on the art of writing and eating haribo smurfes.

my friend julia told me on skype the other day that i was very funny after i made some sort of clever remark and she burst out laughing. that was nice to hear. i trust her judgment above most; definitely more than my own and lately i have not been feeling very funny. i have not been feeling very ... anything at all really. most days i would prefer to stay in bed and once i am out of bed i would prefer to be back inside or at least have a blanket with me that i can pull over my head. not that there is a good reason for it, because everything is just freakin' fine.

the past month has been rough. while my dad is recovering nicely and i managed to get from feeling freaked out and completely overwhelmed to pretty normal, i now struggle to get from feeling okay to feeling excited. excited about what? well, to tell you the truth i am not picky at the moment, i would like to feel excited about anything really.

yesterday was the first day i was getting somewhat excited about writing again. i didn't exactly have a writer's block, but i was definitely unenthusiastic about writing the last few weeks. but now i had to get down and dirty as i had some assignments long overdue for the travelettes. i found my excitement while writing about the khmer rouge and the killing fields and while that is undoubtedly a bit weird to get excited about, i was happy to have the mojo back. and though it may sound even weirder, i think i wrote one of my best stories yet.

now i feel like all i want to do is write. funny stories, sad stories, fragmented words, coherent dreams. okay, well i don't think i ever had a coherent dream in my life, but you know what i mean. i write right now after too much rosé, i think about sentence structure in the shower, and i felt happiest today when i wrote a little blog post for my company in german. yes, me, happy to write in german! i know it is unheard of, but seeing my fingers fly over a keyboard is the only thing that has brought me some level of positive emotion lately.

i never really told anyone but i was supposed to do nanowrimo in november. that is basically an online program with an online community that anybody can sign up for who has the plan to write a book.

i hate to admit it, but yes, i am one of these bloggers - i want to write a book. there is a handful of people who read all my stories and who keep on telling me that i should write a book. complain to them, but for some silly reason i eventually started to believe it. yeah...i'm a sucker. the only thing that has kept me so far is my own lack of discipline and nothing else. so i thought nanowrimo was the perfect outline to help me get organized and commit to writing 50.000 words in november come rain or shine. well my november came with my dad almost dying and that made me less productive than sunshine and no wind on a saturday afternoon.

i already had had a post planned about my workstation at home. then i adapted and prepared a post showing you my newfound workstation which was a fancy desk at my radisson hotel room. but i realized that all i could manage to do was to eat wiener schnitzel from room service and haribo smurfes and of course wash both down with copious amounts of wine while watching gute zeiten, schlechte zeiten. all i wrote in two weeks was text messages to my sister, my brother, and my three best friends and sometimes even these were copied and pasted.
i wasn't able to do anything else and i felt bad for it. i felt worse for it, because i had signed up and tried and realized i couldn't cope. maybe some people can find an input, an inspiration in absolute misery. i think it would actually be quite great. but that wasn't me. my book wants to be funny and witty and clever. it will need the right kind of light inspiration. seeing as my fingers are flying right now, maybe it needs to be wine fueled, maybe it needs cape town sunshine, and wind that drives me a bit mad.
i am actually not sure yet. but i know it will come when the time is right. till then i will enjoy eating smurfes and just be happy that my dad and i both coped, even when there is no funny story to prove it.

just do it.

this is going to be a very somewhat honest post about me, my body, and my weight. if you are a guy, feel free to skip it. let's say it is more of a topic that i think girls can relate to. unless you are like the actor who plays finnick in the new hunger games movie, who apparently had major issues after he was cast and torn to pieces by the media and normal people like you and me for not being hot enough. in case you wonder, i think it is bullshit. he is as hot and ripped as it gets and runs around shirtless for a good part of the movie which makes it all the better. but that just shows that it doesn’t matter how hot you actually are, female or male, you can still have a warped body image. anyhow and either way, today is not an eating all the pasta kind of post and you have been warned. 

