So that's it dear readers. I have attended the five weddings and travelled the three countries... all in one year. I have flown exactly 14,391.53 miles, stayed in more hotels this year than I've done my entire life and, Lord only knows how much ground I've covered via train and car. For me 2010 is no doubt the Year of the Wedding and I have experienced so much joy, laughter and love through being there for my friends on their special day.
Friends who have begun a new chapter as someone's Mrs. Next will be the babies but as to who I think will be the first to changing nappies and enduring sleepless night - that I have no idea. BUT I sure hope by some freak coincidence that the bundles of joy DO NOT appear all at the same time!
And me? As exhausting as it has been, worrying about money and having to cancel plans with other friends at the last confetti minute, I needed this crazy year to gain some much needed perspective. Funnily enough amid all its craziness, two very significant things happened to me this year. Firstly I got to laugh properly again. The last part of 2009 and into the start of this year was neither easy nor fun. The failures and disappointments professionally left me feeling bitter, jaded and disillusioned. I lost faith and hope. But then I got to re-discover one of my first loves: travelling. Getting away from the monotony that is everyday real life meant I was able to experience some valuable me time. It is from this solitude that I found myself smiling and laughing again.
Secondly, I'm writing again. OK so I'm not going to win any Pulitzer prizes with this blog but dear readers through updating you with all my ramblings, I've remembered why I fell in love with this art in the first place. Maintaining a blog is not easy, especially when you're really not in the mood, but it is the continuous requests for updates, acknowledgement and comments that have kept me motivated throughout. So THANK YOU for visiting this page to catch up on my disasters, hopeless celebrity crushes, dress hunts and yes, my running through train stations and airports. I've had one hell of a ride and I sincerely hope you have enjoyed it too.
Who knows when my time will come to star as leading lady in my own big day? Will I ever be able to overcome my issues and pride to one day be able to say: "I have loved another with my heart and soul and for me that has always been enough" (name that film)? Who knows. Come what may I can promise you this: when it's my time I will start a whole new blog and update you on every disaster, hopeless celebrity crushes (every man and woman gets cold feet after all!), dress hunts and yes, no doubt running... though less Julia Roberts in Runaway Bride, more just plain old me trying to be on time.
In the meantime, while my girls are all living happily ever after, this friend/ maid of honour/ writer/ happy-go-lucky single yet fabulous lady is looking forward to a long sleep. Memo to all potential knight in shining whatevers: please do not wake me up as Mama needs her rest!
Sunday, 31 October 2010
Reception no5: Faye and Chris continuing the wedding celebrates back home on The Wirral
For a second and final time I put on my maid of honour dress along with the ridiculously high shoes for a night of dancing at Tranmere Rovers Football Club on The Wirral. Finally Faye and Chris, the beautiful bride and groom, had their first dance - to Frankie Goes to Hollywood's Power of Love.
Speeches were made by the groom, best man and Faye's Gay Best Friend Jon. I didn't need to repeat my masterpiece which is all good considering I didn't have time to go over anything. It has been three weeks after all! A ridiculously large buffet was prepared by the mum's and Elaine, Faye's sister-in-law (Chris accidentally letting it slip that the food came from Costco. Cue Faye: "Chris!")
I made a special request to the DJ for Elvis's Viva Las Vegas (of course) and an hour passed by before the Dragon's Den presenter lookalike revealed that while he had a copy of The King's Greatest Hits, that was the one track he did not have. What?! Seriously?! Fortunately Chris came to the rescue. He downloaded that very song onto his iPhone. After some connecting of the wires and reconfiguration, the DJ was able to blast out the song that for me defines Las Vegas. God bless modern day technology and thank you Groomie!
It was wonderful meeting, reuniting with the extended Keane and Dabek families and friends. Everyone had so much fun. None more so than Jon who at one point was lying on the floor gyrating to some tune. I was that mesmerised with his thrusting, legs swinging in the air moves that I wasn't hearing the music at all. There's always one at every party who is fearless on the dancefloor - and last night it was the gay guy who can I say needs to pack up and move down to London because he is destined for stardom in one way or another.
Parv being there made the night even more special as it brought back sweet memories of the good old uni days. Granted it was surreal being at the wedding of one member of the Terror Squad. Who knows who will be the next to wed. The three of us also agreed that even though we're all living in different parts of the country (and world in Jo's case) post uni we're all doing our own thing, that it is important to make the effort to reunite more. Our friendship is that strong and priceless that in years to come no marriage, babies and job is justifiable enough an excuse to lose touch.
The night ended with a less than glamourous walk in the rain up the main road looking for a taxi that will take us back to the fab (but no patch on the Vegas) hotel. Having walked past a group of scantily-clad teenage girls trying to cover their hair with their handbags, Parv and I ended up outside the Co-op. Not our finest moment I admit!
The end of the night marked the end of this crazy, romantic, beautiful and surreal year for me. Five weddings DONE. What a year it has been.
Speeches were made by the groom, best man and Faye's Gay Best Friend Jon. I didn't need to repeat my masterpiece which is all good considering I didn't have time to go over anything. It has been three weeks after all! A ridiculously large buffet was prepared by the mum's and Elaine, Faye's sister-in-law (Chris accidentally letting it slip that the food came from Costco. Cue Faye: "Chris!")
I made a special request to the DJ for Elvis's Viva Las Vegas (of course) and an hour passed by before the Dragon's Den presenter lookalike revealed that while he had a copy of The King's Greatest Hits, that was the one track he did not have. What?! Seriously?! Fortunately Chris came to the rescue. He downloaded that very song onto his iPhone. After some connecting of the wires and reconfiguration, the DJ was able to blast out the song that for me defines Las Vegas. God bless modern day technology and thank you Groomie!
It was wonderful meeting, reuniting with the extended Keane and Dabek families and friends. Everyone had so much fun. None more so than Jon who at one point was lying on the floor gyrating to some tune. I was that mesmerised with his thrusting, legs swinging in the air moves that I wasn't hearing the music at all. There's always one at every party who is fearless on the dancefloor - and last night it was the gay guy who can I say needs to pack up and move down to London because he is destined for stardom in one way or another.
Parv being there made the night even more special as it brought back sweet memories of the good old uni days. Granted it was surreal being at the wedding of one member of the Terror Squad. Who knows who will be the next to wed. The three of us also agreed that even though we're all living in different parts of the country (and world in Jo's case) post uni we're all doing our own thing, that it is important to make the effort to reunite more. Our friendship is that strong and priceless that in years to come no marriage, babies and job is justifiable enough an excuse to lose touch.
The night ended with a less than glamourous walk in the rain up the main road looking for a taxi that will take us back to the fab (but no patch on the Vegas) hotel. Having walked past a group of scantily-clad teenage girls trying to cover their hair with their handbags, Parv and I ended up outside the Co-op. Not our finest moment I admit!
The end of the night marked the end of this crazy, romantic, beautiful and surreal year for me. Five weddings DONE. What a year it has been.
Calling Dr McDreamy!
The poll has finally ended and yes, just as I predicted, Patrick Dempsey has come out on top with 60% of the votes in declaring who is more attractive: him or True Blood's Alexander Skarsgaard.
In all fairness to the vamp I have seen some clips of him in action as his character (the name escapes me!) and I do understand the hype but give me the tall, dark, handsome, charming, Mer's Knight in Shining Whatever* Derek anyday!
Thanks for voting dear readers.
*I have made reference to this in many entries and some of you have asked me about it. Well now you know where I got it from. You didn't think I came up with this all by myself did you?
In all fairness to the vamp I have seen some clips of him in action as his character (the name escapes me!) and I do understand the hype but give me the tall, dark, handsome, charming, Mer's Knight in Shining Whatever* Derek anyday!
Thanks for voting dear readers.
*I have made reference to this in many entries and some of you have asked me about it. Well now you know where I got it from. You didn't think I came up with this all by myself did you?
Friday, 29 October 2010
Lost in New York City
One memorable New York event which I completely forgot to include in the previous post involves yet another taxi driver and winding up on the wrong end of Manhattan... at night.
It all happened when I took the wrong Subway route coming back from Brooklyn Bridge. The routes divide up into either green or red. Green is for east and red for west. My hotel was on West 99th Street. Now there was a direct service to East 99th but to go to West 99th I need to make several changes. It was getting late, cold and I was tired and hungry. Somehow I thought if I get off at East then I can simply walk across, cutting through Central Park.How wrong was I.
Exiting the Subway stop to a dark street, few cars on the road and with the only bright light coming from a dingy 24 hour convenience store, my gut was telling me what a bad plan I hatched. I stepped inside to ask anyone which way is west. The store owner along with this Latina lady told me plainly that it was almost impossible to walk to West 99th. They advised me to get back onto the Subway and find someway to change onto the red route. Oh dear.
Standing on the street corner with my map, I did think to just walk it. But then a taxi suddenly pulled over and the driver told me to get in. I thanked the universe again for my luck. The driver, while friendly and chatty, did not hesitate to lecture me on the dangers of walking around the city by myself at night, especially as a tourist. He said he knew instantly what I was thinking of doing when he saw me with the map (and no doubt with the look that said "I know it's not the best idea but I might as well give it a try...") He said that Central Park is no place to be walking through when it's dark. His point was emphasised by one entrance cornered off by police cars and ambulances. Duly noted.
Since arriving home all safe and well, I would like to give a big shout out to the New York taxi driver who took me back to the right side of the city. And yes I promise that if it happens again walking around will be the last option.
It all happened when I took the wrong Subway route coming back from Brooklyn Bridge. The routes divide up into either green or red. Green is for east and red for west. My hotel was on West 99th Street. Now there was a direct service to East 99th but to go to West 99th I need to make several changes. It was getting late, cold and I was tired and hungry. Somehow I thought if I get off at East then I can simply walk across, cutting through Central Park.How wrong was I.
Exiting the Subway stop to a dark street, few cars on the road and with the only bright light coming from a dingy 24 hour convenience store, my gut was telling me what a bad plan I hatched. I stepped inside to ask anyone which way is west. The store owner along with this Latina lady told me plainly that it was almost impossible to walk to West 99th. They advised me to get back onto the Subway and find someway to change onto the red route. Oh dear.
Standing on the street corner with my map, I did think to just walk it. But then a taxi suddenly pulled over and the driver told me to get in. I thanked the universe again for my luck. The driver, while friendly and chatty, did not hesitate to lecture me on the dangers of walking around the city by myself at night, especially as a tourist. He said he knew instantly what I was thinking of doing when he saw me with the map (and no doubt with the look that said "I know it's not the best idea but I might as well give it a try...") He said that Central Park is no place to be walking through when it's dark. His point was emphasised by one entrance cornered off by police cars and ambulances. Duly noted.
Since arriving home all safe and well, I would like to give a big shout out to the New York taxi driver who took me back to the right side of the city. And yes I promise that if it happens again walking around will be the last option.
Thursday, 28 October 2010
New York: a 24 hour Love Story
One moment it was nothing but Autumn leaves and highways in all that I could see and the next it was the Manhattan skyline lighting up the pitch black sky. There’s the Empire State! The Chrysler Building! Not even the heavy rain could dampen the excitement that was: I’m in New York.
Waiting for a taxi in Downtown Manhattan while it rained was not the best way to start the visit. Cab drivers in this city are impatient. Traffic is a nightmare and every few seconds you can guarantee to hear horns going off followed by some strong curses.
After a 40 minute wait I was finally on my way to Hotel 99 near the West End. As the bus terminated at 42nd Street, it was crazy to even think about walking. Hotel 99 is not a patch on the luxury I experienced in Las Vegas. It is bog standard travellers accommodation. The bathroom is shared which I was OK with - apart from the first time I took a shower and found a used plaster stuck on the window. The room surprised me in many ways. There was a wide screen television and an iPod docking station. A step up from a typical hostel but not quite as glam as a hotel.
The TV was my saviour on my first night. I had planned on heading down Broadway and maybe Times Square but Mr Rain washed away those plans. So I spent the night watching a double bill of Grey’s Anatomy and a marathon of CSI New York. I wasn’t complaining!
The next morning fortunately it was blue skies but very chilly. Determined to make the most of my 24 hours in the city its natives claim to be the best in the world, I bundled up on the layers and started my sightseeing at 10am.
First stop Central Park. I believe that you can spend a whole day walking around and you will probably have only covered half of it. It is huge but stunning. The reservoir that suddenly appears out of nowhere was my favourite part. Admittedly I spent ages walking around as I wanted to find the gorgeous bridge featured in Maid of Honour. It’s in the scene where Patrick Dempsey jokingly threatens to jump off when Michelle Monaghan gives him the news that she’s going away for a while.
The bridge I did not find. Instead I met a random 40-something man called Ian Cunningham who told me to come over and watch some squirrels in a tree. Must admit I wasn’t that impressed with seeing these rats with bushy tails but random Ian turned out to be quite an interesting person. He was drinking his second beer – “the best way to start the day” – and very proudly explained why New York is the best city in the world. His reason for why New Yorkers very rarely leave is because everyone else chooses to come to them. Fair enough. We even had a nosy in the parked cop cars where in one we saw a mass litter of coffee cups and doughnut boxes!
Having parted ways on 5th Avenue, I walked down imagining myself in one of the $2m (minimum) apartments. I didn't have a couple million to spare but I was able to afford a $2 hot dog from a vendor opposite the MET.
Next stop was Rockefeller Centre. On Simone's advice, I chose not to go up the Empire State as I wanted a full view of it. Sound advice indeed. Standing on the observation deck, 70 floors up, with a panoramic view of the city = sheer brilliance. It was windy and some 90 minutes later I could barely feel my face but with the Empire State in front and a miniscule Statue of Liberty in the far back distance was worth it.
Exiting Rockefeller I was tempted to do some ice skating but having never tried it before I decided against it because you can guarantee I would have taken down some kiddies with me. Plus I was on limited time and ice skating in New York is not as joyous if you’re on your own. So on I went.
Grand Central is no ordinary train station. It is an architectural dream. I also felt sorry for all the commuters in a rush who have to meander their way through the endless tourists all locked in one position, photographing every ceiling tile. When I saw the giant clock I could not help but giggle as I thought of that scene in Madagascar where the animals are cornered by the NYPD. Silly I know. Another reason to be happy was buying the newly released new book by Nelson Mandela Conversations With Myself.
Leaving Grand Central, I went on my first Subway ride. It was buying my ticket where I experienced my first NYWA: New Yorker with an Attitude. It was $8 for an all day pass and all I had was $1 bills. Each one had to be inserted straight and the right way up. Not even halfway through, I heard some girl make a deliberate would-you-hurry-up sigh. Well that just made me go slower. I didn’t even bother looking up to see who it was. I was tempted to press cancel and start all over but that would have been unfair to the rest of the queue. To me the Subway is more spacious than the Tube. Seats are more comfortable. My friend Alex says this is to accommodate all the fat people in America! I even, get this, made eyes with a cute Chinese guy for a few stops. He got off at one stop before me and no we didn’t say anything as he was listening to music and I was reading my new book.
Chinatown – it had to be done as my parents bound to have wanted to see some pictures. Unlike Manchester, New York Chinatown is spread out and it’s easy to get lost in. There's not as many Chinese people as Vancouver. Of course I got lost as I found myself walking away from Brooklyn Bridge rather than towards. Maps are hard for some people!
When I finally got to the Bridge (for me the most important place to visit when in New York) I actually waited for an hour before doing the walk. I didn’t want to finish it before night time really kicked in as I really wanted to see the full effects of the Manhattan skyline in the evening. So I sat on a bench and had a rest. It was then I really felt the ache in my legs. I had walked around the city for six and half hours and now I was to walk up and down the 1,595 ft long bridge.
When I stepped onto the bridge, there was some daylight left. By the time I left it was pitch black. But my goodness, what a view. The Manhattan skyline, though not as close as the first view when the bus entered the city, is something I'll never get tired of. While the temperature continued to drop, I was happy just standing where I was looking at the city from the Brooklyn side. I would have stayed there all night if I could.
So that was my New York experience. I call it a 24 hour love story because in that one day I saw natural and architectural beauty that made me look forward to coming back and doing it all over again. I get why New Yorkers claim this to be the best city in the world, albeit I don’t agree personally. New York is fast moving, never sleeps and I am sure a place where no two days are ever the same.
The next time I’m there I probably won’t do it alone. As much as I advocate solo travelling, admittedly New York is too romantic of a place to be alone in - especially as a tourist. At times it really did hit me that I was on my own. Not in the sense of Good Lord I’m so alone I must find someone asap. But more in the sense of making a memory of an exact moment with someone and laughing about it in years to come. So next time be it with a knight in shining whatever, friends or family I will experience the moments (again) with someone.
Waiting for a taxi in Downtown Manhattan while it rained was not the best way to start the visit. Cab drivers in this city are impatient. Traffic is a nightmare and every few seconds you can guarantee to hear horns going off followed by some strong curses.
After a 40 minute wait I was finally on my way to Hotel 99 near the West End. As the bus terminated at 42nd Street, it was crazy to even think about walking. Hotel 99 is not a patch on the luxury I experienced in Las Vegas. It is bog standard travellers accommodation. The bathroom is shared which I was OK with - apart from the first time I took a shower and found a used plaster stuck on the window. The room surprised me in many ways. There was a wide screen television and an iPod docking station. A step up from a typical hostel but not quite as glam as a hotel.
