Sérieusement?

Remember Grey’s Anatomy and Meredith’ and her “Seriously?” whenever someone did or said something really unbelievably stupid? I always thought it made her sound a bit stupid herself. I don’t anymore.
As I mentioned a lot of stuff and people irked me last week, but the Frenchman really took the cake. Yes, you read correctly – the Frenchman. I thought I should just silently grumble and get over it, but Thekla (I guess I wasn’t so silent after all) said, I owe it to my reader to share.

We, the Frenchman and moi, were just engaging in a friendly chat of SMS messages, geared towards him finally fetching his necklace from me. It was all well and good till we went into the How is your life and what are you up to? territory. Upon me telling him, no, I was not married yet, neither a lesbian, and not 40kgs heavier than last time we met, I received this answer from him:

Totally ok with girls :-)  This was in response to my non-lesbian comment, harmless enough. My body is refining (very) slowly. Started gyming as prep for Ironman training for next year. Also harmless and only interesting in the regard that I wonder how someone who smokes like a true Frenchman will do Ironman? Still not married…Been going out with xyz* for a year now.  I pondered on the fact that this was sort of a strange statement considering that he was still sleeping with me a year ago. Cleary remembered by clearly only me as it was 2 weeks after my knee surgery and he brought me bread to bed the next morning so I could take a pain killer. Then again…who is counting…the women or the months? And went to get snipped to avoid accidental offsprings! Cake. Taken. I need a haircut and a shave though! :-) Who the f*** cares about the haircut now??

After that I rest my case and Grey was right. Sometimes there is just no other reply, but a big, fat seriously?

*There was a proper name. I don’t like it. The name that is. Thus edited and of course because we shall not name the innocent, new girlfriends.

Treepressions.

Quite a few donations came in after my offer to show you pictures of the bum/penis palm tree to those who bought a tree. Most came from my Dad, which is slightly concerning to me, wondering if the bum/penis palm tree picture may have been his motivation.(Just kidding! He bought one tree for each member of our family. Thank you, Dad!)

Regardless of anyone's motivation though, I can unfortunately not keep my promise, because I realized that I was only very little interested in the palm trees in question. Thus pictures I took never made it into my final selection folder from the trip. Therefore they are still stuck on my old iBook, which died. I have yet to retry computer CPR to get them off. If you want to see the palm bums, though they are not photographed by me, have a look at this link. Alternatively I will offer you some more of my favourite shots of greenery* from my trip which are not PG13:

Trees dipped in silver water.

Trees with THE view.

Just another tree, just another beach.



Light on a leaf.

Shipwrecked.

Should you be bored of all the "green" pictures by now, no worries, I am writing a story about models, cocaine, and charity for you as we speak. It’s going to be like Gossip Girl, but better!

 *I do realize they actually mainly black and white, but I am sure you can use your imagination and I am just feeling sort of black and white-ish today.

Pastaholic eats a tree.

On Saturday something happened which has never happened to me before. I am still quite flabbergasted. Julia and I had bought all ingredients for a beautiful dinner including a nice big chunk of proper Parmesan cheese, because otherwise why bother? I made Caprese salad, fillet, and some pasta with a creamy mushroom sauce. After all we had just done some very hot yoga, felt we deserved a treat, and a lonely bottle of Pongraz rosé and a bottle of Alphabetical just wasn’t gonna cut it.
So we happily ate away, almost literally licking the plates clean (okay, in my case there was no almost involved, I licked the plate…). Right after the last bit of mushroom had disappeared from my plate, I realized the unbelievable: we had not put any parmesan cheese on our pasta! Never, ever in my life! We didn’t even miss it!

Apparently I make a mean, creamy mushroom sauce…

I know, I know for most of you this is all neither here nor there, but to us it was quite astonishing and unheard of. It also partly explains why I had pasta again* last night though I had mentally prepared for salad. The other explanation, which I have to validate the amount of carbs, is that I decided it was time to show a pastaholic’s take on trees.

 Of course coming to think of now in the bright light of day, a salad would have probably made for a better tree. But as it is, I spent the weekend asking myself what does my soul require and as you can imagine my soul has no problem requiring pasta two nights in a row. Once ingredients where laid out and photographed, I felt bad sending them back into the box/fridge/packet. So no worries, nothing was wasted, the pasta tree landed, if slightly disassembled, on my plate after..
If you think this girl, I mean me, should stay away from the pasta for a change and rather have a real tree, go here and get me one: http://www.givengain.com/activist/76000/projects/2652/

*And now owe Julia a new piece of Parmesan cheese.

Live from the forest.

I actually wanted to write about how strange this past week has been. About twenty-four hours of bliss, how it all fell apart, the aftermath of it, which has been my week, and how hard it is to actually follow my gut feeling.

