"What are you doing New Year's Eve" by the darlings of indie cinema...

Happy Holidays!

Wishing you all a very festive season!!! If I disappear for a couple of days, it's probably because I'm recovering from the excessive eating that's about to ensue...because that's what Cypriots do best!

We're also very big on family, so this is a great time of year to get together, air out old grudges/feuds/grievances (another thing Cypriots do best) and spread a little love (we're good at that too).

Happy Holidays beautiful people!!!

And two before and after clips from one of my favourite Christmas movies "Scrooged".

(I'd warn you about the spoiler in the second clip, but who hasn't seen this movie?)

Dating Diaries - Part 3

I was asked the other day about Anna, for those of you who missed Part 1 and Part 2...

I actually do have another Anna story. She doesn’t mind. In fact, she encourages this as a cautionary tale to randy women everywhere. Anna was the girl who dated a player, put out on the first date and was promptly dumped. Before she knew it, she and said player were shag buddies. This was completely out of character for her, so it happened very rarely and usually with huge amounts of guilt and panicked phone calls before and after. But she liked him, she was lonely, she had just moved to a new country and she was going with the theory of “better the devil you know.”

So I get another phone call, only this time, she’s whispering but she’s so angry, it sounds more like hissing.

Me: Why are you whispering?

Anna: You know how addicts have to hit rock bottom before they come to their senses? Well, I’m there: rock bottom.

Me: Where? Where is rock bottom?

Anna: I’m at his place…

Me: Is he asleep? Is that why you’re whispering?

Anna: No…it’s much worse than that…

She takes a deep breath and I can hear her shuffling around.

Anna: So he invited a bunch of us over for dinner last night and I ended up…well, spending the night. Then this morning, his friend John calls to say he’s stopping by to pick up his sunglasses. I barely have time to scramble out of bed when the doorbell rings…

Me: Oh man…

I should mention that none of our mutual friends knew about her ‘relationship’ and she would be judged pretty harshly for this in a small place like Cyprus. His reputation would remain untarnished, of course.

Anna: And it’s John’s wife. 

Me: Oh?

Anna: She was close by so she came instead…

Me: Oh my...

Anna: ...with their two kids! 

Me: ...God...

Anna: Meanwhile, I left my clothes in the spare room and got stuck in his bedroom in nothing but my knickers. He locked me in and went to open up for her.

Me: Okay, so that’s not so bad…

Anna: That was two hours ago!!!

Me: What?!

Anna: John came by afterwards to collect the chairs and tables they had lent him for the dinner party…

Me: Couldn’t he have told them to leave and come back later?

Anna: Yes, if he had a soul! And just as they were done, his parents arrived!

Me: So you’ve been sitting alone half-naked in his room for the past two hours?

Anna: Well, I wrapped a sheet around myself. And no, for the last half hour, I’ve been in his cupboard.

I have now buried my face in a pillow to keep from laughing. I fear this may push her over the edge…picture the headline: Woman strangles man with his own sheet.

Anna: I was busy texting and his mother needed to get something from his room while he was downstairs loading tables into John’s car. So I jumped into his cupboard and I’ve been hiding here ever since. But I can’t remember if I left anything outside, so my hiding might be in vain. So this is my lowest point. I shouldn’t be hiding in cupboards!! I’m the type of girl you introduce to your mother! Not the one you hide in your cupboard! When did I become that girl?!

Me: Don’t be so hard on yourself…

Suddenly there’s a sliding sound and I hear the player’s voice, “They’re gone.”

Anna: I’ll call you back.

And call me she did. I got the full (and much louder) rendition of how she took out all of her frustration on him. She has sworn, sworn, that it’s over. Personally, I need the blog stories, but good for her!

Thursday Thought

Due to an increasingly intense production schedule, I'm copping out...I mean creating "Thursday Thought"...just a cool / inspirational / funny / corny / fabulous thought for the day. As a writer, I thought I'd start with this:

Have a beautiful day! Catch "Dating Diaries" tomorrow...yes, I'm very big on alliteration.

Pushing Buttons

Suffering for your art can come in many forms…mine looks like this: moving in with your parents at the age of 30 so you can make a feature film. I actually adore them for supporting me and it’s an especially big deal when your parents are Greek. They haven’t a clue as to what it is that I really do, (for many years they told people I taught French…I don’t know why), but they support me anyway.

Of course, the day to day reality is another story. Imagine two people who are polar opposites bound to each other for decades and who are still able to push each other’s buttons.

I have a literal example of this. All you need to know for this story is the following:

•         My mother spends her life in the kitchen.
•         My father spends his life in front of the TV.
•         My father is a little hard of hearing but that’s not a problem because my mother only has one volume: loud.
•         The number “6” is pronounced “exi” in Greek. The word “exit” as pronounced with a Greek accent sounds exactly like the number “6” in Greek; the “t” is left out and people say “exi”.
•         Both the number “6” and “exit” are buttons on a standard TV remote control.

Still with me? Good.

So we recently switched from analogue to digital television in Cyprus. This resulted in weeks of intensive training for my father on how to use the new remote control, despite the fact that it was exactly the same as the old one. He has the tendency of pushing random buttons, bringing up menus and strange displays. My mother, who was a much better student, knows that all you have to do when this happens is push the “exit” button.

