Went to Concrete Hermit to check out the eBoy exhibition where the pixel art collective's poster for LA was unveiled, as well as their new designs for Peecol.

Came away with eBoy's London poster (£13) and a WGirl Peecol figurine (£6.50):

I was definitely tempted by the Mr. Q figurine, but decided against it in the end. There's only so far I can go with my fascination with the 'fro.

I guess I'm a bit of a geek, but definitely nothing compared to the trio of guys who came in after me and came to some sort of arrangement where, between them, they would purchase all of the eBoy merchandise available.

Today was supposed to be a day spent perusing the summer sales taking place along Knightsbridge and Sloane Street. Instead, thanks to the volatility that is the nature of work, my shopping companion ended up having to work this weekend.

I was disappointed - I'm the kind of person who needs someone to tell me whether something I'm wearing really does look good - but I did understand because I've been in the same industry for far longer than my friend has. And while I've been thinking about whether I should go out with someone in the same line as I am simply because that guy is far more likely to understand my working hours and unpredictable schedule more than people outside of it, I realised yesterday that after being in this line for so long, I can't take much more rescheduling of my life. I guess I knew what I was doing the first time round when I decided I didn't really want to date people from my line when I first started work, but now that I'm in a whole different country, I wonder how on earth I'll get to meet those people not from my industry.

Please excuse the ramblings. After many late nights at work and an extremely heavy night of drinking and light clubbing yesterday, my processing powers are not at their usual sharp level.

Today is the summer solstice, the longest day of the year, and heralds the beginning of summer.

It is a cold, rainy, grey day in London (but what else?) and I am in the office.

Earlier today, I dropped by Harrods to pick up a dress I had reserved, only to be told that the sales assistant I had spoken to had misinformed me of the store policy and they had put the dress out onto the floor for sale without calling me even though I had specifically asked to be called if they should put it back out. It was a dress I had fallen in love with over the course of the last week given its beautiful colour (my favourite shade of blue), the simplicity of the design and just how awesome it made me look. It was, as stylists like to say, a true investment piece.

And now it's been sold.

It's a minor thing in the grand scheme of things. I readily admit that were I anyone else, I would be quite amused at how bad I felt when I was informed that the dress had been sold. In fact, I was laughing while relating this whole incident to a friend even though he could see just how much I'd been looking forward to finally picking the dress up.

Yes, I know it's minor and I know there are far worse things happening in the world. Unfortunately, I am also not terribly satisfied with life at this point in time, and little things like that, and popping into Nordic Bakery to buy a cinnamon roll in an attempt to cheer myself up only to be told it was sold out (although I did have a nice chorizo, red pepper and zamorano cheese sandwich at Flat White prior to that) just make today - the day which is supposed to be the beginning of the season I was most looking forward - that much more wretched.

It's not easy being in an office when you are feeling extremely bored by work when you are not being as challenged as you need to be, and, hence, are not doing as good a job as you ought to be. To top that off, being distracted by two guys, both of whom are no-go zones... Let's just say that to state that I've been having a frustrating week would be a big understatement.

So, in order to get over that, I went to L'anima for dinner with a friend, a friend who is, unfortunately, one of the two guys mentioned previously. During dinner, I said grace and added another prayer to God just asking him to let me forget everything I was feeling and just to enjoy the moment. Miracle of miracles, perhaps because of the prayer, perhaps because of the ambience and the great service and delicious food, I did. 

For dinner, I ate a main course of wild mushrooms taglioni with summer truffle (£14) which was simply divine, and had the dark chocolate iced truffle (£6) for dessert. The dessert was essentially a ball of chocolate gelato with hazelnuts generously coated with chocolate powder. It was divine.

By the end of dinner, I'd sobered up considerably from the three glasses of wine I'd consumed prior to dinner, and felt much happier, in spite of the prospect of having to return to work tomorrow.

I'm really glad I've moved to London, but there are some days when it just feels so frustrating to not have friends here who could help distract me from the worries currently plaguing me.

If you missed out on Coldplay's live broadcast from Brixton Academy on Radio 1 on Monday night, here's a little treat for you. If you listen closely, you can hear the audience singing along to the guitar riff in In My Place. Thank you so much, New Mixes, for putting this up.

Of the new tracks I've listened to so far, I'm indifferent to Violet Hill, but am quite fond of Viva La Vida. 

