Bookish revelations.

I have been lazy and glued to my DVD player instead of writing. I had an Easter story all planned and half written, but since it is already too late now I will just publish it in a few days. Maybe.

Today in preparation for my op on Thursday and to celebrate payday I went to my favorite bookstore. I could not bare the idea of being at hospital alone with Murakami who I have been fighting with for over a month now.

You may not know this about me, but I love reading. No big deal, because apparently everybody in this blogging world loves reading and can’t wait to finish their first novel overlooking some hills in Tuscany. I don’t think I’m one of them. I haven’t read a lot of classics or literary gems and most of the ones I did read, I didn’t like. I bought The Great Gatsby today, because I read that they are doing another movie on it. I was surprised by how small it was. For some reason I pictured an 800 pager. There my knowledge about the classics in a nutshell.

My taste in books might be considered common. I do read girly books and I own all of Harry Potter and I thought that Orhan Pamuk is not a nice read. Believe me I have tried. No, I’m not one of them and I don’t want to publish a book, I just want to read and bookstores are my happy place. Other girls buy shoes or chocolate when unhappy or in need of cheering up, I buy books. Nothing gives me more of a thrill than browsing, reading the first pages, discovering that a previously liked author has written another book.

The thing I always hated most when I moved and had to leave things behind was leaving books behind. I have also made a lot of movers very unhappy as I still haven’t learned to follow my mother’s advise to not pack the book boxes to the brim.

To sum it up and because I do like the lists and this was supposed to be a quick, before-bedtime-reading-post:

1. I sometimes do not buy books if they don’t have enough pages. I hate the idea of liking it and then there is just not enough of it.
2. I have read some of my favorite novels about 15 times.
3. I gained more historic knowledge about the War of the Roses through novels than through school.
4. I made my pregnant friend run all over New York to find an out of print copy of Margaret Mead’s Blackberry Winter for me.
5. I did at times choose reading over sex. Still do.
6. I dream of being locked up in a bookstore overnight.
7. The only public place I would fancy sex in is in a beautiful, old library against one of those sliding ladders.
8. I had an embossing stamp with my name made to stamp my books, only to realize that it tears the pages.
9. I will never own a Kindle, because I like to put bends in the corner of the page when I read something I really like.
10.  I get scared thinking about the fact that even if I tried, I could never read every book ever written before I die. 

Now go, turn your computer off and read a book. For me. And for you.

Pretty useless.

Today is a pretty useless day. As in pretty, but useless. It started when I woke up with delight and the after-glow of a really good night sleep as I had taken out my down duvet yesterday, crawled under it and then did not move for 8 hours.

It continued with a class I took, which was full of laughter, even giggle and literally enough steam to make the phrase ‘look into your own eyes in the mirror’ sound downright silly. There was just no way to see…

After my own practice I attempted to make Caesar Salad, which I had been craving. With only one burnt batch of croutons I managed to make a salad that made me want to cry with joy. The last time I ate a Caesar Salad that yummy was in a restaurant in Hamburg about 10 years ago. They have been closed for ages and I still miss their salad dearly whenever I’m in town. The fact that I am usually completely useless at making dressings, made the one I managed and the overall experience even more special.

The useless part is kicking in now in form of a Grey’s Anatomy marathon. I won’t even try to defend myself. It is a holiday so I can do whatever I want. Also in light of my knee surgery next week, I find watching it quite soothing for some very odd reason.

Before I sat myself on the couch and refused to move for the next few hours I wanted to use the beautiful midday light in my flat for some picture taking. I decided to take pictures of things that are exactly like today: pretty and useless. They are the kind of things that either have crossed oceans with me already or will if I ever leave. They don’t really serve any good purpose, but they are pretty and make me happy and smile whenever I look at them.


Blobs.

 

I don’t even know how to call them. They are little metal and enamel blobs. Left over practice runs from my sister-in-law’s jewelry collection. They are the epiphany of pretty and useless in my home. I keep them in a little box and just take them out once in a while to look at and be happy to have them.