i was always quite okay with my body. i am blessed with my mother's curves on top and cursed with her curves on the bottom. i started to make peace with that ever since my first boyfriend wrote a song for me with a line that said she has the ass of a goddess and couldn't take his hands of my boobs. but it is an on-going process that peace making business, but by now i’m good with myself on most days.
even on the days when i can’t remember any those sweet song lyrics and am not too keen on my reflection in the mirror, i never care enough to go on a diet, i always care more for pasta. when i quit smoking a few years back however i was very concerned about gaining weight. eventually the concerns about the smoking exceeded and i quit. let's say i didn't gain enough wait that it jumps at you. or at least everybody was kind enough not to tell me should it have been the case.
but still my body has changed over the years. i am 34 now and i can tell. if you want to insist and add a comment about silly beauty ideals of thinness and stuff, go ahead, but this is not what i’m talking about. i am curvy, i have always been, i will always be, and that is great. however i have an ideal of my body. not an ideal of my 16 year old body, but of a body that is the best it can be right now.
i was close to that ideal when i was in vietnam. i ate only rice noodles and sweated a lot and looked lean and fit – at least to my eyes and that's what counts for me. i haven't been on a scale for years. i believe in how do my pants feel? rather than a number. just as age is just a number, weight has always been just a number for me too. when i came back i was so excited for the prospect of real pasta and wine though that i did not only indulge for a day or two but for a few weeks. then came my trip to germany and all bets were off.

i'm not making excuses and neither am i beating myself up. i'm just stating some facts.

yesterday i went to see a cardiologist. despite my yoga, i have been feeling very out of breath lately, and after my dad was presenting with some similar symptoms at the beginning of his illness, i thought i should check it out. filling out a form which asked for my height, i filled in my go to height as it says on my id and what i believe to be somewhat true. when it asked for my weight, i put down the number that i last saw on a scale when i weighed myself some odd years ago. as i still fit into clothes that are many seasons old, i was convinced the number couldn't be that far off and even if, what were the chances that i would be discovered?
i was discovered and promptly proven wrong 20 minutes later. on a positive note i actually am 1.74m and it wasn’t my wishful thinking. hurrah. on a very different note i weigh 10kgs more than i thought i do and i almost fainted when i looked at the scale. little did it help my mood that my heart and lungs are apparently quite beautiful – doctor's words, not mine – and very well-functioning.

10kgs.

and while she told me that my body weight and measurements are all fine and i am healthy, i was shocked. shocked because i don't see the body i want to see in the mirror anymore and now it has an official number to it. now weight has become a number, a number that makes an impact on me.

of course i write this while i am drinking a glass or two of wine, to dilute the shock and to salute my healthy heart. the irony is not lost on me, but i know something has to change. i want something to change. i still don't believe in dieting, but i believe in a proper diet. the good thing is that i am not a snacker and i don't have a sweet tooth, but my weakness is wheat and wine. i know what i have to do to change: more greens. less wheat. even less sugars. smaller portions. less alcohol. more yoga. it’s actually quite simple.

don’t worry this is not going to become a fitness and nutrition blog, i won’t show you before and after pictures, or bore you with talk about kilograms ever again. i just had to share tody. now i will just be very Nike, shut up, and just do it.

part III - of being home and coming home and orange chocolate sticks.

i take a breath. i take a sip of overpriced minibar wine. i could cry a little. instead i look out of the window and the view over the now night-lit city is magnificent again. it wasn't earlier today, everything was grey. german style. now it's darkness and twinkly lights.

the massage i had the day before was pure luxury according to the price, but it was there to help me relax. not that it really did help, but it felt nice. now i need another one to get rid of the pain in my left shoulder, the familiar pain that seems to be my achilles heel when i carry too much luggage. or when stuff happens. stuff like my dad almost dying.

there is a dummies guide to everything these days, except for this. a dummies guide on how to take care of a dad if he had major surgery and almost died. there is nothing that could have ever prepared me for it, with or without a book. i don't know what to do, how to hide my helplessness, and how to sleep when i come back to room alone in a foreign city that is grey.

but somehow i have managed. there is not guide book so there is no right or wrong. i want to buy him food, i think hospital food is horrible, and my dad likes good food. i go to the store and then i feel overwhelmed. what do you buy for someone who just had a huge surgery? i end up buying orange sticks covered in dark chocolate amongst other bananas and pudding. i know my dad likes them, so his first meal out of surgery is vanilla semolina pudding and two orange sticks covered in dark chocolate.

i tell him he looks like an outlaw and file his nails and put lotion on his face.

i buy him nice, comfy headphones so he can listen to his beloved operas.

i tell him stuff and am happy when i can make him laugh. the best words he says to me start with “when i get out of here...”

i have only my intuition as to what to do and say. somehow it seems to be the right thing.

every day when i return from my morning visit i go to a pasta bar where i eat a bowl and drink some white wine for lunch. too much white wine to be honest. i do nothing, but i am exhausted. i start to miss my life. not so much cape town itself, but something that is mine. it seems to be suspended for the time being. it's okay, i am not complaining, as long as my dad is getting better.

the view from my hotel room is even more spectacular at night. the opera is drenched in soft pink light. it was built under stalin; apparently he got something right. i can't get myself to go see something, it seems too much effort and the only nice piece of clothing i have with me is my sherlock holmes coat. at h&m i have found some very cheap, nice bikini bottoms in black but nothing that screams opera.

