The rules of unfriendment.

In case you were scared with my recently taken up dare or the giraffe post that you were going to get just puppy pictures from now on, rest assured and don’t be silly – this will not happen.

Day one of the dare went really well though. At one point while driving, someone cut me off and instead of yelling asshole, I shouted oi, dudey. Which is slightly concerning as far as verbal expressions go and I have no idea where it came from, but obviously it was far more polite than asshole.

Yesterday I also started thinking about the rules of befriending or unfriending someone – on Facebook that is. I and assumingly a lot of others have a love-hate relationship with Facebook and what it does to relationships, singledom, and stalkerism. We love to know, but actually we don’t want to know. Thinking about it, I came up with my rule of thumb of how much and whom I want to know: Just because I slept with you doesn’t mean I want you to be my Facebook friend, but if you are, I won’t mind having at least a theoretical coffee with you. Upon these grounds I recently unfriended Mr. April. It wasn’t so much to make a statement to him (well, obviously a little bit), but I just didn’t care for updates of his new therapist (girlfriend) and thought him now overall a bit too weird to be called friend. I thought all in all this was valid reason to unfriend someone, non?

I also learned that I had been unfriended as well. Mind you, I think I broke quite a few hearts back in the day and probably don’t deserve even virtual friendship from a few men, but it wasn’t even of them. Last September I met a guy and we hit it off. We hit it off like you always dream of hitting it off with someone. That was till he gave me the worst line any morning after has ever heard: I am still in love with my ex. Eight months later when we met again and hit it off again – for a night. Then he declared it could never work as I don’t like camping or trance parties. He was quite smart, the way he figured me out and had me all put in the proper boxes within a total of 3 dates… Anyhow, I have long ago given up on trying to convince someone to be with me, so I didn’t attempt any further. We continued our lives as Facebook friends who occasionally give each other thumbs up and yes, if I had to have a coffee with him, I would have managed just fine. Till I realized yesterday that I was unfriended by him. I was so puzzled I even wondered if it might have been me in a state of upset and drunk, but no…I only text drunk! So here I am – still very puzzled. If anything, shouldn’t have been me doing the unfriending?

In accordance with this week’s dare though…I am just letting it go. I will not ask why, I will not call him stupid, I will just let it go. After all I know deep down that he could have only done it for one of two reasons…

He saw this picture of me, realized he made the biggest mistake of his life, and now can’t deal with seeing me as a happy camper:

OR

I am quite guilty of spreading quotes lately, yes. I guess I should be glad he was the only one who unfriended me!


P.S. I am quite aware that this post contains a few words which cannot be found in the dictionary. I made them up, because they sound most appropriate and thesaurus wouldn’t offer options. If anyone can, please feel free to comment.

Four days.

We have established that in regards to men the last week was less than successful. One could in fact call it disastrous without going overboard. Mind you I held my head up high, kept busy and came out on the other side only a bit bruised, but also a bit wiser.
After all that keeping busy and the emotions shut out, I was in a complete slump on Monday. Physically and mentally and I just felt very sorry for myself. The result was some good pasta for dinner and at 9pm I put on my favourite stripy pyjamas, which are actually for winter and still a bit too cosy for the temperatures we have, and went to bed.
I repeated the exercise yesterday and today I met someone that knows Margarete Mead, which makes today officially awesome and me a nerd, but deserves a mention nonetheless. Other than that I feel like I am already on Easter break and here is the to-do list, because there hasn’t been one in a while and I love lists with little boxes to tick off!*

Putting bunny ears on Cody for general office amusement.

Attempting to make macaroons for a second time. This time in egg shape which I think might be a whole lot easier than perfect circles. So I shall call them Easter macaroons. And if they turn out to be round after all (god knows, I have no actual idea what will be harder to make an egg shape or a circle), according to Julia I can simple call them regular macaroons and no one must ever know.

Making the first roast chicken of the year with stuffing. Maybe just stuffing without the chicken. Have I mentioned how much I love this stuff?

Buy a new yoga mat – pink or other – as mine got stolen out of my car. Which means bad karma for the person who did it and a good reason for me to buy a long overdue, new mat. Seriously though – I mean the mat was old, thin, AND stinky (if you do Bikram, you know how it can be), not sure why even a bergie would want it. But someone did alas someone will get bitten in the ass while sitting on it. Karma is a bitch after all.

