Mercy

I'm reading a book called Mercy by Jodi Picoult, and it deals with 2 main topics simultaneously - mercy killings and infidelity. As with all Picoult novels, the book is very character-focussed, and has a few main characters whose actions and decisions over a period of time heavily influence each other's lives. I adore Jodi Picoult - she puts into words what many of us are afraid to say, or even afraid to feel. She always deals with difficult and controversial topics that force you to examine where you stand on an issue.

And that's really what this post is about today - reading Mercy has made me contemplate in depth how I feel about infidelity. As far as mercy killings go, that is a non-issue for me. I believe in a person's right to die, and I believe that if someone assists them out of love and compassion, that person is guilty of nothing except displaying the kind of courage most of us probably don't have. In the case of mercy killings, I am a prosecutor's nightmare. But infidelity is another thing altogether. Of course it's wrong, I'm not questioning that. What I have been questioning since starting this book is whether or not I'd be able to live with it if it reared it's ugly head in my life. I think most of us, at one time or another, have wondered what we would do if we found out our significant other was cheating on us.

For me, I've always been on the fence about it. It goes without saying that I would be broken, devastated, hurt beyond comprehension, if I found Shoes had been sleeping with someone else. When your partner chooses someone else over you, no matter how long for, trust is irreparrably damaged, self esteem shattered and the easy dynamic between a long-term couple lost forever. But I have always asked myself the question: would it be worse to stay with him and try to rebuild things, knowing that I'd still love him despite what he'd done and that it might be enough to get us through it? Or would it be worse to watch him walk out of my life forever?

I suppose it's hard to imagine if you've never been in that situation. I've been cheated on before, but he was a drug addict and I hated him more than I ever loved him, so it wasn't the same thing. Shoes is the love of my life, and I've never had even the tiniest reason to doubt him, ever. So it's impossible to gauge how my feelings would change if he did the unthinkable, because I can't imagine him doing it at all.

The thing is, I've always leaned towards the idea of second chances. I don't know why I think I might be able to salvage a relationship from the ashes if this happened to me, but I've entertained the idea that this would be the lesser of 2 evils. I just can't imagine my life without Shoes, no matter which way I look at it.

Then I started reading this book. It is the man who has the affair, with a strange woman who comes to town and who ends up as his wife's shop assistant. And I can tell you, I have never hated a character in a book more than I hate this one. Everytime the author focusses on him, I can't help a sneer stealing across my face. I am rooting for all sorts of terrible things to happen to him - for him to die in a car accident, for his wife to leave him once and for all (she is undecided at this point in the story, although she knows everything), for him to get an incurable disease and die a slow, painful death. The strength of my feelings towards this character have taken me completely by surprise.

Of course, in the story his wife is just lovely, and doesn't appear to have told so much as a half-lie in her whole life. And he embarks on the affair with total disregard for her, and treats her badly during his indiscretion as a result of his guilt. So they do play very much the sterotypical roles, and in real life, I'm sure that many times it is not that black and white.

Still though. If I feel hatred and utter contempt towards a fictional character in a book, how much more would I feel that towards a real life person - my person? And would it make a difference at all that I love him? Interesting, though-provoking. I'm now leaning towards total non-acceptance, if it happened to me.

What would you do?

When The Rhumba Rhythm Starts To Play

Today is my first official post as a 28 year old. When I posted on Saturday, it was before 1pm, which is the time I am told I made my noisy entrance into the world. So now I am older, but still feel no different. The only thing I feel is terrified, as Mark got paid today and we got rid of more than half his salary in a matter of minutes, with the cost of moving house still to come. The fact that we spent it on necessities like travel and not on frivolous shopping expeditions doesn't make me feel any better. My entire salary is going towards the move this month, and I actually still fall short of the total cost by £150. I've never felt quite this vulnerable in London... up til now we've always had a Plan B, and now there isn't one because there is literally not enough money for the job.

It will all be fine once we're in - it's the 6 weeks deposit we have to come up with on top of all the other costs of moving that is killing us. Deep breath. It's going to be fine... I hope. Can one survive on baked beans on toast for a whole month? I don't even like the damn things, but I'll eat them if it means we can pay rent.

Anyway, on to other things that don't make me hyperventilate.