so i stay in and order room service. the schnitzel is phenomenal and somehow i manage to make peace with the german television. i sleep badly though and miss my bed.

what happened to the “date” with the doctor you ask? well, let me tell you that grey's anatomy is a big, fat lie. well, the only part that is true is that funny machine you use to blow balls into the air to train your lungs, but the rest is bullshit. all that flirting, the dating, the shagging in the on-call room, that getting married, that cheating on each other, phew, it is all make belief! because believe me when i tell you: a real surgeon does not have time for that. a real surgeon will manage to have a schnitzel with you at 10pm after a long day of work and then he will need an early night to be fit for surgery in the morning. i count myself lucky that the schnitzel was a really good one and that i got a ride home in a fancy surgeon's car.

but honestly i don't even care. all i care that i left a father today who was smiling, eating, and breathing on his own. the only sign that reminds of his ordeal is a brave heart scar, which i tell him daily is pretty cool – chicks dig scars!

in the air.

mcdreamy has literally given me the direct line to him in theatre. and i use it. and while the announcements at the airport are loud, the good news is louder: my dad's op went as well as it could have.

i make a frantic round of phone calls before i frantically make my way to the gate because they mention final boarding. when i get there they have only just started boarding, of course.

i would consider myself a somewhat seasoned traveler and thus flyer, but sometimes i can be a complete nightmare and then i feel really sorry for the people who have to sit next to me. i have the window seat and the guy next to me has the aisle with extra leg room, which i know he had to pay extra for. but he needs it, because he could be a good runner up for tallest man on earth. the middle seat is empty which by definition makes it mine.

i have to go use the bathroom as soon as i finish shrieking into the phone to tell thekla the good news. after all i managed to get a second g&t in, which i already had to down because of the false last boarding call announcement, so there was definitely no time for the loo. i am right behind business class so that's where i sneak in to. mmh, air france offers clarins toner and cotton pads, nice. i later discover that the mere mortals in economy only get hand wash. but albeit the closed curtain there is no purser guarding the precious business class toilet like it they usually do – you know like the fire spitting dogs that guard the gate to hell or heaven or something?

i sit down and start reading the paper i grabbed, carefully folding it over my two seats without annoying my neighbour. i have read that spread out newspapers from their neighbours is a pet-peeve of many flyers.

i start to push the buttons on my screen, but no movie choices appear. neighbour friendly advises me that it will only start once we are in the air. i am doubtful, has it always been like this?

have i mentioned that nivea after sun lotion smells like very persistent men's cologne? guess what i am wearing. considering he is a guy and there is the middle seat it shouldn't disturb neighbour, but it disturbs me and i wish i would have made time for a shower before i left.

food arrives and with it i spot the word heidsieck. yeah, i'm in france already and i'm drinking champagne! it's not very cold. and while a plastic cup doesn't lack a certain romantic when used on a beach picnic with someone you are crazy about, here it is just a bit sad.

i start to watch a sandra bullock movie which is funny enough and together with my mood that has gone from zero to forty-three in one phone call i frequently laugh out very loud. i don't think i piggy snorted, but i am definitely loud-ish.

my red wine arrives and while i grab for my pie i spill half of my glass. which is a shame because it would have been last as i later find out (really air france, we are basically in france and you are rationing the red wine??) and well, now there is read wine on my tray, my blanket, my backpack, and the front pocket. neighbour kindly organizes a whole stack of napkins and i dab away. i know that at this point he must think i'm a complete nightmare so i make a joke about how it now at least smells nice. which is clearly a joke because as much as i love the smell of wine in a glass, spilled all over you in a confined space...no never. he wrinkles his nose. drab. maybe the coke he was drinking should have been an indicator that i manage to spill wine next to the one and only freshly baked aa on the whole flight. i dare not inquire further and try to look nonchalant.

i sneak back into the fancy loo to clean my face with clarins. i think they refilled the bottle with something cheap and cheerful. if not, clarins stinks. back at my seat i realize that i should have taken my bra off, i forgot when packing and dressing for the trip that i never wear a bra on air. it's dark enough by now so i quickly my it disappear at my seat and feel like david copperfield.

it is sleeping time. with the my middle seat came my extra blanket. which is a good thing because they are extremely thin, made for african summer temperatures that are unfortunately not be found all these feet above ground. my new memory foam neck pillow is awesome though it is a bit boa constrictor like around my neck, which makes it really good for neck support, but slightly claustrophobic.

