Lebkuchen

A recent development on the personal front has me feeling retardedly happy. I smile at strangers and want to be friends with them all. I am unable to walk without having Mr. Junebug (formerly known as Adonis) by my side. I have a shiny sparkly ring that I wear on my index finger (it's the wrong size but no matter - I rock the non-conformism of having it on the wrong finger). I want to do heaps of laundry all the time. I am frisky and flighty. I'm up for doing things I'd never ever have done in a former life i.e. go on a guided Jack the Ripper walk in the freezing cold and smile throughout even though my hands are about to fall off, wear Uggs in public, buy 'I heart London' hoodies. I eat lots. I eat lots.

But no matter. Life is for living and it's beautiful and sweet and currently glazed and in the shape of Hansel and Gretel's honey-gingerbread house. And it tastes incredible and spicy and aromatic and fills your tummy and heart with goodness while making you feel all content and warm.

My love for Mr. Junebug is up to here.

I fly to Sydney tomorrow. And life will then be in the shape of an aeroplane and sunlight and the Opera House and happy days in the arms of Mr. Junebug and family. I can't wait to go. I really cannot wait.

I do

Today I got married.
Religiously.
Aqd qaran.
In London.
I have the most beautiful husband in the world.
I am the happiest I have ever been.

That is all.

Things

Okay so I'm back in Bahrain and have spent the first week in a state of false euphoria and this, my second feeling absolutely dismal. I can't pull myself out of it, I can't get out of this bleakness that wraps its claws around me and permeates all the way to my insides.

But no matter.

I have the following on my mind:-

• Working out every single day is doing nothing but giving me a monster appetite. I am constantly ravenous and cannot just nibble on a rice cake for dinner. It's a balls-out feast every bloody night and I'm starting to wonder whether I should ditch the trainer and return to my previous brittle self (I was skinnier then).

• We have jars of olive paste (a bit like a tapenade) brought over by a family member from Greece. It is the most delicious thing I have ever tasted and I have gone through an entire jar in less than a week all on my lonesome. I eat it on Iranian bread and sometimes, as I sit and chew in the kitchen at midnight, I think of how this lovely melange represents Adonis and me - I am Iranian flatbread and he's olive paste and damn, we go well together.
  

• Why the fuck is the father's consent needed for a marriage in Bahrain when you're, oh I don't know, 26? To hell with this. I'm well not getting married here.

• I am blown away by Brooke Magnanti aka Belle de Jour. I've read everything she's written - books, blog, the lot - and watched the show and can't help but feel slightly cheated. I don't know why I expected a stunner, even though she had previously admitted to being "no great beauty". Still, her sexual escapades and ease with men led me to believe that she must be an absolute traffic stopper. The reality ain't so. I saw a ginger geek with gap teeth and bad skin. However, she is a scientist doing super-smart things so maybe I shouldn't be quite so bitchy.

• Speaking of skin (and hair, and general wellbeing) oh my fuck those Omega 3s. I don't believe in popping pills but this is the best thing to happen to me since the end of adolescence. Take them. They do no harm.

• I discovered that I reject spirituality especially when presented with an eastern slant through the eyes of a westerner. It reeks of bullshit. I don't know what it means. I can't connect. I tried reading Siddhartha and ended up wanting to tear my own hair out. No no. It's not happening.
  

• I go back to Londhino in less than a month and I cannot wait to see the beautiful Christmas lights and drink mulled wine.
  

And I'm out. My brain has atrophied from inactivity. Goodnight yall.

The dress that found me

There's a feeling you get when something goes your way. My last few posts have been gushing wildly but when it's good, it's good.

I had spent the last week packing things and sending them off and trying to have a very broad-brush plan so I can appear organised and make myself feel better without seeming like I need to control it all. I'd make lists that were purposely in the wrong order say, or leave things to the last minute so they'd look spontaneous when in reality they weren't. Organised chaos was what I was looking for but in reality I ended up looking and feeling quite schizophrenic. So to calm myself down, I decided to go looking for a wedding dress a couple of days ago.

I didn't want anything wedding-y. I'm sure many people have said that they abhor the creampuff-let's-play-princess-and-fulfil-a-fantasy-I've-had-since-I-was-5 style dress but judging by what I've seen in weddings and in wedding dress shops, I'd say that's a bold-faced lie. So I went out with an open mind and a firm desire not to shop at a wedding dress shop.

