Obligated

There must be one word that describes this:

• The feeling of frustration experienced when a family member outstays their welcome in your home, and;
• is ignorant of, or deliberately blind to the effect this has on 1) you 2) him 3) your routine 4) your patience 5) all of the above, and;
• expects a level of hospitality that you would not normally provide in your own household, and finally;
• keeps coming back, because, and this is the kicker, how the hell can you say no? She's your mother!

Any suggestions as to what this word may be are welcome. In honour of your creativity, I shall rename this posting accordingly.

The works

Online shopping has to be at the top of the list of things entirely necessary for a working person. The last thing I want to do on the weekend, is go grocery shopping.

I recently switched delivery services, tired and annoyed of waiting around for two hours, only for the groceries to be not only late but also wrong. Always. I'm now with one who delivers in one hour windows, who is always on time, and never gets an order wrong.

Until today.

Now before you nod knowingly and say, 'had to happen one day', allow me to explain. Was my delivery late? No. Was it wrong? Well, yes and no. Yes, it was wrong. No, it's not a problem. Why? Because I got everything I ordered (except for one tiny thing which I will get to in a minute) and in addition to that, I also got a whole chicken and two packets of organic spaghetti.

What I didn't get was my cotton buds. Now, if called upon - in, I don't know, a predicament that required quick-thinking bartering in a world where money was useless and toiletries were a rare commodity - I would again exchange cotton buds for a whole chicken and a kilogram of spaghetti - organic or not.

Dirty/Fruity?

We all know James Bond's preference - a mix of vodka and gin, shaken, not stirred...but recently I found someone else who is particular about their martinis: me.

About a year ago on a visit to glorious New York I was introduced to an Apple Martini, and not long after, in New Jersey of all places, a Dirty Martini. A joyous experience on the first occasion, an unforgettable one on the second (and not in a good way). Not being a cocktail connoisseur, I have since gambled and ordered martinis in various different places, and not been quite as satisfied as I was at Métrazur's in Grand Central.

Out to dinner recently, a colleague visiting from the US asked the waiter - in an Indian restaurant - what kind of vodka they used in their martinis.

He looked at her strangely and said, "Normal vodka".
"What's normal?" she asked curiously.
"Smirnoff", he replied with certainty.

She opted not to order her martini and after he left the table, turned to me and said, with feeling, "The only normal vodka is Grey Goose...anything else can be considered not normal, got it?!"

And so it dawned on me, it's not if it's dirty or fruity, it's got to be vodka, and it's Grey Goose or bust.

Getting by with little help

Friends. I spend a great deal of time wondering how much effort should be put into rejuvenating flagging friendships. It is true that friends are around for a reason, drifting away when the reason is fulfilled, whatever that reason may be? When you lose touch with a friend, how much time do you spend chasing before it's time to resign yourself to the fact that they may not need you...or want you in their lives? Do we accept that friends come and go...or do we remember why we were friends to begin with and focus on that as a reason to keeping trying to reach out? I wish I knew.