How not to network as an adult


So the move was made, I am living among people closer to my age in a quieter part of town. Ironically missing my old flatmates. I even smile a little when I open up facebook to little love messages like “mama, we miss you”, “come back to the flat granny, it’s not the same without you”.

Yes they are little shits, but they are lovable little shits.

As part of my thirties life revamp, I am also determined to get my fledgling business off the ground. I need clients, and I can only find them outside my circle of friends.

First port of call? Internations, the large expat community. A networking goldmine so I’ve heard. So I signed up the first party. Got out the sheer stockings, put on the nice pair of heels and took myself down to the club.

I was a bit nervous so I had a little nerve-steadying drink before leaving the house. As it turned out, I drank that one pretty quick, so I had another. At the party, I easily started conversations with people around me, a lady from Finland, a male opera singer from Wales, and other interesting people. All friendly and eager to meet other people yet it was hard to take the conversation beyond initial pleasantries.

By this time, the fourth drink had taken effect. The dance floor was open, and I was all over that shit. Elbows out, jostling prim clubbers as they tried to video the stage performers, jostling the cute I.T guy trying to dance too close, and tripping off the edge of the multi-level dance floor and landing on my ass.

Why? Why would you have split levels on a crowded club floor?

A little kiss with the I.T guy proves him to be a man of good looks but low sexuality. I debate taking it further with him, but his less than chivalrous attitude towards a tipsy girl woman was a big turn off. A real guy would see you to your house rather than try to talk you into going to his.

So after my first ever night of networking, I have:

1 huge hangover
1 sharp and lingering pain in my foot
1 new embarrassing make-out memory
0 new connections: friend or business

This thirties revamp may be harder than I thought.



Being a thirty-year-old in a twenty-year-old’s world


I need to move.

Chris: Why? I thought you liked the new flatmates?
Me: No. They’re far too young. Enough is enough, I need to live with people more my age. People I can talk to.
C: You can’t talk to your current flatmates?
M: No they’re too young. They have no experience to bring to the conversation. We’re too different.
C: Different how?
M: When you’re young, everything is black and white. I need to live with people who understand grey.
C: Everything isn’t black and white then?
M: They haven’t changed their minds or made mistakes yet.
C: You want to live with people who’ve made mistakes?
M: No, well yes. People who understand.
C: How does this fit into your previous plan of surrounding yourself with positive people? The new profile sounds like you want to live with ….. um …people who’ve …. failed at things?
M:  I’ll find successful thirty-year-olds to live with.
C: You can’t afford to live with successful thirty-year-olds. You’re renting the smallest room in a flat with twenty-year-old interns.
M: Shit.
C: What brought this on anyway? Last we spoke you were going out for drinks with them.
M: We did. They got very drunk.
C: And?
M: They asked me how old I was, so I told them.
C: So?
M: When I told them, the twenty-one year old blonde French girl patted my head and said ‘AWWWWWWWW!’

I wish I had said….

Sandra Bullock WTF?