The TV was my saviour on my first night. I had planned on heading down Broadway and maybe Times Square but Mr Rain washed away those plans. So I spent the night watching a double bill of Grey’s Anatomy and a marathon of CSI New York. I wasn’t complaining!
The next morning fortunately it was blue skies but very chilly. Determined to make the most of my 24 hours in the city its natives claim to be the best in the world, I bundled up on the layers and started my sightseeing at 10am.
First stop Central Park. I believe that you can spend a whole day walking around and you will probably have only covered half of it. It is huge but stunning. The reservoir that suddenly appears out of nowhere was my favourite part. Admittedly I spent ages walking around as I wanted to find the gorgeous bridge featured in Maid of Honour. It’s in the scene where Patrick Dempsey jokingly threatens to jump off when Michelle Monaghan gives him the news that she’s going away for a while.
The bridge I did not find. Instead I met a random 40-something man called Ian Cunningham who told me to come over and watch some squirrels in a tree. Must admit I wasn’t that impressed with seeing these rats with bushy tails but random Ian turned out to be quite an interesting person. He was drinking his second beer – “the best way to start the day” – and very proudly explained why New York is the best city in the world. His reason for why New Yorkers very rarely leave is because everyone else chooses to come to them. Fair enough. We even had a nosy in the parked cop cars where in one we saw a mass litter of coffee cups and doughnut boxes!
Having parted ways on 5th Avenue, I walked down imagining myself in one of the $2m (minimum) apartments. I didn't have a couple million to spare but I was able to afford a $2 hot dog from a vendor opposite the MET.
Next stop was Rockefeller Centre. On Simone's advice, I chose not to go up the Empire State as I wanted a full view of it. Sound advice indeed. Standing on the observation deck, 70 floors up, with a panoramic view of the city = sheer brilliance. It was windy and some 90 minutes later I could barely feel my face but with the Empire State in front and a miniscule Statue of Liberty in the far back distance was worth it.
Exiting Rockefeller I was tempted to do some ice skating but having never tried it before I decided against it because you can guarantee I would have taken down some kiddies with me. Plus I was on limited time and ice skating in New York is not as joyous if you’re on your own. So on I went.
Grand Central is no ordinary train station. It is an architectural dream. I also felt sorry for all the commuters in a rush who have to meander their way through the endless tourists all locked in one position, photographing every ceiling tile. When I saw the giant clock I could not help but giggle as I thought of that scene in Madagascar where the animals are cornered by the NYPD. Silly I know. Another reason to be happy was buying the newly released new book by Nelson Mandela Conversations With Myself.
Leaving Grand Central, I went on my first Subway ride. It was buying my ticket where I experienced my first NYWA: New Yorker with an Attitude. It was $8 for an all day pass and all I had was $1 bills. Each one had to be inserted straight and the right way up. Not even halfway through, I heard some girl make a deliberate would-you-hurry-up sigh. Well that just made me go slower. I didn’t even bother looking up to see who it was. I was tempted to press cancel and start all over but that would have been unfair to the rest of the queue. To me the Subway is more spacious than the Tube. Seats are more comfortable. My friend Alex says this is to accommodate all the fat people in America! I even, get this, made eyes with a cute Chinese guy for a few stops. He got off at one stop before me and no we didn’t say anything as he was listening to music and I was reading my new book.
Chinatown – it had to be done as my parents bound to have wanted to see some pictures. Unlike Manchester, New York Chinatown is spread out and it’s easy to get lost in. There's not as many Chinese people as Vancouver. Of course I got lost as I found myself walking away from Brooklyn Bridge rather than towards. Maps are hard for some people!
When I finally got to the Bridge (for me the most important place to visit when in New York) I actually waited for an hour before doing the walk. I didn’t want to finish it before night time really kicked in as I really wanted to see the full effects of the Manhattan skyline in the evening. So I sat on a bench and had a rest. It was then I really felt the ache in my legs. I had walked around the city for six and half hours and now I was to walk up and down the 1,595 ft long bridge.
When I stepped onto the bridge, there was some daylight left. By the time I left it was pitch black. But my goodness, what a view. The Manhattan skyline, though not as close as the first view when the bus entered the city, is something I'll never get tired of. While the temperature continued to drop, I was happy just standing where I was looking at the city from the Brooklyn side. I would have stayed there all night if I could.
So that was my New York experience. I call it a 24 hour love story because in that one day I saw natural and architectural beauty that made me look forward to coming back and doing it all over again. I get why New Yorkers claim this to be the best city in the world, albeit I don’t agree personally. New York is fast moving, never sleeps and I am sure a place where no two days are ever the same.
The next time I’m there I probably won’t do it alone. As much as I advocate solo travelling, admittedly New York is too romantic of a place to be alone in - especially as a tourist. At times it really did hit me that I was on my own. Not in the sense of Good Lord I’m so alone I must find someone asap. But more in the sense of making a memory of an exact moment with someone and laughing about it in years to come. So next time be it with a knight in shining whatever, friends or family I will experience the moments (again) with someone.
Montreal: Can't speak French so I let Alice do the talking, talking...
After Vancouver I headed east to Montreal, Quebec to spend one day with Alice. Alice’s has definitely put her degree in French and Spanish into good use judging by how fluent she is and her swanky Rolls Royce job.
Montreal is proud of its French heritage. It was like being in Paris again – the architecture, the cobbled streets, the old lampposts, the cafes and the wines. It was magnifique. Speaking English was like taking the poor man’s option. Even though I have an A* in French GCSE, without Alice being there as my translator, I would have been so lost.
The night went too quickly. It’s amazing how even after a year apart, we were still able to talk the night away and at no point did we run out of things to say. But our reunion was limited due to work for Alice and me heading down to New York by the Amtrak bus at 9am the next day. The bus was by far the cheaper option. Now in hindsight, googling the address of the station at 2am after many mojitos and vodka tonics was not the wisest of decisions. I got an address from the Amtrak website. Destination: Le Gare Centrale (or something to that effect.) So come 7.30am with a mild hangover Alice dropped me off at what turned out to be the train station. Hmm maybe it’s all together. Having waited in the queue with my heavy luggage, surrounded by commuters, a nice lady who spoke perfect English said I needed to go over to the main building for Amtrak. So off I went again crossing the main roads on a busy Thursday morning heading towards the main train station.
Fifteen minutes, three men and a possible lost reservation later, I find out that I needed the bus station… which was 10 minutes back where Alice and I came from. Cue panic. I needed to be at the boarding gate at least 30 minutes before departure and the thought of being stranded in a place where no one would understand my top grade GCSE French terrified me. So I ran (it’s becoming quite a habit this) to the taxi rank.
It was just my luck that I get a driver who not only did not speak English but was also the moodiest, glass-smashed-into-a-billion-pieces, unfriendly person I came across during the whole holiday. I got as far as Bonjour before I gave up all hope of making any small conversation. The silence was painful.
Then came paying the $14 bill. Now the night before I had spent all my small bills with Alice leaving me with single $100 note. My fault I admit but before I could attempt to explain myself, Monsieur Moody started yelling at me – in French and English! By some sheer miracle he managed to say, “No! No! No! No! I have no change for 100. Look. I want $14!” I asked if I could go to the taxi drivers in front and ask for change. “No! They have no change!” Je ne parle en anglais - come again? He then told me to leave my belongings with him, go into the shop and get the change. As if!
Then a light went off in my head. I have US dollars. On the flight to Montreal, I overheard some businessmen talking about how the Canadian/Dollar exchange rate was at its strongest. So I offered US $20 to Monsieur Moody telling him to keep the change. Obviously he took it and boy did he speed off quickly. I sure hope he treated himself to something pretty because damn he needed loosening up.
Having just made it to the boarding gate, the silver lining was the kind bus driver let me off with having an extra bag. So off I went again on a nine hour journey heading for New York City – where dreams are made of.
Montreal is proud of its French heritage. It was like being in Paris again – the architecture, the cobbled streets, the old lampposts, the cafes and the wines. It was magnifique. Speaking English was like taking the poor man’s option. Even though I have an A* in French GCSE, without Alice being there as my translator, I would have been so lost.
The night went too quickly. It’s amazing how even after a year apart, we were still able to talk the night away and at no point did we run out of things to say. But our reunion was limited due to work for Alice and me heading down to New York by the Amtrak bus at 9am the next day. The bus was by far the cheaper option. Now in hindsight, googling the address of the station at 2am after many mojitos and vodka tonics was not the wisest of decisions. I got an address from the Amtrak website. Destination: Le Gare Centrale (or something to that effect.) So come 7.30am with a mild hangover Alice dropped me off at what turned out to be the train station. Hmm maybe it’s all together. Having waited in the queue with my heavy luggage, surrounded by commuters, a nice lady who spoke perfect English said I needed to go over to the main building for Amtrak. So off I went again crossing the main roads on a busy Thursday morning heading towards the main train station.
Fifteen minutes, three men and a possible lost reservation later, I find out that I needed the bus station… which was 10 minutes back where Alice and I came from. Cue panic. I needed to be at the boarding gate at least 30 minutes before departure and the thought of being stranded in a place where no one would understand my top grade GCSE French terrified me. So I ran (it’s becoming quite a habit this) to the taxi rank.
It was just my luck that I get a driver who not only did not speak English but was also the moodiest, glass-smashed-into-a-billion-pieces, unfriendly person I came across during the whole holiday. I got as far as Bonjour before I gave up all hope of making any small conversation. The silence was painful.
Then came paying the $14 bill. Now the night before I had spent all my small bills with Alice leaving me with single $100 note. My fault I admit but before I could attempt to explain myself, Monsieur Moody started yelling at me – in French and English! By some sheer miracle he managed to say, “No! No! No! No! I have no change for 100. Look. I want $14!” I asked if I could go to the taxi drivers in front and ask for change. “No! They have no change!” Je ne parle en anglais - come again? He then told me to leave my belongings with him, go into the shop and get the change. As if!
Then a light went off in my head. I have US dollars. On the flight to Montreal, I overheard some businessmen talking about how the Canadian/Dollar exchange rate was at its strongest. So I offered US $20 to Monsieur Moody telling him to keep the change. Obviously he took it and boy did he speed off quickly. I sure hope he treated himself to something pretty because damn he needed loosening up.
Having just made it to the boarding gate, the silver lining was the kind bus driver let me off with having an extra bag. So off I went again on a nine hour journey heading for New York City – where dreams are made of.
Wednesday, 27 October 2010
Due North: from Vegas to Vancouver BC, Canada
So after Las Vegas I flew to Vancouver to spend six whole days with some wonderful relatives. Auntie Sannie is my Dad's youngest sister and the more I spend time with her the better I understand where I get my personality from. Auntie Sannie is adventurous, brave, incredibly intelligent and believe me if I looked half as decent as her when I'm in my late 50s then I shall be extremely lucky.
I also finally got to meet my cousins Gina and Joe along with Richard, my cousin-in-law. I've already met their younger brother Andy. Unfortunately Uncle John was away in Hong Kong on business otherwise it would have been the ultimate family gathering.
You know I have got to hand it to the Siu family. Uncle John and Auntie Sannie raised some good children. They're blessed with the most wonderful son-in-law. Richard is selfless, patient and kind. He even devotes his Saturdays to leading the Boys Scouts! During my trip he acted as my chauffeur and photographer while selflessly digging out an old mobile to give to me, topped up with credit, so that I could contact people whenever I want - rather than use my international rates. He does all this without any agenda or expecting anything in return. Just when you thought this type only existed in the films and novels.
Gina is a very lucky woman and she deserves someone like him. She is beautiful, hilarious, self-deprecating and has an enviable relationship with Auntie Sannie. She kept me laughing throughout the whole six days I was there. She stressed the importance in fully training your man before marrying him. That way he is a keeper. Duly noted cousin!
Where Gina and Andy are loud, Joe on the other hand is laid back and happy to be in the background getting on with his own thing. This is another extremely decent man - very intelligent too. He is destined to go even further than he already has done. But one thing that did shock me was witnessing just how competitive he gets. Watching him determined to beat Richard on the PS2 before going home proved to me that he definitely takes after Uncle John! Joe, bless him, even drove me to Whistler even though he was tired from a late night with the boys. Whistler is a 2.5/3hours drive. He could have postponed it but he made a promise and he fulfilled it.
Now Andy, I am close with. He's just 11 months older than me and really we couldn't be any more different. The one thing we have in common is alcohol and man can my cousin knock back the vodka! He introduced me to some skull-shaped brand that's produced by Dan Ackeroyd. I returned the favour by making Malibu and cranberry with Bombay gin. Girly drink I know but it tasted nice! In all seriousness, Andy is a survivor. He can go through a gruelling day's work and still come home and hang out with his quirky British cousin until way past midnight. He's also turning into my Dad in a really freakish way. His mannerisms, body language and sayings all reminds me of Papa Ng. Andy may be a tough guy on the outside but two things brings out the true sensitive soul in him: his family and his cat. He's very protective and if I'm ever facing any danger, I'd feel safe with him by my side.
They say that the second thing after love that ties a family together is food. And good Lord does my family appreciate the value and privilege of a good meal. In fact, let me put it this way: Vancouver is a place where you will never go hungry. There must be hundreds of eating places. Day One we went and had Chinese steam bowl (where you throw all kinds of meats, seafood and vegetables into the boil of flavoured water). Day Two Chinese takeout. Day Three Cheesecake Factory in Seattle. Day Four Sushi where I tried oysters. Verdict = mmmmmm! Day Five takeout feast at home. When I heard Auntie Sannie talk about buying a chicken for dinner I thought she meant cook it from scratch. Her response: "You see these hands? They're not made for heavy cooking!"
I also had Japanese noodles and Japanese style hotdogs aka JAPPADOGS! Standard hotdog with seaweed and wasabi mustard? FIT! How I didn't put on an extra two stone I'll never know.
Vancouver has a lot of Chinese people. In fact I'm sure I spoke more Cantonese than English during this leg of the holiday which is always a blessing. I now understand why a lot of people say Vancouver is a place they wouldn't mind moving to. With it's fast pace, the people are down to earth and enjoy life. When I told my Auntie this, well she suggested I stay in Vancouver where I can eat for all eternity and she'll find a man for me to marry. But before what could have been the biggest twist to this story actually happened, Gina more realistically said, "OR you can find a writing job and stay here."
My family. Spending six days in Vancouver made me realise just how darn lucky I am to have such wonderful relatives and friends in my life. This trip has more than made me realise that no matter how far I go on my own around the globe, they will always be a phone call, a bus ride, a flight away. And that is one unbreakable safety net.
I also finally got to meet my cousins Gina and Joe along with Richard, my cousin-in-law. I've already met their younger brother Andy. Unfortunately Uncle John was away in Hong Kong on business otherwise it would have been the ultimate family gathering.
You know I have got to hand it to the Siu family. Uncle John and Auntie Sannie raised some good children. They're blessed with the most wonderful son-in-law. Richard is selfless, patient and kind. He even devotes his Saturdays to leading the Boys Scouts! During my trip he acted as my chauffeur and photographer while selflessly digging out an old mobile to give to me, topped up with credit, so that I could contact people whenever I want - rather than use my international rates. He does all this without any agenda or expecting anything in return. Just when you thought this type only existed in the films and novels.
Gina is a very lucky woman and she deserves someone like him. She is beautiful, hilarious, self-deprecating and has an enviable relationship with Auntie Sannie. She kept me laughing throughout the whole six days I was there. She stressed the importance in fully training your man before marrying him. That way he is a keeper. Duly noted cousin!
Where Gina and Andy are loud, Joe on the other hand is laid back and happy to be in the background getting on with his own thing. This is another extremely decent man - very intelligent too. He is destined to go even further than he already has done. But one thing that did shock me was witnessing just how competitive he gets. Watching him determined to beat Richard on the PS2 before going home proved to me that he definitely takes after Uncle John! Joe, bless him, even drove me to Whistler even though he was tired from a late night with the boys. Whistler is a 2.5/3hours drive. He could have postponed it but he made a promise and he fulfilled it.
Now Andy, I am close with. He's just 11 months older than me and really we couldn't be any more different. The one thing we have in common is alcohol and man can my cousin knock back the vodka! He introduced me to some skull-shaped brand that's produced by Dan Ackeroyd. I returned the favour by making Malibu and cranberry with Bombay gin. Girly drink I know but it tasted nice! In all seriousness, Andy is a survivor. He can go through a gruelling day's work and still come home and hang out with his quirky British cousin until way past midnight. He's also turning into my Dad in a really freakish way. His mannerisms, body language and sayings all reminds me of Papa Ng. Andy may be a tough guy on the outside but two things brings out the true sensitive soul in him: his family and his cat. He's very protective and if I'm ever facing any danger, I'd feel safe with him by my side.
They say that the second thing after love that ties a family together is food. And good Lord does my family appreciate the value and privilege of a good meal. In fact, let me put it this way: Vancouver is a place where you will never go hungry. There must be hundreds of eating places. Day One we went and had Chinese steam bowl (where you throw all kinds of meats, seafood and vegetables into the boil of flavoured water). Day Two Chinese takeout. Day Three Cheesecake Factory in Seattle. Day Four Sushi where I tried oysters. Verdict = mmmmmm! Day Five takeout feast at home. When I heard Auntie Sannie talk about buying a chicken for dinner I thought she meant cook it from scratch. Her response: "You see these hands? They're not made for heavy cooking!"
I also had Japanese noodles and Japanese style hotdogs aka JAPPADOGS! Standard hotdog with seaweed and wasabi mustard? FIT! How I didn't put on an extra two stone I'll never know.
