouch) for three months.Find a trustworthy Czech hairdresser- Treat my inner-6-year-old twice a week (at least)
- Do the liver-cleansing diet properly (12 weeks)
- Don't eat out for one month
Find a flat and flatmate- Purchase one Joseph sweater
- Purchase one of the following pairs of
designer shoes (they MUST also be COMFORTABLE, and be able to be worn with 4
different outfits and 2 types of occasion): Jimmy Choos, Manolo Blahniks,
Christian Louboutin (Ebay or 2nd hand are acceptable)
- Send 5 books to the booksphere and track them.
- Go hanggliding
- Read 10 'classic' books (from 1001 Books to Read before you Die)
Moll FlandersEverything is illuminatedMadam BovaryZen & the Art of Motorcycle MaintainanceCatch-22OdysseusOn the Road
- Run (non-stop!) for 5kms outside (preferably in a street race thingy)
- Send Christmas Cards on time
Make a collage/mural out of street lights on my wallBuy a bed, build it, and sleep soundly in itGo to AfricaHost an 'event' (classified as and when)Organise a 30th Birthday PartyWear a costume- Sing on stage
- Buy a painting that evokes memories of Prague (cannot involve queues!)
Learn a god-damned card game that stays in my memory (other than fish/snap)See sunrise. Be sober. Have woken for it. Excludes months Nov-Mar- Take a walk and flip coins at each intersection
Win something- Draft a will
- Take a roadtrip
Go to Italy already- Sea Kayak around Abel Tasman Park (NZ)
Get plantsTake a train to another Eastern European Destination (accession countries are acceptable) alone preferably.- Get UK to give me a provisional motorcyclists license and simultaneously get a 'card' license.
- Go SCUBA diving again - at least two dives lasting 30mins each.
Go to a dentist. *sigh*- Do a Czech Wine Trail. And live to tell the tale
- Make an 'outbreak emergency kit'.
- Go to bed prior to 11pm every night (inc weekends) for four consecutive weeks.
- Marvel over lack of tiredness
- Dine at a Gordon Ramsey restaurant (or Nobu)- preferably for free.
Bet on the nags- Do something for charity (applying and getting a 'red card' will count)
- Walk along the Champs Elysee
- Do 100 sit ups in a row
- Do 50 pressups (arms in tight)
- Make branston pickle (or nearest substitute)
- Cook something 'new' and 'adventurous' at least once a month
Find a mentorBe a mentorLearn what mentoring is all aboutMeet an online person in real lifeResist the flirt. Once. Just one night. It's okay if people don't immediately succumb to my natural charm. Really it is.Spend time at a spa (spa towns in the CR don't count)- Send a care package to someone
Get a Tata Bojs CD- Take a French/German/Dutch course and SPEAK THE DAMNED LANGUAGE WHEN I HAVE THE OPPORTUNITY EVEN THOUGH IT MAKES ME SOUND
LIKE AN IDIOT!
- Order new contact lenses.
Make a list of things I take with me when I pack for different occasions- Eat lobster. Prepared by someone else.
Back up the blogPut everything onto an external hard drive- Find a DDR mat and console and 'dance, I say dance!'�
- Go to the beach and lie on the warm sand. For an hour. (with sunscreen on, natch)
- Take and complete a course in either: Tango, Salsa or Flamenco
- Join the Municipal Library of Prague
- Move to another country
Go to a live concert of a band I actually like- Pay off debts (student loan excl.)
Send thank you cards for every gift I receive (other than the gift of happiness, blah blah blah).- Get an agent (literary or theatre)
- Go to a sports bar without cringing, by personal choice
- Ride a rollercoaster
- Hold a snake
Spend a day wandering around a museum (not art gallery!) |
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| Queens |
| Wednesday, 8 July 2009 |
It's a truism known to all single women with cats. The longer you live alone, the weirder you get.
Personally, this is one of my reasons for always finding someone to put up with me in the form of a flatmate. This keeps me from becoming the drama queen I could be (yet), you know, the one who knocks back a sleeping pill in Triple Sec each evening, before covering her eyes with a frilled eye-mask (embroidered with "diva", "princess" or similar), shoving earplugs in, and thinking it's normal to sleep in this fashion.
However, when alone, I've always had the habit of talking to myself.
So it was, when I stood in the window trying to write a text message the other day (there's about 1m of network availability in the house. Good if you want peace, bad if you want communication!).
A wasp flew in and knowing the queens are out looking for nesting sites at the moment, I just said to it, “this house isn’t big enough for two queens” and it actually flew out of the window about 30s later. I am the wasp whisperer!! Labels: Navel Gazing |
posted by Nomes @ Wednesday, July 08, 2009   |
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| Just when I think I can't get much lower... |
| Thursday, 25 June 2009 |
...I find a new reality television series to waste my life on.
Oh yes, folks. From the girl who watches A/BNTM and Come Dine with Me...we give you, "Date my Ex".
It's awful.
I'm hooked.
My self-loathing is complete!Labels: Navel Gazing |
| posted by Nomes @ Thursday, June 25, 2009 |
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| The Universe |
| Tuesday, 9 June 2009 |
...had a message for me this morning. It said,
"There will always be people in your life, Naomi, who hold you back, who cost you too much, and who fail to see all you've done for them. But, of course, they're just there to teach you that you do have time, that you'll always be rich, and that your own high standards are all that matter." I say, "ba ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha!!!!" with that edge of hysteria that you've all missed so much.