Next up on my musical calendar: Sonic Cathedral with James Holden and Massive Attack at Meltdown (two separate events) on Sunday.

The Tate Modern as at this point in time

One of my best friends referred to the Lad as "Daniel Cleaver" out of Bridget Jones given how he looked and the fact that he worked in the same office as me. She subsequently told me not to go for the Daniel Cleavers of this world, and instead to go for Mark Darcy.

I took umbrage at this point, and told him I'd much rather think of the Lad as "Karl" from Love Actually, as Karl a) is really hot and b) seems like a nice guy in the movie, unlike Daniel Cleaver, although we both agreed it was rather rare to come across Brazilian model-types in our offices.

But I digress.

If ever there was a Mark Darcy that I know, I guess that would be the WBF, but seeing as it would be a tad inappropriate to keep referring to him as the WBF given the events which have transpired, I should change his pseudonym to MD. In any case, MD is a great guy: nice, gentlemanly, incredibly intelligent. Unfortunately, as mentioned in the earlier post, he is also too young and he works in my office.

This wasn't an issue with the Lad as he and I are of the same level in the office. MD is my junior. 

And, that, quite simply, will not do.

I never thought I would be grateful that I fancy the Lad as much as I do, but I am right now. I have been using how I feel about him as a shield to deflect all else!

Without question, Buffon is the best goalkeeper in the world. However, not so much his team. After this tournament is over, I may have to reconsider my allegiance to Italy. The team, one of the oldest in the tournament, is clearly not one of the better ones. The strikers, particularly Luca Toni, seem to require dozens of chances before they can convert one, having scored a grand total of three goals thus far.

But at least, for now, Italy remains in the competition, and try as I might, I am still somewhat partial to the Azurri.

It's been a bit of an interesting last few days. And I guess, with some satisfaction and a certain level of regret, the interesting has come to an end. There's been this guy in my office who, for want of a better term, I shall call my work boyfriend. A work boyfriend is the guy you work with and regularly hang out with in terms of lunch and drinks and maybe even gossip and all that, but everything's platonic. In short, different from the office crush (in my case, the Lad).

Now, the work boyfriend (WBF) is an awesomely nice guy. He's amazingly intelligent and very generous in terms of what he gives of himself to other people and reminds me so much of both myself and my first boyfriend when I was his age that it's alarming. I've actually been chastising him for being such a nice person; I've been down that road and I just don't want to see someone as nice as him get hurt or taken advantage of.

Notice I used "when I was his age" in the above paragraph. If it weren't for the fact we work in the same office, then it would be the fact that he is quite a bit younger than I am which is why this would never work.

At this point, you're probably thinking, no, not again, not another post about another guy she likes. For goodness' sake, woman! Pull yourself together!

Well, you're wrong. In this instance, it's the WBF who likes me. I found this out because I asked. He didn't admit it initially, but I just thought my judgement couldn't be that far off in this regard. And he finally admitted it earlier tonight. That's where the satisfaction comes in - from being correct.

Part of me does actually recipocate, but only a small part, because the rest of me is eminently sensible. As I mentioned, we work in the same office, and, more particularly, he is quite a bit younger than I am. And if age weren't a barrier, then it would be the fact that I am his senior in the office, even if we don't work in the same team. I just don't do things like that.

And just as I typed that last statement, I felt a certain amount of regret. If I had been younger, or not the level that I am, I think I would definitely have considered it. But I'm not. I'm old(er) and just that bit too jaded, just that bit too not quite over having been just that admittedly tiny bit messed up from the last two people I dated.

And there is still the Lad, who has moved off to the other building, and who I still miss just a little. The office has felt a little more boring without his presence.

I definitely need to meet more people outside of work.

I have to confess that I'm not the best judge of height. I remember going out with W. and just always assuming that he couldn't possibly be that tall, and, as a result, was a tad worried when it came to my wearing heels. As it turned out, W. was over four inches taller than I was and just tended to slouch, so I needn't have worried.

There's this guy in my office with whom I've become good friends. Now he is taller than W. by far (over eight inches taller than I am). We've hung out quite a bit in recent months. Today was the first day we met outside of work, meaning I wasn't wearing heels, but instead, flats. The first thing I said when I saw him was: "You're very tall. I never realised that."

