All the small things..

It's Valentine's night and I got to thinking how much the little things count. I blame 'When Harry met Sally' for the outburst that's about to unfold. What can I say, it spoke to me!

Love isn't a bouquet of flowers. It isn't a slap up meal or a serenade. And you can't put your finger on it with a card or a song. That's just someone else's words. If only men knew that opening their hearts meant so much more than opening their wallets. There isn't enough money in the world that could match the sentiment of knowing someone loves who you are.

It's about being held by someone like they never want to let go. It's about someone holding your hand just long enough to make that other person feel like they mean something. Even if it's just a passing thought, it matters, because you felt it. Those moments in life are so rare. Like that feeling when you catch each-other's eye and for a second, no-one else is in the room. It's about a person loving the things about you that annoy the shit out of everyone else. It's about feeling like it's ok to be completely you because that person loves you that much.

It's not an obligation or a forced action to please the other person. I believe it should be a natural thing to want to be near someone. When you love someone, isn't that the best thing about it? For it to be ok to be near someone?

I overheard a lad's conversation on the train the other day (which means I was leaning in pretty close and practically popping my head on one of their shoulders). He was revealing that he simply said what his girlfriend wanted to hear in order to make life simpler. Hearing this, I admittedly wanted to slap the shit out of him, but I also felt incredibly sad that this is what romance had come to. I felt like saying to him; "Don't do that, because the second she realizes that your hearts not in this, it will break her." I've been there in the past. It hurts like hell.

I believe that a girl knows when she's loved. Trust me, we may be hopeful but we're not stupid. We notice things. A girl notices the lack of sincerity in his voice when she's falling apart and he makes her feel like an inconvenience. She notices when she's giving her all and not getting a whole lot back.

Yes, a girl knows when she has a man's heart. She also knows when she doesn't. So buck up your ideas lad on the train and please, for the love of god, GET SOME NUTS!

Dream 1. Plan B Nil.

"Don't ever let somebody tell you...You can't do something. Not even me. You got a dream... You gotta protect it. People can't do somethin' themselves, they wanna tell you you can't do it. If you want somethin', go get it. Period."

(Christopher Gardner, Pursuit of Happyness)

"So what's your back-up plan Miss Endres?" she asked expectantly. I thought long and hard. "No, I don't recall ever having one of those." This was to be the best response I'd ever given in an interview. I was being questioned by a specialist recruitment consultant and I knew I wasn't saying what was probably expected of me nor what she wanted to hear. Turns out though, for once in my life, passion and honesty thrived over arse kissing. "I believe I have the skills and determination to make it as a writer. I just need one opportunity to prove myself, just one."

I left with my head held high, safe in the knowledge that at least I'd stayed true to myself. I felt the chances of hearing from her again however, were about as likely as Katie Price growing old gracefully. Two weeks later, she called, offering me a month's work writing copy for their new website. This was one job offer I didn't have to think about. I thanked her, handed in my notice at the temp job that had been destroying my soul for far too long and started this week.

It's a funny thing, having a dream. You have to have an unwavering belief in yourself and rise above every knock back. I studied hard, knocked on a thousand doors and wrote for the sheer joy of seeing my name in print. Nothing however has been more fulfilling than someone investing in me as a professional. That feeling will stay with me for a long time and I intend to take full advantage of this opportunity. This girl's finally got her foot in the door and it's there to stay.

Sarcastic Child in the City

Precisely 18 months. That's how long it apparently took to get rid of any excess personal baggage, soul search my way over to the states and come back a hell of a lot wiser to the world. They say a lot can happen in a year and my life is proof of it.

I moved to New York last summer, another little warped fantasy of mine and one I insisted on doing alone. I figured that if Kevin McCallister could do it, so could I! I lasted six weeks. And boy did my naivety and stubbornness give me a gigantic kick in the crotch.

I arrived at my 'Manhattan' apartment to find it was smack bang in the middle of Harlem. Oh yes. Thank you ever so much Craigslist.com. I was positioned right between Central Park and the projects. Perfect. Carrie Bradshaw neighborhood this was not. Thankfully, the brownstones and quirky little boutiques were only a subway away.

Those six weeks were enough to learn the American way...Stroll gracefully past undesirables who scream at you in the street (do not under any circumstances make eye contact), don't converse with British humour (Ricky Gervais's performance at the Golden Globes had nothing on me) and always walk from the subway with your keys strapped firmly between your fingers. I was Freddy Krueger in shoe boots. The humidity had given me a frizzy and rather unkept look, something I grew to be thankful for when I realised I stood out like a giraffe at Seaworld. The wild hair teamed with my icy glare made me appear ever so slightly manic, strutting vigorously towards my apartment block. I gave passers-by a look that said 'Just try and take my bag, go on, I dare you."

As for the humour, I was disappointed to find our dry sarcastic tone didn't go down too well over the pond. It's not that the Americans are offended by it. They just don't get it. At all. After a week or so, I was grateful to meet up with a fellow Brit just to let it all out! This wasn't just any Brit however. This was an author I'd admired for years, kind enough to spare the time for a latte and a chat about the novel I was writing. And let me tell you, this made every encounter with the 'friendly' locals all worth it. Well, almost. 'Wussuuup shorty?' Bugger off.