Vancouver has a lot of Chinese people. In fact I'm sure I spoke more Cantonese than English during this leg of the holiday which is always a blessing. I now understand why a lot of people say Vancouver is a place they wouldn't mind moving to. With it's fast pace, the people are down to earth and enjoy life. When I told my Auntie this, well she suggested I stay in Vancouver where I can eat for all eternity and she'll find a man for me to marry. But before what could have been the biggest twist to this story actually happened, Gina more realistically said, "OR you can find a writing job and stay here."
My family. Spending six days in Vancouver made me realise just how darn lucky I am to have such wonderful relatives and friends in my life. This trip has more than made me realise that no matter how far I go on my own around the globe, they will always be a phone call, a bus ride, a flight away. And that is one unbreakable safety net.
Running through Heathrow Airport thanks to British Airways
Six days in Las Vegas brought plenty of fun, frolics, people meeting, happy tears and overkill on the tequila. In no particular order my Top 10 best moments are as follows:
1) Grand Canyon
2) Downing Jose Cuervo and Cornonas with Tim and the Oklahoma guys waking up the next morning with a mighty hangover and a Bellagio stamp on my hand – evidence that I ended in the nightclub.
3) Taking a romantic Gondala ride at The Venetian with Faye’s parents. I’m sure passerbys must have thought they took pity on the lonely Asian tourist.
4) The wedding of course!
5) Spending a lazy morning sunbathing at the Hard Rock while trying hard not to cry over ‘A Thousand Splendid Suns.’
6) Getting called Juicy Liu as I walked past Hooters
7) Going to the MGM Wet Republic pool party where I overindulged on the perving of hot, topless men and strawberry beer. At $16 each I kept the cup.
8) Ordering room service for the first and last time – total $32 for a pizza?! All because I was too lazy to head out to the SevenEleven
9) Witnessing the Bellagio fountains
10) Robert the jeweller store owner in the Venetian who tried to sell me canary diamond necklace for “only $950.” Saying no to this charming and handsome man was the right thing to do!
The award for the ultimate funniest, nerve-wracking, worrying, panicky and tiring moment goes to the day I almost could not fly out to Vegas.
So I arrived at Heathrow two hours before flight departure and was greeted by an extremely tanned and camp British Airways employee. Did I check in online a day before he asks. No. Oh dear. As it was such a busy flight and there were no more seats, I was in Standby mode. What? I bought my ticket 10 months ago! How could I be in Standby? Turns out that BA sells more seats than there are available as they expect some people to miss the flights.
Standing in that Standby queue the nerves kicked in. The next available flight was the morning after and even though BA would compensate me £200, I would miss my Grand Canyon trip!
Now you know those airport documentaries where there’s always some ill-mannered, vulgar Brit yelling at the check-in staff for whatever reason? Well I watched two men do the exact same thing. My heart went out to the woman sat behind the enquiry desk. When my turn came to see her I quietly said I understand the situation and heard everything she repeated to the men.
I guess she appreciated my understanding as 10 minutes after check in closed, with only 20 more until the gate did the same, by some sheer miracle three seats were available for Angry Men and me. I got called first! It just goes to show empathy and manners will get you far.
So with only 15 minutes to get through security and to gate A10 (it took five to check my suitcase in) I ran. It seems this year I’ve been doing a lot of running but pounding through Heathrow is a whole other sport. Sod’s Law would have it that I was behind a large family at security point with buggies that they didn’t think to fold up while they were in the queue. As soon as I got through the detectors I continued running towards the A gates – praying that I didn’t trip and fall in my wedges. Just to make it that much more difficult, A9 and A11 were on the same floor but A10, my gate, was one floor below. Seriously?!
It turns out I didn’t need to run as it took another 10 minutes to get us all on the buses. I could have used that time to buy sun cream and cleansing wipes instead of having to resort to baby wipes bought from Motel 6’s own convenience store.
This is how my Vegas trip began, running through the busiest airport in England. Had she been there I’m sure my high school PE teacher would have been very proud. Next time however, I will check in at least 24 hours before departure and make up for lost time in the airport bar!
1) Grand Canyon
2) Downing Jose Cuervo and Cornonas with Tim and the Oklahoma guys waking up the next morning with a mighty hangover and a Bellagio stamp on my hand – evidence that I ended in the nightclub.
3) Taking a romantic Gondala ride at The Venetian with Faye’s parents. I’m sure passerbys must have thought they took pity on the lonely Asian tourist.
4) The wedding of course!
5) Spending a lazy morning sunbathing at the Hard Rock while trying hard not to cry over ‘A Thousand Splendid Suns.’
6) Getting called Juicy Liu as I walked past Hooters
7) Going to the MGM Wet Republic pool party where I overindulged on the perving of hot, topless men and strawberry beer. At $16 each I kept the cup.
8) Ordering room service for the first and last time – total $32 for a pizza?! All because I was too lazy to head out to the SevenEleven
9) Witnessing the Bellagio fountains
10) Robert the jeweller store owner in the Venetian who tried to sell me canary diamond necklace for “only $950.” Saying no to this charming and handsome man was the right thing to do!
The award for the ultimate funniest, nerve-wracking, worrying, panicky and tiring moment goes to the day I almost could not fly out to Vegas.
So I arrived at Heathrow two hours before flight departure and was greeted by an extremely tanned and camp British Airways employee. Did I check in online a day before he asks. No. Oh dear. As it was such a busy flight and there were no more seats, I was in Standby mode. What? I bought my ticket 10 months ago! How could I be in Standby? Turns out that BA sells more seats than there are available as they expect some people to miss the flights.
Standing in that Standby queue the nerves kicked in. The next available flight was the morning after and even though BA would compensate me £200, I would miss my Grand Canyon trip!
Now you know those airport documentaries where there’s always some ill-mannered, vulgar Brit yelling at the check-in staff for whatever reason? Well I watched two men do the exact same thing. My heart went out to the woman sat behind the enquiry desk. When my turn came to see her I quietly said I understand the situation and heard everything she repeated to the men.
I guess she appreciated my understanding as 10 minutes after check in closed, with only 20 more until the gate did the same, by some sheer miracle three seats were available for Angry Men and me. I got called first! It just goes to show empathy and manners will get you far.
So with only 15 minutes to get through security and to gate A10 (it took five to check my suitcase in) I ran. It seems this year I’ve been doing a lot of running but pounding through Heathrow is a whole other sport. Sod’s Law would have it that I was behind a large family at security point with buggies that they didn’t think to fold up while they were in the queue. As soon as I got through the detectors I continued running towards the A gates – praying that I didn’t trip and fall in my wedges. Just to make it that much more difficult, A9 and A11 were on the same floor but A10, my gate, was one floor below. Seriously?!
It turns out I didn’t need to run as it took another 10 minutes to get us all on the buses. I could have used that time to buy sun cream and cleansing wipes instead of having to resort to baby wipes bought from Motel 6’s own convenience store.
This is how my Vegas trip began, running through the busiest airport in England. Had she been there I’m sure my high school PE teacher would have been very proud. Next time however, I will check in at least 24 hours before departure and make up for lost time in the airport bar!
The MOH speech to end all MOH speech
I'm not even going to be modest about it: my maid of honour kicked some wedding tushie!
I had so much fun doing it and it's a shame there's no video footage because it would be something I would show everyone and their grandmother if I could.
When I stood up it shocked the parents anyway because traditionally it's only the men who spoke. But in my world, the maid of honour gets the last word. Now I don't remember it verbatim but I started off thanking both families for allowing me to be a part of their day. I was the only friend at this wedding. Everyone is blood related. Of course I felt special.
Then I sang Chris's praises. I tried to embarrass him but Chris Dabek is a nice guy. The only thing I could come up with to marginally wind him up is the time he rapped Gettin' Jiggy With It by Will Smith on karaoke. My favourite bit in this part of the speech was reciting the following quote from The Notebook: "I'm a common man, with common thoughts having led a common life. There are no monuments dedicated to me and soon my name will be forgotten. But I have loved another with all my heart and for me that has always been enough." This not only exemplifies the way Chris feels about Faye but the film that means a lot to her. (This quote is quite possibly my favourite romantic line from any film.)
For Faye I actually created a 32 page scroll with 60 memorable moments from our friendship. Taking a trip down memory lane has been so much fun and it's a testament to our bond that we have never fallen out nor had any tiffs. Obviously in the name of Soli-Faye&Debs-darity I didn't read any of it out loud (plus lest not forget that the Mojave Desert is big and anything can be made to look like an accident!)
The speech ended with me thanking the couple for making me look forward to falling in love. This line is all me. Yes it's mushy but knowing Faye and Chris is knowing unconditional love.
The speech made the mums cry, people laughed and I'm sure some tables nearby were eavesdropping.
I was on fire!
I had so much fun doing it and it's a shame there's no video footage because it would be something I would show everyone and their grandmother if I could.
When I stood up it shocked the parents anyway because traditionally it's only the men who spoke. But in my world, the maid of honour gets the last word. Now I don't remember it verbatim but I started off thanking both families for allowing me to be a part of their day. I was the only friend at this wedding. Everyone is blood related. Of course I felt special.
Then I sang Chris's praises. I tried to embarrass him but Chris Dabek is a nice guy. The only thing I could come up with to marginally wind him up is the time he rapped Gettin' Jiggy With It by Will Smith on karaoke. My favourite bit in this part of the speech was reciting the following quote from The Notebook: "I'm a common man, with common thoughts having led a common life. There are no monuments dedicated to me and soon my name will be forgotten. But I have loved another with all my heart and for me that has always been enough." This not only exemplifies the way Chris feels about Faye but the film that means a lot to her. (This quote is quite possibly my favourite romantic line from any film.)
For Faye I actually created a 32 page scroll with 60 memorable moments from our friendship. Taking a trip down memory lane has been so much fun and it's a testament to our bond that we have never fallen out nor had any tiffs. Obviously in the name of Soli-Faye&Debs-darity I didn't read any of it out loud (plus lest not forget that the Mojave Desert is big and anything can be made to look like an accident!)
The speech ended with me thanking the couple for making me look forward to falling in love. This line is all me. Yes it's mushy but knowing Faye and Chris is knowing unconditional love.
The speech made the mums cry, people laughed and I'm sure some tables nearby were eavesdropping.
I was on fire!
Wedding no5: Faye and Chris Dabek - doing it Vegas style!
And so my gal Faye Keane became Mrs Dabek. It was definitely a wedding to remember. From the word go everything went without a hitch. I even made it safely up the aisle in my skyscraper shoes. Though believe me the pain did kick in about ten minutes in!
You should have seen Chris’s face when he saw his beautiful wife-to-be walking up to him. At first he looked nervous but as soon as they made eyes at each other, you could feel the calm wash over the both of them. In that moment everyone could see how in love they are with each other, besotted even.
Though the wedding was small what was really touching was that everyone played a key part. The mums lit the first candles, Mr Dabek did a reading, I was the maid of honour and Mr Keane obviously gave Faye away. It’s typical of Faye and Chris to make sure everyone has a role.
Prior to the ceremony Mrs Keane bet me $5 me that Chris would be the first to cry, thus reducing us all into quivering wrecks. I won because guess who was the first to crack? Mrs Keane herself. Her sobs halfway through set Mrs Dabek off. Unlike Wendie’s wedding, I managed to hold myself together. I welled up at times but it wasn’t until after the ceremony and onto the champagne reception when Faye’s dad came up to me and said, “Debbie thanks for everything,” that pushed me over the edge.
The meal at the steakhouse (in the Wynn) was amazing. I had veal for the first time. (Controversial I know!) We sat outside near the grand waterfall where halfway through the meal a giant green frog appeared on the top to the tune of Louis Armstrong’s What A Wonderful World. Now should any of you plan to visit Vegas one day, do look out for this. To this day I am still baffled as to the reasoning behind this. Maybe it’s just a very clever marketing ploy to get people talking about the Wynn. The Bellagio has its famous fountain display; the Wynn’s attempt at one-upping them is with this giant amphibian.
After dinner, the Newlyweds surprised us with a limo tour along the Strip. Swanky indeed. We even got to see the famous Welcome to Las Vegas sign which I had accepted that I would not see as it was a long way away on foot. I was indeed a very happy lady.
Americans love a good wedding and they are not shy in showing their excitement when they see a bride and groom. Everywhere Faye and Chris went, people applauded, cheered and yelled, ‘Congratulations!’ In one bar, two honeymooners from Alabama even bought them a drink. At the restaurant the applause gradually grew louder as table by table people stopped eating to congratulate them.
Faye and Chris are now back on the Wirral as Mr and Mrs. Their home reception do takes place this weekend at Tranmere Rovers Football Club. It will not rival that memorable day in Vegas but at least this time all family and friends will be present. I of course will be there once again fulfilling my MOH duties…in my pretty but painful skyscraper shoes.
You should have seen Chris’s face when he saw his beautiful wife-to-be walking up to him. At first he looked nervous but as soon as they made eyes at each other, you could feel the calm wash over the both of them. In that moment everyone could see how in love they are with each other, besotted even.
Though the wedding was small what was really touching was that everyone played a key part. The mums lit the first candles, Mr Dabek did a reading, I was the maid of honour and Mr Keane obviously gave Faye away. It’s typical of Faye and Chris to make sure everyone has a role.
Prior to the ceremony Mrs Keane bet me $5 me that Chris would be the first to cry, thus reducing us all into quivering wrecks. I won because guess who was the first to crack? Mrs Keane herself. Her sobs halfway through set Mrs Dabek off. Unlike Wendie’s wedding, I managed to hold myself together. I welled up at times but it wasn’t until after the ceremony and onto the champagne reception when Faye’s dad came up to me and said, “Debbie thanks for everything,” that pushed me over the edge.
The meal at the steakhouse (in the Wynn) was amazing. I had veal for the first time. (Controversial I know!) We sat outside near the grand waterfall where halfway through the meal a giant green frog appeared on the top to the tune of Louis Armstrong’s What A Wonderful World. Now should any of you plan to visit Vegas one day, do look out for this. To this day I am still baffled as to the reasoning behind this. Maybe it’s just a very clever marketing ploy to get people talking about the Wynn. The Bellagio has its famous fountain display; the Wynn’s attempt at one-upping them is with this giant amphibian.
After dinner, the Newlyweds surprised us with a limo tour along the Strip. Swanky indeed. We even got to see the famous Welcome to Las Vegas sign which I had accepted that I would not see as it was a long way away on foot. I was indeed a very happy lady.
Americans love a good wedding and they are not shy in showing their excitement when they see a bride and groom. Everywhere Faye and Chris went, people applauded, cheered and yelled, ‘Congratulations!’ In one bar, two honeymooners from Alabama even bought them a drink. At the restaurant the applause gradually grew louder as table by table people stopped eating to congratulate them.
Faye and Chris are now back on the Wirral as Mr and Mrs. Their home reception do takes place this weekend at Tranmere Rovers Football Club. It will not rival that memorable day in Vegas but at least this time all family and friends will be present. I of course will be there once again fulfilling my MOH duties…in my pretty but painful skyscraper shoes.
Tuesday, 26 October 2010
The bond between a bride and her maid of honour
Three weeks ago today, my dear friends Chris and Faye became Mr and Mrs Dabek. The fifth (and final) of my year of weddings. Call be bias but it was by far the most lavish, glamourous and emotional event. Eighteen months ago people smirked when Faye announced that she was to have a Vegas wedding with many predicting some tacky drive-thru ceremony conducted by Elvis. Well a serving of Humble Pie for them. Everyone from the wedding organisers, Angela and Cabriole, to the Reverend to the make up artist played an important part in making this a day to remember.
The day began with Faye, Mrs Keane and I getting our hair and make up done at this fancy salon at The Wynn. Now Sod's Law would have it that my spots decided to make a united appearance that morning. But thanks to the power of a foundation spray machine, lots of concealer and the skill of the make up artist my face ended up looking flawless. OK so maybe it took three inches of slap to get there. I even wore false eyelashes! The make up artist said I could carry them off and that all I had to do was trust her when she applied the glue and stuck on these things that made my eyes smoky and subtle! Even Faye thought it was just good mascara.
Faye's hair was amazing and it's an understatement to say that she looked like a princess. Her dress with the corset and big pouffed out bottom skirt is beyond words. The eyes did well up as soon as I saw the masterpiece hanging in the bridal changing room.
To be a maid of honour is the ultimate proof in how true and strong a friendship is. My duties on that day most definitely transcended all boundaries, taking the Faye and Debbie friendship to a whole new level. Let me begin with helping her into the dress.
Corsets are not easy things to put on. Being the only person without false nails I volunteered to do up the silk buttons. No easy feat. Poor Faye looked like she could barely breathe! Then came, with the help of Mrs Keane, getting the dress on and attaching it to the corset. Again this was not simple as it had to be facing a specific way. Once that challenge was complete we all looked in the mirror and to me it was perfect. But Faye had an inkling that something wasn't right. Minutes later Mrs Keane figured it out.
You know in Victorian period dramas where the elite ladies have these gorgeous dresses that cinch in at the waist and flares out at the hips? There is a prop for this: a hoop underlayer. Oh yes, I hung the hoop on the back of the door so that the three of us will not forget it - but we did. So after getting Faye into the corset and dress we discovered that we forgot the hoop which had to go on first. Off came the dress and into the hoop. Thankfully the corset got to stay on.