Yeah, I'm back. Not with a vengeance - because really, who needs to waste all that energy. But with a renewed vigor.
Bring on the adventure!Labels: Navel Gazing |
| posted by Nomes @ Tuesday, June 09, 2009 |
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| Fuch me: I'm blind! |
| Monday, 4 February 2008 |
 WAY back when, in 1995, I was told by my (then) optician that there were some weird things in my eyes, and could I please get myself to an opthamologist poste haste.
He informed me (months later), that I had Fuchs heterochromatin iritis. A phrase that means the same as Fuchs endothelial dystrophy. I've written about it before - if you've been paying attention!
Essentially, my left eye is screwed. And since this is a hereditary condition affecting approximately 1% of the population, I feel special – albeit slightly blighted (or is that sightly blighted – ha ha).
Without trawling you through all the medical facts, it’s like having a dirty windscreen (permanently) in my left eye. There’s no nozzles that can spray it clear, no windscreen wipers to turn on instead of indicators…nada. Oh, no – hang on, there is one solution. A corneal transplant. A touch dramatic, no?
So I’ve only got this thing in one eye (the left – seemingly the side I inherited from Mamma, if my eyebrows are anything to go by) and other than a mosquito shaped ‘occlusion’ permanently in my field of vision (if I concentrate on it, I can make it jump around…though it may just be my eyeball revolving around it. Hot? Yeah, thought so!) I’m not really affected by it.
But lately, it’s gotten so I can be standing on the CORNER of the street, looking up at the street sign no more than 6m away, and I can’t read it. And THAT’S ridiculous (not to mention annoying). So off I went to an optician.
Who examined my eyes up close and decreed that she loved my eye makeup. Then she put those big googly eyed glasses on my face, and did the 1,2 test with the right eye. No biggie, same prescription as before. Left eye.
“Okay, now read the top line for me please, Dr Boxall.”
“er?”
“The top line”
“No, I mean, are there letters on the board?”
“oh. Well, perhaps try the top line of this screen.”
“A pointy letter. A round letter. A round letter?”
“Right….”
“Now, can you see dots?”
“I can see the four in the middle, but the other ones are blurred.”
“Okay, um…are they blurrier now…or now?”
“Well…they appear in different patterns each time…but no more or less blurred…”
“I think I’m going to have to refer you.”
“Really?” panic creeps
“Lets try this…” (rinse and repeat x 5 then…)
“Oh my god…I can see!”
“Really?”
“Yes. All the dots. Clearly. What did you do?”
“hmm…is it better now? Or now?”
“Then.”
“And now?”
“Yes.”
“And now 1 or 2?”
“The same.”
“Okay. Well…your previous prescription was well out. You used to be shortsighted. Now you’re long sighted. And your astigmatism has worsened three-fold. When you get your new lenses, it’s going to be a bit of a shock to the system, I can change you in stages if you’d rather not feel the discomfort.”
“Hell no. I can see. It’s joyful!”
Well honestly. In less than 8months, my eyes have changed from -0.5 (I’m not really blind at all), to +0.75.
Now do forgive any typos, but clearly, I can’t read as well as I will be able to in a few weeks…Labels: Navel Gazing |
| posted by Nomes @ Monday, February 04, 2008 |
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| Meme or Me! Me! |
| Friday, 25 January 2008 |
 What’s the biggest difference between men and women?
I think men are more capable of compartmentalising, such that they end up living in the ‘now’, whereas women seem more aware of the impact of the things they do on others, and consequently tend more towards living in the ‘if that, then when’ instead. I try to learn how to compartmentalise, but it just makes me feel ‘disconnected’ instead. I know that all of the things that affect me make me who I am at that given moment. This is occasionally hard to deal with (for me and others) because it means that I could respond differently from one time to another, even when faced with roughly the same situation. Consistency of behaviour would be nice, for a while at least.
Do you believe in fate?
I’m not sure whether I’d call it fate. I think that opportunity knocks, and you have the option to open the door or to bury your head under the covers. I also think that people choose either to stand BY the door, or to remain in the kitchen. I THINK I tend to stand in the hall, by the door, just waiting for it to knock. Call me Jeeves.
Are you an introvert or an extrovert?
I’m an extrovert to strangers, and become more introverted the better I know a person.
What’s your biggest extravagance?
Cosmetics. My shelf is FILLED to the brim with products and brushes. I love the stuff. The look of the bottles of perfume collected, the texture of the brushes all standing up in a collection, the feel of the unguents smoothed over my skin and the smell of the entire lot make me happy.
Are you a good liar?
I’m not good when I’m called up for a lie (at all, that’s when I just think “the game’s up” and cave completely, usually flushing with embarrassment and stammering included) but if I’m put on the spot, I can usually come out with something believable that puts the investigator of the scent. I try not to do it too frequently though, and certainly have been more honest with people (including, I think, myself) as I’ve gotten older. I will, however, obscure the truth if I feel that the knowledge won’t benefit the other person, or if I think it’s not my business to tell.
Are you closer to your mother or your father?