i'm quite good at sleeping spread over two seats. since neighbour has been so nice i try to keep to my assigned two seats and not spill over too much. i even manage to emerge myself completely at some point, but that position is a) not very flattering because my bum is hanging suspended in mid-air and b) almost impossible to get out of without having a lot more wiggle room at my disposal.

his blanket is still on the middle seat, wrapped in plastic and very slippery. i wish i could kick it off the seat, but really don't want to be any more impolite.

after a few hours, could have been one, could have been five, i feel the need to write things down. neighbour is still up watching gatsby. i am terrified to open my airbook, because last time i had the sudden urge to write something down on a plane, i discovered it broken. airbook that is, not plane, but still.

while i write neighbour has decided it's sleeping time and has reclaimed his half of the middle seat. for a moment i feel a bit indignant. and then i feel bad, because he has put up with a lot by putting up with me tonight. i decide that he would actually deserve the entire middle seat for a little while.  

why i do yoga. the truth.

i never walk out of a yoga classes feeling enlightened. i’m hoping for it to happen any day now, but so far it hasn’t. however i always feel a bit better than before. usually not a lot, but always a tiny bit. and that keeps me coming back. how many activities are there that make you truly, always feel a bit better? drinking? hangover! eating? feeling too full! run at the promenade? cape town wind! sex? no orgasm! a lot can get in the way of your activity of choice and feeling better afterwards. yoga to me is fool proof in that regard. but still, i am far from an angel. even after a blissful class, me not yelling at some idiot in a big white car on my way home is nothing short of a miracle. one time i was in fact so spaced out after a double class that i drove with my lights off, not noticing, but still managed to viciously swear at the person who pulled out of a parking in front of me, without indicating, because, well, as i eventually realized, they didn't see me.

and those are the better days. on day like today when i am overall irritated it starts in class. sometimes i scold myself for thinking mean thoughts about my fellow yogis. sometimes i am in such bad mood that i high five myself. today i used these thoughts to keep myself entertained before i could do so with a bottle of red.

i still think it would be great if my studio offered wine, so i don't have to scramble and try to get to spar before class. also it would spare me the choice of hiding my bottle because it makes me feel like a bad yogi or leaving it in my car, making me anxious someone will steal it while i pretend i'm a good yogi. so making wine acceptable and available at yoga studios would just really help this dilemma.

so i arrive, wine hidden in bag, and wait for the studio to open up. like the lemmings we follow one person upstairs with no better argument than he went up and so we thought it okay to follow. well, once upstairs we learn it wasn't okay. apparently the studio wasn't ready for our un-sweaty bodies yet and also, can we please be quiet. we are all inside already and on our mats, so that is crying over spilled soy milk, but i can get on board with the being quiet part.

of course the two girls who put their mats down next to me and haven't been here when the be quiet! speech was given. and so they talk and chat and annoy me greatly. but of course i, hating confrontation as per usual and even if it is just in form of a shhhhh, don’t say anything. i just continue to be annoyed. after maybe five minutes i am ready to get over myself and say something, but then i talk myself out of it, because saying something that long after they started talking, is just silly. i don’t want them to think me a cow. why i care what they think of me i don’t know. i decide to breathe and close off my ears from the inside.

now i’m fine. that is till i look at the girl's toes and realize she has one really crusty toe. she must have stabbed it. and while i know that this is not her fault, it still grosses me out. also, her nail polish is turquoise and that is not very nice in combination with the crusty toe. i am going into downward facing dog and realize that my toe nail polish is peeling off badly. for a moment i can relate to her and her crusty toe, but then i compare colors and decide that though mine is peeling, the color is just spot on whereas the prettiest part of her crusty toe is still turquois.

a girl walks in with black eyeliner and mascara. may i remind you that we are doing hot yoga? the last time someone walked into my class with black eyeliner and mascara, i gave her my eye makeup remover before she could put her mat down. nobody likes a raccoon.

next is a girl with a black leather jacket over her yoga clothes. now i’m just confused.

that is, until a girl with a white tank top and no bra walks in. i think her boobs, while perky, are slightly too big for no bra, but that may be up for discussion. however white top no bra in a hot yoga class seems to be asking for it. i remind myself that i seem to be the only really freakish girl who sweats like the sweaty guys, so maybe i need to back off white tank top no bra girl. maybe she really is one of these people who just glow after a hot yoga class.

now i’m feeling envious. it seems so unfair that some people glow while i drip.

luckily there is no model in the room today, checking her cell phone before/during class for that very important casting call back.

some guys really should wax their back. then again, i should have shaved my legs or worn leggings.

a guy walks in and he looks like prince charming. another guy follows and he looks like a hot brazilian. all is good with the world again.

the girl's toe seems to becoming closer to my mat while the teacher has us in plank. eeek. i usually like this teacher. today i think i must have been sleep-yoga-ing the last few classes, because she is no fun whatsoever. more plank and now we are supposed to lift a leg too. i don’t know why she is being so mean. then she says yoga teaches us to let go of our shit. and yes, she is using the word shit. i like her again and she is right.

when i leave, i smile. hot brazilian guy is nowhere to be seen and i'm dripping, but still...life, again, is just a little bit better after yoga.  