"A cocktail dress, really," was what I told Adonis when quizzed on my preferred look. And so we looked for my "cocktail dress" here and there and everywhere until we found a breathtakingly beautiful Ralph Lauren gown that was so beautiful, I had to sit down.

It was layers of dusty pink and gold lace shot with more gold somehow, fitted bodice, dropped waist, strapless and flowingly ethereal. I picked it up as I walked around the shop and twirled for my husband-to-be. He said, "Wow." However, the dress being a one-of-a-kind Ralph Lauren, it was, quite expectedly, not my size. And frankly, quite impossible to alter. I needed to be twice the height I am now and in heels to maybe have had a chance in hell of carrying this off. So I let it go with a heavy heart.

But me being me and stubborn as hell, I wanted something similar. I went around looking and looking and finding fault with all presented to me.

One dress was "something I'd wear at someone else's wedding - not my own"
Another one was "too satiny"
Yet another was "too ordinary"
And finally one made me say, "Hello boobs"

Making our way to the bus stop from Bond Street, we decided to take a quick look at one wedding dress shop. Giggling I told the lady I want a wedding dress. She sent me away with a catalogue and we sat in the bus flipping through and earmarking a few dresses we liked.

Then we saw one dress which was decidedly lovely. It was also un-wedding-y yet unabashedly bridal and special and unusual and it was my dress. So, the very next day I called up to book an appointment (a "first try") and got swept away in all that is bridal.

The dress deserves its own paragraph. It looks a little bit vintage but timeless. Fitted bodice layered with fluid halterneck chiffon, dropped waist and detailing around that area and lace from there on downwards. Clearly a flowing dress and one that will look phenomenal with towering heels and an updo. Also a dress where I can frolic which is what I intend to do at my own wedding. I am so tempted to post a picture but something tells me that ain't right.

Anyway, that was it. That was my dress. And Adonis got it for me. And I pick it up next month. And corny as it may sound, it was exactly how it was supposed to be because I never found the dress really. The dress found me.

My life in cardboard

I'm packing things and all I can think about are boxes. I have many boxes. I love boxes. I wish I lived in a box.

So the plan is to get out of here and go home and have my fiance join me later. The next plan is to go to Australia in December and the plan after that is to have a little party then jet off on a honeymoon which lasts ages. Oh my word, a lot to look forward to and many many plans. But first I must put things in boxes.

London, goodbye. Good while it lasted. Still, a little bit soul-destroying but I think everyone needs to have their souls a little destroyed.

I'm looking forward to the big picture, not so much the micro, immediate side of things. I think maybe a little list is in order to help me out -

Things to do when I get back

• Hire a personal trainer and work out every day
• Eat Froot Loops
• Learn Greek
• Look for a temporary apartment for Adonis
• Look for something a little more long term for us
• Plan the honeymoon
• Have mum plan the wedding
• Check out the new addition to the family - Cousin JJ

So all will be well hopefully, once I ship off these stupid boxes.

blurb

The beauty about living in a place like Bahrain is that when you wake up one morning, without having washed your face the night before, with a hankering for Froot Loops only to find there is no milk in the fridge, you can easily call the little corner shop next door, quote your grandfather's name and have them deliver 200ml of milk for about 100 fils. And it will be at your doorstep within about 45 seconds of you hanging up.

So as I sit here shovelling Froot Loops in my mouth, my heart swelling with temporary infatuation with this country, I try to come up with something philosophical and profound to reflect how I feel. But all I do is stare in the distance, vacantly, chewing Froot Loops, with smudged eyeliner on my face, wearing my brother's old t-shirt.

I tell Adonis about the lifestyle here and he takes to it like a fish to water. Luxury becomes him. He wears it well and is the kind of man who likes, loves, being spoilt. I lure him here with promises of maids and chauffeurs and grandma's cooking delivered to our house every day and swimming pools and heat.

But for now I head on back to Londinium to see him. This whole trip was a grand success. My family loves Adonis and he loves them back. I love everyone in return. Love is all around me. My heart overflows.

As for the future, well who the fuck knows? It could be here, there, in between or all the way out. As long as I have Adonis by my side, I'm set for life.