Instinctively, I’m closer to my father. Our sense of humour is similar. And I can be a bit of a grumpy old moo from time to time (more so frequently, as I’ve discovered what my parents figured out years ago: England is filled with lifeless, spineless zombies), so we can rant about stuff similarly. However, with distance and age, have come a respect, an understanding, and a deep appreciation for my mother, that continues to grow. I love both of my parents, a lot, for different reasons, and it’s an immense source of satisfaction for me to hear them happy – both individually and as a couple (role reversal?). It’s also a source of endless amusement to me to hear them squabble in the way they do. When this far away from them, I miss (most) hearing their two voices in the room at the same time.
What are you most proud of?
I probably should say “my PhD” or some equally academic topic. Back in the day (god, I LOVE being 30) I used to think that A’s = acceptance. Ha!
Nevertheless, in reality, I think what I’m MOST proud of are my collection of friends. My 30th birthday was (and will probably continue to be!) a complete revelation for me. I’d no idea how loved I was by so many, in many different ways. To allow myself for one moment, to think that I’ve affected all those many lives, is a horribly humbling thought, and one which I’m very, VERY proud of. It is also a very proud thought (so I’m all ready for the fall down the stairs later!) and since Pride is a deadly sin, one which I don’t allow myself the luxury of believing, too frequently.
When was the last time you got really angry?
I was furious with myself a few weeks ago, for making the mistake of believing that I could manage my own life. Seems I can’t – and I hate letting myself down like that. Two glasses of red wine quelled that particular storm though, AND assuaged the hunger that fed the anger.
Labels: Memes, Navel Gazing |
| posted by Nomes @ Friday, January 25, 2008 |
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| Reclamation |
| Thursday, 24 January 2008 |
 I know – two entries in two days. Could this be the turnaround? That pivotal moment of ‘come back’ that could make or break (see: Take That vs. Spice Girls)? Or is this the Swan Song (see: Tchaikovsky/Ballet). Can you tell that I’ve been reading one of those ‘list’ books (see: Christmas presents for him) over the shoulder?
Your patience is overwhelming, love and kisses to all, please accept me back into the gang.
I need to write again. And I’ve heard rumours that I’ll be getting a lap top shortly, which means that I’ll be able to start writing properly again (rather than stealing time here and there to scrawl a sentence or two in between working – sentences which are leglessly drunk on their own accord and read more like a ream of Facebook status updates instead). Properly = whilst sitting upright in bed, laptop on, er, lap and a glass of wine by my side.
But, dredging and reclamation is difficult (see: Budget for Dubai), no matter how worthwhile and cathartic. See…it’s hard to catch you up with all the happenings. Actually, no it’s not.
I’ve watched a LOT of television. I’m completely up-to-date with Top Gear and have had Colin Mockery and Ryan Stiles ‘doing things’ with more ‘apparatus’ than I care to recount. I have a passing acquaintance with words like ‘recession’, ‘markets’ and ‘house prices’, not to mention am able to make small-talk at length on diverse subjects such as ‘Amy Winehouse’ and ‘youth stabbings’. Though, you know, perhaps I could put those two subjects in closer communion – good things might start happening.
But I’ve also made an “I live in London” effort. I have seen Cabaret, Chicago, 39 Steps. I am booked to see Mamma Mia (for my sins) and have plans for the Lion King and Varekai. I’ve been to the Wildlife Photographer of the Year exhibition at the Natural History Museum. I’ve eaten down SouthBank and saved £’s using my tastelondon card. But I have still not been to the Tate (old OR new).
I’ve had long discussions until 5am, most of which I can’t remember other than the eventual outcome (given my tenacity for ‘getting to the bottom of things’). I’ve played board games for 7 hours at a stretch, and won all but one of them. I’ve made decisions, and had them changed. I’ve made grandiose sweeping statements and had them refuted (at length) by my shadow someone (in the parliamentary sense). I’ve had my help requested and my assistance appreciated. I’ve done some research, and have changed my form of contraception. I still have yet to register with a dentist or a GP, so I’m not entirely grown up.
All in all, NomesWorld (that neuroses filled adventure land for those over 5’8”) is sparkling at the moment. Perhaps that’s the reason I’ve not been writing. Perhaps I need to find something to rant about, or is it that when I do need to rant, I now have someone who listens and puts their arms around me, and tells me not to be ridiculous and to get some real problems (grrrrr!).
Or perhaps I don’t ACTUALLY want to tell all about some subjects. Ha! Who am I kidding –stay tuned folks, she’s on the comeback trail and she’s still (in her head) wearing hotpants (see: Kylie).Labels: Navel Gazing |
| posted by Nomes @ Thursday, January 24, 2008 |
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| Shame to have done it all – at 26 |
| Friday, 21 December 2007 |
 Okay, so I haven’t done it all, and I'm not 26. Otherwise, though, Eva and I have a LOT in common!
But…what do you do next?
I had a bit of a crisis when I realised: this is it (or it could be). I’ve done the PhD (you can STILL call me Dr Nomes, I STILL get a kick out of it), I’ve done the EPIET, I’ve done a whole lot of things that have earned me various bits of paper. I’ve investigated an emerging infection that caused people to die in a far-flung country most people have never heard of (let alone been to, and eaten baklava on the corniche in the capital) and have presented to 1000’s (either musically, or scientifically). I have written things and been published (yay) and my opinion is occasionally sought but oft given.
So now what?
I do the commute to work for >1hr each way, sit at my desk in my office for 7.5hrs/day and then commute home, cook dinner, watch television, call friends and that’s it!??
Surely not.