Zoo.

I took those two from a hotel launch I was invited to years ago. My little nephew has similar ones, only in color for playing zoo. I secretly wish I could get more and have a whole zoo too.

Shots.

My non-shot shot glasses. I bought them at my favorite store Wink. I go in there and buy something every time I get my hair cut as they are right next door. These are original retro glasses and completely obsolete - too big for shots, too small for water or wine, but oh so pretty!

Strings.

Pucci fabric strings. Again a left over from my sister-in-law. They have found a purpose by roping off my spiral staircase. In case I was to fall though, I am sure they would prove pretty useless.

And now back to the marathon and to eating the most incredible Valrhona chocolate Easter eggs from Cafe Milano. I may just have to leave my house later for a refill...

Naked naked naked.

Just testing a theory here...

Today is one of those perfect stay in bed days. I will attend to this project as soon as I get home after work. Including meatball spaghetti a la Jamie or chicken burger a la I’m no Jamie. No, nobody gets to vote on this, it will be decided by me probably only when at Woolies and to be fair I have already made up my mind to 99%. So unless something earth shattering changes, it’s settled. Perfect plan. Just a couple more hours till I can execute it.

In the meanwhile I should happily report defeat. I can no longer call my own pizza the best in Cape Town as I attended the Twitter re-opening of Massimo’s yesterday. Thekla in her semi-official function as food blogger and me, well, as her wingwoman and to stuff my face with as much pizza as I could. In we walked – You remember how back in the day at the school cafeteria each group had their table? The band members, the cheerleaders, the literary circle, etc. and then there was always one table with the left over kids who didn’t quite fit anywhere. That was us last night.  

After the initial envious glances through the room and over to the cool kids’ tables where we didn’t belong and weren’t allowed to sit, we made the best of it and ended up having more fun than the too-cool-for-schools across from us. Of course that wasn’t why we came; it was all for the sake of pizza.  I actually would have been happy to just eat the Focaccia with gorgonzola, cream cheese and rosemary, which we got served first, for the rest of the evening. But thanks to the ever faithful IT guy who kept on refilling our plates when we left for smokes and Massimo’s magic kitchen elves we got to eat about 10 different pizzas and salads instead. All I will say about the food is that if Mowgli still prefers leaves to the pizza there then he can’t be helped. I also did make a bit of a presumptuous reservation for the weekend in the hope for an Easter pizza date. Any takers?

On the note of the PLG project I have news. The lady from the company offering me deals for my blog did email back, saying no unfortunately the giraffe deal was an April’s Fool joke and that they do not make them yet. Yet! A ray of light right there. I do however hope once they get around to ‘making’ them, they will attend to the wait list problem right away too. Otherwise it will take me almost a million years to get Mowgli and I simply cannot wait this long.

P.S. A little update: I just told a friend of mine about the pizza and he was so keen that we decided to go tomorrow. Question: Is it excessive to eat pizza trice a week at the same place? Or since the place is Massimo’s is it reasonable? 

Giraffe pizza speziale.

So my recent giraffe post sparked a chat between Thekla and me, which I simply have to share. It started just after I had posted the story on Facebook:

Thekla: Love it - I think you rock! And you deserve to be moved up the list!!!!
Me: Haha! Thanks - will tell her if she ever replies

Me:  Imagine it was true - sooo cute.

Me:  And the giraffe could play with the kittens too!

I think I have mentioned that I am kitten godmother to THE cutest kittens ever, right?

Thekla:  The kittens could take rides on Mowgli's back!

Thekla:  And we'd get them matching bandanas ‘cause they'd be friends!

Me:  Exactly! But we would have to teach them no clawing on his neck.

Me:  Yay!

Thekla: Otherwise it would cry big tears!

Thekla:  And need some extra filtered water to sooth its nerves.

Me:  Well, I am sure at your house that wouldn't be a problem with your fancy water filter.

There water filter is awesome, you would want to be a giraffe just so you can drink their filtered water.