One peaceful Sunday morning, while my mother bustled in the kitchen, my father yelled from the TV room:

Dad: How do I make the menu go away?

Mom: Push exi!

Dad: What?

Mom: (Yelling from the kitchen) EXI!

Dad: Why?

Mom: Just push it!

Dad: It’s not working!

Mom: What are you pushing?

Dad: Exi!

Mom: No, not exi…exi!

Dad: I am pushing exi!

Mom: Not that exi! Push exi!!

Dad: There is only one exi!!

Mom: I didn't say exi! I said EXI!!

Dad: That's what I'm pushing!!

Mom: EXI!!!

Dad: I AM PUSHING EXI!!!

Eventually I had to go in and pry the remote from their hands before it “exited” through the window. Fun times.

Movie Moments - Love Actually

Time to get festive so I thought I'd share one of my favourite holiday movies...Love Actually.

There are some spoilers for anyone who hasn't seen it, otherwise, here's a little Christmas cheer and a grand gesture by a little boy!

Captain Obvious

I call my mom Captain Obvious. It’s a term of endearment really. It’s because of a unique habit she has. I also believe that this habit is directly responsible for my high level of sarcasm. Allow me to demonstrate:

I walk into the house at about 10pm after a night out, she’s sitting in front of the TV with my dad and says “Are you home?” and no, I haven’t altered the meaning in the translation from Greek. It’s exactly that question. I think it’s a Greek thing…this incessant rhetorical questioning. As far as I can tell, it’s just a way to start a conversation, or, if said with a certain tone, to instill guilt (another Greek specialty, but that’s another story). So this is where my sarcasm comes from:

Mom: Are you home?

Me: No Ma, I’m still out having drinks…cheers!

I walk out of the bathroom wearing a fuzzy robe with a towel wrapped around my wet hair and dripping slightly.

Mom: Did you take a shower?

Me: No, this is a new look I’m trying out.

Or, aside from the questioning, there’s also pointing things out…like when I’m in the shower and my phone starts to ring. The ringing is followed by banging on the bathroom door.

Mom: Your phone is ringing!!

Me: What do you want me to do?! Come out wet and naked and answer it!!

Mom: But it won’t stop ringing!!

Fortunately I now find it funny. And I’m trying to curb the sarcasm. And much to my horror, it seems I’m starting to do it too. Another fine family tradition passed on to the new generation.

The Art of Dating

This is how I feel about dating...(watch Meg Ryan at the end of this clip)

“Happy, smile. Sad, frown. Use the corresponding face for the corresponding emotion.”

Some women were born with the innate ability to bend men to their every whim; they have mystery and sensuality oozing from their pores and their use of tactics and strategy in romance would put seasoned military veterans to shame. I am not one of those women. I obviously missed the class on manipulation and pouting and it seems to have wrecked my entire dating career.

I agree with Meg Ryan. Keep it simple. I spend all day working and schmoozing, trying to impress people and present myself in a certain way and it’s exhausting! So when it comes to relationships, be it friendly or romantic, the word that defines them is: effortless. I can be myself and share a good experience with a kindred spirit.

I can’t speak for the gentlemen out there and I don’t know about you ladies, but I for one have had it. Dating has become a tango across a minefield. First, what to wear: sexy but not slutty, just enough make-up to highlight your features but not so much so it looks you’re trying too hard, same goes for perfume, heels depending on his height and whether he has short-man-complex…then you get to the date and it’s conversation Olympics.

Ask questions, but don’t badger him, laugh at his jokes even if only crickets should be responding, steer clear of any serious topics like marriage or children to avoid him making a man-shaped hole in the wall as he runs for his treasured bachelor life, touch his arm not his hand, make eye contact and smile, but not too much.

And the post-date saga. No-one is supposed to appear to be eager, so no-one calls for a couple of days. Instead we torture each other, watching the phone, checking if it’s working and my personal favourite thanks to facebook and the like, cyber-stalking. And once a week has gone by and you’ve heard nothing, you come to the realization that perhaps he’s not going to call.

I’d like to add a small insert here: I would like for the universe to strike every man who says he will call a woman when he doesn’t mean it. He doesn’t have to be struck dead, just some mild electro-shock therapy to keep him from doing it again. We’re big girls, if you’re not going to call us, just say so or better yet, don’t say anything at all. But the line “I’ll call you” has become synonymous with the notion of an unfulfilled promise and yet it still gives us false hope. A plague upon you cowardly cowardly boys.

So he doesn’t call. My first thought is that he’s died. Of course. It’s the only reasonable explanation for not calling. But thanks to social media you can ascertain that he is, indeed, alive and that he’s not calling by choice. So you throw on your peep-toe stilettos and go back to square one.

Kind friends have tried to help with various suggestions:

Be aloof, play hard to get, no man wants a clingy girl who calls the whole time.

Result: I come across as a cold-hearted bitch who isn’t interested.

Be encouraging and supportive, let him know you’re interested.

Result: I come across as over-eager and desperate.

Just giggle lots and wear a low-cut top.

Result: I yelled at my friend for even suggesting that (though it would have probably worked!)