While I started to write about it I realized, I actually can’t. It seems to have knocked all wit and sarcasm out of me. The list of things I have learned is long, but I haven’t quite figured out yet whether it was all worth it. There is nothing to tell and nothing to share.

The one thing that gave me joy this week is the tree gathering for the Reforestfest. So tough luck for you instead of getting juicy details of my not so lovely life, I shall annoy you more with the greenery…

I took this picture at the Vallée de Mai in the Seychelles. In case you don’t know about it, it is a forest and a Unesco heritage site (in)famous for their Coco de Mar palm trees. These are trees that actually sport something that looks like, well, a penis on their males and coconuts in the shape of a bum on their females. True story. Alas, I preferred the picture of this little fellow making its way to the light. You probably want to see the tree with the penis and the bum. Fair enough.

Here are your choices:

a) Google

b) Buy me a tree first, feel great about your charity work prior to any weekend debauchery, and enjoy the pictures I shall post on Monday as a thank you.

If you pick b) go here: http://www.givengain.com/activist/76000/projects/2652/

Have a treemendous weekend everybody!

Tree hugger.

After Thekla made the start this morning, my wonderful friend Deniz from New York just donated 2.5 trees and as she wrote me, she did it because she loves me and trees. Which is the sweetest thing someone said to me all week. Fear not though as this is no pre-requisite for anyone to buy me a tree. Right now, I don’t actually care if you love me. Or even like me. I don’t even mind if you are not particularly fond of trees in general. As long as you buy one, keeping in mind you don’t have to get your hands dirty at all.

I don’t envy my Mum, having raised a child like I was. I always knew what I wanted and I made sure to get it. When I wanted something I could be very persuasive. Some people would use the word annoying. I think my Mum usually just gave up out of sheer expiration or not even start the argument, because she wanted to avoid being annoyed to death yet again by her toddler/child/teenage daughter. I am still being told that this was a mistake on her behalf. She thinks saying no more often would have benefitted my character… 
She is probably right. I can be very, very annoying when I want something. That’s usually not okay, I know, I know. But for this it is and so I shall annoy all of you into a coma till you get me a tree:

http://www.givengain.com/activist/76000/projects/2652/

Come now, be a tree hugger, buy me a tree!*

*And if you don’t, I shall annoy you with further tree posts for as long as it takes to reach my tree goal. Just imagine that…no more yoga, no more stories about boys, no pasta recipes…just trees. You better hug quickly…

Green fairies.

Whenever something bugs me I find it a good idea to take a walk in the forest. As my aunt Kathy says trees gobble up any negative energy. I like the idea of gobbling little green fairies who make me feel better. Even if you don’t believe in that admittedly slightly esoteric concept, you can’t deny trees are good. This is why I like Greenpop and was very excited to meet them through Jai one day last year. Ever since we have been in touch either on the yoga mat or on one of their numerous fun fundraisers.

Their newest project is called Reforestfest and though I am not a camping fan as you know, the idea of music, yoga, and tree planting in the Platbos forest got me ridiculously excited. My company, Magic Mountain Productions, and some friends of my boss Sabina were immediately keen as well so we are going tree planting all together in May.

Now all we need is trees and I would like to take lots. Have look at my little fundraising page and in your wallet. Maybe you find R 100 and can sponsor me a tree?! I shall not ask for any Christmas presents this year. Promised! I shall also send pictures of me planting the tree you sponsor or alternatively doing a tree pose for you in the forest. And no sorry, not a naked one. I leave that to others…

Fundraising page: http://www.givengain.com/activist/76000/projects/2652/ - just click 'donate' and follow instructions. One can either do an EFT or use a credit card, so it is super easy for locals and internationals!

Puppy love.

This was supposed to be a very snarly post about me feeling like Medusa today and how I not only want to turn everyone into stone with a look, but then crash them into little pieces with a hammer afterwards. And about how any McDreamy can very quickly turn into a McMaking Me Screamy. In the non-good way I mean. In case this wasn’t obvious. Which I all thought was sort of funny when I wrote it, but now I actually just find it quite depressing. My 33 year old self wants to stomp her Prada clad feet today and shout ‘No fair!’ at the world. Actually not at the world, but at a certain someone. Which is neither here nor there, because I decided to go into a whole different direction with this story now. I will much rather write about cute puppies.

Gotcha!

Nope, sorry, cynicism is all I got today. And the Medusa look of course. Guess what…that is quite alright by me. Such is life.

In case anyone is disappointed now, I wanted to go even darker and make a sarcastic remark á la ‘imagine cute puppy picture here’, but then I found this and I had to share:

Guess there is hope for me after all.

Great expectations.