Good things

I hate neglecting this blog. I hate feeling that I could write but don't due to general laziness. I'm better than that but I suppose that doesn't show.

Here are some good things.

Adonis is coming to Bahrain this Saturday. The family is all over the place, planning things, thinking of what to feed him, re-upholstering sofas, cleaning curtains (because that's what Adonis is going to be judging when he gets here obviously - the cleanliness of the curtains), looking for things in common between us (of the Persian variety) and Greek-Australians (quite a few things apparently, but mainly me). I am so excited. I am so bubbling over with gratitude for my lovely family's wholehearted acceptance. I am so touched.

One of my best friends got the break she deserves and has been looking for and it went as smoothly as can be. I am delighted for her and cannot wait for her to get started with this new kickass life she'll be leading. MSB, kisses in your direction.

I am pretty much training contract-less but feel somewhat liberated. I reckon I deserve a bit of fun. I'm sure the job will come along somehow soonish (and if it doesn't then Adonis will have to return this beautiful Tiffany diamond horseshoe charm I'm wearing around my neck because I was promised it was lucky). Now though, I be focusing on the man who is changing my life.

I am knitting. I am knitting lots. I knit my brother a beautiful scarf and now I'm knitting Andonis a ribbed (for her pleasure) scarf. Loving it.

There's more but I must run.

dot

Crapples. I am so tired and just emotionally drained from the crap I have been putting myself through. For those in the know, I failed a module and now feel like the nice little world I've built in my head has come crashing down. My future job hangs in the balance and I'm just waiting for the powers that be to come back to me and tell me what to do. I was a wreck for a while, eating very little and isolating myself from the well-meaning folk who'd call to congratulate or go out and par-tay. Instead I chose to stay at home with the only person I can be with in times of a crisis, the only person in the vicinity who cries if I cry and bleeds if I bleed, and watch reruns of Sex and the City.

But today feels a little different. I started studying for my re-sits and, as I cram a fistful of Party Rings in my mouth and absorb the sugar rush, I don't feel as depressed about it as I should.

Things between Adonis and I have started to become a little more serious. A few more parties are involved, namely my family. Scary people are on board and things that used to seem so far-fetched are now within reach. Adonis will be coming to Bahrain and I couldn't be happier about my personal life, my lovely little relationship. All this is making me very happy.

But fuck, where am I heading? I am currently without a long-term job. I am not on my way to train as a lawyer and this is scaring the shit out of me. Relocation may be on the cards or it may not, I don't know. I don't know, I don't know. I don't know a thing and I am terrified. But at least throughout it all, Adonis will be there to hold my hand.

Before I leave this badly-written entry, I would like to post a lovely little picture of my current favourite drink. This bad boy is called the Pornstar Martini and it's made with passion fruit and served, weirdly, with a shot of champagne. Here we is:


Mon dieu, 'tis good.

I'm so full of the proverbial

I am a lawyer by training. I am a "writer" by profession. I wake up mornings and drink coffee because it's what's done by normal people. I cut my hair short to try and get myself into this prevailing corporate mentality and so I can fit in with the business-like world of 8.30 am on the Tube. I wear shades of grey so I can blend into the London haze. I skip lunch and have a cheese croissant instead on my way home. I don't smoke anymore because it's frowned upon in my office. I meet clients and smile and discuss their needs, wants and desires whilst maintaining a professional distance. I am pleasant and charming with my superiors. I had a fellow writer 'helpfully remind' me that I need to be polite with the clients (this condescending asshole needed a slap from me). I take work home with me because I have grown-up things like deadlines to meet. I am supposed to develop a writing 'style'. The Royal Courts of Justice are supposed to become a regular haunt.

Yet why do I feel like such a fucking sham when I put a suit on?

I cannot wait to churn out a ludicrous book which will make me shitloads and allow me to wander in whatever my heart desires.

----

At the moment my heart is desiring a Herve Leger bodycon dress which I tried on a whim in Harrods then put right back on the rack after looking at the price tag and shedding a few tears. My heart is also desiring sky-high nude Louboutins which would go amazingly well with that dress. Finally, my heart is desiring something, anything anything anything, from Lanvin.

Waitin'

Waiting waiting waiting in a dimmed room and with a painful head and a tummy wound up tight like a ball of yarn. Ceiling oh Ceiling bring him back safe for me.