So I’m done. I am not hard-to-get and I am not desperate. I know what I want and I go for it. Aren’t men always complaining about women not knowing what they want? Well all I see is them running after girls who jerk them around, play games and when they get bored of their toy, toss them aside for new prey. So, on behalf of the simple girls who call it like they see it, I’m sorry if I’ve taken the chase out of it and presented myself on a silver platter. Perhaps the challenge shouldn’t be catching me, but keeping me.

And on that note, here’s the theme song to the film “French Kiss”

Dream a Little Dream by The Beautiful South

Beauty without Brains is nothing...

Just for fun today I thought I'd share this ad. Sorry to all the fabulous blondes out there, but you know how to take a joke better than brunettes, right?

Tomorrow is Friday which means: Dating Diaries, and I have a goodie for you.

Interactive TV

A blind person could watch TV with my mother and understand exactly what was happening.

She’s a hard-working lady, so her daily reward and joy is her array of nightly TV shows. From Greek game shows to Cypriot comedies to Brazilian (dubbed) soap operas…and it’s a fully interactive relationship.

This is what it sounds like:

The Game Show:

Mom: Who directed the black and white film “Goodnight and Good Luck”? (all questions are read out loud)

Mom: Ah! I know! I know! What’s his name? Who’s that doctor who won’t settle down? That doctor…what’s his name…oh come on!

And despite the fact that I’m on the other side of the house, I can hear her running commentary and I get roped in.

Me: What doctor?

Mom: The one who won’t get married!

Me: What are you talking about?!

Mom: The one who drinks all the coffee and martinis!

Me: Ma, are you drinking anything?

TV Presenter: That’s right, it’s George Cloo-

Mom: GEORGE CLOONEY!! I knew it!

The Soap Opera:

By now my father is home and sitting next to her on the couch. He doesn’t say a word. I don’t know if he’s concentrating on the show or blocking out my mother, but it sounds something like this:

Soap Actress: Roberto I don’t love you any more…

Mom: *Gasp* She’s leaving him!

Soap Actress: I’m leaving you…

Mom: I don’t believe it!

Roberto: I don’t believe it! (He slaps the actress)

Mom: *Gasp* He slapped her!

Soap Actress: You can’t hurt me anymore because I already have my revenge!

Mom: What did she do?

Soap Actress: I slept with your brother!

Mom: That hussy! She slept with his brother! I don’t believe it!

Roberto: How could you?!

Mom: Unbelievable!

Soap Actress: I have to go Roberto, don’t try to follow me…

The tension in the room is palpable. My parents' eyes are wide and unwavering, their mouths slightly ajar. The big-haired actress storms out the room and my mother finally lets out a breath of air and sinks back into the couch. My father blinks and tries to process it all.

Mom: This is such rubbish, I don’t know why we watch this!

Dad: Who’s Roberto?

Movie Moments - Bugsy

This is hands-down one of my favourite lines as delivered by the spectacular Annette Bening.

The film is "Bugsy", produced in 1991 and directed by Barry Levinson (Good Morning Vietnam, Rain Man, Wag the Dog). It's a biopic on notorious gangster Bugsy Siegel and how he started Las Vegas.

Warren Beatty and Annette Bening got married after this film was made - and remain a Hollywood married couple, an urban myth in its own right. I like to think that this is the line that sealed the deal.

Also, very handy next time you need to bring a man down a notch or two...

The Slime-High Club

I love airports. They’re that special gateway to foreign lands, a great reunion venue for families and lovers, and great for stories. When it comes to the Cyprus airport, the most fascinating part must be the customs area.

Here’s what you need to understand about Greeks and Cypriots, whether they are coming or going from their motherland…they love their food. No really, they looove their food and even though they may have spent their entire vacation stuffing their faces, they want to take as much as possible with them and of course, they’ll never be forgiven if they don’t share their bounty with the folks at their destination. So suitcases are packed, not with clothes or souvenirs, but with cheese and nuts and the best olive oil on earth. I was once given a full tray of baklava to take with me…where am I supposed to put an open tray of sticky, syrupy pastries?! You would also think that this would be a problem with security, but in Cyprus, it aint the first baklava that’s crossed their path.

And while you protest to relatives as they pack your suitcase with stuffed vineleaves (koupepia/dolmades) and legs of lamb (true story), telling them that you can buy food in your own country, they automatically reply “it’s not the same!” I don’t know if it’s the brainwashing, but I suppose I agree.

Anyway, I don’t know if the airport authorities have given up, but to my knowledge, no-one has ever been stopped and all these delicacies reach the mouths of happy relatives on the other side.

I have to give special mention though to the ultimate smuggler. My friend’s Yiayia (Grandmother). Picture it: a frail little old lady, clad in black from head to toe, with a scarf over her hair and wearing a big, cozy jacket with big, spacious pockets. She hobbles along with the aid of her wooden cane. She slips through the metal detectors without so much as a beep. She smiles sweetly at the security officers. She shuffles along to certain victory as she makes it on the plane with none the wiser. Escobar has nothing on her.

A couple of hours into the flight and Yiayia is fast asleep. I was nodding off myself when a strange object caught my eye. It was blurry at first but it slowly came into focus as it inched towards me along the window…and there, thousands of miles up in the sky, streaking across the airplane window and leaving a slimy trail behind it, was a genuine Cyprus Snail!