So how does one ‘be’ when one is ‘doing’ nada, when one has no goals to work towards?
Existential crises for Christmas! Lets hope Father Christmas comes down my chimney with an exciting new challenge…because investigating two national outbreaks, embarking on a crazy new relationship and making friends in a new city having just moved here is clearly not enough!
P.S. And those of you (like someone) who say, "perhaps you could use the time to practise and perfect 'just being'?" will be shot. Ho. Ho. Ho! Labels: Navel Gazing |
| posted by Nomes @ Friday, December 21, 2007 |
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| Quiz time! |
| Thursday, 30 August 2007 |
 Everyone can play this game, I'm fairly sure. Even the lurkers. (warning though: this has turned into a bit of a 'girlpower' post)
Answer me this (either privately, you know my e-mail address or as a comment):
What's the craziest thing you've ever done in a relationship? How old were you at the time? What was the outcome, and did it actually help solve the problem? Did you even know what the problem was? How did it all end?
I'll start (because I have no shame):
The tranny-shagging-ex-fiance had returned from an exercise/mission somewhere. He'd lied to lying to me about numerous things: the fact he was staying with his ex in London while I was in NZ for the millennium (oh - and that she crawled into his bed...etc.), the fact that he'd slept with someone else while we'd been going out, and blah blah blah (you get the idea).
So I took the keys to the car we'd bought maybe a month earlier - the one with the pretty face that we called the Sphinx (cos she looked Siamese). I got in it. I drove up the road. Then put my seatbelt on (as promised, 9!). I drove back down the road, speeding up, and RAMMED it into the concrete post of our gate.
The radiator was the only thing that was damaged (I was fine too), and we had to make up a silly story for the insurance company (fraud is on my list of crimes, treason I've still yet to commit) but the point was made.
Sphinx was repaired. Our relationship sure as hell wasn't. He went off to the jungle again for another tour - during which I REVELLED in my time alone. When he came home, I split us up, realising that I'd rather BE alone, than in a loveless relationship with someone who wasn't good for me.
I was 24.
I've not done anything so ridiculously 'ignorant of the possible consequences' since then.
I'm soooooooooo glad I got out, that I'm not still with him at 30 and sitting (probably in NZ, having done nothing with my life but follow him around) with our (probable) child regretting having spent some of the best years of my life a) miserably and b) with someone like that.
Instead, I've got a PhD (you can STILL call me Dr Nomes - unless you're from Eastern Europe, in which case you can call me Madam Doctor Nomes - they DIG the title thing in this region), friends all around the world (most of whom agree to meet me/put me up without - visible - hesitation...), an ace ex-boyfriend I admire and respect, self-respect, a lover who apparently adores me, ex-flatmates who are more like family, an incredible career and a family who love and support me (even more so now that they know the truth of my life/situations).
I. Is. All. GOOD!Labels: Memories, Navel Gazing |
| posted by Nomes @ Thursday, August 30, 2007 |
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| At long, long last. |
| Tuesday, 17 July 2007 |
 I’m FINALLY one of the cool kids. Someone’s invited me to play along on the playground. I wasn’t the last picked because the team leader ‘had to’ as I was the last standing (who else HATED that whole ‘selection’ in ‘games’?). So thanks London Lass, for knocking on my door and asking if I could come out to play. Now, I have to reveal 7 things about myself. Everyone else seems to have done this in a concise manner. I did it ages ago (I told you I tagged myself…embarrassing, but I was always prone to be a bit of a loner…) and was far more verbose. So here goes on the short and sweet. - I can do that tying-a-cherry-stalk-into-a-knot-without-using-your-hands thing.
- I make contingency plans for stressful conversations I think I’ll have (it’s exhausting).
- I’ve moved house nearly every year since 1995.
- I own two tiaras but haven’t purchased one (Mum & Lira)
- Most of my salary has gone on partying and flights.
- I used to own a house by a beach in NZ.
- I thought I was the cat who walked by herself, but I’m revisiting that opinion.
Now I just think I’m under-growed-up: tiaras, partying, moving, and ‘seductive’ moves with fruit. Hmm…. Your turn: Triplux, Bonfires, Angry, Homo, DQ, Glitter, JonnyB. Apologies to all bloggers who are now ‘double tagged’. Or who also think, "who does this young (oh, please?) upstart consider herself to be, to tag the amazing moi?". Clearly, the joy of being included has gone to my head. Forgive me blog overlord, for I have transgressed.
Labels: Memes, Navel Gazing |
| posted by Nomes @ Tuesday, July 17, 2007 |
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| Where is everyone I love? |
| Monday, 9 July 2007 |
The first time you cried all the way home from the moment you left the school gates, on the bus, up the hill, round two bends and down the tall stony steps, your mother was there to enfold you in her arms. She asked you what was wrong, but all you could do was lie to her panic-stricken face.
(for me, it was about the poisonous berries that bitch had tempted me into touching, and the fact I knew we had cheesecake in the house - how would I ever reconcile the two?)
The last time you cried all the way home from the moment you left work, on the train, up the stairs, across the bridge, down the ramp, across the street and round two bends to the house, it was dark and you had trouble putting the key in the lock. But no one asked you what was wrong, and there was no one to lie to.
(okay, so it's more of a walk up a hill, down a hill, across a road, sidestepping idiot motorists and dog poo, being caught in a sudden downpour, dropping my keys through the (WHY?!) grate in front of the door and finally making my bedraggled way up the stairs (lift wouldn't come)....but yeah. Emptiness. Fuck it all.)