20 random things i recently learned about me and cambodia.

people travel for two reasons: to learn about the world and to learn about themselves. usually they end up getting a combination of both. i'm on a bus to ho chi minh, leaving beautiful cambodia. being stuck on a bus with chinese music playing for 7 hours gives you plenty of time for reflection. here is what i have learned about the world and myself in the past weeks:

1. pringles are a completely acceptable breakfast choice.

2. i'm more easy going than i thought i was. i know when to take my time out, but usually and when not hungry i'm quite happy to go with the flow. i have met some real princesses on this trip and i wasn't one of them *pads own shoulder*.

3. the content of my backpack seems to be growing though i haven't bought anything. i am wondering if there is a traveller's secret to this that i don't know about?

(the above was a lie. i have bought three kromas for myself and one silkscarf in pink for my mother and a whole bag of spices that i have no idea if i'm allowed to import them.)

4. monks go commando i was told my multiple sources. not sure why i needed to know that, but our tour guides apparently deemed it important so i'm passing on the wisdom to you.

5. the one luxury i don't want to live without is face spritz. i lost my rosewater in bangkok and have been unhappy ever since about it. yesterday i shrieked in delight when i found evian spray at a pharmacy and promptly spent a little fortune on it to make it mine.

6. things don't make people happy. doing things that you love makes people happy. smiling makes people happy. i was told planting rice with your family during the rainy season makes people happy.

7. if you have ever spend a night in the cambodian countryside you will learn that crickets can be bloody loud and not very romantic and you will not go out and buy yourself a sound machine with jungle noises because you miss that sound so much. at least i won't.

8. sometimes doing really touristy things can be loads of fun. like doing a group cyclo race in really hectic traffic. especially when the locals around you don't mind.

9. traffic in cambodia is manic. i didn't see a single accident and still don't know how that is even possible. it seems to be an intricate system of organized chaos an outsider cannot understand.

10. i can live without wine. well, spider wine doesn't count and there is always beer, but still...who would have guessed?

11. i'm completely mesmerized by rice paddies and the harvesting of them.

12. kids are kids anywhere in the world: some are cheeky, some are shy, there is always a leader, one with pigtails, a big sister bossing a little brother. i like that certain dynamics are the same wherever you go. same goes for men and watching sports.

13. i need to spend more time by the beach. i become a different person when there is sun and salt on my skin (and yes, minus the sunburn obviously!).

14. i still need to find the balance between when to take pictures and when to put my camera down and just absorb. i think i miss out experiencing when i see through a lens too much.

15. i'm a hair tier upper. always. sorry. even with my new short hair the tropical whether just calls for it.

16. i am really really afraid of snakes. i won't eat one (and mind you i have eaten a spider leg) and when we were on the tonle sap lake and a boy in a small boat with a snake around his neck came close to ours i almost jumped into the water.

17. travelling puts me in a bubble. while that can be a great thing of living in the moment at times, i also need this trip to spend some time thinking about where i'm going and what i want out of my life. i haven't done that at all. then again, i tend to overthink everything so maybe it's a good thing to just be for a bit.

18. food! i get ridiculously excited by the local menus. i usually want to order everything. the best part about any town for me are the food markets and thai basil is the bestest of all herbs. 

19. i love lotus flowers. i almost bought some to put in my hotel room, but then sanity prevailed. lotus flowers don't like 7 hour bus rides very much.