I rubbed my eyes and noticed that he wasn’t alone. I looked around and all along the side and ceiling of our cabin were snails ‘fleeing’ for freedom. You see, Cypriot Snails are another delicacy, but you have to cook them alive (sorry all animal lovers), so Yiayia had stuffed her pockets with LIVE snails! But when she fell asleep, they escaped!

Yes, the Cyprus Airport is a fun place.

(I was forced to become a collaborator by plucking the slimy bastards off the window and shoving them back in Yiayia’s pockets before anyone noticed. Those who did notice, were also Cypriot. They barely flinched. They understood.)

The Wedding Ambush

I saw this on Facebook yesterday and it got a HUGE response! This is possibly the most elaborate, over-the-top proposal I have ever seen, but personally I think it was tons of fun and it even brought a tear to my eye. What happens afterwards though is a big no-no. Take a look...

Gentlemen, gentlemen...at the point when he suggests they get married on the spot, you could probably hear the collective gasp of horror from women around the world. You can even see the bride herself is not a fan of the idea, but what can she do in front of hundreds of people and on live television, besides reply sweetly, "Really?"

It's actually amazing how unanimous women are on this issue. Even a gal like me who is not very girlie-girl or dreaming of puffy white dresses, would be furious at being robbed of my wedding day like that. First of all, she didn't get to enjoy the proposal, the engagement and the whole build-up to the wedding...no announcing to the family, no showing off the ring, no wedding dress hunt, no hens night...This poor woman has probably been dreaming of this day her whole life and it got condensed into a ten-minute parade! She got some random  dress thrown over her clothing and said "I do" with mascara streaming down her face (which will make for very memorable wedding photos by the way).

I can guarantee that she would have asked for a do-over...or an annulment.

Evian spelt backwards is Naïve – Part 3

Time to wrap up our little story! For any late-comers, check out Part 1 and Part 2.

So, it’s about 5am, I’m on a sleek black yacht, docked at a Greek island with a modern-day Onassis…who we’re calling ‘Bob’. Bob, who is also a filmmaker, wants to show me some of his projects, but the DVD player is in his bedroom. Of course.

I continue to drown out the little alarm bells in my head, calling myself paranoid and presumptuous. What on earth would a man like this want with little ole me? Upon entering his room, I got my answer. There was no normal lighting, just rope lights lining the walls and the bed. “My friends call this the Vegas Room” says Bob. I smile stiffly and start berating myself for being so stupid. I allow the alarm bells to wail away, late as they may be.

He lounges back on his bed and grabs the remote. He puts the TV on so we can watch his show. I sit bolt upright on the very edge of the bed and run through my options. I should point out though, that while this was an idiotic situation, it was at no point dangerous; the man was horny but harmless. This still left me with a problem though. So my stream of thought went something like this:

“It’s 5 o’clock in the morning. I’m on some Godforsaken island in the middle of the Aegean. I know absolutely no-one but him and the only way off the island is via ferry boat which comes every couple of days. Perfect. I don’t want to do anything with him…but I don’t want to upset him either, and he probably thinks this is why I came.”

So I went with my greatest strength:

“I’ll just play dumb.”

Suddenly he was nestled up beside me, the TV was off and his hand was sliding up my thigh. He might as well have been pushing an ejection seat button because I jumped up off that bed so fast, that his hand was still mid stroke.

“Oh look at the time!” I yawned and stretched my arms. “Off to bed! See you in the morning!” and I spun around bolted into my room, locking myself in with everything but a chest of drawers.

This was possibly my first lesson in the wicked ways of the male species. It was also my first lesson on the power of the female species - what we have obviously surpasses all money and power as history and my little boat incident have proven. 

I spent the next two days artfully avoiding him in what he must have thought was the world’s most prolonged tease. I came to realize that everyone on the island must have thought I was the weekend floozy and to this day when I meet people from that film set, they refer to me as ‘Bob’s guest’ with a smile and a wink.

Thankfully, nothing happened, I wrote my story and never got an invite to a yacht again! 

Fallen Art by Tomek Baginski

This is a disturbing and brilliant piece of short animation from a Polish production company called Platige Image...

Evian spelt backwards is Naïve – Part 2

So there I was, on the remote Greek island of Ikaria, at 4 o’clock in the morning. I had just stepped off a 12-hour ferry ride and was waiting for my host to arrive.

In case you missed Part 1, my host was an eccentric billionaire filmmaker/actor who had invited me to write a story on the film he was shooting in Ikaria. He had also offered me accommodation on his yacht for the weekend. He also had a girlfriend who I thought would be on the yacht with us. As you may have gathered, the point of this story was the express my extreme naiveté at the time.  

I stood on the harbor looking like a cross between a tourist and a refugee: flip-flops, three-quarter jeans, strappy top covered by a disheveled tracksuit top and indescribable hair, matted and aggravated by my attempts to sleep upright on the teeny tiny seat on the boat. So in defense of my extreme naiveté, you could understand why it never even crossed my mind that a man who mingled with the glossy, the rich and the famous would ever take any interest in me.

A fancy bike roared up to me; I was greeted warmly by Bob (the sophisticated pseudonym we’re using for our billionaire) and whisked off to an even fancier yacht. Bob pointed out the three cabins: his captain’s, his own and mine. I noticed that his was empty. “Where’s your girlfriend?” I asked. “Oh she didn’t come with,” he replied casually. Ding! First little alarm bell goes off, but I shush it away.