The next major boundary was when Chris's mum presented Faye with these beautiful earrings, a surprise present from the Groom (just when we can't get any more jealous!) and I helped put them on. You can imagine my shock when I dropped the butterfly clasp of the second earring DOWN Faye's corset. Taking the corset off was not an option so fulfilling my all important MOH role, I put my hands up the corset searching for the clasp. It didn't help that Faye and I were laughing that hard. So much so that the clasp moved around to the back. In the end she got married with one unsecured earring. Tip to all future MOHs: unintentionally feeling up your best friend is all part of the job description!
My MOH duties did not stop after the ceremony. I held up her dress at the restaurant, through the hotel and of course the loo breaks. It had to be done. The mission involved me holding the dress and backing into the toilet as Faye followed me in. There are officially no more secrets between Faye and I.
Would I do it all again tomorrow? You can bet on it. Being a maid of honour, Faye's MOH, will remain as one of the best jobs I have ever done. I look forward to the next time I become a Wing Woman to one of my friend's big day.
The day began with Faye, Mrs Keane and I getting our hair and make up done at this fancy salon at The Wynn. Now Sod's Law would have it that my spots decided to make a united appearance that morning. But thanks to the power of a foundation spray machine, lots of concealer and the skill of the make up artist my face ended up looking flawless. OK so maybe it took three inches of slap to get there. I even wore false eyelashes! The make up artist said I could carry them off and that all I had to do was trust her when she applied the glue and stuck on these things that made my eyes smoky and subtle! Even Faye thought it was just good mascara.
Faye's hair was amazing and it's an understatement to say that she looked like a princess. Her dress with the corset and big pouffed out bottom skirt is beyond words. The eyes did well up as soon as I saw the masterpiece hanging in the bridal changing room.
To be a maid of honour is the ultimate proof in how true and strong a friendship is. My duties on that day most definitely transcended all boundaries, taking the Faye and Debbie friendship to a whole new level. Let me begin with helping her into the dress.
Corsets are not easy things to put on. Being the only person without false nails I volunteered to do up the silk buttons. No easy feat. Poor Faye looked like she could barely breathe! Then came, with the help of Mrs Keane, getting the dress on and attaching it to the corset. Again this was not simple as it had to be facing a specific way. Once that challenge was complete we all looked in the mirror and to me it was perfect. But Faye had an inkling that something wasn't right. Minutes later Mrs Keane figured it out.
You know in Victorian period dramas where the elite ladies have these gorgeous dresses that cinch in at the waist and flares out at the hips? There is a prop for this: a hoop underlayer. Oh yes, I hung the hoop on the back of the door so that the three of us will not forget it - but we did. So after getting Faye into the corset and dress we discovered that we forgot the hoop which had to go on first. Off came the dress and into the hoop. Thankfully the corset got to stay on.
The next major boundary was when Chris's mum presented Faye with these beautiful earrings, a surprise present from the Groom (just when we can't get any more jealous!) and I helped put them on. You can imagine my shock when I dropped the butterfly clasp of the second earring DOWN Faye's corset. Taking the corset off was not an option so fulfilling my all important MOH role, I put my hands up the corset searching for the clasp. It didn't help that Faye and I were laughing that hard. So much so that the clasp moved around to the back. In the end she got married with one unsecured earring. Tip to all future MOHs: unintentionally feeling up your best friend is all part of the job description!
My MOH duties did not stop after the ceremony. I held up her dress at the restaurant, through the hotel and of course the loo breaks. It had to be done. The mission involved me holding the dress and backing into the toilet as Faye followed me in. There are officially no more secrets between Faye and I.
Would I do it all again tomorrow? You can bet on it. Being a maid of honour, Faye's MOH, will remain as one of the best jobs I have ever done. I look forward to the next time I become a Wing Woman to one of my friend's big day.
Grand Canyon: doesn't get any bigger or beautiful than this
I experienced True Love on October 2 2010, a day where the temperature peaked at 36 degrees Celsius and I got to sit on the edge of one of the greatest natural wonders of the world: the Grand Canyon.
Though I was amongst hundreds of visitors all ooh-ing and aah-ing over the many shades and layers of orange, yellow, brown rock I experienced something that I have not felt for a long time: pure silence and total appreciation of just being in the moment. How on earth did I get to be this lucky? That day all I did was watch in awe, sit for what felt like hours watching the sun go down and laugh at my damn good fortune.
Just when I thought the view could not get any better, I stepped onto the Skywalk. This is a semi-circular steel extension that sticks out from a huge boulder complete with a glass floor. So it feels like you’re walking on air. Word of advice: anyone with even a remote fear of heights, DO NOT LOOK DOWN. I caused a minor panic when I sat on the metal railing. One of the photographers quickly told me to get off as there was a slight chance I could split the plastic partition. Yes, I neither wanted to be there when it happens or be held responsible!
I met some lovely people on this visit, particularly Shardae and Simone from New Zealand. These ladies are awesome, fearless, adventurous and incredibly beautiful – both on the inside and out. If it weren’t for them I would not have turned up at the MGM Wet Republic pool party the next day.
Shardae and Simone caught the eyes of three middle aged Chinese men who wore suits to the Canyon. Yours truly acted as their translator and photographer. Shardae and Simone made their when they agreed to have their picture taken with them. At Guamo Point, where you get a 270 degree panoramic view of the Canyon, I bumped into the Chinese Trio again who insisted that I meet up with them at the Bellagio for a night of gambling. Now I have previously mentioned that one of my win-quick-at-Vegas schemes is to find and tag onto a table with Asian men and I would be lying if I said I wasn’t tempted by their offer. But when the moment came, I chickened out. After all, I’m alone and without knowing their full intentions, it is simply asking for trouble.
Another girl I met on the Canyon was Sophie from Australia. She was on her own after her family was struck with food poisoning the night before. She’s another great girl who I hope to meet up if and when I eventually get to Australia.
For me, like South Africa and Robben Island, no visit to Las Vegas would be complete without a trip to the Grand Canyon. Back in my uni days I used to joke that I would like my ashes to be scattered here. Having finally been there, done that and got the certificate, maybe it’s time to stop joking.
So not only did I get to witness and fall in love with the ultimate form of natural beauty, I met great people, with whom I hope to stay in contact for a long time. Funnily enough, three years ago, a palm reader in Johannesburg said that my spirit sees True Love in life’s natural things. Sitting on the edge of the West Rim, standing thousands of feet above the Colorado River on a glass bottom as well as on top of the hill at Guamo Point, proved this is more ways than one.
Though I was amongst hundreds of visitors all ooh-ing and aah-ing over the many shades and layers of orange, yellow, brown rock I experienced something that I have not felt for a long time: pure silence and total appreciation of just being in the moment. How on earth did I get to be this lucky? That day all I did was watch in awe, sit for what felt like hours watching the sun go down and laugh at my damn good fortune.
Just when I thought the view could not get any better, I stepped onto the Skywalk. This is a semi-circular steel extension that sticks out from a huge boulder complete with a glass floor. So it feels like you’re walking on air. Word of advice: anyone with even a remote fear of heights, DO NOT LOOK DOWN. I caused a minor panic when I sat on the metal railing. One of the photographers quickly told me to get off as there was a slight chance I could split the plastic partition. Yes, I neither wanted to be there when it happens or be held responsible!
I met some lovely people on this visit, particularly Shardae and Simone from New Zealand. These ladies are awesome, fearless, adventurous and incredibly beautiful – both on the inside and out. If it weren’t for them I would not have turned up at the MGM Wet Republic pool party the next day.
Shardae and Simone caught the eyes of three middle aged Chinese men who wore suits to the Canyon. Yours truly acted as their translator and photographer. Shardae and Simone made their when they agreed to have their picture taken with them. At Guamo Point, where you get a 270 degree panoramic view of the Canyon, I bumped into the Chinese Trio again who insisted that I meet up with them at the Bellagio for a night of gambling. Now I have previously mentioned that one of my win-quick-at-Vegas schemes is to find and tag onto a table with Asian men and I would be lying if I said I wasn’t tempted by their offer. But when the moment came, I chickened out. After all, I’m alone and without knowing their full intentions, it is simply asking for trouble.
Another girl I met on the Canyon was Sophie from Australia. She was on her own after her family was struck with food poisoning the night before. She’s another great girl who I hope to meet up if and when I eventually get to Australia.
For me, like South Africa and Robben Island, no visit to Las Vegas would be complete without a trip to the Grand Canyon. Back in my uni days I used to joke that I would like my ashes to be scattered here. Having finally been there, done that and got the certificate, maybe it’s time to stop joking.
So not only did I get to witness and fall in love with the ultimate form of natural beauty, I met great people, with whom I hope to stay in contact for a long time. Funnily enough, three years ago, a palm reader in Johannesburg said that my spirit sees True Love in life’s natural things. Sitting on the edge of the West Rim, standing thousands of feet above the Colorado River on a glass bottom as well as on top of the hill at Guamo Point, proved this is more ways than one.
Saturday, 23 October 2010
Las Vegas Part 1: A long introduction
So I know why they call it Sin City... because Las Vegas is the one place where you can drop your guard, lower your inhibitions, drink on the street, gamble 24/7 without any judgement and best of all, leave all your problems whatever they may be at home just have fun.
Six days in Vegas was all it took. 144ish hours spent enjoying the sun, drinking cocktails at noon by the hotel pool, doing one too many tequila shots with the Best Man and two Oklahoma guys at an Irish bar and of course, watching my best friend Faye become Mrs Dabek. I befriended people from the world over as well as attended a pool party where I was surrounded by hot topless men. Viva Las Vegas indeed!
Las Vegas is loud, bright and fabulous. I don’t think I came across any one in a bad mood. It’s almost as if as soon as you go through immigration at the airport, you leave your worries, your sorrows and all your issues at baggage claim. Once you exit McCarran airport and the Nevada heat hits you, the bright lights of the Strip already luring you to come hither, cue the excitement.
At night is where Las Vegas really comes alive. All walks of life are on the Strip, you’ll never feel in danger and everyone wants to be your friend. It’s also ridiculously cheap. It is the ideal place to come if you’re solo travelling. Before the arrival of the Dabek-Keane clan, I was on my own for the first two nights. By that point I had befriended two ladies from New Zealand, three middle aged Chinese men who invited me to the Bellagio for a night of gambling (more on that later), a pair from Puerto Rico and even the valet team at the Hard Rock. I was never alone and for all dear readers out there who have always wanted to go to Vegas, do it. You will never be alone for too long. Everyone is there for a good time. So smile, laugh, drink, gamble, go with it. Viva Las Vegas indeed!
Six days in Vegas was all it took. 144ish hours spent enjoying the sun, drinking cocktails at noon by the hotel pool, doing one too many tequila shots with the Best Man and two Oklahoma guys at an Irish bar and of course, watching my best friend Faye become Mrs Dabek. I befriended people from the world over as well as attended a pool party where I was surrounded by hot topless men. Viva Las Vegas indeed!
Las Vegas is loud, bright and fabulous. I don’t think I came across any one in a bad mood. It’s almost as if as soon as you go through immigration at the airport, you leave your worries, your sorrows and all your issues at baggage claim. Once you exit McCarran airport and the Nevada heat hits you, the bright lights of the Strip already luring you to come hither, cue the excitement.
And was I excited. A lot of the Vegas experience comes from where you stay. The big casinos are towns and cities unto itself. Literally you can visit the Statue of Liberty, have dinner at the Eiffel Tower and ride on the Gondala at the Venetian all in one day.
I stayed in three places: Motel 6, Hard Rock Hotel and the Bellagio. Lets start with Motel 6. Had I known that it was literally opposite the airport I would have saved on the $11 cab fare on the first night! You should have seen the driver’s face when he asked me: “You sure you want the Motel 6 on Tropicana Avenue?” I actually thought the worst in that Oh no, is this place a dump?
To call it a dump is a tad too harsh to be honest. You know in the Hangover where the guys track down the stripper with a heart whose baby they found in their hotel suite? Or the shabby room that the brothers from My Name Is Earl rent? Motel 6 is exactly like that. It’s not particularly attractive but two nights at a total $104, you can’t go wrong. Walking down a dark, dirt road to get to my block wasn’t the most appealing (not my fault this time Ames!) especially at one point where I was convinced I was going to be caught in the middle of a crossfire as just like in a movie there were these two black SUVs slowly approaching each other – with me in the middle!
So anyways, my first Vegas night was spent inside my Motel 6 room due to jetlag as well as a 5am wake up call for the Grand Canyon. Another reason was turning on the TV to find George Clooney’s Up In The Air just starting. Clearly Mama wasn’t going anywhere! The second night’s sleep, after a 2am puking session outside the main entrance as a result of one too many tequilas, was a blank. But I still remember the pain in forcing myself to get out of the room at 11am to check out, drag my suitcase down one flight of stairs and along the dirt road where I am sure I was still unconscious.
Onwards to the next hotel – Hard Rock. This was definitely a big improvement from Motel 6. The King sized bed with its six pillows, access all areas to the spa and the faux beach pool area? Hello! I would also like to thank the hotel personally for the saviour that is the purple sofa in the main reception where I sat for three hours with my sunglasses on nursing my tequila hangover while waiting for my room to come available. It was much needed. The only downside to the Hard Rock is that it is a good 25 minute walk to the main Strip. Walking back at night is not impossible but on all occasions I’ve had cab drivers pull up insisting that I do not walk alone as well as one mall assistant personally escorting me to the nearest cab. You don’t get that kind of service back home!
After the Hard Rock came the Bellagio. It was money well spent for my last night in Vegas. The bathroom alone was the size of my bedroom back home. The shower could easily fit six people. At the press of a button, the TV comes out of the entertainment unit and turns at 45 degree angles. The concierge even bring up your luggage for you. Seriously! From my bedroom window I could see the famous fountains as well as a giant billboard of Donny and Marie Osmond. (My mum got very, very excited when she thought I saw them live.) But the Bellagio is all about the fountains. I probably spent in total one hour watching the spectacular display. Anybody who goes to Vegas must witness the fountains. The arrangements are out of this world and the finale where the water shoots in synchronised motion will stay with you always. Each display has its own special song. The three that comes to mind are: Elvis Presley’s Viva Las Vegas, Sarah Brightman and Andrea Bocelli’s operatic Time To Say Goodbye and The Star Spangled Banner aka the US national anthem to which at one point I referred to as the US version of God Save The Queen!
At night is where Las Vegas really comes alive. All walks of life are on the Strip, you’ll never feel in danger and everyone wants to be your friend. It’s also ridiculously cheap. It is the ideal place to come if you’re solo travelling. Before the arrival of the Dabek-Keane clan, I was on my own for the first two nights. By that point I had befriended two ladies from New Zealand, three middle aged Chinese men who invited me to the Bellagio for a night of gambling (more on that later), a pair from Puerto Rico and even the valet team at the Hard Rock. I was never alone and for all dear readers out there who have always wanted to go to Vegas, do it. You will never be alone for too long. Everyone is there for a good time. So smile, laugh, drink, gamble, go with it. Viva Las Vegas indeed!
Monday, 18 October 2010
I'm baaaaaaack!
I'm also exhausted and in need of some much needed nutrition but I also have so many stories for all you dear readers. This blog is still well and truly alive. Over the next few (or dozen) entries, I will reveal every wonderful, romantic, magnificently beautiful and delicious moment I encountered in Las Vegas, Vancouver, Montreal and New York. Oh and as this is me, please try and not laugh too hard or loud at the couple of disasters I managed to get involved in! Also FYI, I did NOT get married in Vegas too.
Friday, 1 October 2010
Leaving for Las Vegas
The day is finally here. In less than seven hours I will on a plane heading west to Las Vegas for the fifth and final wedding of 2010. I am both excited and petrified of what will happen over the next two weeks. I can’t wait to see the Grand Canyon, Brooklyn Bridge and of course being there to see Faye becoming Mrs Dabek! Of course naturally I’m scared of being out there on my own for the first and final two days of the trip but that’s a good thing as from experience, the happiest I’ve ever been is on my own in a strange place. Who knows what kind of adventures (or rather more appropriately, shenanigans) I get up to but be sure, dear readers you will read about it.
I can tell you now that I will NOT be getting married myself, despite how great a twist it will be to this story.
Wednesday, 29 September 2010
All about the improv
My maid of honour speech is coming along nicely, a big surprise considering my severe case of writer’s block a month ago.
Rather than write it out fully, pondering over the use of particular words and then forcing myself to remember it all, I have decided to improvise. Being on the spot strangely enough makes me less likely to stammer or freeze up. I allow the words to flow out. Then it again it should come as no shock to anyone that talking is not a weakness of mine.
Even though there isn’t a full script, I do have the basic order of what I will be saying. Hopefully people will laugh at least once! I’m also putting together a gadget, an idea stolen from Andy Spearman’s scroll at the Heyward wedding (number 3), that I’m sure will worry Faye but rest assured, Mrs Dabek, anything shameful remains between us two until the end of time!
In putting together this gadget, I thought back to the many memories of Faye and I, along with Noolz, Parv and Jo. I would list them all here on this blog but, as I said, many things must stay a secret. I’ve even dug out the infamous scrapbook I put together containing our colourful moments ranging from karaoke to questionable dealings at Bargain Beers.
Taking this trip down memory lane has made me realise just how far Faye and I have come from those early days of being a Fresher in Sheffield. Who would have thought that come next week, six hours after we first met, that we will be on the Las Vegas Strip, having drinks at the Bellagio and getting ready for her wedding? Most definitely not me.