Attend to my balcony i.e. window cleaning and replanting the gooseberries that are growing like crazy, I might just be able to open my own market stand soon and sell jam.

There will also be writing, chart making, Easter egg hunting in the dunes (unfortunately the kids are usually allowed to go first and by the time you make it up the hill, there is nothing left but paper wrappings, but still … the spirit counts), and on Monday sneak preview premier of The Hunger Games.

For now all I want to do is sleep though…

Happy long weekend, everybody!

*Just imagine the little tick boxes in front of each ‘to do’, my head is fuzzy and I can’t get my computer to make little boxes.

New boy on the block.

As official as it can get in my life: there is a new boy on the block. Which of course would get me thinking … being an almost 33 year old unmarried woman I can without a doubt say that I have dated a fair share of assholes. There is no other word for it and describing it any differently also wouldn’t make it any better.

There was the guy who told me after a few weeks of dating that he couldn’t see me anymore because he was moving to Houston. We ran into each other two month later at Club Monaco, both swearing underneath our breaths at the same time after which he tried to evade the awkwardness by telling me he was definitely moving to Texas this week. I hope he did and learned the lesson to never rely on the fact that you think New York is a big city. It is in fact not and Murphy has a strong standing there.

Then there was the guy who only came to sleep in my bed because unlike me he didn’t have AC at his flat. One with a mafia family background and another one who was a lawyer. No need to say more.

Yet another one who preferred coke to sex and who expected me to wear sandals in a snow storm just so we could get into the River Café. I refused, wore sneakers, and we got turned down because he wasn’t wearing a tie. Aah, a tiny moment of satisfaction and justice…

Moving to Cape Town brought a slight change in the men’s appearance (nicer tans and all), but not in behaviour. An ex actually told me he would like to take a three week break as an old girlfriend from Germany was coming to visit and wouldn’t it be convenient as I was due to visit home during the exact same time. Do all Germans actually look alike so you can just substitute one with the other??
I’m still a bit puzzled about the cheek of this though not as much as the fact that I actually managed to get stood off by a guy because he got arrested for alleged ex-wife beating and ended up spending the weekend in jail. Needless to say he didn’t make his one call to tell me he couldn’t make dinner.

Asking around with my girlfriends I am by far not the only one and some stories would make a good dating equivalent of the Blair Witch Project. So one can’t be surprised that a girl can get a bit paranoid in this men’s world and may despair in the attempts of finding a happily ever after. Which leads to the simple question: Are all men assholes?

I tried to find answers. Not very successfully, because upon asking my co-workers iPhone Siri (best research tool I came up with short notice) that exact question, she just replied: I don’t get this. Since I am in a good mood today I decided to take in the best possible way. I decided to take it as in No, you dope, not all men are assholes - just look at the guy you are dating, who just showed up at your doorstep last night to surprise you and give you a hug and who is not being an asshole at all.
Who am I to argue with Siri? I will simple accept the fact that she recons not all men are assholes and believe her especially since the above mentioned scenario is actually true and happened to me and not in my dream.

My cotton candy friend.