Possibly not the most intelligent thing to come out of my mouth, but there you have it.

In other news, the Czech Republic - Turkey game must be one of the most exciting games in years. Two goals, one red card, one upset and lots of tears in just ten minutes. Soccernet has a brilliant headline with "Turk That!"

It was such an exciting atmosphere that I wanted the Czechs to score an equaliser just to have the game to go to penalties. One thing that should have occurred though is that Vinz Koller should have been carded for his blatant exaggeration even though the Turkish goalie Volkan Demirel did deserve to be sent off for physically reacting to whatever it was Koller did.

I'm glad we decided to catch the second half of the game rather than go home and do something more productive.

Convo at a friend's friend's party:
Girl A: I want two kids. A boy, followed by a girl.
Girl B: I want three. I think it'll be nice.
Girl A: But the one in the middle's always going to feel left out. You need to have four.
Girl B: F*** that. You think I'm going to give birth to four kids?!

Heh.

I purchased a Lilly Pulitzer dress on Etsy the other day, thinking it was as what the seller had described it to be: a vintage 1980s dress.

After receiving it, and determining that it just about fit me (vintage sizing is quite different from modern day sizing), I did some checking online and was a tad distressed to find that the dress wasn't actually vintage but was more likely from the label post its 1993 relaunch, although the sizing is still clearly vintage sizing (there's no way I'm a modern US size X as stated on that label).

One might think, well, she's going to wear it anyway, so what does it matter?

Well, I did kind of mean it the other day when I said I was building up my alternative investments portfolio. But if I keep it for another few years, it might actually be considered properly vintage (i.e. more than 20 years old). And assuming I don't gain any weight, I might get some value out of wearing it too. Hee!

The FT features an interview with one of my favourite designers, Diane von Furstenberg. While it's not ground-breaking or mind-shattering in any sense, I liked this part:

"If I have to give you some advice, the most important thing is: the sooner you become your own best friend, the better your life will be. Chances are, if you keep a diary, you are already there.”

Does she keep a diary? “I used to... But because diaries are the place you use to express your sadness and frustration, and I don’t have any of that any more.”

I found it especially relevant because, yesterday, I was explaining to a friend the reason why I blogged even though I tend to keep it relatively anonymous, and, how, even if I blogged about certain issues which upset me, I'd rather not be asked about them in person. It's just a way of getting everything off your chest.

[geek]Plus, the linking features of blogging work so much better than going through piles and piles of journals when you want to write about related matters.[/geek]

Check this out. It's sick. Seriously sick. And I mean that in the street slang sense.



Best popper I have ever seen.

And the interaction with Nigel at the end? Totally unexpected and freakin' hilarious! I wish I could do that with my managers!

As earplugs should be replaced every six months or so to retain their efficacy, I decided it was time for me to order a new pair.

Audio Relief are amazing! I ordered my earplugs yesterday afternoon and they were delivered this morning. Even with the free P&P option and 10% off! Wow.

I opted for a pair of Alpine MusicSafe earplugs (intended for musicians) as I have read good reviews about them, instead of the normal (and cheaper) ER20 protective earplugs (although I have to get the smaller ones as the normal size are too large for my ears). I'd say they both work, but I do go to a lot of concerts and clubs, and when it comes to hearing protection, I feel it's far better to be safe than sorry.

For more information, check out Don't Lose The Music.

P., in an attempt to console me when Italy went 2-0 down to Holland: Italy traditionally has a slow start when it comes to tournaments... mind you, not you this slow.

I could only shake and laugh in disbelief and despair when von Bronckhorst scored Holland's third goal.

Looks like a bad year for all teams in blue thus far.

It's a beautiful day in London. The sun's out, there's a light breeze and there are people everywhere just enjoying this beautiful day.

I'm wearing one of my favourite dresses and just generally looking good, a nice change after looking wan, tired and washed out over the past few weeks.

Add to that the fact that I have eaten one of the best sandwiches I have ever eaten (ham, mayonaise, lettuce topped up with a little bit of lemon juice on delicious bloomer bread) made by drum 'n' bass DJ Michael at Yummy's (owned by the really friendly Jase), and acquired a chic off-white cotton boho festival dress (not a style I have ever tried, but the dress fit me like a glove) from a new shop in Brick Lane which I think is an offshoot of the The Observatory in Greenwich run by Ian and friends (today's only their second day of operations) and just being in fantastically eclectic and musical multicultural Spitalfields...