Saturday night eventually did feel like my birthday. We all went out to Sway Bar in Covent Garden, and had one of the best nights out we've had in ages. Mello and I were born on the same day, and so decided to share our birthday and have a theme to mark the occasion. Everybody had to come dressed in white - well, at least half in white. White tops / shirts were mandatory, and where possible we asked for white pants or skirts, but we accepted blue jeans as well since not many people actually own white trousers, especially the guys. We then dressed in black and red, so we really stood out from the crowd. I was tempted to post the group photo on here so you can see how cool it looks, but I decided to stick to complete anonymity. ;-)

When we first arrived, the bar was really empty and the few patrons scattered across the cowhide booths all looked to be in their late thirties or early forties. We thought we'd misread the blurb on the website - was this a "throw your name away" type of bar or a sedate, pre-theatre drinks venue? The music was pretty atrocious too; Come on Eileen by Dexy's Midnight Runners was followed quickly by I'll Be There For You by the Rembrandts. The Friends theme is not cute when you're glugging champagne and trying to get a party going.

We decided to tell the barmen their taste in music left a lot to be desired, and to our surprise, they completely agreed, launching into a tirade about how they had no say in the tunes played and how tough it was to stand there night after night and have their ears assaulted. They promised us it would get a little less cheesy as the night wore on. We had good reason to doubt that anything was going to happen at all though, when by 8pm we were one of only 2 tables left in the joint.

By now Mello and I thought we'd made a grave mistake. We'd picked Sway on recommendation from two of our friends who are connoisseurs of these type of "chick bars", as we like to call them. We were about to call them and tell them what we thought of their taste, when a waitress reminded us that it was the middle of a bank holiday weekend, and nothing major was going down before 9-9:30pm. We didn't really believe her - we thought we were it in terms of party guests.

Luckily, we were wrong and she was right, as 9pm rolled around and suddenly the place filled up. Really, it went from empty to three quarters full in about 15 minutes. The main dancefloor opened up, and the music improved ten fold. By now everyone had had enough time to chat and socialise, and the time had come to bust some serious moves. La Poo was jumping up and smacking the disco balls around (which earned her a stern talking to from the bouncers), G-Days was having the time of his life in a dancing sandwich between two hot girls, Scarf and I were giving it all we had in the very middle of the dancefloor and the guys, usually reticent when it comes to dancing and commercial music, actually put in a better performance than the girls. We knew we'd hit the jackpot when the boys, so full of adrenaline and Magners that they stopped caring what song came on, started getting down and dirty to Christina Aguilera's Dirrrty. Ka-ching!

It was a fab night, voted the best of it's kind that we've had in London. Hopefully getting older can always be like that!

Happy Birthday To Me

Today is my birthday, and I'm feeling a little melancholy. It's almost 12 o clock, and I've been awake since 9am. In that time I have:

1) Comforted Shoes who woke up with a very sore and dodgy stomach - perhaps too much smoked salmon yesterday

2) Read my book a bit

3) Replied to my happy birthday messages on facebook

4) Made my own breakfast - Shoes was still languishing in bed with said sore stomach

All very ordinary things, and none of them warrant being miserable. Ok, not miserable, but not happy. And it's not even that I am now 28, and I am lamenting the passing of my 27th year. On the contrary - I will always remember my 27th year as an extremely shite one that brought a lot of heartache and stress. So for me, turning 28 is a positive.

It's just that I don't feel special! *pouts childishly* When you get to this age, no-one makes a big deal about your birthday anymore, and rightly so. Most of the time, you try to pretend that birthdays don't happen, so you don't have to admit to being yet another year past it. It all makes sense, and it's not like I want people to fuss about it as if I was turning 21. But it seems so.... grey, and luke-warm. Whereas birthdays used to be red and molten-lava hot.

I suppose the fact that I haven't gotten any presents on my big day is another reason I am a bit put out. Of course, I already have my Def Leppard ticket, which is my best present so far, and I doubt anything else will top it. And G-Days is buying me the fluffy boots covers I really want, but they're being custom made, and so will only arrive next week. Scarf is at gym, and I will get a present from her and Eyes later today.

So I shouldn't be complaining. But I am, a little bit. Ungrateful brat, aren't I? I suppose I am nostalgic for the days when birthdays felt special. Today doesn't feel like my birthday at all.

Oh well, I'm off to buy socks. Yes, socks. I only have two pairs. Buying socks on my birthday. I have reached a new level of cool; come to me for I am the Master Birthday Planner. With me you'll never be sockless on your big day.

Oh well, we're going out on a bender tonight, so hopefully that will put it all in perspective, and my hangover tomorrow will tell me just how special this day ended up being. Fingers crossed.