Rather than write it out fully, pondering over the use of particular words and then forcing myself to remember it all, I have decided to improvise. Being on the spot strangely enough makes me less likely to stammer or freeze up. I allow the words to flow out. Then it again it should come as no shock to anyone that talking is not a weakness of mine.
Even though there isn’t a full script, I do have the basic order of what I will be saying. Hopefully people will laugh at least once! I’m also putting together a gadget, an idea stolen from Andy Spearman’s scroll at the Heyward wedding (number 3), that I’m sure will worry Faye but rest assured, Mrs Dabek, anything shameful remains between us two until the end of time!
In putting together this gadget, I thought back to the many memories of Faye and I, along with Noolz, Parv and Jo. I would list them all here on this blog but, as I said, many things must stay a secret. I’ve even dug out the infamous scrapbook I put together containing our colourful moments ranging from karaoke to questionable dealings at Bargain Beers.
Taking this trip down memory lane has made me realise just how far Faye and I have come from those early days of being a Fresher in Sheffield. Who would have thought that come next week, six hours after we first met, that we will be on the Las Vegas Strip, having drinks at the Bellagio and getting ready for her wedding? Most definitely not me.
Tuesday, 28 September 2010
Pants to control those wobbly bits
One very important key piece to my bridesmaid outfit that I only just remembered to buy is suitable underwear. It literally came to me on the bus to work. What is missing? Dress – check. Shoes – check. Handbag – buy when I get there as styles seen so far are either too tacky, too small or not the right colour. (I know, chances are that the one I get from Las Vegas will be a combination of all three.) Camera – check.
Then it hit me. Eish! I need some control under my dress to not only hide those wobbly bits but also to preserve my dignity – in other words not accidentally flashing to both Chris and Faye’s parents and God forbid, the Reverend!
Today’s 45 minute lunch was spent in Marks and Spencers ooming and ahhing over slips and control pants. I needed something that will blend in with my cream dress. Anything too white or too black would show up against my cream dress. Then came the skin coloured figure-hugging slip to the rescue. Now it is quite possibly the least attractive garment ever made. Imagine stretching another person’s skin across your body. But ugly or not, it does the trick.
Gok Wan has been championing these control garment for years and I finally understand why. They really do smooth out those bumps on the waistline and stomach area. Getting into them is a chore unto itself. I definitely spared a thought for Bridget Jones who in the second film required the help of the shop assistant to get those pants over her thighs! For me the ultimate test was whether I could sit down in them and feel comfortable. There is nothing worse than buying any form of control underwear but only to find that when you sit down you feel those excess wobbly bits rolling up towards your chest!
So now that the dress is complete I just need to break into my ridiculously high shoes and pray that I make it up the aisle in one piece. Because make no mistake, even though all eyes will be on the bride, I fall over or display a wardrobe malfunction, then it will be something that I will not live down for a long time.
Then it hit me. Eish! I need some control under my dress to not only hide those wobbly bits but also to preserve my dignity – in other words not accidentally flashing to both Chris and Faye’s parents and God forbid, the Reverend!
Today’s 45 minute lunch was spent in Marks and Spencers ooming and ahhing over slips and control pants. I needed something that will blend in with my cream dress. Anything too white or too black would show up against my cream dress. Then came the skin coloured figure-hugging slip to the rescue. Now it is quite possibly the least attractive garment ever made. Imagine stretching another person’s skin across your body. But ugly or not, it does the trick.
Gok Wan has been championing these control garment for years and I finally understand why. They really do smooth out those bumps on the waistline and stomach area. Getting into them is a chore unto itself. I definitely spared a thought for Bridget Jones who in the second film required the help of the shop assistant to get those pants over her thighs! For me the ultimate test was whether I could sit down in them and feel comfortable. There is nothing worse than buying any form of control underwear but only to find that when you sit down you feel those excess wobbly bits rolling up towards your chest!
So now that the dress is complete I just need to break into my ridiculously high shoes and pray that I make it up the aisle in one piece. Because make no mistake, even though all eyes will be on the bride, I fall over or display a wardrobe malfunction, then it will be something that I will not live down for a long time.
Rachel Getting Married (and no it’s not friend number 6!)
Of all the many wedding-themed films I have seen this year, this independent, rough around the edges, Oscar-nominated flickHath starring Anne Hathaway is by far the best. The film centres on Hathaway’s character Kym, a recovering drug addict, who returns home for the weekend to attend big sister Rachel’s wedding. Where Rachel is successful in both her professional and personal life, Kym has lost her way, ever since the peak of her addiction resulted in the death of her baby brother. Cue plenty of sibling arguments, bitter confrontations and revisiting painful memories. Almost everything threatens to ruin the big day. But the love and bond between a family proves strongest and there is nothing quite like a wedding in bringing people together.
For me the biggest message was the importance of having your family around on the big day. No matter how frustrated they make us or how many times they let us down at the end of the day, we can choose our friends but not our blood. So how can we not share the day with our parents, siblings and best friends? Don’t get me wrong though, if a relative has betrayed us beyond repair then understandably they should not share in our big day.
Admittedly I have pictured that if I were to one day get married, I would just run away to Cape Town and say my I Dos on top of Table Mountain – pure and simple. No stress, no fuss, just me and my groom in the most beautiful, peaceful setting imaginable. Then upon returning home, have the ultimate reception. However I’m sure it will take a lifetime for my nearest and dearest to forgive me if I were to just run off like that. Believe me, me getting married is such a big deal that many people will want to be there to make sure it happens. And I wouldn’t want it any other way!
Thursday, 23 September 2010
Team Neurosurgeon or Team Vampire?
War has officially broken out between the Ng sisters as to who is hotter: Patrick ‘McDreamy’ Dempsey or True Blood’s Eric played by Alexander Skarsgard. Those who are Facebook with us both will see on Wendie’s wall the endless comments made to my post regarding my verdict on the vampire.
It went along the lines of: “Dude! Totally NOT feeling True Blood’s Eric. Maybe with dark hair, stubble, stronger jawline.”
Oh did the comments come in! One of Wendie’s closest allies, Nat, said I am mad for not seeing the attraction.
Now admittedly I don’t watch True Blood as religiously as I do Grey’s Anatomy so my conclusion is based on the wonders that is Google Image. So maybe the hotness is only detected via the small screen.
However, after many, MANY minutes on Google Image, I stand by my conclusion. Eric you doth not get my blood a-pumping.
In retaliation, Wendie ridicules my “bad taste” for McDreamy along with, apparently, Mandela and President Obama. Sis, with regards to these two there is a fine distinction between admiration and attraction.
Bad taste? Wendie reckons this Eric character is hotter than her previous TV crush: Prison Break’s Wentworth Miller. Or Wentworth FitBit as she used to shout out at the beginning of each episode. Hotter than Wentworth...seriously? Am I missing something here?
Now diplomatic Debbie would admit to seeing why the vampire can get other women all riled up but I just don't feel the same.
However this is a full scale battle of the hotties amongst the sisters. No room to be diplomatic.
So dear readers, it is over to you to have the final say. Vote now in the poll at the top of this blog page.
It should come as no surprise when I say, give me the Doc any day!
 |
| Dempsey (left) Skarsgard (right) Is there any contest between these two? Seriously?! |
War has officially broken out between the Ng sisters as to who is hotter: Patrick ‘McDreamy’ Dempsey or True Blood’s Eric played by Alexander Skarsgard. Those who are Facebook with us both will see on Wendie’s wall the endless comments made to my post regarding my verdict on the vampire.
It went along the lines of: “Dude! Totally NOT feeling True Blood’s Eric. Maybe with dark hair, stubble, stronger jawline.”
Oh did the comments come in! One of Wendie’s closest allies, Nat, said I am mad for not seeing the attraction.
Now admittedly I don’t watch True Blood as religiously as I do Grey’s Anatomy so my conclusion is based on the wonders that is Google Image. So maybe the hotness is only detected via the small screen.
However, after many, MANY minutes on Google Image, I stand by my conclusion. Eric you doth not get my blood a-pumping.
In retaliation, Wendie ridicules my “bad taste” for McDreamy along with, apparently, Mandela and President Obama. Sis, with regards to these two there is a fine distinction between admiration and attraction.
Bad taste? Wendie reckons this Eric character is hotter than her previous TV crush: Prison Break’s Wentworth Miller. Or Wentworth FitBit as she used to shout out at the beginning of each episode. Hotter than Wentworth...seriously? Am I missing something here?
Now diplomatic Debbie would admit to seeing why the vampire can get other women all riled up but I just don't feel the same.
However this is a full scale battle of the hotties amongst the sisters. No room to be diplomatic.
So dear readers, it is over to you to have the final say. Vote now in the poll at the top of this blog page.
It should come as no surprise when I say, give me the Doc any day!
Tuesday, 21 September 2010
ALWAYS Tell The Bride... especially if it's a Vegas wedding
Vegas weddings – love them or loathe them. To be in the ultimate microcosm of the entire world, complete with shiny lights, while reading your vows. Viva Las Vegas as The King sang. Or, think it is the tackiest idea, devoid of any romantic notion. Blame it on The King with his notorious drive-thru, shot gun wedding to Priscilla at the Little White Chapel.
Tonight’s episode of Don’t Tell The Bride is set in Las Vegas. Now I normally steer clear of such trashy TV (honestly!) but what with a certain Vegas wedding taking place in two weeks, how could I resist? The show centres on the groom who is given £12,000 to organise the perfect surprise wedding for the bride. Operative word being surprise. Yes, the bride is left entirely out of the loop. Talk about disaster.
It turns out that a Vegas wedding is the bride’s worst kind of nightmare. Did she loathe the idea! At the 11th hour it was hit and miss whether she would go ahead with it. TV being TV, she eventually walked up the aisle at The Venetian. But there was no sign of the bride’s brother and sister, the groom’s sister and their friends and extended family. Oh and the groom wore a bright, white tux. He picked the wrong dress - the bride in the end demanded a new one at a cost of £1,500. She broke down in tears at the airport when she discovered her destination. On top of all that her sister, the maid of honour, refused to go because she was that disgusted with the groom.
Admittedly, I was disappointed that the bride went ahead with it. If I were that heartbroken, angry and worst of all disappointed in someone I trusted, no way would I have boarded the plane.
Call me dark, bitter and cynical but I cannot see that couple lasting forever.
Surely the groom would have had some inkling to the kind of wedding the bride did NOT want. She wanted stately country home, a big wedding shared with all of her friends and family. He wanted Las Vegas. The groom either knew this but went ahead with his preference, taking the biggest gamble of his life by betting everything on the hope that the bride would go through with it. Or he was just a plain, simple idiot.
It was painfully addictive to watch. Is it wrong, wrong, wrong to trust someone else to organise our wedding day? Without our input...even if that person is The One? Like the old cliché, it’s not where we end up but the journey in getting there that makes it worthwhile. For a bride to be left completely out of the loop is unthinkable and of course she will be devastated. Tip for all future grooms: Do Always Tell The Bride.
This episode proved that Las Vegas weddings are not everyone’s cup of tea. Having said all this, I have no doubt that Faye and Chris’s wedding will be nothing short of fantastic. Firstly they’re on the same page, secondly Faye is in full control and everything will go to way she planned. Oh and thirdly just when I think she can’t get any more organised, today I receive a laminated official itinerary of the big day.
This couple could just be the Chosen One who will rewrite the book on how to do a Vegas wedding perfectly. Love them indeed!
Tonight’s episode of Don’t Tell The Bride is set in Las Vegas. Now I normally steer clear of such trashy TV (honestly!) but what with a certain Vegas wedding taking place in two weeks, how could I resist? The show centres on the groom who is given £12,000 to organise the perfect surprise wedding for the bride. Operative word being surprise. Yes, the bride is left entirely out of the loop. Talk about disaster.
It turns out that a Vegas wedding is the bride’s worst kind of nightmare. Did she loathe the idea! At the 11th hour it was hit and miss whether she would go ahead with it. TV being TV, she eventually walked up the aisle at The Venetian. But there was no sign of the bride’s brother and sister, the groom’s sister and their friends and extended family. Oh and the groom wore a bright, white tux. He picked the wrong dress - the bride in the end demanded a new one at a cost of £1,500. She broke down in tears at the airport when she discovered her destination. On top of all that her sister, the maid of honour, refused to go because she was that disgusted with the groom.
Admittedly, I was disappointed that the bride went ahead with it. If I were that heartbroken, angry and worst of all disappointed in someone I trusted, no way would I have boarded the plane.
Call me dark, bitter and cynical but I cannot see that couple lasting forever.
Surely the groom would have had some inkling to the kind of wedding the bride did NOT want. She wanted stately country home, a big wedding shared with all of her friends and family. He wanted Las Vegas. The groom either knew this but went ahead with his preference, taking the biggest gamble of his life by betting everything on the hope that the bride would go through with it. Or he was just a plain, simple idiot.
It was painfully addictive to watch. Is it wrong, wrong, wrong to trust someone else to organise our wedding day? Without our input...even if that person is The One? Like the old cliché, it’s not where we end up but the journey in getting there that makes it worthwhile. For a bride to be left completely out of the loop is unthinkable and of course she will be devastated. Tip for all future grooms: Do Always Tell The Bride.
This episode proved that Las Vegas weddings are not everyone’s cup of tea. Having said all this, I have no doubt that Faye and Chris’s wedding will be nothing short of fantastic. Firstly they’re on the same page, secondly Faye is in full control and everything will go to way she planned. Oh and thirdly just when I think she can’t get any more organised, today I receive a laminated official itinerary of the big day.
This couple could just be the Chosen One who will rewrite the book on how to do a Vegas wedding perfectly. Love them indeed!
Monday, 20 September 2010
Can YOU watch the love of your life marry someone else?
I randomly came across the music video to Leona Lewis’s song Happy last night I have to admit it almost made me cry.
The video (for those who haven’t seen it check it out here) is set in Cuba and the beginning sees the singer at a wedding, confetti falling around her, and she is well, happy.
Then it rewinds to the moment where she meets and becomes obviously smitten with this handsome man and he appears to feel the same too.
In one shot his hand brushes against her shoulder, in the other they’re gazing into each other’s eyes.
Skip forward to Leona getting ready for a wedding, her mum putting a flower piece into her hair.
Then just about 20 seconds before the end of the video, the groom (said handsome man) walks up to his bride, take her into his arms and pulls her in for a dance. The bride as it turns out is NOT Leona but her friend.
So basically Leona plays the unlucky-in-love gal who watches the man she loves marry someone else. Unrequited Love in its cruellest form.
I guess we’ve all been there in terms of liking someone who doesn’t feel the same way but I do wonder just how many people can do what she did. How many of us can accept a wedding invitation and watch the bride or groom marry someone else knowing that we are in love with one of them?
While it happen in (some) films and TV shows where at the very last minute weddings are stopped because someone decides to take a gamble and declare their love, in real life people are more likely to settle with forever holding their peace. After all it takes courage, bravery and many layers of thick skin to shout out loud marry me instead…in front of two sets of family and friends. But even with all these factors in check, who really wants to be forever known as that person who stopped a wedding?
Having said that stranger things have happened so it would be interesting to see just how many weddings were abruptly stopped because of this reason.
When it comes down to it, if you were invited to the grand wedding of the person you were hopelessly in love with do you a) be the bigger person, attend and try to be happy for the couple or, b) avoid at all costs?
If it were me I would follow Leona’s lead and attend because hey, this is me after all. Even if it killed me inside I would still turn up to send my blessings. At the very least it saves having to explain for the hundredth time why I was a no-show.
The video (for those who haven’t seen it check it out here) is set in Cuba and the beginning sees the singer at a wedding, confetti falling around her, and she is well, happy.
Then it rewinds to the moment where she meets and becomes obviously smitten with this handsome man and he appears to feel the same too.
In one shot his hand brushes against her shoulder, in the other they’re gazing into each other’s eyes.
Skip forward to Leona getting ready for a wedding, her mum putting a flower piece into her hair.
Then just about 20 seconds before the end of the video, the groom (said handsome man) walks up to his bride, take her into his arms and pulls her in for a dance. The bride as it turns out is NOT Leona but her friend.
So basically Leona plays the unlucky-in-love gal who watches the man she loves marry someone else. Unrequited Love in its cruellest form.
I guess we’ve all been there in terms of liking someone who doesn’t feel the same way but I do wonder just how many people can do what she did. How many of us can accept a wedding invitation and watch the bride or groom marry someone else knowing that we are in love with one of them?
While it happen in (some) films and TV shows where at the very last minute weddings are stopped because someone decides to take a gamble and declare their love, in real life people are more likely to settle with forever holding their peace. After all it takes courage, bravery and many layers of thick skin to shout out loud marry me instead…in front of two sets of family and friends. But even with all these factors in check, who really wants to be forever known as that person who stopped a wedding?
Having said that stranger things have happened so it would be interesting to see just how many weddings were abruptly stopped because of this reason.
When it comes down to it, if you were invited to the grand wedding of the person you were hopelessly in love with do you a) be the bigger person, attend and try to be happy for the couple or, b) avoid at all costs?
If it were me I would follow Leona’s lead and attend because hey, this is me after all. Even if it killed me inside I would still turn up to send my blessings. At the very least it saves having to explain for the hundredth time why I was a no-show.