(this post stolen from Lamb Ramblings)Labels: Navel Gazing |
| posted by Nomes @ Monday, July 09, 2007 |
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| Narcissism hits new highs |
| Wednesday, 4 July 2007 |
Narcissistic as I am, when a friend told me that he thought my face might be symmetrical, or as near as damnit to it, I figured I'd put this theory to test. He wished for me to send him the photographic evidence by e-mail, but I claimed overprotective vanity (well, they're a bit 'passport' aren't they?). However, popping them up on the internet is NOTHING. Now, I've played with the images. I know you can look at the background in the middle photo (the 'normal' one) and use that to determine which one is my 'right side' or my 'left side' duplicate. BUT: did I flip it around? There's ONE blemish (a mole) under my eye that I cunningly disguised using MSoft Paint, so that you can't use that. Other than those two digital amendments (or maybe just one...who knows?) the images are 'pure'. Taken in my bedroom. Yesterday morning, while standing facing the skylight over the futon - for those who ARE OCD and require such minutiae.
 Points go to the people who can distinguish which one is my right side (as I stand - not as you look at me) and which is my left. And even MORE points go to the people who end up repeating this little exercise in Picasa/Powerpoint/Paint and posting their results (or e-mailing them to me - I'm not fussy, merely curious).
It's not that I'm crowning myself attractive (though, y'know, if the tiara fits...) but I'm very curious to know whether or not my mates are equally as 'almost' symmetrical to me. I really am.
And because it's the week of online-tests, here's the one I did to receive this charming result (note: only the 'very highs' are produced, I figure you needn't know how OCD I am...except not 'very high'!):
Labels: Memes, Navel Gazing |
| posted by Nomes @ Wednesday, July 04, 2007 |
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| *gasp* |
| Tuesday, 3 July 2007 |
 | | The Sudden Departure
Random Brutal Love Master (RBLM)
Sweet. Dear. Loving. At Gate 18. Final call.
You are The Sudden Departure.
You've been in a lot of serious relationships. More than a few have ended ugly. Uglily. Whatever. Our guess is that you're a really fantastic girl who doesn't really know what she wants, and you've broken a few hearts as a result. You fall for people easily, and you enjoy the feeling of falling in love, but once you're there, either boredom or the old "grass is greener" syndrome sets in. The mind wanders, and with it goes the flesh. And then the toiletries.
Your exact female opposite:
The Intern
Deliberate Gentle Sex Dreamer | We know you're not the classic "love 'em and leave 'em" type, at least not in a purely sexual sense. You have too many serious bonding tendencies for that. But even though you're theoretically looking to settle down, you don't settle long on one person. "Serial monogamist" is probably something you hear a lot. "Emotionally loose" is another way to put it. To the poor guys eating your dust and sniffing your panties, it doesn't really make much difference. Of course, it's not really your fault that people get hurt. You have every right to move on when you choose.
ALWAYS AVOID: The Backrubber (DGSD), The Gentleman (DGLM)
CONSIDER: The Vapor Trail (RBLM), someone just like you
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Link: The Online Dating Persona Test @ OkCupid - free online dating. |
Labels: Navel Gazing |
| posted by Nomes @ Tuesday, July 03, 2007 |
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| Welcome commentators |
| Wednesday, 20 June 2007 |
 For some reason, people have been 'liking' me a lot lately.
Witness:
"Here's a thought I had [after reading your blog]. You're solid, and I'm proud of you." Schoolfriend in Canada. (X for when you finally swing by again)
"Not to be overly sensitive or anything but YOU'RE A TREASURE and I AM SO PROUD THAT I CAN BE A PART OF YOUR LIFE." Intunee in Prague (XXX girlfriend - good luck with the exam!)
"We were entirely confident of your abilities to conduct a wide range of tasks and deliver on the development of surveillance and related epidemiological work." Interviewer (course, they didn't take me on, but you know!)
"I love you. From top to toe." friend in UK.
"My position is seeing you as being amazing." and "So you keep sailing through like the goddess you are." - Nine - who wasn't being paid, but may have been being 'fished'!! :)
So...maybe those negative thoughts that keep me awake at night should just fuck right off.
NB: and yes, I realise my photos have taken a recent turn for the narcissistic, but with comments like these, can you blame me? D, I'm relying upon you to redress the balance...NOT with a counter-photo (you bastard) but with some snarky comment. Labels: Navel Gazing |
| posted by Nomes @ Wednesday, June 20, 2007 |
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| Letters to keep in your bedside drawer - 2 |
| Monday, 18 June 2007 |
 It’s been almost 5 years since we were last in touch. You told me you'd sold my engagement ring to buy a new one for the wife you married 7 months after I broke up with you. Class.
That ring; it was beautiful and I loved it. Now, I think on it and something in my lower belly recoils in horror. I imagine it on my hand, and can still feel that trapped sensation again. Especially the suffocating one which consumed me when you replaced the ring on my finger while I was in a coma, following one doped up statement made following surgery. Remember? After I’d already thrown it at you and called the whole thing off.
I doubted myself so much after that. Had I actually wanted it back? Did I want YOU back? Were we going to be okay?
You made me forget how to listen to my intuition.
