Is a goldfish without a bowl naked or homeless?

My future form of income and possible future doorway I’ll live in

So, the time for a change is upon us. Lord Lady and Lady Tooter of Tooting Manor have decided to expand the household and go in with a fellow antipodean to a 3 bedroomed house. Living on the breadline (and occasionally below it – depending on how thirsty I am in a month) in London is over-rated. Time to save some mula and live in a cheaper, larger place.

So, slap that minge into gear and slide on down to the estate agents. Ah, estate agents, the organisms I like most, only second to environmental consultants. Yeah, I like them THAT much. So off we trundle. Our lettuces whet with the taste of a new abode and the excitement of finding a new house. Well, as per usual, they tried to stick us in accommodation that I’m sure would even constitute the violation of human rights in a refugee camp on the Libyan border. Estate agents are lying toads. They’d sell your own grandmother back to you short one kidney and still be able to sleep at night! Even Satan won’t let them into hell…

Not only are they this soulless, but they also speak a different dialect. For example (true life experiences) – what they say, and then the actual translation to what they mean:

• 2 doubles, 1 single – 2 medium to small sized rooms and a space so small you couldn’t squeeze America’s Next Top Model winner in it if she hadn’t eaten in 2 months.
• A private garden – some sort of outside space, including but not limited to, a pile of bricks, a rotten shed, a dead fox, a jungle, some illegal squatters.
• The area is edgy – You’ll be shot.
• The area is up-and-coming – You’ll be knifed.
• Close to the tube – if you run marathons and have a highly trained team of medics to offer assistance as you trek toward the public transport.
• What’s the maximum on your budget? – that is such a lowly amount, I don’t know if we could even buy you a cardboard box from Tescos for that amount. But don’t worry, we’ll write it down, then only show you properties 50-100 pounds over your budget.
• What areas are you looking in? – sorry, I blacked out just then. Nevermind, I’ll spam your email and SMS inbox with properties in the hope you get so pissed off that you call and then when I have you on the phone, I’ll try weasel my way into a commission-laden impulse buy on your behalf.

And homeless, our notice is in, and then our amazing future housemate gets offered a spectacular job in Madrid! Lucky fishstick. So my digsy and I are back down to two. We decide that going into a flatshare/pre-existing house is a better bet. But time is tight, so we throw out all the stops and sign up to wait for it SPEED FLATMATING. Yes, you read correctly… speed… flatmating. Shut. The. Front. Door! So on the day of this event no work is done as I spend most of my free time – and that time that wasn’t free too – mulling over what to wear. What does one wear to speed flatmating I hear you ask? Hmmm. My dilemma exactly. One doesn’t want to appear too desperate. Desperation is not a pretty colour on me. But, in the same breath, if you look like a hobo, then no-one is gonna want to live you with you! So I don my second-most-flattering jean pant. A complimentary blue shirt and a splatter of hairspray; then wham-bam-and-thank you-stan! We arrive and have pink stickers proclaiming our desperation of needing shelter thrusted onto our ripened bosoms. The people with houses got white stickers. And that was the extent of the organization. It was then a filthy free for all. We ignored the potentials and headed to our second home… the bar. Slammed a tequila and ka-ching. Hallo personality and good-bye shyness. We turned and realized that is was chum time in the shark tank. White stickers were being stalked and circled by sticky-fingered pink stickers. So we chose our targets. Girls. That’s who we want to live with. Happy, smiley girls. In heels (very important!). And after a few “negative ghost rider” moments with a non-female swede and a Spaniard of questionable gender we met two AMAZING ladies with TWO rooms in the SAME house IN the area we want WITHIN budget. So we chatted to them and laughed and had fun and now, we see their house tomorrow. I guess it’s D-Day to make some decisions. We both want to live with them and not be homeless anymore… Please universe. PLEASE?!

Now ladies, gays and those in-between, it is time to hold thumbs, send us positive vibes and hope. Pray. Drink tequila. What ever it is you do, just do it… and do it for the two Ladies of The Toot. We need a house!

Thanks! BAM!

Fuck Yeah!