The words in this story are not entirely mine. I’m actually just translating and adding my two cents of wisdom. I shall be quoting my lovely friend Julia. Julia is quite a new friend in my life though we are from the same town, went to the same school and also share a lot of friends. For some odd reason we never really met. That was till she approached me for an internship in Cape Town. The email she sent me was ... interesting. I should mention that she is a writer and fashion journalist by day and I believe a secret superhero poet by night. There was lots of mentioning of rays of sunshine and feeling like cotton candy. I was a bit baffled. I am if anything only a neo-romantic. I don’t even like red roses and someone to explain their feelings as cotton candy was a bit over the top for me.
So I wasn’t quite sure what to expect when she arrived. What can I say? We fell in love. Like two girls who are just meant to be friends. Like when the universe is shaking its head wondering ‘Dah, why didn’t I think of the two of them earlier?’ kind of friends. With this friendship I came to love her emails cotton candy and all. As a sign of appreciation I once even send her a list of cotton candy translated into every known language.
This was just the prologue to what this is all about. Basically two single girls wondering why no one wants us. That sounds more than a bit pathetic, but is essentially true, especially on rainy days. As Julia rightfully says how is it possible that women like us don’t have to get a hidden identity to hide from all the suitors? Why is EVERYONE finding that one special person (sometimes even more than one!), but we? Two women, who are funny, who you can take to a bar and drink vodka till the wee hours of the morning when you need cheering up, who are smart and warm, who still appreciate the tree in front of the house they grew up in yet want to discover the whole wide world. Who can cook yet know the best restaurants in town and own the appropriate wardrobe for both – the restaurant and the beer fest in his parents’ village. Who will invite him on an overnight trip to Paris instead of just dreaming about being swept away by Prince Charming. As she said, it’s not coquetry, one just can’t help but wonder.
My I added wisdom to that: even Jennifer Aniston has a boyfriend these days. It’s no fair! I shall not dwell on the fact that she stole him from his live-in girlfriend of 9 years, but do wonder if she thinks karma will cut her some slack and let her get away with it after Angelina. Though I may add I’m definitely team Angelina and stealing or not, Brad picked the right woman. Enough celebrity gossip.
Julia concluded with the fact that regardless of how exciting our lives may generally be, sometimes you just want to have potatoes with green sauce, someone who takes you in his arms and tells you without words that everything will be alright even if we you just have potatoes and rain again tomorrow. That is Julia for you. Poetic even in describing the darkest scenarios. Me? I just replied whether I could substitute potatoes for pasta, because if not I’d rather stay single.

Pasta or not aside, she did also describe to me the dream scenario, the perfect man and the perfect life for me. I’m not going to repeat it here as it made me cry and feels too personal. I will add it on the ‘list’. It’s nice to know that I have a friend who not only knows me so well, but can also put my wishes into words for me. They seem a lot more tangible once in writing than chasing cotton candy dreams. Thank you, my حلوى القطن* friend.

*Cotton candy in Arabic. What else?

P.S. In case you are wondering – I would have loved to include pictures of us, unfortunately Mr. iBook is still in a coma and I haven’t practised my computer CPR enough to wake him.
P.P.S. I had just send this post to Julia to get it 'approved' and she not only replied that she felt touched and liked it, but also send me an air kiss a la Julia:

Gone fishing.

The problem when you live across the street from work is the following: you almost feel like you are working from home, yet you still have to keep up a modicum of professional appearance. That includes brushing teeth in the morning and putting on at least sweatpants instead of PJs. This morning I decided things needed to change and I needed a muffin. So I actually put on clothes, make-up, contact lenses and literally let my hair down. For those who don’t me – letting my hair down is a big deal as I tend to look like a 80s rock star who has spent too many hours combing and puffing. My hair is naturally unruly. People love it, I just find it annoying. I’m not fishing for compliments here as my mother would call it, I really just don’t like it. The gale force winds on my way to Wembley Square did not make it any better.
I quickly scattered in and the first thing I see is a very cute guy sitting at Vida. He looks up, at me, at my hair (By now I must look like Medusa sans snakes) and then he looks some more. So do I, obviously. A bit bewildered maybe, because I feel like I have not flirted with a stranger in forever so I wasn’t sure whether he was flirting or wondering if he should give me the number of his girlfriend’s hair stylist. But yay for me, no such offer followed, which leads me to believe he was flirting with me. Complimenting me with his eyes if I wanted to put it more poetical.
That got me thinking of compliments on my way back with cappuccino and muffin. What are the best compliments guys have ever paid me? The special ones. The ones you remember and sometimes even write down, so you can remember when he is not around anymore. The ones that remind you that someone loved you once. Or at least really, really fancied you.

Here is my Top 5 list of best compliments I have ever received. From the bottom up...

No 5: “You look really hot in your sweatpants.”
I think this compliment is every girls dream and yes, I really heard it. Mind you, we did argue about which sweatpants he was referring to a few days later and it wasn’t my favourite pair, but still – good enough.

No 4: “You are so beautiful.” I know it sounds simple, but unlike being called hot, sexy, cute or pretty; beautiful has such a well, beautiful sound to it. Works best first thing in the morning, when you usually feel everything but for the lack of make-up, brushed teeth and clothing to cover the wobbly bits. The times when someone called me beautiful, felt truly special and I did in fact feel beautiful.

No 3: “Your mouth was just made for kissing.”
I know, I know, someone is gagging right now, because this must be the cheesiest line ever and surely copied from a Telenovela. But when a guy you are madly in love with, tells you at 2am while you are laying on your bed bathed in moonlight, you will swoon as I did.