Sunday, 19 September 2010
A weekend of no weddings or hen dos: just pizza, cocktails and dancing
I finally reunited with the Derby Gang last Friday for a night of pizza, cocktails and dancing. It was both necessary and relaxing to go back to the East Midlands and have a weekend unrelated to weddings.
During my catch up with the dear friends, it really dawned on me how much everyone has noticed my seven month hiatus. Naturally the first question asked was "So how have all your weddings been?" I also felt bad when Amy admitted that it got annoying and disappointing for the group when I constantly had to turn down invitations for dinners, parties and hang outs because the dates clashed with my busy schedule. Obviously it's not my fault that by sheer coincidence the weddings are so close to each other. But, like I've said before, in an ideal world I can be in all places at once and still have me time to sit back, reflect and write it all up.
Admittedly, even though I wasn't physically at a wedding that weekend, I would be lying if I said I didn't think about it. Being near four couples it's hard not to look at them and wonder. Well after a night of observing, I can safely bet I know who will be the first to get engaged. Hello?! Obviously it's going to be............. On second thought it's wise not to reveal my prediction.
I don't want to be the reason why this couple breaks up because one turns out to be a marriage-phobe or I've somehow created a lot of unnecessary pressure for the guy to produce a ring.
In all honesty, it doesn't matter who out of the four gets married first. I would be just as equally happy for any of them if I were to receive a WE'RE ENGAGED text tonight. However the line has been drawn: if the big day is in 2010, I'm not going!
During my catch up with the dear friends, it really dawned on me how much everyone has noticed my seven month hiatus. Naturally the first question asked was "So how have all your weddings been?" I also felt bad when Amy admitted that it got annoying and disappointing for the group when I constantly had to turn down invitations for dinners, parties and hang outs because the dates clashed with my busy schedule. Obviously it's not my fault that by sheer coincidence the weddings are so close to each other. But, like I've said before, in an ideal world I can be in all places at once and still have me time to sit back, reflect and write it all up.
Admittedly, even though I wasn't physically at a wedding that weekend, I would be lying if I said I didn't think about it. Being near four couples it's hard not to look at them and wonder. Well after a night of observing, I can safely bet I know who will be the first to get engaged. Hello?! Obviously it's going to be............. On second thought it's wise not to reveal my prediction.
I don't want to be the reason why this couple breaks up because one turns out to be a marriage-phobe or I've somehow created a lot of unnecessary pressure for the guy to produce a ring.
In all honesty, it doesn't matter who out of the four gets married first. I would be just as equally happy for any of them if I were to receive a WE'RE ENGAGED text tonight. However the line has been drawn: if the big day is in 2010, I'm not going!
Monday, 13 September 2010
Bellagio, O Bellagio... how can I say no?
It's done. I have gone ahead and booked myself for one night in the five star hotel. This comes after days of pondering, two friends telling me to just go for it (Heather and Carly - you will be the reason why I'll be living off supermarket own branded products until 2011!) along with my irrational, spontaneous side completely kicking it's logical, sensible opponent in the arse. When in Vegas right?
After everything that has happened this year and a bit, all the downs I've experienced, I should treat myself, allow myself to the chance to be happy once more. And while true happiness may not necessarily be achieved by jumping up and down on a king size bed, watching the famous Bellagio fountains shoot up at the precise moment and relaxing in the oversized bathtub... oh who the hell am I kidding? Bellagio here I come. Can get a woo woo WOO!
Fortunately my logical, sensible side was not completely wiped out in my moment of truth when deciding Bellagio or no Bellagio. I changed my check in dates at the Hard Rock to avoid the steep $189 plus tax rate. So now rather than stay in the Bellagio on an expensive Sunday night, I shall be spending my last night there - saying goodbye in glamourous style. The only slight, microscopic even, glitch to this is that I have to leave the following day at 7am to catch my flight to Vancouver. Therefore I cannot oversleep. But I'm sure the Bellagio has a wake up call service and I'm sure it's the best in the world!
After everything that has happened this year and a bit, all the downs I've experienced, I should treat myself, allow myself to the chance to be happy once more. And while true happiness may not necessarily be achieved by jumping up and down on a king size bed, watching the famous Bellagio fountains shoot up at the precise moment and relaxing in the oversized bathtub... oh who the hell am I kidding? Bellagio here I come. Can get a woo woo WOO!
Fortunately my logical, sensible side was not completely wiped out in my moment of truth when deciding Bellagio or no Bellagio. I changed my check in dates at the Hard Rock to avoid the steep $189 plus tax rate. So now rather than stay in the Bellagio on an expensive Sunday night, I shall be spending my last night there - saying goodbye in glamourous style. The only slight, microscopic even, glitch to this is that I have to leave the following day at 7am to catch my flight to Vancouver. Therefore I cannot oversleep. But I'm sure the Bellagio has a wake up call service and I'm sure it's the best in the world!
Saturday, 11 September 2010
My Plus 1 is... me!
I can really relate to Betty Suarez. In last week’s episode of Ugly Betty, the imperfectly beautiful woman with the heart of gold attended a swanky company party alone.
The man she hoped would ask her instead took another girl, former boss turned best friend Daniel took his new assistant and while her intentions were primarily selfish, ditzy friend Amanda offered to find Betty a blind date – by advertising for men who are into “plus size Latina ladies.”
But far from staying home comfort eating, Betty walked into the crowded room with her head held high, proudly declaring that she is her “own plus 1.”
That’s how I feel in not just the weddings I have attended this year but in any typical day.
When there is a film that I really want to watch, I’m not going to wait patiently for a friend to be free just to accompany me. If I want sushi then I’ll happily sit in the corner with nothing but my BlackBerry to keep me company. Honestly. In fact it’s these rare moments where I can relax and embrace the quality me time. You think it’s a coincidence that I arrive into Las Vegas two days before Faye and Chris?
The episode ended brilliantly with Betty dancing alone to an up tempo version of Dancing With Myself. You go Betty Suarez!
Shortly after watching this mum randomly asked me if I’ve ever been properly chased by a guy.
That would be no. So Mama suggested that I reduce my “male-headed independent strength.” Translation: be more willing to let a guy do the rescuing.
Sorry Mama but that’s not going to happen. I’m not going to waste time holding out for some kind of hero to take me to places, buy me green cables at the cinema sweet counter or hold my shopping bags for me.
There is no way I’m going to compromise my independent strength by becoming a damsel just to attract a man. No way!
You wouldn’t expect Michelle Obama to suddenly stop voicing her opinions derived from her Ivy League Law education just because she’s the First Lady.
If my stubbornness means many more years of being my own plus 1 to friends’ weddings and their babies’ Christenings then so be it.
That will be me you will see waving her hands in the air like there’s no tomorrow in the middle of the dance floor!
The man she hoped would ask her instead took another girl, former boss turned best friend Daniel took his new assistant and while her intentions were primarily selfish, ditzy friend Amanda offered to find Betty a blind date – by advertising for men who are into “plus size Latina ladies.”
But far from staying home comfort eating, Betty walked into the crowded room with her head held high, proudly declaring that she is her “own plus 1.”
That’s how I feel in not just the weddings I have attended this year but in any typical day.
When there is a film that I really want to watch, I’m not going to wait patiently for a friend to be free just to accompany me. If I want sushi then I’ll happily sit in the corner with nothing but my BlackBerry to keep me company. Honestly. In fact it’s these rare moments where I can relax and embrace the quality me time. You think it’s a coincidence that I arrive into Las Vegas two days before Faye and Chris?
The episode ended brilliantly with Betty dancing alone to an up tempo version of Dancing With Myself. You go Betty Suarez!
Shortly after watching this mum randomly asked me if I’ve ever been properly chased by a guy.
That would be no. So Mama suggested that I reduce my “male-headed independent strength.” Translation: be more willing to let a guy do the rescuing.
Sorry Mama but that’s not going to happen. I’m not going to waste time holding out for some kind of hero to take me to places, buy me green cables at the cinema sweet counter or hold my shopping bags for me.
There is no way I’m going to compromise my independent strength by becoming a damsel just to attract a man. No way!
You wouldn’t expect Michelle Obama to suddenly stop voicing her opinions derived from her Ivy League Law education just because she’s the First Lady.
If my stubbornness means many more years of being my own plus 1 to friends’ weddings and their babies’ Christenings then so be it.
That will be me you will see waving her hands in the air like there’s no tomorrow in the middle of the dance floor!
Friday, 10 September 2010
And in a perfect world, the perfect wedding goes something like this...
So after that proposal mid-season 5 of Grey's, the finale saw Derek and Meredith finally tying the knot. Or more precisely, signing the post-it. See for yourself here.
Yes it's not official nor legal but join me if you will in suspending reality for just a minute and focus on the simplicity and ultimate perfection (there is no other word I can think of) that is this moment.
The vows are their own and the moment is shared by just them two.
That's what I want. A post it! Or a piece of lined paper where the vows are in shorthand understood only by myself and my One.
A girl can dream all she wants... and I intend to do a lot of it!
Yes it's not official nor legal but join me if you will in suspending reality for just a minute and focus on the simplicity and ultimate perfection (there is no other word I can think of) that is this moment.
The vows are their own and the moment is shared by just them two.
That's what I want. A post it! Or a piece of lined paper where the vows are in shorthand understood only by myself and my One.
A girl can dream all she wants... and I intend to do a lot of it!
If only every wedding proposal is like this one...
You will have caught on that I am a Grey's Anatomy addict. After Season 5, as unbelievable as it sounds, I am now a bigger fan.
The main reason being is that finally after so long of will they/ won't they, Derek and Meredith get engaged. It only took five years for her to realise that this McDreamy is the real thing.
And in typical GA style, the proposal is wonderful, beautiful and unrealistic. That's right, the show has not only made single ladies the world over go searching for their tall, dark, handsome, complete with The Hair, surgeons but, has raised the bar for the perfect proposal. See for yourself: The McDream of all proposals
Call me hopeless, call me whatever but to me this is how it should be done. This is my kind of perfect. None of this getting down on one knee, with a ring, roses, teddy bears with the red love heart on the front or fireworks. Just, I want to spend the rest of my life with you. 11 words. OK I confess it also helps a great deal if the guy's day job is saving lives.
I am doomed for all eternity aren't I?
The main reason being is that finally after so long of will they/ won't they, Derek and Meredith get engaged. It only took five years for her to realise that this McDreamy is the real thing.
And in typical GA style, the proposal is wonderful, beautiful and unrealistic. That's right, the show has not only made single ladies the world over go searching for their tall, dark, handsome, complete with The Hair, surgeons but, has raised the bar for the perfect proposal. See for yourself: The McDream of all proposals
Call me hopeless, call me whatever but to me this is how it should be done. This is my kind of perfect. None of this getting down on one knee, with a ring, roses, teddy bears with the red love heart on the front or fireworks. Just, I want to spend the rest of my life with you. 11 words. OK I confess it also helps a great deal if the guy's day job is saving lives.
I am doomed for all eternity aren't I?
Wedding traditions are like sooo 1950s
Grooms you can now all relax. You are now no longer expected to go up to your future father-in-law filled with deep dread and exhibiting signs of an early heart attack just to ask for his permission to marry his daughter.
Likewise fathers, you should probably give up waiting for said nervous wreck of a man – or boy – for that rare occasion where you get to be the first in your family to be let in on big news.
Why? Such wedding tradition, if results from a poll are to be believed, is dying out.
Put more precisely, just one in six grooms ask for permission, compared to one in two in the 1960s.
Results of the poll conducted by researchers at The Wedding Inbox also found that other favourites such as tying tins to the back of the couple’s wedding car and the bride having her something old, something new, something borrowed and something blue have been halved in the past 50 years.
So is this true? Are wedding traditions dying out?
Now I’m not one for mushy tradition. I’m not keen on the tins and I definitely believe couples should write their own vows. Don’t even get me started on the love, honour and obey!
But when it comes to getting the father’s permission, I dearly hope that my match is that rare one in six.
You see my father is all about tradition, principles, discipline – especially when it comes to me and my sister. Thankfully my brother-in-law had the sense to ask Papa Ng.
It’s extremely important to me that my future knight in shining whatever involves my Dad because he is and will always be the most important man in my life. Whoever I end up with must accept second place. Now I know that is a lot to say and you may be thinking, ‘well you’ll think differently when you find your match.’
But honestly I can’t even entertain the idea of my Dad being anything but Number One. He is my teacher, my confidante, my hero, my leader. I’m first and foremost his daughter before I am somebody’s match.
And what about introducing new traditions? Here’s a few I say there should be more of:
• Brides and maid of honours giving speeches
• Couples writing their own vows
• Couples reading their vows only to each other before the official, legal binding ceremony.*
Hear me out on this last one. A wedding ceremony is never private between the couple because they are being watched by their friends and family. OK so they may want to share the day with their nearest and dearest. But if it were me, I would like to have a moment, my moment, with my groom and say my personal vows to just him – so that he can be the very first person to hear my words.
Now coming from me that is true love.
* The inspiration to this will be all explained in the next entry or two
Likewise fathers, you should probably give up waiting for said nervous wreck of a man – or boy – for that rare occasion where you get to be the first in your family to be let in on big news.
Why? Such wedding tradition, if results from a poll are to be believed, is dying out.
Put more precisely, just one in six grooms ask for permission, compared to one in two in the 1960s.
Results of the poll conducted by researchers at The Wedding Inbox also found that other favourites such as tying tins to the back of the couple’s wedding car and the bride having her something old, something new, something borrowed and something blue have been halved in the past 50 years.
So is this true? Are wedding traditions dying out?
Now I’m not one for mushy tradition. I’m not keen on the tins and I definitely believe couples should write their own vows. Don’t even get me started on the love, honour and obey!
But when it comes to getting the father’s permission, I dearly hope that my match is that rare one in six.
You see my father is all about tradition, principles, discipline – especially when it comes to me and my sister. Thankfully my brother-in-law had the sense to ask Papa Ng.
It’s extremely important to me that my future knight in shining whatever involves my Dad because he is and will always be the most important man in my life. Whoever I end up with must accept second place. Now I know that is a lot to say and you may be thinking, ‘well you’ll think differently when you find your match.’
But honestly I can’t even entertain the idea of my Dad being anything but Number One. He is my teacher, my confidante, my hero, my leader. I’m first and foremost his daughter before I am somebody’s match.
And what about introducing new traditions? Here’s a few I say there should be more of:
• Brides and maid of honours giving speeches
• Couples writing their own vows
• Couples reading their vows only to each other before the official, legal binding ceremony.*
Hear me out on this last one. A wedding ceremony is never private between the couple because they are being watched by their friends and family. OK so they may want to share the day with their nearest and dearest. But if it were me, I would like to have a moment, my moment, with my groom and say my personal vows to just him – so that he can be the very first person to hear my words.
Now coming from me that is true love.
* The inspiration to this will be all explained in the next entry or two
Thursday, 9 September 2010
Las Vegas to Vancouver to Montreal to New York
As of yesterday, all my flights and bus tickets across North America have been booked and confirmed.
My ticket from Vancouver to Montreal and then Montreal to New York were bought yesterday. After many hours price comparing, I eventually bought the Montreal ticket from the first source: WestJet's official website. The worst thing with this is having to fork out an extra $12CAD to reserve a seat. OK so that equals to less than £10 but such a surcharge is still disgraceful! Call it a great marketing scheme or just a plain old scam, I didn't realise about this extra cost until about five 'continue' buttons later. By this point I could not be bothered cancelling and searching all over again. I hope there's something special to this plane seat on top of the guaranteed extra leg room.
Originally I had not planned on stopping in Montreal but when I heard that a former Derby housemate, Alice, is now living there (thanks to her French degree, she has a swanky job with the Quebec HQ of Rolls Royce) I had to pop over and see her. Such spontaneity came way before the sensible me kicked in screaming, "How are you going to afford it?!" But I figure, it's one less day to pay for a hotel. Besides, money should be no barrier when finding time for your friends.
To further save the pennies, I opted to take a bus from Montreal to New York. Now I may have sworn to never take a long distance bus journey ever since that mammoth 26-hour ride from Cape Town to Durban that gave me none of the ocean views and beautiful landscapes I expected, this time it will be nine hours. AND it cost me around £50. Plus if I flew, the plane arrives into Newark airport which I have been told will cost a lot more for me to take a taxi into the city. I have thought this through very clearly.
With the travel all sorted, now is the time to finalise accommodation. I still have yet to decide where to stay in Vegas on the third night. On top of that I need to find a hotel or hostel in New York. Twenty-two days left before I fly. Time to decide.
My ticket from Vancouver to Montreal and then Montreal to New York were bought yesterday. After many hours price comparing, I eventually bought the Montreal ticket from the first source: WestJet's official website. The worst thing with this is having to fork out an extra $12CAD to reserve a seat. OK so that equals to less than £10 but such a surcharge is still disgraceful! Call it a great marketing scheme or just a plain old scam, I didn't realise about this extra cost until about five 'continue' buttons later. By this point I could not be bothered cancelling and searching all over again. I hope there's something special to this plane seat on top of the guaranteed extra leg room.
Originally I had not planned on stopping in Montreal but when I heard that a former Derby housemate, Alice, is now living there (thanks to her French degree, she has a swanky job with the Quebec HQ of Rolls Royce) I had to pop over and see her. Such spontaneity came way before the sensible me kicked in screaming, "How are you going to afford it?!" But I figure, it's one less day to pay for a hotel. Besides, money should be no barrier when finding time for your friends.