Goldenboy. Everyone loved you. Including me (at the start, at least). You were comfortable in amongst my family. Silent, but no one expects anything else – it's MY family, after all. People would ask you if you wanted tea, leave the room, then return to ask me if I also wanted some. My grandmother would phone me across the world to see how you were in the jungle. "Good I think, and my PhD's going well too, thanks!".
So I kept your dirty little secret for you. On your behalf. I didn’t want to see them doubt themselves as much as I did. I didn’t want to have those who I believe in implicitly held up to the light before me and be found to be ‘only’ human after all. I kept it quiet.
I took years to bring myself to divulge that while I’d been sticking swabs up chickens bums in Hamilton (the glory of PhDship), you’d been partaking similarly of transvestite hookers. I didn’t even know there WERE any in the city in which we lived. I kept it quiet.
When you told me where they worked, I couldn’t drive down that street for a year. The new house I moved into, after I moved out of our one (with the vegetable garden I'd made (well, Leigh and Nigel contributed significantly too!), the jasmine (Mamma had purchased, I had wound around the pillars), the fucking swan plants bearing monarch caterpillars (that had to be 'culled' halfway through the season to keep the plants alive - I DID that caterpillar cull!)) was around the corner. The circuitous routes I had to take to avoid “that building”. I kept it quiet.
I never complained when Mamma decided she’d keep in touch with you. Never mentioned your proclivities when she was so disappointed that she you hadn't informed her of your impending nupitals. Hell, I let her entertain you in the house I was living in with my then boyfriend. (He took me to a movie (I think). Possibly not. Possibly we went and did all the glass recycling. It’s good therapy to hear that glass break.) I kept it all quiet.
I learnt things from you though, I'm not saying I didn't, and maybe there were lessons that the universe needed for me to learn. I learnt about rugby: the offside rule, "Pass it, don’t kick it. Kick it, don’t pass it" etc. I learnt about ex-girlfriends (whose car I was driving, whose boyfriend I was living with, whose stereo I played my music with and danced in the lounge to). I learnt about ex-wives (when you were – thankfully – sent packing by the beautiful one you ended up marrying). I learnt more about mother-in-laws than I ever needed to. I learnt about fidelity (my own, and others). I learnt how to carry a secret, even one that eats me up inside.
Things are improving inside my head. I think (either that, or I’m slowly killing off sufficient memory cells that my level of caring has dropped). I can once again consider going out on stage wearing a dress, sparkly high heels shoes (into which a bloke's foot would probably fit), false eyelashes and a feather boa – DESPITE the fact I know that my ‘ladyboy’ good looks are likely what attracted you in the first place (I wish I’d just gone as a Witch, instead, and saved myself the three years of heartache).
Unfortunately, the self-doubt still lingers, it still pervades every relationship that I’ve had since, to the point of self-sabotage – to make sure that all current and future beaus will go the same way.
Possibly not the whore house round the corner from where I live, but y’know, A-way.
Awesome.Labels: Navel Gazing |
| posted by Nomes @ Monday, June 18, 2007 |
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| Seven random things about me |
| Thursday, 31 May 2007 |
 I don’t like gin. Nor tonic (so don't offer me an ice cold g'n't, for goodness sakes. I don't care if it's bloody Tanqueray/Sapphire: I DON'T LIKE THE F-ING STUFF). If I were a character in a 1930’s novel set in London, who mistakenly got herself knocked up by some cad (who subsequently broke her heart by abandoning her and returning to his wife as soon as she imparted the ‘good’ news), for instance*, I would never be able to have a hot 2” bath with a bottle of ‘mothers helper’ and a knitting needle. I would end up having the baby on the streetcorner, then shamelessly abandoning it at a nearby orphanage, before going on to become a seamstress at a big house, always wondering where the child went – before being reunited with it on page 431 – adopted, as it was – into the family for whom I’d worked for three years. You know it.
The sea provides me harmony. You know that chaotic feeling you get inside yourself, when all your blood is racing from one end of your body to the other, like a kitten chasing a laser pointer on the ground? When you’ve a roaring in your head that’s forming a whirlpool down your spinal column, and you just can’t keep still from the itching under your skin? That’s when I NEED the sea. Like, now, already. And no, the smell of brine will NOT suffice. It’s got to stimulate all of my senses: the sight of the waves rolling – whether they’re silky smooth navy blue, cresting whitecaps on a rolling boil, or smashing into rocks – I don’t care. The sound - gentle lapping, roaring, hissingly angry - I don't care. The smell - sea weed rotting and drying in the sun, seagulls poo everywhere, crabs bringing the smell of shell to the shore - I just don't care. The taste - the vinegar that begs to be added to the fish, the salt, the cold air on your tongue, the crunchy brittleness of sand between your teeth - I tell you, I don't care what it is. And the feel - the bracing wind against your face, your hair whipping around you, the sun beating down on your shoulders and nose, the sting of icy cold spray or the tempting tickle of squidgy sand between your toes - I want it all. Bring me anions - STAT. My heart is on my sleeve. It always has been. It (probably) always will be. Despite being hurt REGULARLY (hey, it’s good blog fodder, right?) I’ll still give people the benefit of the doubt immediately – trust them implicitly instinctively. Then, said heart will be trampled on (and possibly spat upon too, but at that point I’m usually too upset to look) and I’ll have to reattach the pieces to my sleeve, and hope that they will eventually mend BEFORE I go giving it away to the next bastard. I suspect that one day, I’ll pin it on the INSIDE of my sleeve. That’ll be the day I close my eyes to the rest of the world. I love to laugh. There’s that moment when your face relaxes into a smile. Then your forehead slides back just that little bit further, and your mouth stretches further to reach your ears. And before you know it, your throat and belly give birth to a cackle, or a guffaw. Occasionally, a full creasing up laugh, that won’t stop – one of those giggling fits that comes in waves and is best shared with someone else (in case the people with the funny white Kris Kross jackets come back). According to someone else, my tongue touches my teeth when I laughed.