No 2: “You have the ass of a goddess.”
Now that is a really cute story actually. One must know that I have always had a love/hate leaning more to hate relationship with my bum. Already when I was a teenager I just knew it wasn’t my best feature and I was quite shy about it. My first boyfriend now in an effort to show me that he even loved my ass constructed a poem/song with the lyrics ‘she has the ass of a goddess’. Cute, non? I think my bum blushed a bit with all this attention.

No 1: “Miss, you have very nice legs.”
This makes the top spot purely because a man who was about 90 years old told me at the health food store and he preceded with the question “May I pay you a compliment?” Now that’s what I would call a true gentleman.

Girls, I’m calling on you to tell me your best compliment ever received. No price, just for fame and glory and to remember that someone thought us special.

P.S. And if you are really bored and know me well you can also try to match the compliments No 5 – 2 to my ex boyfriends.

Mopey Monday.

I put myself under self-imposed lock-up this week. I am a nuisance and annoyance to everybody including myself lately, which does putting myself under lock up with myself sound a bit contradictory. But then again other people seem to bring it out in me., so if it is just me and my scarves I may be fine. Lock-up it is till I get too bored or the 5-HTP kicks in, whichever comes first. I will however say the 5-HTP has a small chance only. A chance as long as it would take 2 bottles of Pinot Noir to better my mood, which I could have bought instead from the money I spend on 30 capsules.
If you are now curious to know why I am in such a kak mood lately...I guess reading my diary would shine some light on it. It’s other people though who bring it out in me. Here are the Top Five culprits of recent note:

No. ¹

Me, answering the phone: MM Production, Annika speaking.
Person calling: Hi, who is this?
Me: MM Production.
Person calling: Eh, ja, I actually meant who you are.

Am I the only person who considers this a tad bit rude? I mean, really?

No. ²

Person steps of the elevator in front of you, stops and looks around. Always.

No. ³

Car stops in the middle of the road. 10 seconds later. I honk. 5 seconds later. I honk again. 2 seconds later.

Me (yelling): Are you fucking kidding me?
Random man on the sidewalk: Don’t shout at him, he is a learner.

“Dear random man on the sidewalk, just because he has a big L on your car doesn’t mean he is in fact a learner. And if he really is a learner, shouldn’t he learn to drive without being on the phone first. Believe me, it is much easier and he will be able to start his car much faster. And why do you care anyhow? Let me yell in peace. Sincerely.”

Not sure who was the person annoying me more in this scenario was.

No. ⁴

The salesperson at Woolworths who didn’t know what flour (“Flowers?” Come on now, by accent is not that bad) is and therefore couldn’t tell me where to find it. Still not when we were standing in front of it.

No. ⁵

My upstairs neighbours morphing into elephants and dancing Samba. Surely there is no other explanation why they managed to wake me two nights in a row at 04h00 with stomping noises. Unless they are like our upstairs neighbours in New York who were in fact having sex. We all went upstairs to complain and unfortunately interrupted them in the process. Hehe. Karma...

The only thing these days that is currently cheering me up and in fact makes me giggle and not grumpy (besides the teacup pig) is my new found blog love The Bloggess and Google. Apparently if you type the beginning of a random question or statement into Google, even more random questions or statements come up. I actually have never tried that before, but in the name of research for a good laugh I did. What did I learn? Google is even more presumptuous than the Frenchman I realized. I type in ... i love ... waiting for something hilarious to pop up. What option do I get? ...i love you in French... Thanks for rubbing it in, Google!

P.S. If you type i hate, you will get i hate my husband for example. It kind of made me sad to think that someone hates their husband and is asking Google for advice on, I don’t know, get rid of him?

P.P.S. This is highly addictive – i want managed to get me i want to marry my mother. No comment.

Instant gratification. Or not.

This is a story for the girls. Mainly because I think and hope that guys don’t indulge in silly mind movie fantasies like girls do. Don’t we all? It may just be me, but I sincerely hope not, because that would mean I am making a complete fool of myself here. I will take the risk and be it for the reason that tomorrow’s post will be written already and I can actually use my lunch break to by that spare tire instead.