***

Yay to the weekend and the impromptu trip to Croydon for a chance at happiness. Yay to spending three hours with a caseworker, feigning politeness, interest, charm. I pray the caseworker is a man.

***

When I close my eyes I see bungalows in the sand and cliche clear water. When I close my eyes I am sipping an umbrella drink, swinging in a hammock and living in a postcard. When I close my eyes I can smell the corn with cheese on top.

***

Today I answered questions in class as a part of a "panel of lawyers". Three Alan Sugars were sitting in front of me and all I could see was the black frame of my obligatory-only-in-class glasses. Specs just make you feel dorkier but I now dress extra-sexy to counteract the geek effect.

***

ADONIS! Where are you eff eff ess. I want to smell you please. I want to curl up in the foetal position and smell you.

***

Today I saw John - Standing outside my window, smoking his cigar, ordering his yuppie drinks, trying to take me to sexy clubs, with his braces, wearing pin-striped trousers, texting me things like, "Credit crunch? What credit crunch?", holding up a fan of £50 notes, making a face - and he wanted to go out.

"We're thinking of going out next week and listening to jazz while smoking cigars... Care to come along?"

"Whereabouts?"

"Soho probably."

"Will you order your Courvoisier?"

"Haha! Maybe."

"Can we go to KFC afterwards?"

He looked like I'd just slapped him. "I'd never take you to KFC. Ever."

"Meh. I'll let you know."

How depressing would it be to live your life shielded from the joys of KFC, especially when drunk or hungover?

***

Come on sunshine, come home to your girl. I'm waiting for you. Come on baby, I'll love you and kiss you and caress you til you purr contentedly. Come on sweetheart. Come home to me.

I'm the King

So a serious lack of updates is only due to my general topsy-turviness. I would like to write something but I cannot be bothered at the moment. Therefore, I shall write later.

Later x

What's the opposite of lucid?

I was going to start this blog off by apologising for my lack of posting but I changed my mind.

There is something so brazen about London's audacity in the wee hours. Early morning, the sun isn't even out yet, the cars are whizzing by, the buses are all operating, people are out, in the dark, jogging, going to work, doing god knows what. London flips the bird to the world and doesn't give a shit about things that normal people need to survive, like sunlight and warmth. London does its own thang.

There is something so brazen and audacious about me here. I am very unkempt yet have no hesitation in going out to the shops to buy a pack of Marlboro Lights (20s) and smoking them in the confines of my minuscule room. Back home, I would have to think long and hard before trekking out in an oversized Qantas t-shirt, frayed jeans and a pair of Uggs. Back home, my only excuse for this ensemble would be a visit to the hospital, if I personally were dying. Still, I feel better. I feel prettier here than I ever did in Bahrain. Wilder abandon, recklessness, stupidity, call it what you want. Here I am the mess that I really am. And the outside reflects the inside.

The papers in my room had a party last night. I only know this because I walked into my room and they were everywhere, littered about, lying on the floor, passed out, clearly hungover from last night's fiasco. I could swear there were a couple of empty bottles of vodka hidden under the bed but I can't be arsed to check. The litigation twins (civil and criminal) had a bit too much fun methinks and were getting it on with insolvency. Sluts.

I'm jazzed up on my old friends caffeine and nicotine. My filthy lifestyle of the past is back and you know what? In the wise words of Mr. McDonald: I'm lovin' it. No I don't fucking want to give up smoking, Red Bull, coffee, or salt 'n' vinegar Walkers. Yes I want to ingest crap that is bad for me and see how long I can sustain it. Jesus, I'm only 25. If I cannot abuse my insides now, when can I?

Today will be a long day of criminal litigation, a paper worth jack shit really but it has to be done. If I just barely pass this, all will be fine. Then I can concentrate on other things. Like making sure the rest of my life is in working order.

Here's the sunrise at 7.30 am. I'm off to shower and try and look presentable enough to face the outside world. Later lovelies.

Another list

So yep, I have had a mental past few weeks, richocheting between wildly optimistic, insanely happy and clinically depressed. Life's a bit shit innit but we all plod along like hopeful puppies, thinking that maybe a biscuit is just around the corner.