We then sat in his sleek living room and caught up. It’s always great talking to a fellow filmmaker and the time flew, despite the fact that we were nearing sunrise. He wasn’t shooting the next day, so he could introduce me to some of the cast and crew. My main interview would be with the Hollywood star of the film, who we’ll just call Matt. (No, not Damon).

So Bob describes some of his latest projects and offers to show me some footage. “I would love to see your stuff!” I gush. Our next alarm bell moment is coming up…the DVD player was in his bedroom, so we would have to watch there. Ding! Ding!

TO BE CONTINUED…

Dating Diaries - Part 2

Remember my friend Anna? The good girl who, after a two year drought, threw caution to the wind and slept with a guy on the first date? Well apparently the story did not end there. Sigh.

So I get another random phone call from Anna:

Anna: So I’m on my way to his place.

Me: Who’s place? (Gasp) Noooooo.

Anna: Relax, I won’t do anything stupid, I’m not a complete masochist.

Me: Anna…

Anna: I missed hanging out with him and I called to ask if he wanted to meet for drinks…

Me: You can’t see this but I’m shaking my head in despair. Okay, so drinks, public place where you can keep all your clothes on.

Anna: Well he’s out of town, at his holiday house, so he told me to come over. He said I could spend the night and drive back in the morning.

Me: Are you learning impaired?

Anna: I’m not going to do anything!

Me: Did you shave your legs?

Anna: (Pause) Maybe.

Me: You are officially a ‘booty call’.

Anna: Aha! No I’m not, I called him! He’s my booty call! He’s my bitch!

Me: Mmm hmm.

Anna: I miss sex and he’s available and I like him…

Me: Yes sweety, but he doesn’t feel the same…

Anna: Let me just see how tonight goes.

I actually went out and bought some double fudge chocolate chip cookie ice cream immediately after that conversation…just to be ready for the following day. Now, I’m not saying that women aren’t sexually liberated or that they don’t have needs…but at the end of the day, given the choice, I believe we would all rather be with a guy who was genuinely into us, all of us and not just our hot asses...and any woman who says otherwise is lying.

The Black Hole by Phil & Olly

I must apologise for my tardiness...I have been editing a short film all week and have lost track of time...and personal hygiene, ahem.

There will be more stories tomorrow, but in celebration of the short film, here's a little goodie:

Have yourself a beautiful day!

Evian spelt backwards is Naïve – Part 1

Do you ever look back on your fledgling years and wonder how the hell you ever made it to now?

I for one, had been raised in a Greek home in South Africa, an environment second only to a convent. I was absolutely not allowed to attend any social functions that weren’t Greek and even those were chaperoned by four large male cousins…just enough to form a human wall around defenseless little me.

It still surprises me to this day then, that after high school, my parents set me free into the world with nothing more than the phrase “You know best.”

Boy, were they wrong!

I have a prime example of my supreme naiveté. This is also one of my more surreal stories and while no-one is going to believe it, I’m going to tell it anyway…just in case any young bucket of sunshine is reading this and can perhaps install a better alarm system in her head than I did.

Several years ago, I lived in Athens and slaved away at many menial jobs until I got into film. One of these jobs was writing the occasional article for magazines or newspapers. My most glamorous assignment had been to attend a press junket on a Greek island for a film premier and to interview the director. The director, who shall remain nameless, also happened to be a major Greek tycoon and a billionaire. Yes, billionaire, with a “b”. He just happened to love filmmaking.

He was a great character, very eccentric and charismatic. I managed to stay in touch and about a year later, I saw the trailer for his film at the movies and e-mailed him. I received the following response:

(Lets call the billionaire “Bob”, shall we.)

Bob: I’m shooting a film with (Hollywood actor who shall also remain nameless) in Ikaria (Greek island about 12 hours from the mainland), you should come and write a story about it. You could stay on my yacht!

Me: Be careful of the offer you make, I may just take you up on it!

Bob: I’m being serious! This is our last weekend here, below is my number, give me a call…

So I called. Now I wasn’t a complete ignoramus; the first thing I asked was who else was staying on the yacht. The connection was bad (with him being on a yacht and all) and I heard him say “It’s my captain…(static)…and me”. To this day I swear, I swear, I heard him say “my girlfriend” under the static. Otherwise I don’t think I would have gone.

When I informed one of my guy friends, Teddy, of my trip, he just shook his head at me. I gave him my Polyanna smile and jumped on the ferry boat. As I nestled in for my overnight ride, I got a message on my phone from Bob: Bring a bikini.

A teeny tiny alarm bell made a few inaudible chimes. But I ignored it and made my way to the island.

TO BE CONTINUED...

Dating Diaries - Part 1

Imagine if "Sex and the City" took place in a village...the stories just got a whole lot more interesting, right? So, as a single gal in Cyprus, I couldn't resist sharing some stories from me and my friends, which have aptly been named the "Dating Diaries". Some will make you laugh, some will make you cringe and perhaps some will make you learn...because, as Maya Angelou says, "When you know better, you do better." So....