To further save the pennies, I opted to take a bus from Montreal to New York. Now I may have sworn to never take a long distance bus journey ever since that mammoth 26-hour ride from Cape Town to Durban that gave me none of the ocean views and beautiful landscapes I expected, this time it will be nine hours. AND it cost me around £50. Plus if I flew, the plane arrives into Newark airport which I have been told will cost a lot more for me to take a taxi into the city. I have thought this through very clearly.
With the travel all sorted, now is the time to finalise accommodation. I still have yet to decide where to stay in Vegas on the third night. On top of that I need to find a hotel or hostel in New York. Twenty-two days left before I fly. Time to decide.
Lotto: It cannot happen to me
Last night I bought my first Lotto ticket, a £1 lucky dip, and yes I admit that I hoped to win the £2.4 million jackpot. Or maybe a slice of that pie.
Because lets be honest with £2.4m I won't have to worry about money for quite some time. Oh and I will also be able to fork out a mere $189 (plus tax) for that room in the Bellagio. Heck I can even cancel all reservations made so far to stay at the luxury hotel for the full six days... with the assurance that I will have money leftover!
However it was not meant to be as only one of my numbers came out last night: 49.
I know gambling is not the smartest option when trying to find or make money. So it's back to the drawing board...
Because lets be honest with £2.4m I won't have to worry about money for quite some time. Oh and I will also be able to fork out a mere $189 (plus tax) for that room in the Bellagio. Heck I can even cancel all reservations made so far to stay at the luxury hotel for the full six days... with the assurance that I will have money leftover!
However it was not meant to be as only one of my numbers came out last night: 49.
I know gambling is not the smartest option when trying to find or make money. So it's back to the drawing board...
Tuesday, 7 September 2010
4 Weeks
This time next month, I shall be at the Wynn hotel helping Faye get ready for her big day. I cannot believe that it will all be kicking off in four weeks time.
So little time and yet so much to do! I still have a maid of honour speech to write, get my travel insurance sorted, book the flight from Vancouver to Montreal and the train onwards to New York and also book the accommodation. Oh and I am still deciding whether to go for it and book the room at the Bellagio for the third night. My head literally hurts now.
As soon as I arrive onto the Las Vegas strip I am heading for a bar and treating myself to a much needed Long Island!
So little time and yet so much to do! I still have a maid of honour speech to write, get my travel insurance sorted, book the flight from Vancouver to Montreal and the train onwards to New York and also book the accommodation. Oh and I am still deciding whether to go for it and book the room at the Bellagio for the third night. My head literally hurts now.
As soon as I arrive onto the Las Vegas strip I am heading for a bar and treating myself to a much needed Long Island!
Monday, 6 September 2010
To stay or not to stay at the Bellagio? That is the $189 question
So far I have booked the accommodation for five out of the six nights I'll be in Las Vegas. I'm now weighing up the pros and cons to paying $189 for the third night at the one and only Bellagio.
The first two nights I'm in Vegas I will be at the Motel 6. I figured that seeing as I'll be on my own why not stay somewhere cheap and cheerful and meet some random people. For the final three nights I'm booked at the Hard Rock because for $45 a night, I'd be a damn fool not to take up the bargain.
So that leaves me with the Sunday night, the third night. I narrowed down my choices to either: Bellagio, Venetian, Stratosphere or MGM Grand. No thanks to the Ocean's Trilogy, the Bellagio won. Then again I'm sure I have always been leaning towards this hotel from the beginning!
But one night at the Bellagio, plus tax, will cost me $225. That's around £135.
The sensible me is saying don't do it. It's too much money and besides how many hours are actually spent in a hotel room? The third night is when Faye, Chris and the whole gang arrive and apparently we're having dinner at Caesar's Palace which will no doubt turn into a full on night out. So I won't actually get to spend time at the Bellagio. $189 guarantees me a good night sleep.
But the devil in me is saying: DO IT! DO IT!! DO IIITTTTTTTTTTT!!! When in Vegas right? What better way to witness the magestic Bellagio fountains than from my own hotel room? Or how about after two nights of 'roughing' it at a motel, why not treat myself like there's no tomorrow with eight hundred different pillows, a king size bed and, get this, a jacuzzi shower?
If I had a job and earning money I probably would not be in this predicament. But now more than ever I am learning the value of money and how proper saving can prevent continuous worrying in how to pay the next bills. Whatever decision I make - and I will make one by the end of this week - it will be one where I will have asked myself whether paying this much for essentially a bed will leave me with many countless sleepless nights?
The first two nights I'm in Vegas I will be at the Motel 6. I figured that seeing as I'll be on my own why not stay somewhere cheap and cheerful and meet some random people. For the final three nights I'm booked at the Hard Rock because for $45 a night, I'd be a damn fool not to take up the bargain.
So that leaves me with the Sunday night, the third night. I narrowed down my choices to either: Bellagio, Venetian, Stratosphere or MGM Grand. No thanks to the Ocean's Trilogy, the Bellagio won. Then again I'm sure I have always been leaning towards this hotel from the beginning!
But one night at the Bellagio, plus tax, will cost me $225. That's around £135.
The sensible me is saying don't do it. It's too much money and besides how many hours are actually spent in a hotel room? The third night is when Faye, Chris and the whole gang arrive and apparently we're having dinner at Caesar's Palace which will no doubt turn into a full on night out. So I won't actually get to spend time at the Bellagio. $189 guarantees me a good night sleep.
But the devil in me is saying: DO IT! DO IT!! DO IIITTTTTTTTTTT!!! When in Vegas right? What better way to witness the magestic Bellagio fountains than from my own hotel room? Or how about after two nights of 'roughing' it at a motel, why not treat myself like there's no tomorrow with eight hundred different pillows, a king size bed and, get this, a jacuzzi shower?
If I had a job and earning money I probably would not be in this predicament. But now more than ever I am learning the value of money and how proper saving can prevent continuous worrying in how to pay the next bills. Whatever decision I make - and I will make one by the end of this week - it will be one where I will have asked myself whether paying this much for essentially a bed will leave me with many countless sleepless nights?
Saturday, 4 September 2010
Four Weeks!
With any luck this time next month, I shall be somewhere on the Grand Canyon witnessing sun rise/ sunset. But in order to get there I still have so much to do!
Namely, book the hotels (yes, plural, I'm going to be a hotel whore) and figure out some way to raise the money needed for spends.
Namely, book the hotels (yes, plural, I'm going to be a hotel whore) and figure out some way to raise the money needed for spends.
I'm Going to be Famous!
The official email from the Wynn hotel with the link to see the live broadcast of Faye's and Chris's wedding came through today. I woke up way too early for a Saturday to see the email notification on my BlackBerry. There it was in the subject box: Debbie Ng, you have been invited to a wedding!
Yay!
Hold on a minute, live broadcast...lots of people back home watching every detail... I'm IN the wedding. I must, I must, I must not mess up. All I have to do is walk safely down (or is it up?) the aisle in my ridiculously high shoes and deliver the perfect maid of honour speech with no hiccups, no stutters and no lame-ass jokes met with awkward silences. Piece of cake (!) Ooh how fun these next four weeks should be!
So after calming down slightly, I get another shock today when a small card came through the letterbox for me. My first reaction was 'not ANOTHER wedding!' I was actaully terrified to open it. But there was no need to be scared as it turned out to be a false alarm. The card is fact thank you card from Mrs Louise Carass. And breath!
Yay!
Hold on a minute, live broadcast...lots of people back home watching every detail... I'm IN the wedding. I must, I must, I must not mess up. All I have to do is walk safely down (or is it up?) the aisle in my ridiculously high shoes and deliver the perfect maid of honour speech with no hiccups, no stutters and no lame-ass jokes met with awkward silences. Piece of cake (!) Ooh how fun these next four weeks should be!
So after calming down slightly, I get another shock today when a small card came through the letterbox for me. My first reaction was 'not ANOTHER wedding!' I was actaully terrified to open it. But there was no need to be scared as it turned out to be a false alarm. The card is fact thank you card from Mrs Louise Carass. And breath!
Friday, 3 September 2010
Dragons I'm here to talk to you about WIGS FOR BIG HEADS
Successful and powerful men and women become so by having one ingenious idea. That’s all it takes to make and, quoting Gandhi, be the difference they wish to see in the world.
One idea.
Dr Martin Luther King shared his dream that one day he would live in a world where his children will be judged not on the colour of their skin but the content of their character. Mandela realised the ideal of equality between the races, the one of which he is prepared to die, comes through forgiving the people who put him in 27 years of prison rather than seeking revenge.
Less symbolic but just as relevant is the likes of Bill Gates whose idea of Microsoft forevermore secures his position as one of the world’s richest men. Or how about that guy Mark Zuckerberg who set up a website to connect with his Harvard friends. That site otherwise known as Facebook is now used by some 500m+ people globally.
It all begins with one thought that turns into a grand vision and then before we know it, we wonder just how we got through our days without it.
Ladies and Gentlemen here is my idea. Wigs for big heads. At the same cheap prices as the generic ones. It is time that people can go on party websites and buy wigs that are just 'one size fits all' but actually come in ranges of small, medium, large and so on? Even better how about wigs that stretch out to a specific size?
I'm sure somewhere in custom-made, expensive land, such wigs made from real hair exists but I'm talking about the normal, cheap everyday designs that comes in various colours, ideal for dressing up. Why should people with big heads have to pay more just to enjoy sporting a new hairstyle and colour along with the rest of their friends.
One size fits all is like the eternally cruel joke in being a size 14 trousers in nine out 10 stores but low and behold number ten is where you struggle in getting the denim past your thighs.
When it comes to our heads, there’s no fitness regime, no gym sessions, cutting out carbs, drinking protein shakes or doing the Special K two week, drop a jeans size diet to lose inches off our heads. The only solution is to shave off our hair and possible lose a centimetre or two.
Even if that is a plausible solution, I bet my head will still be too big for one size fits all. As well as being blessed with plenty of thick hair, I just have a naturally big shaped head. Dad still maintains that it’s because I was delivered via Caesarean and not pushed through the birth canal. (Go figure.)
I can’t believe I wasted money on something that didn’t even cover three quarters of my head.
No, careful planning and thinking time is needed in order to turn this (admittedly daft) idea into a life changing (and money making) success.
You may laugh now but like the journalism saying there is no such thing as a stupid question, and while it will not put me way up their with the Kings, Gandhis and Mandelas of the world, there is no such thing as a completely silly idea.
Calling all the physically big-headed people out there – who’s with me?
One idea.
Dr Martin Luther King shared his dream that one day he would live in a world where his children will be judged not on the colour of their skin but the content of their character. Mandela realised the ideal of equality between the races, the one of which he is prepared to die, comes through forgiving the people who put him in 27 years of prison rather than seeking revenge.
Less symbolic but just as relevant is the likes of Bill Gates whose idea of Microsoft forevermore secures his position as one of the world’s richest men. Or how about that guy Mark Zuckerberg who set up a website to connect with his Harvard friends. That site otherwise known as Facebook is now used by some 500m+ people globally.
It all begins with one thought that turns into a grand vision and then before we know it, we wonder just how we got through our days without it.
Ladies and Gentlemen here is my idea. Wigs for big heads. At the same cheap prices as the generic ones. It is time that people can go on party websites and buy wigs that are just 'one size fits all' but actually come in ranges of small, medium, large and so on? Even better how about wigs that stretch out to a specific size?
I'm sure somewhere in custom-made, expensive land, such wigs made from real hair exists but I'm talking about the normal, cheap everyday designs that comes in various colours, ideal for dressing up. Why should people with big heads have to pay more just to enjoy sporting a new hairstyle and colour along with the rest of their friends.
One size fits all is like the eternally cruel joke in being a size 14 trousers in nine out 10 stores but low and behold number ten is where you struggle in getting the denim past your thighs.
When it comes to our heads, there’s no fitness regime, no gym sessions, cutting out carbs, drinking protein shakes or doing the Special K two week, drop a jeans size diet to lose inches off our heads. The only solution is to shave off our hair and possible lose a centimetre or two.
Even if that is a plausible solution, I bet my head will still be too big for one size fits all. As well as being blessed with plenty of thick hair, I just have a naturally big shaped head. Dad still maintains that it’s because I was delivered via Caesarean and not pushed through the birth canal. (Go figure.)
I can’t believe I wasted money on something that didn’t even cover three quarters of my head.
No, careful planning and thinking time is needed in order to turn this (admittedly daft) idea into a life changing (and money making) success.
You may laugh now but like the journalism saying there is no such thing as a stupid question, and while it will not put me way up their with the Kings, Gandhis and Mandelas of the world, there is no such thing as a completely silly idea.
Calling all the physically big-headed people out there – who’s with me?
Grieving son and one Jilted Groom
Deep inside me must be some frustrated guardian waiting to come out and save people. I always seem to find/ attract guys who are down in the dumps and make it my mission to cheer them up.
Of all the guys, in all the bars in Amsterdam I find and connect in the vaguest of senses two men – one grieving, one heartbroken.
Opening with case number one: After taking Nicky back to the hotel who surrendered to the strong powers of her joint, I returned to the bar and there I met an American guy called Matt/ Mike/ Rob/ (or Peter/ Tom/ Dick/ Harry). Whilst the other girls were talking to a Canadian and other lively groups, I see this guy on his lonesome with a pint. We get talking, he tells me he’s from Boston and I get all excited and say I’m off to Las Vegas next month. We then laugh about the stereotype that Americans only travel around their own country. So far, Matt/ Mike/ Rob seems alright. Not lechy, not weird, doesn’t look like a stalker. OK so a bit quiet. We continue chatting and then I ask him how long has he been in Amsterdam. “A few days.” Oh, so where are the best places to go? Recommend any bars or clubs? “Actually it’s my first night out.” What? How is this your first night out? What've you been doing? “I spread my father’s ashes last night. He’s always wanted to see Europe.” So that explains him being quiet.
Oh dear. Cue awkward silence. I could actually feel the disapproving glare burning into me from my rational, karma-believing self who always warns me to control the cleverness when meeting new people. From what I can remember Matt/ Mike/ Rob didn’t seem too offended and he even said seeing us lot made him laugh. Well that’s a given thanks to the fishnets, tutus and wigs!
Knowing me I would have actually sat down next to Matt/ Mike/ Rob and let him talk, talk, talk – well if he wanted to that is. Fortunately for him, I had to leave to continue being crazy with the Team Keane hens. At least I made a grieving man smile.
Case number 2: remember the Jilted Groom? Well here is the full story. In some random bar we found this group of guys who surprisingly were a bit subdued let’s say, despite being on a lads holiday. The Jilted Groom broke off his engagement two weeks before (so that explains the lack of excitement) but he went ahead with his stag weekend anyway because it was all booked. Besides what better way to get over heartbreak than with your friends on holiday? By the end of the night I got Jilted Groom dancing stupidly to cheesy pop and laughing hysterically at my mistakenly thinking the big man behind me was a wall thus leaning into it/him and consequently pressing him into the girl he was trying to chat up. Oh and the crucial point is I kissed him. It was short and sweet but very memorable. As Faye summed it up, “Debs you brought him back to life.” Maybe I did.
Even if it could not be further from the truth, I like to think I made an impact on someone that night. Maybe that’s my mission in life – to cheer people up.
Of all the guys, in all the bars in Amsterdam I find and connect in the vaguest of senses two men – one grieving, one heartbroken.
Opening with case number one: After taking Nicky back to the hotel who surrendered to the strong powers of her joint, I returned to the bar and there I met an American guy called Matt/ Mike/ Rob/ (or Peter/ Tom/ Dick/ Harry). Whilst the other girls were talking to a Canadian and other lively groups, I see this guy on his lonesome with a pint. We get talking, he tells me he’s from Boston and I get all excited and say I’m off to Las Vegas next month. We then laugh about the stereotype that Americans only travel around their own country. So far, Matt/ Mike/ Rob seems alright. Not lechy, not weird, doesn’t look like a stalker. OK so a bit quiet. We continue chatting and then I ask him how long has he been in Amsterdam. “A few days.” Oh, so where are the best places to go? Recommend any bars or clubs? “Actually it’s my first night out.” What? How is this your first night out? What've you been doing? “I spread my father’s ashes last night. He’s always wanted to see Europe.” So that explains him being quiet.
Oh dear. Cue awkward silence. I could actually feel the disapproving glare burning into me from my rational, karma-believing self who always warns me to control the cleverness when meeting new people. From what I can remember Matt/ Mike/ Rob didn’t seem too offended and he even said seeing us lot made him laugh. Well that’s a given thanks to the fishnets, tutus and wigs!
Knowing me I would have actually sat down next to Matt/ Mike/ Rob and let him talk, talk, talk – well if he wanted to that is. Fortunately for him, I had to leave to continue being crazy with the Team Keane hens. At least I made a grieving man smile.
Case number 2: remember the Jilted Groom? Well here is the full story. In some random bar we found this group of guys who surprisingly were a bit subdued let’s say, despite being on a lads holiday. The Jilted Groom broke off his engagement two weeks before (so that explains the lack of excitement) but he went ahead with his stag weekend anyway because it was all booked. Besides what better way to get over heartbreak than with your friends on holiday? By the end of the night I got Jilted Groom dancing stupidly to cheesy pop and laughing hysterically at my mistakenly thinking the big man behind me was a wall thus leaning into it/him and consequently pressing him into the girl he was trying to chat up. Oh and the crucial point is I kissed him. It was short and sweet but very memorable. As Faye summed it up, “Debs you brought him back to life.” Maybe I did.