20. i do like going away and coming home equally.  

stuff i like in winter.

i'm giving this thing of a regular “feature” another shot. i add the quotation marks because feature sounds a bit too grand for what i have in mind. With the quotation marks you know that i am only somewhat serious or at least pretend not to be.

back when i started blogging i took lots of pictures at least for my standards. whether people enjoyed them or not, i just enjoyed to post stuff. stuff i liked. judging by the comments people seem to enjoy my stories more and that's great. but the other day i was trying to find a category for my blog. But I couldn't as i couldn't find a random, somewhat funny blog with stories about wine, pasta, yoga and failed dates category. nothing came even close. thekla actually had to tell me that my blog would technically fall under the category of lifestyle blog. again lifestyle blog sounds very grand i think. i am much more happy with the random, somewhat funny blog with stories about wine, pasta, yoga and failed dates description. but then i figured, why not? if you can make the shoe somehow fit, just squeeze into it. i have a life, it has a certain style and unless we are talking about men, my taste in most other things is pretty good. so with that and the arrival of my new camera i am taking the liberty of showing things about life again. a new “feature” if you will and i shall just call it: stuff i like.

the first stuff comes with a bit of a confession. two weeks ago i was having a nasty girly moment about an ex's new girlfriend and how she announced on facebook that she was going on a non-carb diet. of course i was gleeful that she a) deemed it necessary to go on a diet and b) she wasn't going to be very happy for a while, because we all know that non-carb diets are a bitch and c) really? You tell the world on facebook? but it must have triggered something because i decided with my impending holiday to have a little self-restraint myself. now i am doing two weeks without wine and pasta, which - feel free to laugh at me – means i am probably more miserable right now than she is, because we know I really don't do well without wine and pasta.

i hope you don't feel the need to give me any dietary advice now. i am not eating fried bacon every morning and i do not expect to look like gisele afterwards. I am not having two of my favorite food groups (pasta and wine are food groups of course) for two weeks just to prove I can. And to eat make room for pad thai. call it half-a-lent in july for atheists.

i am usually not a big snacker or one with a sweet tooth but of course with all other pleasures denied i need something. that something i found in form of yoghurt covered raisins at wellness warehouse. if it comes from wellness warehouse it must be healthy, right, and so i have been eating a few more than a few every day. i wanted to get new ones today to take a picture and to my utter delight i found yoghurt covered peanuts which i bought instead. peanuts, people! i thought they wouldn't last through their picture taking session but to my surprise i like the raisins much more. obviously not enough to not eat the peanuts.

the measuring cup is from o.live, a shop i love with all my heart and my credit card loathes. my friend kate did laugh at me when i showed her, but then again she is a real scientist and couldn't believe why anyone would spend money on these things and put them in their flat as deco.

have i written a post about coconut water? i believe i have. i hate the fact that you can't recycle the little bottles (I hope coco life can take a hint) so i only get it once in while for a special occasion. like today when i can't have wine.

i love how it smells when you walk into enmasse and they have put that smell in a bottle. i have never deemed something like linen spray a good investment before, but i love that stuff on my pillows. i really wish they would make it into a proper fragrance (or can i just use linen spray on myself?).

live as if this is all there is. i guess you could put a tea light in, but i bought it for no other reason as to remind me daily of what it says.  

p.s. i will take the some pictures of stuff outside, i promise, but give me some time. just like any mother of a newborn i am still too terrified to take her, yes, that's the camera, outside. 

about me.

i recently made the decision that i want to upgrade this blog on a whole lot of levels. but as i mentioned in my last post i am a lazy sock so despite me having a lot of time right now (see, i already did learn to admit – i am not too busy!), not a whole lot has happened yet. add to my general state of mind that i have to pack for a camping trip in desolate wilderness beautiful platbos forest and you will see me in a slight state of panic not conducive to writing or making blog upgrades.

so i decided to do a go-to post for lazy socks bloggers and make a list with random things about myself. under the pretence that it will eventually move into the about me section,  it will thus qualify as part of the upgrading and not be a complete and utter sign of my laziness.

x things, i didn't count how many, about me:

apparently i'm a funny and not only by german standards.

i speak english with an american/german/south african accent. my uncle still calls it my bloody yankee accent but he also calls my motorcycle boots cowboy boots so his americanisms are clearly a bit off.

i like to travel and to come home equally much.

compared to mine, modern family is quite old school, most days i'm okay with that. i have A LOT of cousins and sometimes i number them for easy reference but not necessarily in the order or importance.

i like to drink wine and do yoga equally and together on special occasion. therefore i claim the title queen of wine.

i teach bikram and find that any other forms of yoga are stupid just not for me.

my parents made me take a typing class after school. that was the single most useful thing i ever learned though i hated it at the time and they had to bribe me with mc donald’s lunches.

giraffes are my favourite animals so i tend not to post very many cat pictures. if that is what you came for, sorry.

i have very messy hair. i use de-volumizer and to the demise of most tie my hair up all the time because i end up looking like a baby bear if í don’t.

i was a complete failure in physics. my teacher said i owed him a six-pack for enduring me in his class for a whole semester. i told him this logic could work either way. we called it even and nobody got beer.

i do kiss and tell sometimes. i kiss well and tell good stories too, so just consider yourself flattered if i involve you in either.

as my mind is busy packing for said camping trip i may or may not have forgotten important details about myself. so if you detect something that I missed and you need to know – just ask away, I will answer almost anything. 