Me:  And Mowgli would simply love your tub!

Thekla:  And I'm sure my ficus would do for leaves?

Me:  Probably

Me:  But I do think it may eat all the leaves off quite quickly - you know how baby animals are when they are growing.

Thekla:  You can take it to Sylvi's too then she has a few really big ficuses.

Sylvi is our aunt and she has a ficus that reaches all the way to the ceiling.

Thekla:  And Popey can also ride on its back.

Popey is their cat. Technically it is the neighbour’s cat, but he is allowed to come over and gets TLC, is allowed to sit at the dinner table and gets fed with left over prawn tails. This cat has the best life ever.

Me:  And Cesario would have a heart attack

Me:  “Sylva - the giraffe ate all the leaves from the ficus!”

Cesario is her husband. He is a professor and quite prim and proper and very lost without her.

Me:  I rather take him to Nikki - he can nibble on some vines - get used to the good stuff.

Thekla’s sister recently planted a little vineyard in her garden and the entire family is eagerly waiting for the 3 years to be already over, so we can harvest and make wine. We have discussed the problem that it may not be enough for the entire family and that even the immediate family drinks too much for the harvest to last more than one night.

Me:  Bonsai is overrated!

Thekla:  “arrs'ol giraffe... fuck!”

Uncle Cesario does have a potty mouth at times.

Thekla:  With Spanish accent.

Yes, with a Spanish accent. I think it’s his Latin temperament coming through when he curses.

Me:  Hehe.

Me:  Just imagine.

Me:  I wonder if he would get big enough so he could look into the pizza oven.

The two of them started the pizza madness in our family and have a special little oven on top of the regular oven where they bake their pizzas in.

Thekla:  We would make him a leaf pizza.

Me:  I think my yoga teacher has a friend who makes 'raw pizza' - that should do.

Me:  It's just bloody expensive.

Thekla:  I hear they are silly good though.

Thekla:  Wanna try one some time.

Me:  Yes, but not for the baby. As much as I believe kids/animals should get used to eating lots of different things, I don't think they need to be thaat spoilt.

Thekla:  http://www.ear thshine.co.za/ra w- pizza- takeaway- 2/

Me:  And do keep this thought for yourself at least today - Massimo might get offended!

Thekla:  We can ask them if they make petit giraffe friendly pizzas.

Me: Awe! Cute, man! Let’s ask them tonight!!

So in case you ever wonder what I do at work, read above. In case you are wondering what I’m doing tonight – asking Massimo if he will make my imaginary giraffe a pizza of course.

A non pasta obsession.

Have I made my obsessions with giraffes clear yet? Probably not as I have only written about them once and is a quite recent obsession. I watched Water for Elephants last Saturday and as much as I thought the elephant was really cool, I was in love with giraffe and very jealous that Edward, eh, Jacob (Wow, this is getting confusing, can’t they come up with some new names for the male leads in Hollywood?) got to pat it. Even though most of you would have probably envied the giraffe, which got patted by him, I know...

Recently I stumbled over a website that offers Petite Lap Giraffes for sale. I was intrigued to say the least.  More than anything I really wanted it to be true. Same feeling when I read Harry Potter – I know it’s all make believe, but I really wish it wasn’t, because that would just be incredibly awesome.

In case you haven’t heard about them and wonder what a Petite Lap Giraffe (= PLG) actually is, here from their website:

About Petite Lap Giraffes!

Petite Lap Giraffes are very funny animal that require special care. They need lots of love. Hugs and kisses every day. Otherwise they make tears.

If you have children, petite lap giraffes no problem. If child is loud, the giraffe will be shy, but does not bite. PLG’s are very clean. With training they will go in box like cats. Allergies never a problem.

Size: adult is 76 centimeters, baby is 15 centimeters tall. Weight is 4.5kg unless the giraffe is fat cow then 5.44kg

Diet: distilled water and bonsai tree leaves

Health problems: none. They are the best.