I have a spell book. I’ve used it once (a spell to make myself appear prettier), because I’m suspicious that if I used a spell to manipulate someone into doing something with/for/to me, then that won’t be real. And you know, most of my stories did originally start with something that was real! I played cricket. Only for a season. It was crap. My whites weren’t (due to Mum’s Amazing Multicoloured Washing MachineTM – not to mention parental sniggers along the lines of ‘we’re not buying you new kit when you’re not going to last in this sport - we've witnessed your attempts to catch a basketball’), and standing in the middle of a field was boring. You couldn’t even swing the bat like a baseball bat. I scored 3 runs all season (I think). It (I? Nah!!) was shit. The only dead body I’ve ever seen was not of my blood. It was my ex-boyfriends aunt (or great aunt - I forget - Rose was her name, so possibly great aunt). It’s also the only funeral I’ve ever been to. Oh, I’ve known people who’ve died, but generally speaking I’m half a world away and skint. So I borrowed an experience from the guy who would jolt awake if a phone rang in the middle of the night – sure that someone else had died. Seldom was he amused to find me conversing with random people I used to know.
*fear not, I'm not in the family way, good grief people, talk about jumping to conclusions.Labels: Memories, Navel Gazing |
| posted by Nomes @ Thursday, May 31, 2007 |
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| Writing |
| Tuesday, 29 May 2007 |
 Might be the only way through this.
Of course, before we start, we prevaricate, and read through previously drafted chapters of novels.
Depressing and hilarious in equal measure. But: will it sell*? Has my voice changed? Is angst and vulnerability the new black?
*will it be written and completed, is possibly more worthwhile a question!Labels: Navel Gazing, What to do |
| posted by Nomes @ Tuesday, May 29, 2007 |
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| I'm melting, I'm melting... |
| Monday, 30 April 2007 |
Last night, while on the phone to a good friend, I received one of THOSE sms's. No, not the 2am booty-call sms's - the ones that strike fear into your heart.
"Can we call you - it's important. It's not your father, he's fine."
Great, so finally the taxman had arrived at my parents place - were going to prevent them from buying a house because of three late payments on a personal loan I had when I was 18...and they were officially disowning me.
"Sweety, I have to go...talk later."
"Sure" I typed - stay with me here peeps - to my parents, "am home and awake."
Moments later the phone rang. Mum said, "here's your father." and it all seemed terribly cryptic and brought out the paranoid in me.
"I didn't mean to, I hope you're not too disappointed in me, I promise it won't happen again, I don't know why I'm so irresponsible." I started to blurt.
Dad got in first.
"Your Nan died on Thursday."
Oh. Back to Mum.
"We only just found out because your uncle e-mailed your father at work - I made him come home. We're skyping your brother now..."
"So, I'm, like, the first to hear the gossip?"
"Yes Nomes, you're the first."
"Just checking all was still right with the world."
It's sick, I know. But my Dad's parents have had the monopoly on 'death' as it affects me. And since we moved away from England when I was 6, it affects me only in a very abstract manner. I went to stay with Nan and Grandad when I was 11. That was the first time I ever really got to know them a little bit.
Nan would get me to help her peel the potatoes and apples before making a pork roast. Always with the pork roasts. She was tiny, a small bent over woman (she wore hairnets!!!) - who smoked rollup cigarettes that she let me make with her little machine. It was a cool machine - once you'd figured out how to make it work properly. She must have been quite a fearful woman, as she did not want her husband to have "possibly life-giving" surgery when he was diagnosed with cancer of the stomach. Nor had she wanted to travel with his career (in the Army) so they had remained in Hertfordshire.
She came to stay with us when we were in the Middle East. She smoked A LOT at that time - and in a non-smoking house, it drove us to distraction.
Actually, it drove us to have 'family chats' out in the Dodge (car big enough for us all to sit in AND wave our arms about as we do) to try to vent pressure. We'd do as much as we could to limit our time we spent with her - she was crazy.
She called me Kate, because that was the name she wanted for me. She asked the Indian souq shop assistants for 'nigger brown' material. IN THE MIDDLE EAST!!!! She ate slowly. She wore those weird brown wrinkled pop socks (there is no other term for them) that bunch in an old ladies ankle. She usually had ash resting on her "nigger brown" blouses.
But she was still my ancestor. I feel bad that I haven't seen her since I was - ooh - about 15/16 maybe? That's how long it's been - I can't remember. Apparently, after she fell on a bus and broke her hip and went to hospital, she slowly went senile - so there was no reason to see her. And I'm not blaming my parents here - I never made one iota of effort either.