What more do you need to be in love with life?

I am the happiest girl in East London today. I'm so happy that there're tears in my eyes.

I feel quite a fair bit better today after having gotten a proper night's sleep for the first time in a couple of weeks. And it's a great day today. The sun's blazing outside and I think I'm going to check out the Sunday Upmarket while - finally - wearing one of my dresses.

The CFA Level III examination is brutal. Anyone who tells you is the easiest is, quite simply, lying through their teeth. It's either that, or they're suffering from some kind of memory loss and brain damage. It really is like a marathon. Getting to the exam venue should be viewed as an accomplishment in itself as it means that you feel up to attempting to do the exam in spite of the vast amount of material you had to cover over the last few weeks while still managing working full-time.

But once you're there, the race's not over yet. You're exhausted and strung out and you realise there's another 21 km to run. Can you handle it? You'll have to wait till August to see whether it was enough.

And if you ever have a choice as to which exam venue to do it in, do not choose ExCel in London. It was poorly organised especially in relation to Singapore. And the proctors didn't quite realise what they were supposed to be doing.

For instance, before the morning paper began, the proctor came up to me and asked me to put my wallet in my pocket. Now, it's a ladies wallet, so it's big, and I don't usually have pockets in the first place. I asked if I could put it under my chair instead, and he refused, asking me to stuff it in my hoodie's side-pocket. I then called another proctor over and asked if I could put it under my chair. This one agreed.

Then, during the paper, another proctor walked past my desk and on three separate occasions, asked me to put various items on my desk (keys, earplugs and hairclips) in my pocket as only certain items are meant to be on the desk itself. I was getting rather irritated because:

1. The morning paper is the one you don't quite have time on (I got to the end with 30 mins to spare, but only because I realised early on that if I continued answering questions at my slow rate, I wouldn't have time to get to the end and didn't have time to get back to all of those which I skipped)
2. Those items had been sitting on my desk the entire time before the exam began, and the proctors had been walking past my desk the entire time, so why the hell couldn't they have told me then?
3. And even if they hadn't seen it then, couldn't they have told me to do them all at once, rather than interrupting me three times during the exam?

In addition, they began 15 minutes late due to equipment failure (which almost caused a a semi-riot in my section as half the room appeared to be going ahead of us, though that turned out not to be the case) and the fact that the chairs were incredibly uncomfortable (if I sat all the way back into the chair, my legs couldn't quite touch the ground) and you can see that an already stressed out person might just lose it in such a unsympathetic environment.

And, of course, there's cramming yourself tight into the DLR in an attempt to get back home. It's the only mode of transport out of the area, unless you're willing to pay £20 for a minicab back out to Central London.

So, in summary, the ExCel and the crappy CFA proctors in London do not make for the most pleasant exam experience.

I hope, I pray and I wish that I will never have to go through any part of this again.

To the friends who went through the same hellish experience, albeit in different cities, I hope, pray and wish the same for you too.

P.S. I could not find an appropriate place to mention this in the passage I wrote, but P. sent me this a few weeks ago: prayer to St. Joseph of Cupertino for success in examinations.

It's a - dare I say it? - a cute prayer and helped to alleviate the stress of studying (especially the part about being asked "only the questions you knew").

Let's just hope that divine intervention is sufficient to get me the result I so desperately want.

It's over. I feel as if I f***ed it up... so much so that I had to fight back tears of stress and desperation midway through the second paper. It looks like I'll have to go through this same hell next year.

Between this, the exam-induced amnesia and the insomnia, I'm starting wonder if I'm a CFA bottler.

But, at least for now, it's over and I can welcome my life back.

Augh. F***ing insomnia AGAIN, as with the last two levels.

I hope the end-results are the same, as with the last two levels.

What a difference a day makes.



Tomorrow we'll discover
What our God in Heaven has in store!
One more dawn...
One more day...
One day more!

In between studying alternative investments, I ended up building up my own alternative investment portfolio. I can't wait till my vintage purchases arrive.

What? They're an investment... which I just happen to be able to wear and show off while I wait for them to appreciate, if not in value, then at least in the eyes of the beholders.