Gestation: 420 days

Living conditions: PLG’s love being indoors in filtered air conditioning. If they can listen to music of Nikolai Rimsky-Korsakov it is dream.

Grooming: a bubble bath once a week with purified water is all they need.

So just like I am still hoping I will one day be able to flick my hand to make something fly, I am still hoping that the website isn’t just an elaborate hoax and I will find $ 16,000 to buy my own little giraffe. I shall call it Mowgli. Yes, I do know that giraffes don’t live in the jungle, but I think it would be really cute name and he would wear a little bandana with his name tag around the neck.

Before anyone gets worried about my state of sanity, I do not constantly think about that and the name Mowgli really just popped into my head now. So did the idea of a newsboy cap I think he should wear, matching the bandana.

Either way I am only on place 937,461 on the waiting list – the next baby is going to a prince of some sort (I do wonder whether it could be a wedding gift for Prince William and Kate).

This morning I was feeling quite flattered for a second, because I got my first email ever from a company offering me deals and gifts for my readers. Wow. They said they are huge fans of my blog. Great. The subject line “Hi!” did strike me as a tad bit unprofessional. Also the fact that they are in the States and I am based in Cape Town, which would make any kind of gift sending a bit tricky, struck me as odd. I did however go to the website to check out the deals as I didn’t want to seem too aloof. One of the deals I found:

I think that is an offer you can’t beat and I was so amazed by their connections that I emailed the lady back and asked her if she would be able to move me up the waiting list if I agreed to a deal. I didn't need a freebie here, because I could afford $100, but the length of wait was a bit scary. I haven’t heard back yet. Maybe she is still working it, checking if Prince William and Kate could wait for their 1^st anniversary to get theirs. Will keep you posted.

Naked trees and dinners and tartes - oh my.

After an eventful week I had a less than eventful weekend, which made me feel a bit sad. There few fun bits and pieces and being the overly chirpy person that I am (irony I hear you knocking), I shall share those now...

The highlight Saturday was me being in a Woolies queue sans make up and a really cute guy still kept on looking over. He had a little boy with him and I will just keep on telling myself that he is in fact a single dad (the amount of Danishes in his basket could mean either) and not a married guy, checking out girls at the groceries while he is just supposed to fetch breakfast and take the little one so mummy can sleep in for a change. That would just add a load to my general disillusionment about men.

In an attempt to modernize the ‘missed connection’ from Craigslist or Gumtree:

Dear cute guy from the line at Woolies,

I saw you there on Saturday morning at around 10am and you saw me too. In fact you - scruffy dark hair, khaki (as in army green, just so you know) shirt, cool boating shoes with a little blond kid who looked like trouble – looked at me – plaid shirt, skinny jeans, no make-up, but cool sunglasses – a few times and even smiled at me with the left corner of your mouth.

If you are in fact single as in above mentioned described scenario, then you know where to find me.

Sincerely,

Any

P.S. I won’t mind your kid, even though I said he looked like trouble. I tend to like trouble.

If you may know the guy in question, please send him along.

The other highlight of my day already started on Friday over dinner at La Mouette/
I ♥ CHEESEBALLS. Thekla had organized a big table to indulge in their 6 course fall menu. As usual in situations like this I feel very grown-up. Even though I know I have technically been grown-up for a while already, there is just something quite adult about sitting at a round table at a fancy restaurant, ordering bottles of champagne and “Yes, sparkling water for the table, please.” It makes me feel grown-up in a very good way (probably always the case when there is alcohol involved).

So at some point over desert this friend was telling me that there is such a thing as naked yoga and it’s not sex in awkward positions. Don’t ask how we got there, I’m not sure I want to remember. As the funny coincidence wanted it another friend then send me a picture on Saturday evening of a guy doing naked Tree Pose. Wow. It left me so speechless that even the teacher in me was quiet, didn’t correct the posture in her mind, but just starred and drooled a little. What a treat.