Radio Ga Ga

Pahahahaha, one of the things I love most about London is that you can go to the pub and get pissed at lunch. I'm not laughing because this fact in itself is hysterically funny, but rather because after 2 bottles of wine between 3 of us, everything is midly amusing. Especially the fact that my colleague Sammi is pretty damn pissed right now, and half the office has just given up and either gone home or gone drinking.

The other half are at a radio awards ceremony today, which accounts for our wanton abandon. What's the point in sitting in a dull office doing sweet FA when you could go out drinking on your employer's time? And before you think I am totally rebellious here, this is a very normal thing to do, and indeed, almost expected. What can I say? "My boss was away, I had nothing to do, and I felt I couldn't justify bucking tradition and NOT going to the pub for a toot." It's the only way - you have to do what you have to do to fit in. Gladly, sir.

So now I'm sitting at my desk, reading blogs and whiling away (did I get that expression right?) the next 45 mins before I can leave. I've an early finish today as well - and they say those media types never work! But I'm trying to locate that stupid binding machine which has gone AWOL before I leave. Apparently the driver delivered it, but signed for it himself (yeah odd, ya think?) and just left it inside the foyer as no-one was around to pick it up. So now we are getting the CCTV tapes for that day and running through them to see exactly what this tosser did. How do you deliver something by dumping it in a doorway and not getting an employee signature? At least if it has disappeared, we can raise absolute hell with the company. I'm in the mood for it actually - I could do a showdown right about now! Gimme! They won't let me speak to the driver though. Obviously he's far too sensitive to handle complaints. Or maybe they can sense my spoiling for a fight.

Luckily, I only feel like fighting with dumbass drivers - not sweet boyfriends. Speaking of which, Shoes says he has some really good news for me, and he won't tell me til we get home. Oooooh, what could it be? I think I know... only because I know and he knows what kind of good news we need right now. Anyway, I won't speculate; I'll just find out tonight and fill you in on Monday - ok, maybe Tuesday.

It's my birthday on Saturday guys, and I'm turning 28. All commiserations welcome. I'll be sure to have some good stories for you after the weekend. Happy Easter everyone!

Let Me Entertain You

I've recently signed up for a number of Google Alerts, which are key news items that are mailed to your inbox on an as-it-happens, daily or weekly basis, based on the subjects or terms you enter into the search criteria. I decided to use the tool to keep up to date with the media's coverage of my company, as it's a great way to learn what is going on and also what the public perception of your workplace is.

What I didn't think of until a few days ago is that I can pretty much get alerts on any topic I want, and one of the topics I am most interested in and passionate about is gymnastics. It has been my favourite sport ever since I can remember, and even though the last time I actually did any gym was 14 years ago, I follow it possibly even more closely today than I did then. To my delight, I now come into work in the mornings and my inbox is full of the latest news headlines on all gymnastics-related events. Some are crap - news about local competitions in Pofaddersfontein - and others are fabulous, like the coverage on who to watch leading up to Olympics later this year. You can bet I am going to be off sick for a good few days to watch that competition.

Anyway, thank you Google, for giving me yet another way to distract me from what I should be doing. Since I have all these new gym blogs to read, I'm going to cut this post short and leave you with some motivational thoughts for the day instead. ;-)

Big Girls Don't Cry

My day at work today has consisted mostly of boring admin tasks, such as ordering refreshments for meetings and trying to track down a binding machine that mysteriously did not arrive with this week's stationary order.

As much as I am loving this company, I have to admit that I don't have an enormous amount to do in this role. I came from a position where I was supporting a team of 10, and am now only supporting one man. Of course, he is far more important than any of my previous team, but there is still only so much work one man can generate. He is also particularly easy-going, so if you had a mental picture of me running around after a high-powered suit clutching a clipboard and struggling to stay on top of things - think again. I manage my workload more than easily, and have plenty of time left to blog and read my tabloids. Which is great... in a way. It's not that I don't want time to do my own thing at work; in fact, I would hate a job which kept me so frantic all day that I couldn't send e-mails and check facebook. No CEO ambitions for me. But I do also want to be learning things in my job, and using the opportunities given to prove myself so I have a chance at moving up. I realise that this PA role was always going to be about getting a foot in the door - I don't really want to be a career PA. And because of this, I can't be seen to have major aspirations just yet; I need to prove myself a valuable asset in this position first, and show some loyalty and commitment before I can start making moves in other directions.