5am. Phone rings. I bolt upright, get caught in a tangle of sheets, attempt to grab my phone with zero hand-eye coordination at this hour, drop the phone, attempt to scrape it off the ground by leaning over my bed and promptly land on the floor next to the phone. At least I can now answer said phone. Someone’s died. It’s the only reason people call at this hour.

Me: Hello (imagine my voice if I smoked a pack a day)

Anna: Sorry, did I wake you?

Me: (Fortunately people can’t see you roll your eyes through the phone) What’s wrong?

Anna: I did something very stupid.

Me: Aside from waking me up at 5 in the morning?

Anna: I just got home from my date.

Me: What do you mean you just got home? It’s 5 in the…oooh…

Anna: Like I said, I did something very stupid.

Me: Okay walk me through it.

I gather myself back into bed, but I am definitely awake now. I should take a moment to point out that Anna is a dear friend from home who also recently moved to the island. She’s about 29 years old, pretty, smart, confident and considered to be the classic good girl, you know, a little conservative and with a sterling reputation. Being one of her closest friends I know that she’s no virgin, but she has only been intimate with men that she has been in serious relationships with and this comes to a sum total of three. So you can imagine my shock when she tells me that she has put out on the first date. I’d also like to point out that I warned her about this guy. But because I couldn’t say this to her due to the state she was in, I’ll just say it to you to get it out of my system: I told you so!

Anna: I don’t know why I did it! You know me! This isn’t like me! I have never done anything like this!

Me: Honey, relax.

Anna: Such a rookie mistake! I’ll probably never hear from him again. What was I thinking?!

Me: I don’t think thought was a big factor here.

Anna: Do you think that was all he was after?

Me: (I hesitate, but it’s too early for me to be sensitive) Yes.

Anna: Shit.

Me: If it was any other guy, I’d say just take it as it comes, but we all know he’s a player. Okay what happened?

Anna: Well, we went out for drinks and he was so nice and attentive…he said all the right things…

Me: Uh huh…

Anna: He said that he thought marriage and children were a sacred thing and he hoped to have a family of his own one day. Why would he say that?

Me: Because he wanted sex.

Anna: And then his best friend joined us for a bit which I thought was odd for a first date, but then I thought that it was great that he was already introducing me to his friends, right?

Me: No, he just wanted sex.

Anna: And then he took me to this cheesy lookout point on the pier –

Me: Because he wanted sex.

Anna: And we ended up at his place.

Me: Because…well, you get the picture.

Anna: He also did the strangest thing before I decided to go in. He said “you’ll notice how I’m not going to say anything now to influence you. This is totally your decision.”

Me: Ugh, gross. And you still went in after that?! That’s like a responsibility disclaimer!

Anna: I haven’t had sex in two years okay.

And that was that. He actually did call back. They went out on two more dates and then he ended it saying he wasn’t “feeling it”. The sad part is that she was really excited about this date. She spent a week coordinating an outfit and I think she was secretly hoping that this would justify her moving to a new a country, like “Look, I made a big bold change in my life and it paid off! I’ll be married before the year is out!”

As I told her, I actually know several happily married couples who did the horizontal jig on the first date. Of course, unlike her case, neither of the people involved were assholes. It’s always a risk, but I think that deep down you know why the guy is there, you know whether he’s interested in you or just himself. Unfortunately our hearts and hormones get in the way of our better judgment. Live and learn, right?

Don't sweat the small stuff!

So apparently there’s a botox treatment to prevent excessive sweating. Really people? So now women are not allowed to sweat either? We have been mani-pedied, plucked, peeled, lasered, waxed, exfoliated, facialed, dyed, scrubbed and spray-tanned into life-sized Barbie dolls and now we’re not allowed to sweat? And I’m not talking about people with an actual medical condition, I’m talking about people who want to eliminate pit-stains under their arms…heaven forbid should the general public know that you have functioning sweat glands. Come on ladies!

Now, I’m not saying that I’m not guilty of my own array of primping and preening. I’ve lasered my bikini area, an experience second only to a Chinese torture camp. But there is a line…and I think it’s drawn when we start to prevent our body from performing natural functions…like sweating, or frowning.

Here’s a nice little barometer for the ridiculous…my grandmother from the village: a woman plunged in poverty from birth, mother of 6 children, survivor of two wars…now, picture telling her that you want to inject a foreign substance into your body so you don’t get wrinkles or so you don’t sweat. Are you picturing the look on her face? You probably can’t because she’s no longer listening to your nonsense; she’s already gotten up, left the room and gone to deal with the real-life issues of her day.

Now, I’m nervous about aging too, because lets face it, we live in a very superficial society and “pretty” is a very useful asset, whether it’s used for getting free drinks or promotions. But imagine how nice it would be to live in a world where we weren’t defined by out looks…

Well, when it comes to the preening parade, I draw the line at arm-hair. You know, the light fluff on your forearm. I missed the memo when it became unacceptable for women to have ANY visible body hair, including their arms. I’ve given up legs, bikini and underarms…it’s expensive and it hurts like hell. But I draw the line at arms. And aside from being a baby about the pain, I found a far more significant reason for my little boycott, my own baby: my little 5-year old god-daughter.