Treats continued on Sunday with pretty pre-yoga breakfast. I realized then and there while taking this picture I do have a slight obsession with glasses. I mean the breakfast wasn’t have as exciting as the glasses I served it in. Why would I want to eat a single fig if it wasn’t for the fact that it fitted perfectly in this little retro shot glass?

I love buying glasses. I even drove to Bredasdorp to buy my Champagne glasses. After reading this story about fighting behavior from Paige,  I now got the perfect excuse. Ever been in a fight and you wanted to throw something? Well, if you ever dated an Into-Stone-Turner like me, you probably wanted and may even have done it. Nothing drives a hot blooded person crazier than someone who just turns around and literally shows you the cold shoulder mid-argument. I think there were few instances when I was about to grab the nearest object and hurl it at him. Each time I stopped for the simple reason that it was one of my Champagne glasses I grabbed and realized he wasn’t worth trashing it and having to drive 2 hours to replace it. Therefore I declare glasses the official peacemaker in my household and they need to have a budget accordingly. Another perfect excuse for spending money right here.

After yoga I wanted to be true to my word and make the weekend SmittenKitchen weekend as promised, because I love her and I could not resist the idea of my very own berry macaroon tarte amongst other delights. In my very own fashion I never have trouble to play around with a recipe and in this case using slightly salted butter by mistake worked to my advantage as I think the base would have been way too sweet otherwise. I also hate blackberries with a passion so I was quite happy that I couldn’t find any and substituted with my favourite: raspberries.

So no, I am definitely no food photographer as you can tell and the picture doesn’t do it justice – my little tarte was/is absolutely delicious. (So delicious I wasn’t even sad that I left my white KitKat weekend treat at the store). I do think I overate by a slice though, so now I need volunteers to finish it. My very own version of a blog competition therefore: Write to me why you would deserve a slice of my tarte and I shall deliver in person!

So, I guess putting it in a written nutshell my weekend wasn’t too bad: feeling grown-up in the best bubbly way possible, successful baking, a naked man doing yoga, and a long Skype conversation with Rapunzel. I shall only count the cute guy from Woolies once I have confirmed that he is single.

P.S. I admit the title of this post makes no sense whatsoever and is in fact quite lame. Sorry, promise to be better next time.

April issue.

If you are reading this you will already have noticed that I have changed the layout yet again. I was apparently feeling quite calm and grown up this week. Ha! I wish... Either way it shall be my fall edition.

This I made because I was quite bored at work today and I it reminded me of the times when I was little and would make miniature magazines for my Barbies.

Therefore without further ado I will sign off now and go and cocktails with my boss. Spoke too soon, she actually just walked in and handed me a G&T. She is lovely like that.

Bubbling violets.

I do blame my mother for my addiction to Champagne. I must have inherited it from her or something. The bubbles seem to run in our blood and nothing feels more intoxicating to us than hearing the plop of a cork, the swishing sound when you pour a glass and the smell of the first tiny bubbles rising up.

She was always a snob when it came to Champagne and so am I.

Christmas tradition at our house asks for Champagne year after year. One year my Dad dared to offer us a bottle of Mumm (an okaaay German sparkling wine), which he had gotten as a present from someone. He thought it suitable for his beloved family on Christmas Eve. The family wasn’t impressed and went on strike till he forked out money and sent my brother to the store to buy two bottles of Veuve. Crisis averted.

Later my parents discovered Crémant from Alsace. Even though we all drank and liked it, it was still lovingly duped 'Elsässer Plörre' by my mother. Plörre, a slang word from the western part of Germany,  is defined as:

Alcoholic drink which sight makes you afraid you may wake up with a hangover the next day.

Highly unfair to the drink in question, but we just wanted to be snobs as the Crémant wasn’t from the Champagne and the name stuck despite my Dad’s protests. Today he goes along with it and offers me a glass of Plörre the second I step of the plane.

Ever since moving to South Africa I have been in heaven. Living in a country that has mastered the art of making Champagne, I have drunk myself through an extensive collection so far and would blame my cousin and her pool deck for it, if I needed someone to blame. I don’t.