The honesty in wine.

You inspire me to write a very honest post how everything is very bleh this week and how only wine can make it better. This is what I tweeted to fellow blogger Keri yesterday. She recently wrote an amazing post about what happened to blogs being more about personal experiences than about brand marketing. I couldn’t agree more with her. As much as I sometimes envy those who get invited to shiny PR events and have more ad banners than text on their blogs, this post confirmed for me that becoming one of them really shouldn’t be a priority. Writing should be. Telling you stuff. The good, the bad, and the embarrassing to make you cringe on my behalf and have a laugh.

But after writing the tweet I reconsidered, because in the end this is not a diary and I don’t want it to become a place where I offload ALL my emotional trash. I told Keri I would leave it with a tweet, but she insisted. And I reconsidered again. After all I cannot complain about bloggers not being more personal and not follow suit. So here you go… Everything is very bleh this week and only wine can make it better.  It seems that at certain times in my life the stars come together, magically align, and… fuck it all up. This is one of those times and it is not just me. I know more couples fighting, separating or discovering that yet another soul mate was just another bed mate than happy ones. And not that it makes me any happier if my friends are unhappy, but misery still loves company. Drinking too much wine together with a friend in order to forget is a lot less pathetic than doing it alone in front of Grey’s Anatomy (yup, that would be me!). The universe seems to agree with this theory and thus throws us all together in one miserable bunch at times. And just like living in a house with girlfriends, all getting PMS at once, we forget what is good for us and feed each other alcohol, chocolate, and good reasons why the calories in this case don’t count. They all make for better companions than big girl pants when times are tough.

Sigh.

I give it the weekend. Then I will go the other route of yoga and green juice. Yes, I shall be that girl. The party pooper of the pity party. The one who runs around in the forest instead the liquor shop. In case you will hate me then, my fellow miserable friends, rest assured I will still make my credit card cry. After all shoe shopping is a healthy vice compared. So just know – we will always have Prada.  

Why big girls don't cry and wearing pants is optional.

Last week was a tricky one so I decided to rather be quiet than mope. First of all there was this guy. This guy I met a couple of months ago and we started hanging out. And after a while of hanging out there was a drunk text message from me that suggested we should do more hanging out than just hang out. And so we did. It was clear from the beginning that it was going to be nothing more than that as he was going back to Germany eventually and so really what’s the point? But it was also nothing less and hang out we did. And stargazed. And drank wine. And kissed. And all was so easy breezy and therefore quite wonderful. You know how these things go… and then he left on Tuesday. Which was to be expected and fine, but definitely didn't make for a great start into the week.

In addition I had to have a little surgery on Thursday. Nothing major and again it was to be expected, but also didn't make for a great start into the long weekend. Add on top of this a whole bunch hormones, also to be expected, but my week was basically a goner.

So I took the week as a lesson in learning to go with the flow and the art of letting go. The operative word being learning as we all know how so not good I am at going with the flow and letting go. Me, the masterplanner of all things and life in general. 

 

Though I would like to pretend that it was the picture above and its Thai words of wisdom, which taught me the lesson and got me through, we all know that it is wasn't. As per usual it was only with the help of too much wine, pasta, Grey’s Anatomy re-runs and not judging myself whatsoever, that I managed last week. This morning when I woke up with an emotional hangover and realized it was time to get out of my haven, put on my big girl pants, and get on with my life. I should add here that putting on big girl pants is a phrase I loathe. Mainly because it tend to mix it up with putting on fat girl pants. You know, the pants you put on when you know you will be bloated and still overeating on chocolate. You know you need them, but they are still the most unsexiest, un-ego-boosting of all pants. So in my mind this phrase just creates a very confusing paradox. But basically I had to get up this morning, brave the rain and the confusion and put them on.

When I got to the actual putting-on-pants part, the ones I wanted to wear had shrunk in the washer. And they still fit. True story! Despite it being the day after Easter weekend and a week of major hormonal rage. Has that ever happened outside a fairy tale ever? Nope. Thank you, Monday Tuesday Gods!