I did something right tonight. Something very right and all my girlfriends will rejoice and hit me on the shoulder (you know like guys do when they tell their buddies they got laid). I spoke the truth once again. And this time it’s forever.

Here is the question now: Why do we rarely get the same emotional satisfaction from doing the right thing as we get from doing something stupid? Why is there almost never an instant gratification when we do something right? Sure we know that we are doing the right thing, but we are usually doing it with tears pouring down our face, feeling really, really kak. Of course later we see reason. Days, weeks or months will pass and we will say with a little knowledgeable smile: Well, I just knew I was doing the right thing.

Really? And that knowledge helped us through, right? Right? Bu-fucking-hu. No, of course it did not.

Because now I sit here and what do I want most in the world? After that beautiful moment of speaking the truth and doing the right thing…I want to be Cina-stupid-rella. Here is how the story would go:

·         I hear a car fast approaching and coming to a screeching halt in front of my building.

·         Close-up on him, jumping out of the car, barely slamming the door shut, running to my house and ringing the doorbell like there is no tomorrow.

·         Then he runs up the stairs, me standing in the doorway.

·         I look surprised, only a bit distressed (to make it more realistic), but still dramatically beautiful. The raccoon eyes of smudged mascara have magically turned into luminous smoky eyes. Which always helps to look dramatically beautiful.

·         What does he want? Oh, of course he wants me and only me. Now and preferably forever. He has just realized what an idiot he has been all along.

·         (And then I will be the idiot, only we won’t call it that, because it’s in my head and therefore perfect.) I will sink into his arms, kiss him and forgive and forget.

·         Happily ever after can commence.

If the doorbell were to ring now we would make for a really tragic ending as I would have a heart attack. No such luck. Instead I get an SMS, which says: Sorry, talk again when you feel better about it.

Great. Life is just really great. But at least I can say I did the right thing tonight. Right?

A little update for all of you who care – I walked into the office this morning and my boss asked whether I had been naughty again (Meee? Naughty? Never!). Obviously I had been quite the opposite of naughty, but she said I had a twinkle in my eyes. This is what I’m talking about – instant gratification.

Dr. Seuss' wisdom.

Men are like cigarettes and breaking the bad habit can be impossibly hard. Once you think you have done it and quit, don’t be fooled by thinking you may just have a sneaky one for a special occasion slip a few weeks later. You will be right back in it head over heels.  I have realized that yesterday. I’m trying to quit and not the cigarettes. So there I was thinking I could pull a sneaky one and wham! Smacked over the head, I realized that for me the sneaky ‘once in a while and will do no harm’ occasion does not work. Unfortunately I am an all or nothing girl. I know that moderation is the key to everything, even though my Mum would not agree how I twist her principal here to make it suit my mood. It doesn’t matter though, because I’m just no good at it and that blows.

So now I am attempting the nothing and having realized that lots of smokes and wine only help so far, I am trying to go the get busy and organize route. Organizing the outside always organizes my inside. Even when I was a child the last resort to save a crappy day for me was to sort my Barbie clothes and accessories. It always worked like a charm.

Due to a sad lack of Barbies in my life I started here with new colours and layout. I wasn’t feeling the girly, balmy lavender anymore, but was craving something more electric and eclectic. For the time being at least. I am one of these people who frequently move their furniture around to get a new perspective on things without moving (well, I frequently do that too, who am I kidding). I decided I can do the same with my blog. There you have it. I was able to take my sunglasses off after a while, so no worries, your eyes will get used to it. I’m also trying to infiltrate some energy into myself and my writing which I am not feeling right now and thought some bright colour may help. Will see how it goes. For now I just wanted to share something I found in my little notebook, which I use for ideas and inspirations, yesterday. It makes me smile and it makes me feel like everything is going to be alright.

“We are all a little weird and life’s a little weird, and when we find someone whose weirdness is compatible with ours, we join up with them and fall in mutual weirdness and call it love.” – Dr. Seuss

First timer's curriculum.

I stumbled across a blog called My First Time. While the most recent post was about parents getting divorced and therefore a bit too depressing for a foggy Tuesday, it is still a great project and got me thinking. Thinking about my firsts. Not the too obvious ones like kisses, dates and loves, but some more and admittedly random ones, which are however memorable in my life.