Imagine my excitement when my new favourite wine shop The Mill offered a M.C.C. and Champagne tasting evening. I may have drooled a little bit over my desk when I signed up for it. My food poisoning left me slightly worried if I was going to be able to make it, but true to form my stomach was basically begging me for some bubbles yesterday.

Usually work is quiet these days, but Murphy’s law kicked in at around 4 o’clock and made my boss, who was coming with, and me run around like crazy maniacs till the last minute. I had no idea how I was going to manage ‘tasting’ the bubbly as opposed to gulping it down by the time we arrived. We both just needed a strong drink badly and have had no time for the usual late afternoon office G&T before. Luckily for us the day turned around the moment we stepped into The Mill. A glass of bubbly called ‘Sparkles’ was put into our hand and though the name sounded too cute to be good, we took about a sip or two to be convinced. Nigel, the owner, was a star - once our glasses were empty he had them refilled within a second. He said he is just very good at spotting empty glasses, but I do believe he can read minds.

Me (thinking):  Refill my glass, this is yummy, please someone, refill my glass, please, someone –

Me: Thank you, Nigel.

Once we spotted crackers on the table (we had been worried about that as the Murphy’s law kick in had also prevented us from getting dinner before), we were set to go and do some serious tasting. It wasn’t quite as serious due to the facts that a) we were allowed to pour our own glasses – bad idea, b) Australian jokes being told – bad, but funny, and c) a guy at our table who told a story about opening a bottle of expensive, vintage Champagne at the top of Lion Hill and how it led to holding the cork and watching the bottle fall – bad for him, but really funny.

I learned that I am either not such a snob after all or just plain ignorant as the bottle of a 2000 Guy Charbaut Champagne didn’t nearly impress me as much as a bottle called The Old Mans Sparkle from Groote Post. I think I tasted violets in a bottle and am surprised that the bottle I took home arrived unharmed and made it through the night. After so heroically sustaining from drinking it all by myself last night, I think I will finally treat myself to a nice little wine shelf.  The old man shall be the first bottle of little treasures on it and stay long enough so I can take a picture at least.

I wasn't kidding.

When I tweeted (Is that the correct use of term? All still so new and exciting...) yesterday that my hair made me look like a cupid on acid. Here is the proof:

Pure madness going on, I know. Do excuse the quality of the picture, I have read blogging 101 and know the rule of providing good quality images, but in all fairness it just ain’t that easy when you live by yourself. Also I didn’t want to get any closer to myself as I had just come from work and was all shiny. I hope you do get the idea why I just shake my head when people ask me why I don’t let my hair down more often.
I must say though my Paul - my hairstylist - did cut a nice layer there in front. I think he must have been over excited that I allowed him more than “The usual, Paul”, because he also suggested that we could get married. Don’t think about asking. Besides that he is about 20 years older than me, I do still believe, son or not, he is gay.

Paul (in cute, endearing Schwitzerdütsch accent): Well, you and I could just get married.

Me: Are you proposing to me?

Paul: Well, if you want to see it as that. Take it or leave it!

Apparently this loveliness, the fact that we both don’t enjoy clubbing anymore and the discount he would give me on my haircuts should have won me over in a heartbeat.

After my picture taking session I was moving on to DIY projects and then got distracted by Glee. The disc just happened to slip into my computer. I love Glee. I admit it. Make fun of me now.
So there I was getting my stomach used to alcohol again as tonight bubbly tasting is on the agenda, happily singing along and eating cold pasta as a pre-pasta-dinner-snack (yes, I actually did have more pasta for dinner later). Eating cold pasta out of a colander is the best thing ever. I still remember a play date with my friend Kathrin when we were about 12. I came over to her for lunch and we had Spaghetti Bolognese. After stuffing our faces we played board games and ate the entire cold left over spaghettis out of the colander as a post-pasta-lunch-snack. Good times.