Fuck Yeah!

Last week was a Fuck Yeah! week. WOW! In fact, this year has been totally Fuck Yeah so far! 2011 is totally where I left my BAM!!

So, let’s start off with this year – well, 5 months into my London escapade and I have completed the HJB hunt! House – tick. Job –Fuck yeah! Tick! Boyfriend – tick! That’s right, this goldfish is now sharing his bowl with another fishy. A very attractive other fishy. Who has a puppy! It is cute (the puppy!). Things are going exceptionally well. Expect this fishy to be around for a very, very long time!

And yes, i have a job! A well-paid job in the finance sector! Not as an assistant, no. As an actual accountant in the accounts department! That was the fuck yeah! for last week. I got offered the job and said Fuck Yeah! Daddy would be so proud. Oh wait. He is! I made it. I did it. I packed up my life into two suitcases and moved across the world and I’ve made it. Seized the opportunities, picked myself up and dusted myself off and given it my all after every fall. And here I am! I can walk with my head held high and my shoulders back and a hard-deserved smile plastered across my face!

The other night, as i walked home from work, the London sky was scattered with clouds that were tinted with the orange glow of the lights and the life that this city emanates. The air was crisp and fresh. People were bustling along the sidewalk engulfed in their thoughts as double-decker buses whizzed by. And as i stood on the corner of the road, dressed in my trendy-smart work attire, just watching the hustle vibrate around me – feeding off the energy that this city radiates – feeling London pulsate through me and tingle up my spine, a gusty breeze billowed my coat tails out behind me and i couldn’t help but smile. I looked up, said FUCK YEAH! and strode off to the tube with Time Of My Life by the BEPs playing on full volume on my ipod.

So that’s it. Right now, life is FUCK YEAH! I am so grateful. I am so happy! I am so busy. I am so interested in life again! I am interested in work, in people, in my future, in me, in food, and in having goals. I’m back!

And to think all of this after 5 months!! Watch this space; because in another 5 you’ll see me sipping tea on the balcony of Buckingham palace with the new Princess Catherine as we discuss Willie’s role in the armed forces and Diana’s legacy. Go big or go home!

Something that I urge you all to do. Listen to my two soundtracks for right now:

Wonderful Life – The Hurts

Time of my life (dirty bit) – BEP

These songs rock my socks off and really let you know how i feel everyday!

BAM!

It don't matter if you've been naughty or nice!

Here's to some wicked festive greetings and christmas advice to all my friends and followers...

I'm always on this:

Remember, a moment on the lips... a lifetime on the hips! So try not to do too much of this:

I hope your Christmas is filled with NONE of this:

And that it is filled with excessive amounts of this:

It's almost 2011. It's almost time to start fresh and new and rock this city!

BAM!

Another one bites the dust...

It has been a significant while since I bloggeled something worthwhile other than some crazy excitement about SNOW. (LOVE THE SNOW!!!!!)

So, here we go…

Figure 1. You Know Why!!!

The goldfish of the previous post turned out to win Goldfish Magazine’s Asshole of the Year 2010 award. What a chump. From texting me daily, hanging off my every word, seeing each other daily … it all kinda crumbled on one Friday night. I tarted myself up. Looking hotter than Maverick in Top Gun and he had tickets to that danger show! We went out, and what fun we were having. As the night drew to a close, and there had been much flirting, we decided the only thing to do was to hit up the gay bar in Clapham. A place less seedy than Risque but filled with beefy men on the prowl nonetheless. I walked in, and in true spamoni style, the men melted and I could hear ovaries pinging all the way back to the bathroom. Luckily, I had my housemate with who fended off the rather forward, tall, dashing, attractive and defined men who kept hitting on me. But no, I flapped my little fins and swam about after my goldfish. Who, by the way had no-one hit on him. (yet) So we continue dancing around and on the stage where the hotties were. All is going well, and I turn around and get distracted by a shiny bauble on the white Christmas tree, only to turn back and see my goldfish in the arms of a strapping Australian man. They are chatting rather too close for words. And this leaves me with a few choices:

1. Get crazy bitch on his skanky ass and throw-down like a bunny boiling kugirl and follow my crazy throw-down with a dramatic storming out of the establishment

2. Get my fighting nails on and punch both their skanky lights out

3. Remain dignified, strap on a smile with a twinkle in my eye and pretend like I don’t care

Well, only moments later – in complete irony to the song “Time of my life” blaring over the speakers, he kissed the Australian. There are no words to describe the sinking of my heart, the freeze frame of them snogging away illuminated by the glow of the Christmas tree to a rather fabulous song. Fail. So I continued to opt for choice 3 and only after I received a patronizing pat on the shoulder and a smile from him, did I decide that it was time to leave. After leaving in a dignified exit, I only find the bloody slimebag running after me trying to make plans for the next day and asking if I wanted to go home together… I’m sorry. What part of “you were just kissing OTHER people and thus will NO LONGER be kissing me” do you not get. Dumbass. I got one SMS from him the next day, completely ignoring the situation. That was the last I heard or saw of that fishy. Pity. I had a lot of hope in that one… But London is a big ocean, and i haven't even tapped into my A-game yet... I'm just testing the waters. Wait till i'm staging my own coup d'etat on the throne of the village!!

And, so now, we fast forward through a SANTA CONVENTION! Oh hell yeah. I got dressed up in a santa adult-babygrow and paraded my drunk-ass through London with thousands of other santas. We had everything from Lady Gaga Santa and 80s Madonna Santa through to fat santa, obese reindeer, pirate santas, elves and of course us… Nap-over Santas! Hehe.

London continues to be utterly spectacular and fabulous and I brim with happiness despite it's ups and downs and ego-denting and ego-building!

Figure 2. I'm snow happy right now!!!! :)

It is nearing the end of a hectic week. Many ups, a few downs, a few late nights of working. And today, the bloody data entry beat me again. I am incapable of entering data correctly. I cannot get anything to balance because i keep entering a number wrong somehwere... Clearly a 4 year BSc degree that cost exorbitant amounts of money has done me wonders… NOT. As I struggled not to burst into tears on the tube whilst the realization dawned that my entire future in accountancy hangs on being able to correctly enter data, I stepped out of the station to a gentle whirlwind of large snowflakes falling gently down through the golden glow of the street lights. I could not help but crack a smile and ended up beaming from ear-to-ear as I walked through the crisp air, as the snow fell thicker and thicker, beaming like a kid at a cupcake buffet much to the bemusement of the grumbling locals. Snow cures everything. And wine. I had snow. Now I’ve had wine. Double BAM!

It’s almost Christmas. I’m still not sure on my stance about Christmas. I suppose it is rather lovely isn’t it…

Well, I oscillate between two of three of the HJB hunt.

· House – Tick

· Job – Sometimes tick

· Boyfriend – Sometimes tick

BAM!

Snowtastic!

Figure 1. SNOW!!! EVERYWHERE!!!!!

The day can suck, I may not be employed in a permanent position, but it snowed. It is snowing like Sweden! I am beyond happy. I am on cloud 9 billion.

The first snow I can remember being in! I have photos. Hundreds and hundreds of photos!

I LOVE SNOW!!!!

Now this is BAM!

Lost in London

Figure 1. Lost, but happy...

This popped up on post-secret a few Sundays ago. It seems hauntingly relevant for me… I have never been so lost, and yet, I have never been so happy. I suppose I am not really lost, but I have no clue with what path to take or what direction is right, but regardless, I am at peace and have never been so happy. Thank you London.

So, as I stood over MY small sink in MY teeney cottagey kitchen in MY large and airy house in London – it hit me. I have no fucking idea what I am doing. I am completely lost. But in the same breath, I am light of heart and happy. I have risked it all and am feeling truly the little fishy in the big pond, yet feel like the world is at my fingertips and that I am blessed on a path to success. It is the strangest feeling in the world… To be so scared, so excited, so peaceful, and even a bit sad all in one go. Wow.