Economics
My first time I bought pair of shoes which cost more than $100. A lot more actually. I saw them on a lady I worked for in New York and had to have them. I played a game of tug and war over my credit card with the sales assistant. He won and I asked: “What’s your return policy?” Apparently they do not appreciate this question at Barney’s. Unfortunately for my credit card it was a first, but not a last.


Arts & Culture
My first time I remembered a French phrase without seeing it written up on a blackboard. Fais de beaux rèves. It took only five nights. My Dad always taught me the best way to learn a language is to be in bed with a native speaker. Always listen to your father.


Communications
My first time I realized communication is vital in any relationship was in Malta. I was 13, he was 15. I spoke English and German, he spoke Maltese and Italian. A relationship can only go so far when you are forced to look into each other’s eyes all day without saying a piep. That may be for a girl at least. We like to talk.


Journalism
My first interview was with an actor who was the lead in my home town theatre. I had a major crush on him and decided interviewing him for our school paper was the perfect way to get close to him. Not sure what the catholic, all girls, nun school would have thought if they knew I was just using the school paper as an excuse to get to shag the local celebrity. Not that that ever happened, but a girl could dream.


Geography
My first time I was trying to drive from town to Claremont ended at the airport. Don’t ask. N2 and M3 turn offs are confusing to newbies. I ended up seeing the Springboks in their team bus though. That made for a reasonable excuse to any guy who didn’t know me better. “Yes, I looove the Springboks. In fact I drove all the way to the airport to wave them goodbye.”


Creative Writing
My first letter I wrote to my mother was written in pencil on my pink Hello Kitty note pad. She was visiting a friend for a weekend and I was devastated she was leaving me alone. I put on a brave face and wrote: “Dear Mummy, don’t be so sad that you are leaving, you will be back soon.” I put two of my favourite stickers on it, stuck it in a little ink cartridge box from my fountain pen and added two of my milk teeth. I think the teeth were quite a big deal - since I was giving them to her, I couldn’t give them to the tooth fairy ergo no present for me. Also my first time of true selflessness.


Anatomy
My first time I taught yoga went actually not so bad. Except my sweet Germanican accent managed to say ‘use your breasts*to massage your stomach’. Which would be quite an accomplishment if you think about it. If you want to have a good laugh in a yoga class, come to mine. I still say it at times.
*Breaths was actually what I was trying to say.


PE
My first time I bought a vibrator. My flatmate and I realized the only place where shops are open on a Sunday afternoon is on the Reeperbahn. In the attempt to be discreet the shop put our ‘products’ in an unlabeled black bag. We then realized that every shop on the Reeperbahn does the same. Open secret I call it. We realized that too late though and only when a bouncer in front of a strip club shouted: “Honey, did you get batteries as well?”


Gotta love firsts. And then luckily you live and hopefully learn.

I only speak the truth.

... says the magical sitar in the musical they put on in Moulin Rouge. One knows that didn’t go down very well. The sitar said quite a bit too much and one wishes it hadn’t. Mind you it all comes right in the end but not without major movie drama difficulties.

In real life it seems the same. Most of us are big advocates of the truth. Or so we think. As long as we like it. The truth that is. I think certain things, true as they may be, don’t need to be said. Some people may disagree. Take one of my lovely New York guy friends. A few conversations would go like this:

Friend: Your ass looks really big in these pants.

Me: Thanks. I actually didn’t ask for your opinion.

Friend: But I just wanted to tell you the truth. You should know.

Me: Why? It’s hurtful (and of course not true), so why would you tell me?

Friend: I thought you may want to know. I am your friend and should tell you the truth.

Here I add my Mum’s wisdom – if you are not asked and you don’t have something nice to say about a person, don’t say anything at all. My friend considers this a lie and thinks he is doing me a favour by being such an honest friend.

I don’t think this is necessarily a male - female issue. I think some people prefer to tell everything and anything and think that by not telling certain things, they are lying. Others think that withholding certain information to spare someone’s feelings (I would like to think everyone’s motives are that noble) is perfectly okay. I can usually more identify the latter. But then I realized something: I also sometimes don’t tell myself the whole truth to spare my own feelings. It’s a given that this might become a problem sooner or later...

I recently attended an amazing workshop with Ashtanga master Michael Gannon. On the first evening we did a chakra meditation. And while working through my agonizing back pain that occurred ten minutes into sitting still, I could still listen when he described what each chakra stands for. One stuck out for me – the throat chakra: Speak the truth. Not only to others but also to yourself. Wow, a thought which importance really hadn’t occurred to me since now. Speak the truth to yourself.