Still. It's sad. I don't know how to feel. I don't know what I feel. I want to sleep. A lot. Except at night, when I (apparently) want to wake up every 30mins. Maybe it's guilt. Maybe it's the upsetness of a family who's only method of communication for important things is work e-mail addresses. Maybe it's empathy for Dad - cos having just received my care package from Mum, I think I'd be distraught not to have one. Maybe it's because the old girl is having her funeral on my 30th birthday.
Ha ha ha. She got me.
Rest in peace Nan.
Kate
XXX
P.S. And yes, fyi, that IS how you turn someone else's death/loss/grief into a blog entry about yourself. I know - it's a talent I've spent all my life honing. No - you'll never come even remotely close. Mwahahahaha!Labels: Memories, Navel Gazing |
| posted by Nomes @ Monday, April 30, 2007 |
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| Better late than never: IN 2006 |
| Friday, 2 March 2007 |
 [PEOPLE]
Best in-country friend: Kat
Best friend forever: Liorah
Lost any friends: No, all present and correct at last roll call.
[PLACES]
Went out of the country: Yes
Moved: No
How many times on an airplane: Are you serious? Okay hang on (destinations only: Prague, Berlin, Copenhagen, Baku, Prague, London, Prague, Frankfurt, Baku, Frankfurt, Madrid, Prague, London, Barcelona, London, Prague, Venice, Prague, London, Amsterdam, Tallin, Prague, Zurich, Geneva, Prague, Barcelona, Mahon, Barcelona, Prague, Paris, Sao Paulo, Brazilia, Sao Paulo, Paris, Prague, Copenhagen). So that’s…36 planes I was on in 2006. Even I have to admit that’s disgusting.
[YOU]
Did you change: Yes. I’ve grown less enthusiastic.
New look: None whatsoever. I’m still wearing all the clothes I wore to work in NZ.
Most depressed time in 2006: Um, the bit in the middle, specifically related to work. And failed romances. They suck.
Best time in 2006: New Years with the crew, Azerbai-bloody-jan baby!, the holiday with Nis and Nine, meeting and moving in with Adam, hanging with J in the summer, having loads of visitors, having the crew for Christmas in Prague, being with the EPIET gang and sharing this New Years with them.
[LOVE]
Did you get heartbroken: Not as such. Heart SORE, yes. Heartbroken? Nah.
Who was your summer love: I guess that would be the Dutchman. I guess.
[SEASONS]
Favorite Season: Autumn
Least favorite season: Winter
Good birthday? The scenery was great.
[FINAL QUESTIONS]
Got arrested: No
Had a crush: Yes
Lost a family member: No
Got bad grades: No
Got a Myspace: No (I had one before)
Kept a secret: Yes
Told a secret: No
Done something you totally regret: Nah, I stand by all of my actions. Which is good, because then I’m right there to pick up the pieces…
In 2006 I...
[ ] broke a promise
[ ] made a new best friend
[x] fallen out of love
[ ] lied
[ ] went behind your parents back
[ ] cried over a broken heart
[ ] disappointed someone close
[ ] hid a secret
[x] pretended to be happy
[x] kissed in the rain (oh yeah, so I did. Huh.)
[ ] slept under the stars
[ ] kept your new years resolution
[x] forgot your new years resolution
[x] met someone who changed your life
[x] met one of your idols
[ ] changed your outlook on life
[x] sat home all day doing nothing
[x] pretended to be sick
[x] left the country
[ ]almost died
[ ] given up something important to you
[x] lost something expensive
[x] learned something new about yourself
[x] tried something you normally wouldn't try and liked it
[ ] made a change in your life
[x] found out who your true friends were
[x] met great people
[x] stayed up 'til sunrise
[x] pigged out over the summer
[x] cried over the silliest thing
[x] was never home on weekends
[ ] got into a car accident
[x] had friends who were drifting away from you (or me them)
[x] had someone close to me die
[x] had a high cell phone bill
[ ] wasted most of my money on food
[ ] had a fist fight
[ ] went to the beach
[ ] saw a celebrity
[x] got sick
[x] liked more than 5 people at the same time
[x] became closer to a lot of people Labels: Memories, Navel Gazing, Observations on Life |
| posted by Nomes @ Friday, March 02, 2007 |
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| Drifting |
| Wednesday, 7 February 2007 |
 There I was, lying down, talking to a friend. My consciousness started to slip, and I was drifting in that special place between dream world and real world, where you are you, but anything could (and does) happen.
I was with a work colleague (I think, because) we had packs and medical supplies with us. For some reason, we needed to contact someone who could do something (you know how these things are), but there is no one looking anywhere near official enough for our liking. We move over towards the bank, on the other side of the street. It is hot, dusty, sweaty, and the folk there are predominantly dark skinned – though not African dark – and wearing trousers with sandals that they don’t pick up properly as they walk, so the bank with it’s tiled floored hall of tellers is filled with the *shuff shuff* of about 50 patient locals.
Me and whoever is with me, decide that the tellers probably won’t speak English or French (er, neither do I, perhaps my colleague spoke French), so we headed to the Bureau de Change section. That was behind mahogany and glass panels, air conditioned. We entered the small door, and waited for a teller to show up on their side of the glass partition. I said,
“You know, we don’t even really need the bureau de change”*
And the person I had been speaking to while I lay in bed, said in very puzzled voice, “What??”
Oooops. Two worlds collided.
*it seems I state the blatantly obvious even in the dream world.Labels: Navel Gazing, Observations on Life, Travelling |
| posted by Nomes @ Wednesday, February 07, 2007 |
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