I love my house. It is AMAZING! And so homely. Filled with love and awesomeness. After we gave the landlady a good ear-bashing over the state we received it in, the gripes have been repaired and it is starting to fill out into a home. I even sat at the dining room table and looked out onto the street below as the cold rain pattered onto the window pane as the graying light of 4pm set in and it felt real. I am really here. I am in London.

It was a serious week of revelations… I also realized, no matter how down you feel, how homesick and afraid, you cannot help but crack a smile and bubble with excitement as you sit in the early evening darkness in your full-length, tailored coat on the top level of a double-decker bus and look out over the glittering, meandering Thames to see the historic architecture of magnificent buildings as they marry into the glass and steel of modern London and lights twinkle off the London-eye. It truly is a fabulous place. A fabulous, fabulous place.

Figure 2. You call it alcoholism, I call it therapy!

And then today – SURPRISE numerical reasoning test. I passed the practice test with 100% accuracy, but failed on time. The real test, well, I only answered 14 of the 18 questions. I had 17 minutes to complete the test. Does one get hired on a 60% performance? Doubtful. But, I had a wonderful weep over this situation. And feel a lot better. Also helped by my half price bottle of Rose wine!

Now for the goldfishies... (The exciting bit!)

Figure 3. Lie back and think of England!

On the Goldfish front… well, I have been sneaking up the scoreboard. I met this fishy off the dating website and went out for drinks on a Monday night… a LOT of drinks later and we stole a cheeky snog. Saw him again on Thursday and keep in “text” (that is British for SMS) contact all the time. Like this one, so being chilled and seeing how it goes.

I don’t have the BAM in me right now… But it hasn’t died out yet. I’m fighting the London battle, and I’m fighting hard.

Two things I always must remember:

1. 11. Nobody said it’d be easy; they just promised it’d be worth it.

2. 22. Whatever you do; do it as if the entire world was watching!

Giving it as much bam as I can...

The Colossal Castle

Figure 1. Sofa surfing is done!

Feel it. It is here!

NO.MORE.SOFA-SURFING! I am done. Caput. Finito. Le Fin. Woop woop!

Thank you most graciously to all the friends who put me up for “just one week”… We all know that “just one week” to an African in London constitutes at least one month.

Figure 2. Lady Tooter II and her hired help

But my time has come. I am off and finally moving into Tooting Manor with my gingah surgeon loving best friend. I will have a bed! OMG!!!!! I’m so excited I may have pee-d myself a little. So far I have managed to convince her we need a Union Jack themed lounge. Long live the Queen. Rah-Rah. I am working on getting a burnt-orange coloured front door, but this is proving rather tricky. The issue with moving house in London is that there is no-one to do it for you. Unlike in Africa where you pay said removal and packing firm and go out for a boozey lunch in Sandton only to return to your new abode unpacked and shimmering. I am going to be lugging my wheelie-bags (and oh how full they are!) across London by bus, tube, boat (I may get lost…) and eventually into my Manor. Despite this. I cannot wait! It is time to take to the throne. And oh how well I shall alight to my position of monarchy as the “other” Lady of the Manor – Lady Tooter II. Also, it provides and ample double bed that needs christening. Dust of your heels ladies. Daddy’s got a brand new photographic jumpsuit and it’s hunting season! BAM!

Oh. My. Testicles. It is cold. I like the cold. But seriously, autumn (a non-existant season in any case) lasted the sum total of 4 hours. The leaves turned yellow and it was winter. Surprise! I wore my coat today. I love it. It is sexy. It is cold outside. I refuse to be beaten and am not wearing my gloves yet. It’s gonna get colder…

On the goldfish front. Well, blind date went pear. Horribly horribly pear… for him! He was more queen than a tranny at a Britney tribute concert. Unfortunately, as mentioned before, there is only room for one queen in the little goldfish kingdom, and that is me! He irritated me, and then pretended I was his toy whilst he flattered me with attention and took it away at his mere whim. Unfortunately for him, I had my BAM on and proceeded to procure me two tall and strapping gents whilst out at the club – in front of him. And that put him firmly in his place. Don’t piss like a puppy if you are playing with the big dogs boys…

BAM!