Tell you what – today I did just that. I spoke the truth. My truth. To myself and then to someone else. It sucked. It really, really sucked (because, you can guess what is coming, I didn’t like this response).  But as my friend Jackie put it so nicely the other day: “You can hide it, you can bury it, you can run from it, but at the end of the day Truth is all there is. Anything done to disguise it is a waste of creative energy. Know. Speak. Live.”

So now I do. Sticking to my guns. Speaking the truth. And crying a little bit over a very big glass of wine. Luckily I have a good friend to keep me company while doing all of that.

Basil in the moonlight.

Nothing warms my heart more than when a guy cooks for me. It doesn’t have to be grand, but just to watch someone pottering around in the kitchen making really anything for me (or even just trying)...I just find it absolutely endearing.

Unfortunately a lot of men don’t cook. Or can’t. Or won’t. Nevertheless it turns out though that I can still be endeared without a guy cooking. Last night the conversation went like this:

Me: Can you pick us some fresh basil for the pasta please?

J: Sure. Which one is the basil?

The choices on my balcony are basil or a huge monster plant of some cacti sort.

J: I wouldn’t want to pick mint instead of basil.

Me: Don’t worry, there is no mint here. There is only regular basil, red basil and this ugly cactus.

J: Okay, what am I picking exactly?

Me: The bigger leaves. The small ones must still grow.

J: Okay, how much do we need?

Me: A handful.

Then a thought occurred to both of us.

My hand (small), J's hand (big)

We settled on a medium sized hand.

I am back at the stove, stirring the pasta.

J: Ups. I think I picked one that is too small.

Me: That’s okay. You can’t glue it back on, may as well keep it.

J (showing me his hand): Is that enough?

Me: A bit more. You can never have enough basil.

At this point we engage in a small discussion that basil is great even in big quantities yet coriander use definitely has its limitations.

I drain the pasta. Whispers from the balcony.

J: Are you big enough to be picked? Mh. And you? You look good!

Know what I mean now? There is something very endearing about watching a guy on your balcony, picking basil in the moonlight and talking to it...No cooking necessary.

happy v day.

It appears to be that one has no choice, but somehow wish the entire world happy v day today. I am personally not a huge fan of the celebration, but if I am very honest it might just be because there is no one here to send me chocolates and roses. So my ill attempt to deal with it, is being sarcastic about everything pink or red or heartshaped and thinking I would ditch any man giving me a pink, heartprinted fleece blanket today (as men do according to Woolies). I know I know...as I said it's an ill attempt of conceiling the envy deep inside of me.

I am secretly quite happy that one friend had send me a happy v day email at 00h14 last night and another promised to have chocolate truffles shipped from his favourite confisserie shop in a small town in the alps. Not that I think these chocolates will ever make it here, but it's nice to dream...

So here you go - for all single and/or sarcastic non-valentine's followers, something to make you smile. I am proud to present Cupid!

Halloween a few years back in New York. Curling my hair like that took about two hours, making 15 gold and 15 lead arrows another two...but I think it was worth it - at least I always have a laugh when I look at myself in this picture!

a little piece of wisdom.

this blog is not about men. men are a somewhat important part of my life, but i really try my utter best to make not everything about them. but i just came back from a lovely dinner at pizza auntie, so i am having trouble writing about my love story with pasta here, because right now i think that pizza is the best freaking thing on earth.
therefore...here we go with drumrolls...a little piece of wisdom about men: do not ever under any circumstances feel the need to celebrate your new found liberty of installing wireless in your home, celebrate it by setting up skype and searching for your ex - THE one who got away - and then ask him 'how is life?'. you may not like the answer. one little bit. because he may actually answer. and the answer may just be 'it could not be better. married. children. farmhouse.'
as if you didn't know all along that marriage, children and farmhouses are the best.
what did we learn today? someone must finally invent this device that tests your alcohol level before texting, skyping, calling...anyone. please someone - i would pay a lot money for this invention. it may not save me from a hangover, but it would surely save me from the even worst feeling of waking up and going like 'ahh, grrrr, oh no, wait, did i really write/say this last night?'.
please someone, just do it. help!