I want to write about frivolity and stupidity and not address any major issues that have been plaguing my life and my head. And so I will. Welcome to:

June's List of Top Ten Unconventionally Good-Looking Guys (in no particular order)

1. Mickey Rourke



Maybe it's just a resurgence, maybe it's the new movie that's out that I have only managed to watch snippets from but christ he's hot. He was hot from the second he played Harry Angel in Angel Heart and had blood-spattered sex with Lisa Bonet. He was hot strolling casually, moodily down the streets of New Orleans and everything about him, from his seemingly corrupted soul in that movie to his ability to hold his own opposite Robert DeNiro is just sexy. Also, Mickey Rourke looks seedy and frankly, that seediness is something else.

2. Valery Nikolaev


Aka the bad guy "Ilya Tretiak" from The Saint. Everything about that movie kicked serious ass. Everything about this bad boy makes me think I want a Russian mobster who prances around with a cane and has long wavy hair. One particular scene where he is dancing with a Russian mademoiselle in some odd Russian cabaret-style club is probably a favourite. She is clearly taller than him yet he dances and sways her like a demon (for the two seconds that are shown anyway). Yum. Later on in the movie his face gets burned and he goes, "Look at me. I'm a damned devil." That is just so hot.

3. Jemaine from Flight of the Conchords


Whereas Brett is the obviously hot one on the show, it's Jemaine who pulls it all off. He dresses in those vintage threads and is unabashedly monotonous and hilarious. What's hotter than a man who can make you laugh? Seriously?

4. Alex from Prison Break


Yes I know. Wentworth Miller is the obvious piece of hotness on that show but this is an unconventional list and so I think Alex should get the recognition he so rightfully deserves. He is every bit as intense and intelligent as Michael Scofield without that whiny morality that gets on your nerves. He's in love with his wife, he's vengeful, he's hardcore and he can kill a man with his bare hands, easily. It really doesn't get any better than that.

5. Nicolas Sarkozy


Hell-oo Monsieur le President! My mum believes him to be some sort of sexual deviant based on practically nothing. I say anyone who manages to marry Carla Bruni is definitely sure to have a few tricks up his sleeve. You can't pin down a woman like Carla without being really good in bed. Oh wait. She gets to chill out in the Elysee. And be Madame Sarkozy. And be married to the president of a sexy country. Yeah I suppose that's enough to pin anyone down.

6. Dylan Moran


Irish comedian extraordinaire, he is the right side of scruffy and side-clutchingly funny. He's been in Black Books where he plays a surly, pessimistic bookshop owner and has had a few stand-up shows. His humour is dry and sarcastic and a little bit angry. But really, it's his voice. Oh that voice. The Irish accent kills it every time and the combination of cigarettes and alcohol gives it that depth that only a lucky few are naturally blessed with. Talk to me, talk to me Dylan. All jokes aside, Dylan, you're hot.

7. Jesus Christ


Our Lord and Saviour is not a bad looking bloke. Actually, I think it was part of the charm and a huge proponent of His popularity that He was so handsome. I am in love with Jesus, I always have been. Especially in Passion of the Christ. And this is yet another classic example of my intrinsic inability to distinguish between fact and fiction.

8. Val Kilmer


Yes in my head he is unconventional because ask anyone in the world as to whether they think he's hot stuff and 9 times out of 10 they'll be like, "Eeuw." Little do they know Val is far from eeuw and back in his heyday, back in the time of Batman Forever, The Saint, The Ghost and the Darkness and The Doors, Val was some kinda god. To me anyway. Val had it all without being too obvious about it and he managed to convince me 100% that he was all of those characters and then some. Val made me have dreams about him and made me write "June Kilmer" on the back of all my exercise jotters (notebooks for those of you with an American education). Val had me insanely jealous of Cindy Crawford and wishing I'd had children with him instead. Val had me abandon all hope and reason. I think I'll be addressing this obsession in another post actually.

9. Jean Reno


He's French, he looks a little like a hotter, kinder version of my father, and he manages to be both deadly serious and funny at the same time. Yep, without getting too Freudian about it, he's very hot.

10. Shane Warne


The Wonder from Down Under. A cricketer known for his philandering and thus introduced to me through the incredible medium of Kath & Kim. He's a serial cheat and sleazy as they come but had actually agreed to be on the show and be poked fun at which I love. We all make mistakes hey. What's more endearing than a man who is willing to have his' brought up repeatedly on national television? Not much I tell you.