Even if it could not be further from the truth, I like to think I made an impact on someone that night. Maybe that’s my mission in life – to cheer people up.
Aeroplane come back! YOU HAVE OUR ALCOHOL
I seem to be doing a lot of running this year. Literally and figuratively.
Now I’m not going to go into all ‘woe is me, my life is not turning out in the way I pictured it’ by boring you with the details on the figurative part. But in the literal, hyperventilating sense, I have been doing some running for these weddings. Strangely enough it’s always in busy, public places. First it was dodging past the elderly at Victoria train station. Most recently it was bolting it through Amsterdam airport.
Trust me to leave two bottles of alcohol underneath my airplane seat. Trust me to wait until after the long trek across the airport, down one floor and through passport control that the delayed light bulb finally comes on in my head (I must be energy saving, you know the one that takes a while before reaching full voltage) and I think “The alcohol!”
Cue Gill and I on a mission. Ignoring the no entry signs and charming the man at passport control (the tiaras clearly being the selling point) we went through security checkpoint and ran. Oh did we run!
Amsterdam airport is inconveniently spread out during such times of desperation. We ran past one man who asked, “You vant vater?” and a group of guys who yelled, “faster! Faster.” Now because we had spectators, the last thing I wanted to do was stop. So despite the stitch, the gasping for oxygen and seeing the reflection of my dishevelled self, I kept on running. My high school sports teacher would ever be so proud because if you truly knew me, you would know that running and me are not a match made in Heaven. So it is amazing just what lengths I am prepared to put myself through for the sake of vodka and Malibu.
Looking back I’m thankful I had Gill was with me because that girl has unbelievable perseverance. We saw the orange easyjet plane and ran to the nearest gate. There was a big no entry sign and where I would have admitted defeat and turned back, Gill ignored it and went down the stairs. Then we came to a security door with an activated alarm. Had we pushed through it and got onto the tarmac, well you can hear the alarms, picture the airport on lockdown and inevitably me and Gill getting arrested.
All we could do was wave our arms hoping to get someone’s attention. The pilot had a look of both anger and confusion. We made our case with the ground officer through the door. But suffice to say, after all our efforts at the final hurdle all we could do is stop and watch the plane fly off – with our alcohol. All of this drama and we had not even left the airport.
So apart from achy legs, what did I get from this experience? Now more than ever, I know that in the heat of the moment, if needs be, I can run. With a lot of help from my friend called adrenaline that is. I’ve run away from muggers in South Africa and I’ve run like crazy with all the hope that I can get to an aeroplane in time. On this occasion at the time I was proud that I did it but now, I think for the sake of alcohol? What a dumbass!
Now I’m not going to go into all ‘woe is me, my life is not turning out in the way I pictured it’ by boring you with the details on the figurative part. But in the literal, hyperventilating sense, I have been doing some running for these weddings. Strangely enough it’s always in busy, public places. First it was dodging past the elderly at Victoria train station. Most recently it was bolting it through Amsterdam airport.
Trust me to leave two bottles of alcohol underneath my airplane seat. Trust me to wait until after the long trek across the airport, down one floor and through passport control that the delayed light bulb finally comes on in my head (I must be energy saving, you know the one that takes a while before reaching full voltage) and I think “The alcohol!”
Cue Gill and I on a mission. Ignoring the no entry signs and charming the man at passport control (the tiaras clearly being the selling point) we went through security checkpoint and ran. Oh did we run!
Amsterdam airport is inconveniently spread out during such times of desperation. We ran past one man who asked, “You vant vater?” and a group of guys who yelled, “faster! Faster.” Now because we had spectators, the last thing I wanted to do was stop. So despite the stitch, the gasping for oxygen and seeing the reflection of my dishevelled self, I kept on running. My high school sports teacher would ever be so proud because if you truly knew me, you would know that running and me are not a match made in Heaven. So it is amazing just what lengths I am prepared to put myself through for the sake of vodka and Malibu.
Looking back I’m thankful I had Gill was with me because that girl has unbelievable perseverance. We saw the orange easyjet plane and ran to the nearest gate. There was a big no entry sign and where I would have admitted defeat and turned back, Gill ignored it and went down the stairs. Then we came to a security door with an activated alarm. Had we pushed through it and got onto the tarmac, well you can hear the alarms, picture the airport on lockdown and inevitably me and Gill getting arrested.
All we could do was wave our arms hoping to get someone’s attention. The pilot had a look of both anger and confusion. We made our case with the ground officer through the door. But suffice to say, after all our efforts at the final hurdle all we could do is stop and watch the plane fly off – with our alcohol. All of this drama and we had not even left the airport.
So apart from achy legs, what did I get from this experience? Now more than ever, I know that in the heat of the moment, if needs be, I can run. With a lot of help from my friend called adrenaline that is. I’ve run away from muggers in South Africa and I’ve run like crazy with all the hope that I can get to an aeroplane in time. On this occasion at the time I was proud that I did it but now, I think for the sake of alcohol? What a dumbass!
Thursday, 2 September 2010
What happens in Amsterdam... will be retold for many years to come
36 hours in Amsterdam. That was all it took to have arguably the best hen weekend ever.
Call me OTT but Faye’s hen do is the stuff of legends and deserves a place in the mantra of how to bow out single life in style.
It’s taken me two days since coming home to finally make sense of all that happened in the Dutch capital city.
For reasons that will come clear, the retelling of what went down in Amsterdam will be split into several entries.
But here is a slight preview of what to expect.
There were the prostitutes who towards the end really did not like us, there was Gill almost becoming a temporary Red Light lady after almost falling through a boudoir window, there was a jilted groom-to-be who nevertheless went ahead with his stag do (more on him later), there were space cakes and there was running through Amsterdam airport almost setting off security alarms. But most significant and important of all, there was constant laughter and happiness.
I can’t name the best moment because there are just too many.
So as a little taster, presenting to you my personal Top 10 moments from 36 hours in Amsterdam with Mrs Dabek-to-be:
1. Realising at baggage claim that I left a bottle of Vodka and one Malibu underneath my seat on the easyjet plane. Cue manic run across Amsterdam airport with Gill in an attempt to retrieve them. More on this later.
2. I was the only one whose wig failed to fit. Not even a pack of Kirby grips and the Dabek sisters tugging the wig down from both ends could get it to fit around my large head.
3. Space brownie and Ray from Estonia. Effects of the chocolate treat truly kicked in when I was holding myself up against what I thought was a wall but turned out to be giant man. I literally pushed him into some girl who I suspect he was trying to chat up!
4. When in Amsterdam, it’d be too rude to not go and see a sex show. So there we were queuing at the Sex Palace paying two euros to go into these flea infested booths (I’ve got a bite on my hand!) to watch naked woman revolving past our window.
5. Rather inappropriately asking said jilted groom-to-be repeatedly what happened between him and his former fiancée (what’s a high journo to do?) …and then doing the really appropriate thing by snogging him at the end of the night.
6. Belting out New York, New York en route to the Red Light District. There is no Amsterdam equivalent so that’s the best we could come up with!
7. Downing red tequila with Gill in a desperate attempt to ignore the growing munchies I felt. I think I ate the lemon peel.
8. Explaining graphically to the group about penis fractures and how certain tumours in the base of the spine if left untreated can cause constant erection. I still have no idea why I brought this up (excuse the shameful pun).
9. Neon Leon who we insisted sit with us on the plane. Leon was off to Amsterdam to break up with his long term Australian boyfriend.
10. The sheer ridiculous sayings that came out of our mouths. To name but a few:
Gill and I wondering whether the pilot flew faster on the way to Amsterdam as despite departing 30 minutes later, we arrived on time.
Cue Michelle: (jokingly) “Maybe the pilot took a shortcut.”
Gill and I: (seriously) “Yeah maybe he did.”
(In my defence we were in a coffee shop and Ray had clearly been there for the good part of the day!)
“Does that moon look really orange to you? Do you think it could be caused by all the marijuana smoke in the air?” Again in my defence I am no scientist. Clearly I am Miss Ridiculous.
Call me OTT but Faye’s hen do is the stuff of legends and deserves a place in the mantra of how to bow out single life in style.
It’s taken me two days since coming home to finally make sense of all that happened in the Dutch capital city.
For reasons that will come clear, the retelling of what went down in Amsterdam will be split into several entries.
But here is a slight preview of what to expect.
There were the prostitutes who towards the end really did not like us, there was Gill almost becoming a temporary Red Light lady after almost falling through a boudoir window, there was a jilted groom-to-be who nevertheless went ahead with his stag do (more on him later), there were space cakes and there was running through Amsterdam airport almost setting off security alarms. But most significant and important of all, there was constant laughter and happiness.
I can’t name the best moment because there are just too many.
So as a little taster, presenting to you my personal Top 10 moments from 36 hours in Amsterdam with Mrs Dabek-to-be:
1. Realising at baggage claim that I left a bottle of Vodka and one Malibu underneath my seat on the easyjet plane. Cue manic run across Amsterdam airport with Gill in an attempt to retrieve them. More on this later.
2. I was the only one whose wig failed to fit. Not even a pack of Kirby grips and the Dabek sisters tugging the wig down from both ends could get it to fit around my large head.
3. Space brownie and Ray from Estonia. Effects of the chocolate treat truly kicked in when I was holding myself up against what I thought was a wall but turned out to be giant man. I literally pushed him into some girl who I suspect he was trying to chat up!
4. When in Amsterdam, it’d be too rude to not go and see a sex show. So there we were queuing at the Sex Palace paying two euros to go into these flea infested booths (I’ve got a bite on my hand!) to watch naked woman revolving past our window.
5. Rather inappropriately asking said jilted groom-to-be repeatedly what happened between him and his former fiancée (what’s a high journo to do?) …and then doing the really appropriate thing by snogging him at the end of the night.
6. Belting out New York, New York en route to the Red Light District. There is no Amsterdam equivalent so that’s the best we could come up with!
7. Downing red tequila with Gill in a desperate attempt to ignore the growing munchies I felt. I think I ate the lemon peel.
8. Explaining graphically to the group about penis fractures and how certain tumours in the base of the spine if left untreated can cause constant erection. I still have no idea why I brought this up (excuse the shameful pun).
9. Neon Leon who we insisted sit with us on the plane. Leon was off to Amsterdam to break up with his long term Australian boyfriend.
10. The sheer ridiculous sayings that came out of our mouths. To name but a few:
Gill and I wondering whether the pilot flew faster on the way to Amsterdam as despite departing 30 minutes later, we arrived on time.
Cue Michelle: (jokingly) “Maybe the pilot took a shortcut.”
Gill and I: (seriously) “Yeah maybe he did.”
Michelle after the effects of her joint: “I’ve forgotten I’ve got an 11-year-old son!”
Nicky Keane after seeing a boat sail past our hotel window: “Oh my God I thought we were moving!”
“I’m Ray. I’m from Estonia.”
“Everybody this is Ray the Stoner!”(In my defence we were in a coffee shop and Ray had clearly been there for the good part of the day!)
“I’ve come back with more money than I brought with me. How does that work?” Jenna, maybe it's from you finding 50 EUROS on the floor!
“Debbie… I feel sorry for these girls.” Faye’s only comment about the naked woman gyrating behind the screen in front of us.
“I need to update my Facebook status!” Gill made sure to keep friends and family updated by the minute.
“I met a gorgeous man. He’s like Superman and Clark Kent.” Whatever works for you Jenna!
“The kiss was good until he started making sex noises at me.” Jenny Holmes bags herself a Canadian treat.
"One minute I was dancing and then I was lifted in the air. It was so good!" Seeing Nicky Rigby being hoisted in the air by random man provided one of many stitch-inducing laughs of the night.
“Does that moon look really orange to you? Do you think it could be caused by all the marijuana smoke in the air?” Again in my defence I am no scientist. Clearly I am Miss Ridiculous.
Saturday, 28 August 2010
Leaving on an easyjet plane to Amsterdam
Just the one sleep to go before I fly to Amsterdam for Faye's hen do. In 24 hours time eight ladies shall be boarding the easyjet plane heading to the popular Dutch city for one wild night.
Yesterday was my last day at work so as of next Tuesday when I return back home I will be freaking out at my unemployed self. But for now this Bank Holiday weekend is all about having fun for me and for my best friend before she becomes a Mrs in 30-ish days. Wigs, ticket, passport are all ready.
I have no idea what will happen during the day and a half we will be there but I can guarantee one thing, it will make a hilarious read.
Until then....
Yesterday was my last day at work so as of next Tuesday when I return back home I will be freaking out at my unemployed self. But for now this Bank Holiday weekend is all about having fun for me and for my best friend before she becomes a Mrs in 30-ish days. Wigs, ticket, passport are all ready.
I have no idea what will happen during the day and a half we will be there but I can guarantee one thing, it will make a hilarious read.
Until then....
Wednesday, 25 August 2010
Stop raining (or worse) on my parade!
Whatever horrific crime I committed in a previous life, payback has chosen this year to punish me ten-fold by doing some serious shitting on my parade. Payback on its own is indeed a bitch but this time it has teamed up with Sod and his Law to really push me into panic mode.
My contract with the bank ends on Friday – yes in two days time. Fair enough I’m a temp so I have the recruitment agency to find me something else. However, I need the something else by next week. For the first time in a very long time I have a plan. A plan that involves budgeting and saving for Las Vegas. If I am out of work at any time, the plan fails. That can’t happen because I need to pay off a little piece of plastic that I have depended on for some time in order to book flights and hotels. Currently time is against me:
2 days to find another job
5 days to Amsterdam
37 days to Vegas
On one hand this is a long overdue wake up call. I can’t be a temp forever and I am worth a hundred times more than what I am earning right now. Admittedly this year I have used the weddings to hide away from the fact that I have long woken up from the dream where I lived happily ever after as a journalist, writing the kind of stories that changes the world for the greater good, employed by a company that sits on excellent morals. Now is the time to take charge of my own destiny, to prove my worth. That being said, it’s been over a year and I’m not exactly batting those job offers away! The weddings however have been the only certain thing in my life this year.
But here’s where Sod’s Law has only gone and decided to wind me up. Why now? Why before the ultimate, crucial wedding this year in Las Vegas? There is absolutely no way I am backing out of my best friend’s wedding. A promise is a promise, money spent is money that cannot be returned.
So now I am desperate. I need to get rich quick. Any ideas? I’m thinking car boot sale, sell an organ (apparently we can live healthily on just one kidney) or, sell my hair (I know of some people who will pay hundreds for my naturally black, shiny, thick locks). Alternatively I could re-open my overdraft. Now of all the ideas this is the one I do NOT want to do because I have been so good this year. In fact paying off my overdraft, closing the damn account has been such a relief and I don’t even miss it. It’s like Walkers Thai Sweet Chilli sensations flavour. If I don’t see I won’t crave. Put them in front of me and you’ll be lucky that I’ll offer you a piece. Thus if I won’t have access to ‘free’ money, I won’t dip into it.
World I am calling out to you. I am not one to beg, my pride has always been too big to show anyone my weaknesses, but now while it is taking a nap I am willing to admit desperation.Someone, somewhere hire me! Make me believe in happily ever after again. Or at least throw me some rope and pull me out of the deep shit I'm currently submerged in.
My contract with the bank ends on Friday – yes in two days time. Fair enough I’m a temp so I have the recruitment agency to find me something else. However, I need the something else by next week. For the first time in a very long time I have a plan. A plan that involves budgeting and saving for Las Vegas. If I am out of work at any time, the plan fails. That can’t happen because I need to pay off a little piece of plastic that I have depended on for some time in order to book flights and hotels. Currently time is against me:
2 days to find another job
5 days to Amsterdam
37 days to Vegas
On one hand this is a long overdue wake up call. I can’t be a temp forever and I am worth a hundred times more than what I am earning right now. Admittedly this year I have used the weddings to hide away from the fact that I have long woken up from the dream where I lived happily ever after as a journalist, writing the kind of stories that changes the world for the greater good, employed by a company that sits on excellent morals. Now is the time to take charge of my own destiny, to prove my worth. That being said, it’s been over a year and I’m not exactly batting those job offers away! The weddings however have been the only certain thing in my life this year.
But here’s where Sod’s Law has only gone and decided to wind me up. Why now? Why before the ultimate, crucial wedding this year in Las Vegas? There is absolutely no way I am backing out of my best friend’s wedding. A promise is a promise, money spent is money that cannot be returned.
So now I am desperate. I need to get rich quick. Any ideas? I’m thinking car boot sale, sell an organ (apparently we can live healthily on just one kidney) or, sell my hair (I know of some people who will pay hundreds for my naturally black, shiny, thick locks). Alternatively I could re-open my overdraft. Now of all the ideas this is the one I do NOT want to do because I have been so good this year. In fact paying off my overdraft, closing the damn account has been such a relief and I don’t even miss it. It’s like Walkers Thai Sweet Chilli sensations flavour. If I don’t see I won’t crave. Put them in front of me and you’ll be lucky that I’ll offer you a piece. Thus if I won’t have access to ‘free’ money, I won’t dip into it.
World I am calling out to you. I am not one to beg, my pride has always been too big to show anyone my weaknesses, but now while it is taking a nap I am willing to admit desperation.Someone, somewhere hire me! Make me believe in happily ever after again. Or at least throw me some rope and pull me out of the deep shit I'm currently submerged in.
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