I thought I might add this anachronistic bit before I return to my more recent happenings here in London.
2009 February 13/14: I lied awake engrossed in conversation about my friend’s position on the fallacy of marriage. I offered my two cents, mostly in opposition, and then withdrew without any hope that we would meet somewhere in the middle. Although, strictly from behavioural patterns, I believe his stance might reflect a self-affirmation account of the negative experiences underlying his fear-induced marital theories. When the clock stroke 12, Valentine’s Day greeted me with heart pangs of grief to the point where I could no longer talk on the phone. Shortly after, I collected myself then drove to my mom’s place as I had planned to surprise her with blueberry pancakes, which I never practiced before. I stood in line at Vons, admiring the simple, loving husbands and boyfriends around me who frantically sought out last-minute flowers and chocolates at 6 AM. When I arrived, home, my dad was already awake reading the morning paper. “Hi Dad. Happy Valentines Day. I’m going to make pancakes.”
“haha OK” My poor dad, I think I interrupted my Dad’s morning routine; I could make out his tummy grumbles through the newspaper ruffles. It took me awhile to get the pancakes down. The visual account is far more telling:
Subjected to a mini-pan (since mom hides large, new pan in her room from dad to prevent another from falling victim to his negligence)
I know I can be pretty fruity (no pun intended) at times, but I swear the blueberries arranged themselves like this in the pan)
Not too shabby, ey? (for the 18th try)- Dad's breakfast plate
Realized I forgot syrup, so I melted some sugar, not realizing that it would crystallize and form a hard, candied pancake. (mom's set of pancakes and punctured overeasy. She ate it nevertheless with an unforgettable, most rewarding, beaming smile.
I intended on going home to finish painting midday, but didn’t quite make it home until the evening time because I took a nap (seeing that I hadn’t slept yet) then reconciled differences with my friend on the phone for a little while. He put my life and our differences in perspective that gave me a sense of peace. Timing is a sensitive, crucial element in relationships of any sort. I finally acknowledged that my response system needed some rewiring in regards to friendships and more than friendships. “That’s it!” Through this conversation, I realized not THE cause per se, but a strong reason for my keen ability to repel men at the flip of the friendship switch. I’ve always wondered why the dynamics change so quickly when my friendships evolved into relationships in the past. And now I know...well, I know one part has a whole lot to do with me. Sometimes you just need that one sentence to flip your world upside right. I’m so lucky that I know now; might reduce my chances of leading a forever spinster life. Though, the idea is much more attractive then the alternative—marrying the “wrong” guy for convenience purposes. Bleh, yah right. I’m telepathically exerting loads of pressure on my sister to get married, so I may release these maternal urges on her children.
Anyway, I spent the evening with my friend eating pizza, drinking wine, and playing with my new handheld HD camcorder. Considering the early events of the day, i ironically spent the evening doing exactly what I had always imagined it should be like--wine, food, comforting company. I couldn’t ask for a better conclusion to Valentine’s Day. 8]
If one thing’s for sure, I’m on the road to making the best niuroumian in the world, if not Universe. I’m open to constructive criticisms of any sort. 8]
Watched a hilarious musical called Avenue Q last night with friends. http://www.avenueqthemusical.co.uk/#/home/ One of the most entertaining spoofs on modern life in the US, and I imagine, the UK. The only show I know of where you can watch muppet-like dolls do it. Such a pity I was fighting to stay awake near the end.. cuz of jetlag.
The spare room I’m staying in at my friend’s place is easy to stay in all day. The plush mattress is topped with a Swedish foamish layer, pillow is the same memory foam material, double down comforters; gorgeous open windows, private restroom.. I have to pry myself out of the bed to make the most of this London experience. Doesn’t help the kitchen is stocked with everything one needs to feel complete—breads, cheeses, wine, tea, vegetables, fruit, etc..
I awoke again at the ungodly hour of 6 AM. 3 more hours gosh darnnit! Trying to sleep relatively “normal hours” to fight this exhausting jetlag. I spent the remaining hours searching through possible temp job opportunities in Barcelona, Madrid, and even Sydney! Ahhh, the sky's the limit! More difficult to make a decision this way. I’m hoping to land a waitressing job in Tuscany, English tutoring position in Barcelona, or whatever might find me. Hehehehheheeeeeee. Choices, choices.. so many choices! Though I think Spain is the top choice right now since I want to learn Flamenco and salsa dancing badly.
The sky is so lovely, bright, blue today. Who said that London’s gloomy? Gloomy mood begets gloomy skies. Cheer up! I’m excited to leggings up and coat on to begin my day at Barrel Market near the London Bridge for lunch with friends.
Cooking-food-at-home culture is highly addictive. I didn’t grow up with homemade food, so perhaps that’s why I relish the opportunities i come across to learn cooking techniques from friends and try them on my own. It’s most gratifying to watch people enjoy something you made.. even hear constructive criticisms. KK and his "gf" made eggs benedict yesterday morning, from scratch, save the english muffin.
There was always food in the fridge growing up. My mom or dad, or mom and dad, would do the groceries on Sundays, only, no one really cooked the items. I think it was out of protocol or something to have food readily stocked in the food in case anyone learned how to piece the parts together. My parents were always working growing up, so we usually ate out. But I’ve always loved cooking. Never did it well, but Im grateful for all those Thanksgiving meals my family members lovingly struggled to swallow to express their gratitude for my efforts. When I was in elementary, I baked an apple pie from scratch, that I, of course, dared not to eat, but my mom, being my biggest fan, humored me with a few fork fulls. Then I baked a cake that smelled of rotten feet. If you didn’t have a sense of smell, you’d think it was the most perfect, smooth dessert. Then I baked a turkey that looked advertisement worthy on the outside, tho a bloody mess on the inside. Then I learned how to make semi-homemade pasta from my naturally talented brother. Still remember the recipe, will try it again someday. Then from my grandmother, I made stewed fish. Got all the right cooking-ware for the process, didn’t turn out quite the same. Fast forward, I was blessed with a succession of boyfriends and inbetweeners who could have easily been million-star chefs. Men who taught me the principles of bak choi, chili, stuff that I can’t pronounce or remember (but certainly can remember the tastes), or who patiently explained to me why setting the stove on HIGH didn’t cook, but destroyed food faster.
Then I learned how to make niuroumian. I found myself in niuroumian. My favorite child-adulthood food on this entire planet, if not universe.
Received this from Ed and Roger this morning:
And here is my response..
I really have to go, I’m so late. I’m becoming European already. 8]
(I’ll edit this entry later, so bear with me)