One of the good things - and I certainly hope not the only one - to come from studying for the CFA is that whenever I get overly stressed or too tired and don't want to take any more caffeine, I tend to do tricep dips or lunges.

I don't have sculpted shoulders or fantastic legs yet, but I can definitely feel those muscles.

I want this. I need it. NOW.

Tibi mini shift dress

Does anyone have £200 to spare?

The practice papers are HARD! And the questions are so vague!

I'm doooooooooooooooooooooooooooomed!

If ever there was a time I needed a miracle, now would definitely be it.

You hear that, God?

Thanks.

From xkcd - a webcomic of romance, sarcasm, math and language.

Wearily dragging myself out of bed this morning, I turned on Xfm only to have it play Faithless - Insomnia, one of the greatest dance tunes of all time, though perhaps not entirely reflective of what I'm going through at the moment.

Of course, they added to the fun by playing Barack Obama's victory speech on top of Morpheus' speech to Zion in The Matrix: Reloaded. It was definitely reminiscent of the random comparisons I come up with all of the time (for instance, whispering to P. during Mass that the altergirl, in her too-short robe, jeans and black calf-high boots, coupled with long, sort-of curly hair tied up in two pony tails, resembled a member of the Sand People in Star Wars, prompting him to struggle not to laugh for the next five minutes, and reminded me of why he'd banned me from making such comments during Mass).

I apologise on the last part. It's one of those you had to be there moments, I guess. He did return the favour by telling me, "May the Force be with you" while wishing me good luck for my exams, and, being a huge Star Wars fan, it's something I thoroughly appreciate more than "good luck" at the moment.

And while I'm still a little behind on my revision schedule, I do feel as if the Force is with me... in between bouts of anxiety attacks, that is.

Joey of A Softer World's blog entry for June 2, 2008:

Hello! Today I am going to get a slushie and I am going to fill it with alcohol. This will be awesome for me, but it will suck for Future Joey. Man, that guy is going to hate me. I wonder how long I have before I wake up one day and realize that I am no longer fucking Future Joey, but am instead being fucked. I better
hurry up and have a good time.

Quite possibly one of the funniest, cleverest blog entries I've read in a while. Reminds me of the time I discovered 100 plus and vodka went pretty well together.

While you're over there, check out the comic (loosely speaking) as well. The humour's sometimes bizarre, sometimes surreal, but always good.

You'd think I'd be able understand this but by the time I got midway through the article, my head started hurting.

Wall Street Says -2 + -2 = 4 as Liabilities Get New Bond Math
By Bradley Keoun

Merrill Lynch & Co., Citigroup Inc. and four other U.S. financial companies have used an accounting rule adopted last year to book almost $12 billion of revenue after a decline in prices of their own bonds.

The new math, while legal, defies common sense.

"They can post substantial gains as a result of a decline in their own creditworthiness," said James Cataldo, a former director of treasury risk management for the Federal Home Loan Bank of Boston and now an assistant professor of accounting at Suffolk University in Boston. "It's completely legitimate, but it doesn't make sense by any way we currently have of thinking of net income."

I guess it's as good a time as any to write something which didn't revolve around shopping, music gigs and work (sort of). And having been in London for just over six months now, I've also been in a bit more of an introspective mood, which prompted me to write a semi-update on the girl I am now vs. that girl I was a couple of years ago.

So here goes:

I'm the girl whose grandmothers passed away during the run-up to her CFA exams - one for each level. I'm the girl who wondered, half-jokingly, after she'd passed Level II whom the exam gods would call to be sacrified when the time came for her to take Level III. After all, I'm the girl who no longer had any living grandparents.

So far, so good, she noted, a week before the exam.

I'm the girl who feels as if she's been spending the last ten years running away from the girl she used to be, the comparatively weak girl who was easily frightened and hurt by other people, and who spends so much time today pretending she's tough as nails and doesn't give a shit about anyone or anything else other than herself.

I'm the one who just got called "terribly sweet" by a new best friend in spite of my doing my best to convince him of the above.

I'm the one you saw sitting in the aircraft just last week, with her texts on the table, but, instead of studying, was staring out the window at the clouds below. If you were curious, I was asking myself, not for the first time, whether I was someone whom my grandmothers would be proud of.

And, quite possibly for the first time, I'm the girl who answered in the affirmative.

Yes, I'm that girl, but a little older, a little wiser, a little more grown-up. You?