This already helped a bit, though I still really didn't want to leave the house. I rather wanted to stay in and eat more chocolates and see how long it would take for my shrunken pants to fit no more. However it seemed the universe was really intended on getting me out of the house and thus it made me grab my Bwanwar fragrance which I hadn't even looked at in months. It’s a perfume I bought a few years back in the Seychelles from a tiny company called Kreol Fleurage and it wait for it! reminds me of my mother. You would think that is a bad thing…or weird at least…that I want to smell like my mother, right? It is not. This scent is my personal equivalent of wearing big girl pants and one that doesn't confuse me. It makes me feel comforted and grown up in a good sort of way. And as it is it seems to find me whenever I need a little something to get me out of the door and into the big girl world.

So now I am curious…is it just me or do you also have a preferred version of wearing big girl pants? What gets you out of the door when all you want to do is clutch the frame and yell I don’t want to go, I don’t want to go! ? And most of all I would like to know – what do guys put on when they need to wear some big girl pants?

P.S. S**t - I found the picture on a travel blog, I really liked and didn't note which one. I did not mean to steal and not credit - promise. If you know it or it's yours, please get in touch so I can credit.

Last year's chronicles.

I wrote a wedding guest post yesterday for Indieberries. Well, it was supposed to be a wedding post, but as it already happened once before I ended up talking about vampires. Which was probably just as well, because who are we kidding?? I know nothing about weddings. Though no expert either, vampires just seemed a safer choice of topic and I do know my Eric from my Edward (thanks, nieces!).

So either way it seemed that some people liked my story and one commentator was looking forward to reading more vampire stories. Which I hate to disappoint. Then again I think I have written all about them that I can, because – you may need to cover your eyes, eager vampire stories fan – since an overexposure to pouting Stefan, I am actually slightly over vampires. Dig here and here and here if you want to know my former insights on the eternal matter.

Today however I still have some thoughts about my birthday and my previous year to share. I guess most people start reminiscing around their birthdays in one way or another. Some before, some after – once the pressure is off you and realize it is not much different to be 28 34 than it was to be 27 33.  I was reading some old posts again and remembered that though my birthday itself was properly celebrated last year, I was not in a good space. I was in a relationship that was completely wrong and if I care to admit it made me somehow miserable. For an odd reason or another I accepted this misery as part of an adult relationship. As much as I tried to tell myself they could, but pink bubbly and filet in cappuccino truffle sauce (a phrase I never use is in order: OMG!) at the Pot Luck Club couldn't make up for the fact that we were arguing all throughout my birthday dinner.  Things ended shortly after, but I still felt off. A layer too little…out of my skin… uncomfortable in my own skin…and all of them at once.

In June I had my long booked appointment with Rod Suskin. The last time I had spent money on revealing the future and explaining the past I was in a dark square off Bourbon Street in New Orleans. Equally drunk on Bloody Marys and spooky vampire stories (see, dear vampire stories fan, I can always sneak one in for you!) it made complete sense to pay an old witch to tell me about burning towers, the sun, the moon, and the knight in shining armour following them. The next morning I washed the prophecies and the hangover down with two aspirin and forgot all about it. The only reason why I would spend money on a session with Rod as expensive as pink bubbly and filets in cappuccino truffle sauce for a party of twenty was the combined effort of my aunt and uncle. Two people who I trust completely, who cannot be more different, but who were both utterly convinced by his skills. So was I after the session. I still don’t know if I believe in astrology, but I believed him when I told me that I was okay the way I am and that my life choices are on the right track. He told me to stop worrying. He told me that everything was going to be fine. Wouldn't you rather believe someone who tells you that you can have everything you ever wanted and maybe make it a self-fulfilling prophecy than a silly, little voice that advises to be sensible and that you can’t always get what you want? Maybe I was naïve, but I thought I should at least try.

So I tried and before you hold your breath, no, my life did not just become magically better overnight. I still had a difficult year 2012, where things just felt harder all the time than I thought they should feel. The year culminated in a trip back home, which turned out less than exciting and a New Year’s party with an about to be divorced couple. When the first day of the new year dawned I was not only hangover, but had no voice to yell at them to shut up and stop arguing. I was convinced this year was going to be equally bad as the last with such a way to start it. It wasn't.

Somehow, something in me had shifted after this trip and I found a non-New Year’s New Year’s resolution when I came back to Cape Town. I think without knowing the words, I took Rumi to heart when he wrote: Yesterday I was clever, so I wanted to change the world. Today I am wise, so I am changing myself.

Mind you, most of the days I still fail miserably at changing into the person I ultimately like to be. I worry and the worry makes me bitchy and confused and indecisive. Some days however I don’t fail quite as much and just with these few days and the good intention, life has become somehow easy. Or at least a little less hard. I might not be a glass if half full kind of person yet, but at least I have learned that even half a glass of wine is better than no wine at all and that’s good enough reason to keep trying.