I can unbiasedly say that she is one of the most beautiful children on earth. She is also a hairy little kid; hairy little arms and legs, much like me; a natural by-product of being Greek, and she gets teased at school about the hair on her arms. The other nasty little girls call her a boy. When she told me this, I looked at her and asked her “Do you think I look like a boy?”, she shook her head, “And is your Nona (Greek for Godmother) not the most beautiful woman ever?” (Kids are susceptible to brainwashing), she grinned and nodded. I then presented my very hairy arms to her. Nothing wrong with hairy arms. And that was the end of that.

Step back ladies, look at the bigger picture, look at yourselves, ALL of yourselves. You are the most exquisite creatures, mind, body and soul. Look after yourselves and try to set a good example for the little girls who look up to you. Lets do away with our standards of superficiality and inject our heads with knowledge, interesting memories, wild experiences and unconditional love…not botox.

(And that’s all my rah-rah for today!)

Offside by Erez Tadmor & Guy Nattiv

Here is another gem by one of my favourite directing duos...bittersweet and comically tragic...

Art imitating life imitating art…

So I’m working on a feature script. It’s sort of a coming-of-age “The Devil Wears Prada” meets “My Big Fat Greek Wedding”…set in Cyprus, of course. I just got off the phone with my script editor after a surreal and infuriating conversation. If I didn’t know better, I would think he was channeling my mother.

Editor: For a romantic comedy, the love interest is introduced too late in the story. We need to flesh out his character more...
Me: It's not a romantic comedy.
Editor: Oh! Really?
Me: Yes. That's why the love interest comes in later. It's a comedy about family and making your dreams come true...the love interest is an interesting complication in the story and a nice bonus at the end, but it's not the focus of the film.
Editor: But no-one cares about her family relations or if she gets her dream job. We want to see her fall in love!

Me: But the whole story is about her choosing her career over her family…

Editor: No-one cares! People want romance, excitement…what kind of a leading lady can’t get a man?!

It starts to get personal for me.

Me: Well that’s not the point of the story.

Editor: Trust me, love stories sell.

Me: Yes, love stories are great, but I think audiences, women especially, are tired of white knights saving them, I want to show this character’s development and how she's accepted by her family and how she's trying to make her dream come true...that's what she wants...
Editor: It may be what she wants, but it's not what she needs. What she neeeeds… is love.

I blink several times. Did I mention that my editor is a man? I’d also like to take this moment to mention that had the protagonist been a man, we wouldn’t even be having this conversation. Male movie heroes can focus on a career or saving the whole damn planet. Female movie heroes (or should I say, heroines) have to fall in love, otherwise (it would seem) they’re not worth watching.

Me: But it's not a romantic comedy.
Editor: Then maybe you should get rid of the love interest so you don't mislead people.
Me: No! I like the love interest! It's a nice part of the story, it's just not the focus...why can't she have both? A career and a man!
Editor: It's too confusing.

I mention that audiences have managed to keep up with movies where the women got to have both, like “Bridesmaids”, “Morning Glory”, “Miss Congeniality”, “Sex and the City”, to name but a few.

Editor: Look, people want to see a woman fall in love with a man. Think about it.

I did. I kept my heroine. I kept her job. I kept her love interest.

And I got rid of my editor.

Twice Upon a Time

The hardest thing about making a movie is finding the money to make a movie.

Having worked on a couple of productions in Cyprus, it's amazing how creative and resourceful you can get in the face of this obstacle. We may not have the big budgets here, but we have a lot of heart, and humour apparently, which leads to solutions like:

- my 37 first cousins can be unpaid extras
- my mother will cater for the production
- my grandmother won't notice if some of her clothes go missing (period wardrobe)

And so on...and then I look at Hollywood, with all of their resources for creative and original content and what do they come up with? Not one, but TWO Snow White movies and a TV series with the same theme.

Having said that, the excited little movie freak in me is quite keen to see the two interpretations. Judging by the trailers I think "Snow White and the Huntsman" will be the better film, but "Mirror, Mirror" will probably be the bigger hit at the box office because it looks family friendly. Either way, the evil queens have clearly stolen Snow White's thunder and they both should be a fun watch!

Here are the trailers....

"Snow White and the Huntsman" with Charlize Theron (another awesome South African) and Kristen Stewart (running scared through a dark forest...where have we seen this before?) and the delectable Chris Hemsworth of "Thor" fame. Directed by newcomer Rupert Sanders.

"Mirror, Mirror" with the irresistible Julia Roberts, Lily Collins (rising star and daughter of singer Phil Collins) and now appearing as just one person, Armie Hammer of "Social Network" fame. Directed by the visually brilliant Tarsem Singh.

One more time for the cheap seats at the back!

I have always said that what I love about Mediterranean countries like Greece and Cyprus is their authenticity and how real the people are. Sure, you rarely get service with a smile, but at least when there is a smile, it’s genuine and the rest of the time, if said person is having a bad day, they make no attempt to hide it. They don’t coddle you with fake politeness. They’re rude and crass and funny and real. They’ll tell you if they think you look fat or thin without taking your fragile feelings into account and it teaches you to basically grow a thick skin, get over yourself and not sweat the small stuff.

There is one small exception to this rule however, where a little discretion and delicacy would be very much appreciated...Pharmacies. Many years ago, I had a little case of…ahem…thrush. No big deal, common occurrence in most women and I had a prescription for…um…a suppository. So off I trotted to my friendly neighbourhood pharmacy.

