check the email. 1 new message. my life is boring. i hit send/receive again just to make sure. nope. nothing. not even spam for c|al1s s0ft-tabs or exotik latina girlzs extreem bang.

check the blogroll. kevin. lance. dan. sasha. jonny. jim. aaron. matt. mike. jason. ernie. jerry. tom. simon. jerwin. jon. james. jim. annie. dan. richard. allison. that took seven minutes. i read too quickly.

check my downloads. remixes of remixes. arrested development. desperate housewives. dr. who.

check the news sites. drudge. sky news. depressing. bored now.

back to the blogs. wandering. reading comments. another blogroll. his blogroll. their comments. some photo.

really bored, you see.

click, click, click. 20 tabs open in firefox, nothing really pulling my attention. somehow end up at in another life, i was a platypus. i’m liking it. there’s a sydney vibe to it, and mikey’s got some youthful energy.

clicking around, in one entry he mentions a mix cd he’s made, called night driving. glance at the tracklisting, ooh, looks good.

fire up emule, start to download some of the more interesting-looking tracks.

sunday session [vocal mix] – weekender. nice. queued.

atomic [diddy 12" remix] – blondie. ooh. queued.

lola’s theme [lola's lounging mix] – shapeshifters. yes, i likey. queued.

boys – jonny moirée. no fucking way. i stand up, walk away. come back, look again.

he even spelled my name right. i think it’s time for jonny to channel some creative angst into another raunchy track.

when i finally made it home monday afternoon, my flat was in pristine condition. freshly cut flowers throughout, no signs of spilt beer, broken bottles, breakdancing, threesomes, drug overdoses or anything. i’m glad we have cleaner come on monday mornings—it amazes me how cheerfully she wipes the filth away as she scrubs at 8am.

the birthday party was a great one. it started out pleasantly with cocktails and a warm summer breeze and mingling and everyone crammed into the lounge. then, i get up to answer the door [again] and suddenly boys and girls are hiding out in every room, bathroom, nook and cranny. very predictably, the music gets louder, people congregate in the kitchen and eventually the party gets to the point where introductions are no longer necessary.

i had several versions of my sob story prepared for my different friends. some people heard from me, i’m taking some time off from work, some heard, i’m contemplating a move back to the u.s., some heard the same old speil about how i’m on the verge of starting my new magazine and some just heard me telling my usual, tawdry, self-deprecating party stories.

28 is an age where i really do have to start have to pretending to be more of an adult, as was evidenced by the champagne toast my friends gave, after which i assembled a witty, emotional speech on the spot.

thanks to darling friends atif, .marcos, flatmates .greg and wes, the evercaring mitch and ashley, the other ash, lifelong chum marky, all the wonderful girls who showed, the fabulous oliver and his boy, michael and wayne and rest of q-fam. and of course rich, who should’ve kissed punched me at least once for flirting incessantly with both him and his delicious boyfriend, ian. somebody’s gotta put me in my place.

somehow, a great deal of americans and canadians showed up at my party, which was… a bit eerie. it was almost a miniature taste-test of what my life could be like if i were to retreat to the states. i dunno, i just don’t. know. i’m giving myself lots of time to consider options. short-term, medium-term, long-term.

i’ve been getting great advice from near and far, and lots of tough love about where i should steer my life, professionally, personally, romantically, financially. i wasn’t really ready for this slap-in-the-face wakeup call, but now that it’s kick-started whatever’s next, i’m going with it. cleaner may clean up my flat after a weekend of partying, but it’s up to me to clean up this mess that i’m in now.

way out

birthday presents… care package from the states… cards piling through the mail slot… optimism at the start of my next chapter.

birthday dinner… swordfish with olive tapenade and feta and melon… pink laurant perrier… laughs and toasts and smiles and lovin’… 16yo whiskey [geddit?]… dancing till the wee hours.

commuting to the new office in soho… warm spring breezes… good tunes rocking through the mp3 player.

the meeting… the disbelief… the annoucement… the shock.

the commiseration… the phone calls… the emails… the farewell pub lunch.

packing up my desk… handshakes and hugs… choking back as i make my exit.

and now? options. too too too many options.

silver lining, right?

1 year ago, i was arriving back into london after a brilliant holiday. i was so deliciously tired from 3 weeks of hedonism and cultural overwhelmersion, that i slept through the entirety of march 15, 2004. i was awake only for the bathroom and to rehydrate from 18 hours of flying and 3 weeks of dehydration brought on by balmy sunny sydney days, chemical-fuelled evenings, and sweaty late night workouts of every sort.

returning to london, my home, i felt overjoyed. i felt on top of the world. i felt as if my life was in control, on track again. i had spent the 2 years prior on an emotional and financial rollercoaster with xy magazine. one that, now, i can look back on with a measured perspective, enumerating lessons learned as well as regret. but, one year ago, coming back to london, i was just glad to put it all behind me, to start focusing on the next chapter that was profusely underway.

awaking on march 16, 2004, i was certain that the next year would be filled with adventure. naively, i forecasted adventure to mean more successful web consulting, comfortable friendships, carefree partying, simple storybook romances and a straightforward but glamorous expatriate existence. what i never predicted was the hellish series of events that would start to unravel as the sun started to shine on the 28th year of my life, one year ago.

it’s easy, of course, to place blame on someone else. it’s easy, of course, to weave a story to absolve yourself of guilt and to portray someone else as being the devil. he’s done it to his inner circle, and i’ve done it to mine. threats, manipulations, games… they seemed to have stopped for now—but you never really know. what a fucked up year it’s been, and who would have thought i’d be where i am now, starting my 29th year on this earth.

still, nearly four years on in the big smoke, i still adore london life. the social interactions: flirting with brazilians at lunch, explaining my accent to old women at the post office, running into long lost friends on the tube, arguing politics at cocktail parties. the international pulse, the youthful energy, the diversity, the mix.

this year really truly caused me to realize that i have a brilliant group of friends—friends that know more about me than i know about myself. friends who, thank god, i can count on for anything—even when the rugs are unexpectedly pulled out from under me, as they have been several times over the past 365 days. friend who can, and will, put me in my place when my ego/libido/alcholism balloons out of control.

i’ve landed a wicked day job which i’m growing to enjoy more each day. i have a happy home which i’m proud of and which i always love coming home to. i have a startup project which i feel passionately about and know is my stepping stone to greater success.

am i jinxing it? no. superstitious i am not. i may have been optimistic last year, but i was also asleep. figuratively and literally. this year, i’m very much awake. alert. and ready for the next chapter to begin.

happy birthday to me.