Now the actual excitement of the day. My bag was published. Apparently not only guys care what’s in a girl’s bag. All my secrets revealed here: http://www.brandslut.co.za/brandbag-vol-5/

I do a want to add a few things which were cut for space reasons I guess (is there such a thing as space reasons on the Internet??). Otherwise people may think my bag is really weird and I wouldn’t want its’ feelings to get hurt.

Canvas Bag from the little shop on Kloof Street with my last name’s initial. - Of course A was already sold out, because it took me forever to make up my mind whether I wanted to spend R 80 on it. All I can say now – best R 80 spent ever.

Second pair of favourite Prada Sunglasses. – Since I have moved here I have lost 5 pairs of sunglasses. Unfortunately I have a slight addiction problem with expensive sunglasses. First pair of these got stolen in a smash and grab, but I found them again and since it was my second pair they gave me a ‘discount’.

Original Prada sunglasses case. - This will make sense in a bit.

Nokia loan phone courtesy from Vodacom. - It’s just so sad, I won’t dwell on it here.

Piazza Sempione cuff. – Such a diva, too big to work with so I usually put it back in my bag by 9am, which is a also quite sad. For the cuff. It’s so pretty. Must remind myself to finally repair smaller cuff sibling, which actually doesn’t mind when I wear it while typing.

Sunglass Hut case. - I bought this when I thought original case was lost. Then I found the original case and for some reason felt the need to carry both around for a couple weeks. Guess I didn’t want either to feel left out.

Dior Homme memory stick. - This was a PR gift for my former boss. I ‘borrowed’ it from him as he doesn’t know how to hold a mouse (“No, George, you don’t hold it like a remote control.”), so I figured he definitely doesn’t even know what a memory stick is.

Fuji FinePix camera. - Not shown for obvious reasons, but represented by USB cable. Which is actually never in my bag because I will leave it at home and then get mad at myself for not being able to download pictures elsewhere. Like today.

Keys on Marc Jacobs keychain/ coin purse. - Unfortunately very old and doesn’t want to be photographed without extensive photoshop, which I am no good at.

The rest is just is. Nothing to write home about.

Anyversary post.

 The problem of going from being sick and slightly mentally unstable to being only sick a little, but quite clear in the head is as follows: one may have done something a bit silly while in the sick and unstable phase (Shall we just call it fraternizing with the enemy for the sake of this story?) and once feeling better one is unable to stop it, but now one has a brain back to think about what one is doing and what that may imply. Or something like that…we know that one!

I therefore take my mother’s advice and try to keep myself busy as my mind is not to be mollycoddled in any other way and will not shut up without the force of outward exercise. It is too hot to walk up Signal Hill. Okay, no, that was never the plan. But it is too hot to even walk around the block or better said I’m too hot and bothered and not in the good way (my favorite catch phrase these days…which is quite sad...I know, I know).

So here am I busying up a storm in my flat, which has gotten me so far to hang up the laundry. Afterwards I felt exhausted and had to sit under the AC for a bit and drink some Gatorade. Energade. Whatever.

Random thoughts that occur to me while I’m getting a brain freeze:

Can a DVD wear out after too much viewing and will the rental place be able to prove it and hold me liable?

I just hung up laundry on my balcony wearing only a tank top and briefs. I was wondering if anyone could see me - in the parking lot my balcony overlooks - and then decided that I was wearing more than I wear on the beach and I could explain that to the security guard quickly in case he was wondering what the half naked girl is doing on her balcony.

I actually just didn’t care.

I love plane food. Maybe not today. Nah, actually even today I don’t mind the idea.

Is wine advisable for a post - food poisoned stomach? If yes, is white or red better? That is a serious question and the answer yes would make my Monday.

I have a label labeled "annoying people". Hehe.

I was going to call this little interlude 'Sickling part II', because it would have been appropriate as I am still pretty sick - head and stomach - and because I couldn’t think of anything better. Luckily I remembered that this is post 50. Hurray me!

Now I will give the Internet some alone time, take some amusing pictures while the light lasts and get some James Bond DVDs I haven’t actually seen. But first I’m giving the 5 o’clock nap two thumbs up.