Before I continue, I have to point out the unique system of pharmacy working hours we have in Greece and Cyprus. They are not open on a regular basis. That would be too easy. Each neighbourhood is dotted with little pharmacies that work on a shift basis; open on certain days, for certain hours. At any given hour of the day, you can find an open pharmacy, the trick is finding out where it is. To do this, you need to consult a newspaper or call a special number which will list all open stores at that particular hour. You can imagine how much fun this is, especially in the case of an emergency.

Anyway, I found one that was open and I popped in before work to get my…uh…thing. To my absolute delight, there was a sweet old couple behind the counter; the kind that shuffles when they walk and is hard of hearing. There is just one other man in the store. I discretely slide the prescription across the counter to the old man and smile nervously. He puts on his glasses and moves the paper back and forth until it’s in focus. He then says, at full volume (is there any other kind in these countries?) “What’s this? For thrush?”. The other customer looks up. I cringe and mentally will him to keep his voice down, but this only seems to have the opposite effect. He yells to his wife “Get the Canesten for thrush!” and she shuffles into the back, right after giving me a good look up and down.

At this point a mother and her young daughter walk in and stand next to me, followed by another elderly man. The old woman shouts from the back “Does she need the pill or the suppository?” and her husband replies (because I cannot hear this word enough) “the suppository!” I swear the mother nudges her child away from me and it continues: the old woman shouts out “What?” and just for the cheap seats at the back, her husband bellows “the SUPPOSITORY!”

My knuckles have turned white from gripping onto the counter. I fear if I let go I may literally disappear into the floor. They hand me my package and I turn and leave. I’m not sure if I have them to thank for this or the sheer psychological torture of it all, but I never got thrush again.

The brain in love...

We all know these people...in fact, some of us are or have even been in the same situation. We see them walking among us, the glimmer in their eyes, disoriented, unable to focus, often displaying extreme mood swings, laughing one minute, crying the next...they can't sleep or eat and their obsession is all-consuming.

I'm not talking about drug addicts, I'm talking about people in love.

After consoling a friend who couldn't understand why she was behaving like such a lunatic around the new man in her life, I thought I would share the same video I sent her. This is Helen Fisher and she's an anthropologist who specialises in love. She has studied the brain in love and finally has some solid explanations for why we do what we do when we're in love or lust!

Not surprisingly, there are many parallels with actual addiction...enjoy!

You know you’re single when…

Your name is individually called out at the bouquet-toss at a wedding.

I’m not making this up. I was at a wedding recently, one of many this season…and by the way, did I miss a memo or did everyone get married over the last two years? Synchronised matrimony! Whenever somebody had “news”, I knew, without a doubt, that they would flash a sparkly engagement ring at me next. I was getting up to three calls a week from squealing new brides-to-be. And you are, of course, very happy for your friends, but you also start to feel like you’re missing the boat…all your friends are boarding the Nuptials Express and you’re letting it sail by while you smile and wave from the pier.

So there I am at the wedding, having a nice time, despite having being told “Και στα δικά σου!” (“And to your wedding one day!”) repeatedly throughout the night by the elders and it comes to the bouquet- toss…

Now I would like to make a personal appeal to brides everywhere: if you’re of a certain age, and the majority of your guests are already married, and you only have a handful of single girlfriends…a handful of single girlfriends who are fully aware of their single status considering they don’t have a date or dance partner at your wedding, please try not to further parade them in front of all your happily married guests. It was a fun little tradition in our twenties…not so funny anymore. And I say this as a person who loves weddings! I love the romance and magic of it all. I don’t, however, enjoy being herded like cattle so I can catch a bunch of flowers. A suggestion: I went to a lovely wedding where the bride dedicated her bouquet to her maid of honour. No tossing, and it fell into the hands of someone who deserved it.

So there I am, picking the icing off my slice of wedding cake and the announcement for the bouquet-toss is made. I think I’ve made it clear that I avoid this if I can, and there are usually enough girls who get up anyway. Well, not this time. The dance floor remained empty. The announcement was made again. Nothing. This meant one of two things:

a) All the other single women there felt the same as me about this embarrassing tradition, or:

 b) I was, in fact, the only single girl at this wedding.

  

Apparently, the MC opted for option B and proceeded to call me out BY NAME! “Angela! Come on, get up! All the single girls to the dancefloor!” Three hundred pairs of eyes on me (if only I hadn’t just shoveled a spoonful of cake into mouth). I smile stiffly, cheeks bulging with cake, and I give him my best “I’m going to kill you” look. 

The MC takes this as an invitation to call me up AGAIN. So I stand up, for fear that he’ll just keep calling out my name all night. My only saving grace was my two cousins, who already have boyfriends but who joined me anyway because they love me...that, and they understood by my look that they would face dismemberment otherwise. A few more girls got up too; they had only recently hit puberty, but we gathered up a little crowd and the bride tossed the damn bouquet. I watched its trajectory without emotion, or motion for that matter, and then returned to my cake.

Next time I’ll tell you about the tradition of writing single girls’ names on the sole of the bride’s shoe so they can be wiped out by the end of the night. Seriously, you can’t make this stuff up!