For the most part I am fine with this. But I do have days where I get pretty bored. So I've decided to try and do something about it in a non-threatening way, as the last thing I want is for people to be resentful of me moving in on their territory. So what better place to start than to help out with our annual Commercial Conference - the one day and one night away which is disguised as a brainstorming seminar, and is really just an excuse for 200 people to get as pissed as humanly possible and see who takes the most embarrassing photos (did I mention that sometimes I love England?). It's not an event that has any impact on our external clients and stakeholders, but is just a chance for staff to let loose and have fun. The Marketing Team are organising it, and I've let them know I'd like to help out if they need a hand. So far I've already been given two tasks to do. So there we go, baby steps. I definitely love it here and see a future for myself. I guess I'm just going to have to be proactive if I want to get ahead in any way - although that should go without saying, shouldn't it!

One of the best things about my company is Dagwood, my boss. He is a truly lovely human being - funny, irreverent and completely bullshit-free. He calls me "my little cherub", which makes me feel both young and cute - bonus points. If I put a call through to him and it's someone he likes, he tells them about his new "gorgeously efficient PA", and if it's someone he doesn't like, I am his "terrifying, dragon-like PA" and they are "truly lucky to have got through (her) cast-iron screen". He's full of wisecracks and expressions of delight / misery - he definitely has a flair for the dramatic. Last year at the Conference the theme was Rock Star, and he wore a full body purple Elvis suit, with sequins and ruffles at the sleeves. He enters wholeheartedly into the spirit of everything he does, which I find very inspiring.

My company is currently in the middle of a takeover bid by our main rival and up til now, arch enemy. Everything is a little tense and chaotic around here at the moment, but once we know for sure what is happening, I will hopefully be able to spend a bit of time shadowing and assisting other teams with their projects.

Dear Kimi Raikonnen

Dear Kimi Raikonnen

As you know, Formula 1 started again last week, and I have to tell you that watching you race yesterday completely made my weekend. You should know I'm your biggest ever fan, and that I've been supporting you since you first started racing; even when all around me, die-hard Schumi fans were dismissing you as a flash in the pan. I always believed that you would reach the top, and last year you proved my confidence in you to be well founded when you took the Championship.

You were never daunted by Schumi's larger-than-life reputation, Montoya's balls (but I guess you knew better than we did how balls + no brains = bull in a china shop) or Lewis Hamilton's rookie rise to glory. You were always consistent, never giving up even when your chances seemed impossible.

So it is with a heavy heart, Kimi, that I must ask: what the feck happened to you yesterday? I know you had problems in qualifying, but at first it seemed you were going to show them what being World Champ was all about, as you cut through the field to 7th place from 15th. But then you spun off twice - 2 critical errors which cost you those hard-fought places. Even though your eventual retirement was engine-related and had nothing to do with your driving errors, it all added up to a dismal performance, didn't it?

Kimi, I feel compelled to tell you that I was disappointed in you yesterday. Heaven knows you have some of the worst luck that has ever plagued an F1 driver, but yesterday much of what befell you was your doing. The removal of traction control will separate the men from the boys, and Kimi, yesterday you were more boy than man. But I know you're better than that, I still believe in you. Don't fail me now, not when we've come this far. You see, when you don't finish in the top 3, I miss your post-race interview. The way you speak as if you've never heard of punctuation, in a flat monotone that doesn't change even when you win a race - I find it rather endearing and I enjoy waiting for the very rare moments that you smile... something which I think I have seen once in the 6 years I have been watching you.

I know you are often distracted by models, lapdancers and strip clubs. How I wish I could have been there when you launched into your own striptease at a London club last year just as McLaren were about to unveil their new car. But you should know that there is more to life than tequila, cars and boobies. For example, there is shopping, and it is on this subject which I must now ask your advice. Since you moved to Ferrari, I've been in a bit of a quandry. I am not a Ferarri supporter, never have been. I supported McLaren all the way, even when you left last year. I can find it in my heart to support both the driver and the other team. Since McLaren were stupid enough to be caught cheating - because let's face it, you all do it, they just did it badly - I have decided they are no longer worthy of my support. But I still don't really like Ferarri. So my problem is, what merchandise do I buy this year? I must say I do look quite good in red, and I would very much like to have your name emblazoned across my chest. I just don't really want to be lumped in with all those crazy Italians, they're a little too much for me, know what I mean?

I was hoping you could arrange to have custom made t-shirts printed with your name, but in your favourite colour, instead of red. That way I can support you but still diss your team when they get on their high horse.

You can call me at the number below at any time - no really, 3am from your favourite bar is fine too. And please tell Massa from me that he's kind of hot. Nothing compared to you, but hot just the same. It might help him win more races.

Ok. Call me.

Kisses,
Lopz
0769-I-LUV-U