A yoga studio on a Sunday morning at 08h00 has an air of desperation to it. People who are here either fled an empty bed, a crowded house, or an overloaded breakfast table with too many carb temptations. Don't get me wrong, I am not judging or looking down on them. After all I am here as well, here for one of the same reasons. Whatever the reason we have fled onto our mats, knowing that this will be the one safe space that never judges and just is. A safe space that is shared yet quiet. A space to think. Or not. To move and stretch and try and dare. A place to cry and let it be alright. A space of no judgement, of questions resting, and answers surfacing.

I have recently stopped coming to a yoga class with any expectations. All of a sudden I realized that having expectations just frustrated me if they weren't fulfilled and while that is probably completely normal in every day life, it just didn't seem fair to my yoga practise. Now I just let it be what it is. I don't except to be energized or calmed, have my mind cleared or my butt tightened. I just come onto my mat, I practise, I breathe. And each and every time I am allowed to witness magic afterwards. The magical feeling of getting exactly what I needed. I don't expect anything, but I get everything. Usually it is something I didn't even even feel was top of my list of things needed. Something I didn't know I urged for till I got it. It is quite amazing. It makes me feel grateful.

It is the one thing I trust one hundred percent. Unconditionally. So I did this morning. Out of desperation I fled. Yet again...how wonderful to be surprised each and every time.

A new first.

I think I have mentioned before how I do get excited about firsts. The obvious of first dates, first kisses, first time waiting by the phone for a new first to call. However I get especially excited about firsts that are that in the true meaning of the word. Something I have never ever done before. Yesterday was such a first.

As you may or may not know Germany doesn’t have a mall culture. They are few and far and for most parents a place where not to bring your children as opposed to dropping them there with some lunch money and a rat pack of friends.
Instead of malls my friends and I hang out at:

- Mc Donald’s for the times we had a one hour break – official or unofficial – as it was just a short trip from school. Admittingly this was no better than a mall.

- The Italian ice cream parlour Zanella for after school meetings. I cannot even begin to recall how many hours I spent there day after day, how much money I wasted on toasts, cappuccinos, and cake, and how much I must have annoyed my mother with all of this.

- Pustekuchen (don’t even ask what that may mean), a sort of bar/bistro establishment for smooth day- to night-time transformation that I fondly remember for crispy chicken fingers with honey mustard sauce. One time my friend Silja and I decided to ditch a field trip with our creepy art teacher and instead spent the entire day there. We managed to have breakfast, lunch, and dinner; played darts, read magazines, and did not get bored for 12 hours straight. I think to this day we hold the record.

There were probably a few more in between, but those were the main places we hung out, we socialized, and yes, where we met boys. No mall in sight, no mall needed. Different countries, different cultures, but I have thus grown up with a huge dislike of malls for both shopping and socializing purposes. It is just not in my DNA and my complexion doesn’t look good in fluorescent lighting.
Yesterday everything changed. I had my very first date at a mall. I became Dorothy and braved the wizard of malls: Canal Walk. I got lost in the parking garage when I got there. As you can imagine stuff like that makes the German in me, who can’t be late even if I try (and I have tried!), very nervous. Not ideal.

But as it turns out malls are not so bad after all.

1. They do serve wine.

2. There is candle light to be found.

3. If you take a date, he can help you find your car. (Keeping in mind the mall doesn’t provide those. You gotta bring your own date. Alternatively ask a car guard though he won’t buy you wine.)

4.Window shopping en tête à tête when all shops are closed is in fact so great I shall never allow any future children of mine to go to a mall. Ever. Sorry, kids!

5.Window shopping…ups, I already wrote that. Now you know how great it is.

So here … let’s go to the mall!*


*A line which you will only appreciate after having your own successful date at a mall or after watching How I Met Your Mother.

Just checking.

Are you all woken out of your chocolate coma yet? I know everyone is dying to know what I actually managed to cross of my list so here you go…

Cody with bunny ears – check, but not due to my efforts. Sabina and Genie already took care of that on Wednesday at home, but so cute I have to share:

Macaroons – check depends on my phrasing – did I write ‘making macaroons’ or ‘attempting to make macaroons’. I solemly swear I will never attempt to make another recipe that is so contradictory and especially not one that comes with 10 commandments and no maid to clean up the mess. On a good note I am now proud owner of 4 little freezer bags filled with different flavoured buttercream.

From left to right:
Rasberry and rose water buttercream, orange and rosewater buttercream, rosewater buttercream, and candied violets and rosewater buttercream. Can you tell we liked the idea of rosewater? Well, that was till we tasted it and realized it reminded us of grandmotherly soap.

Dear macaroon, I am sorry, but you should not be allowed to carry this name - you look like a cookie, you taste like a cookie, you are a cookie!

Chicken with stuffing – biiiig check and happy smile.

Yoga mat – check. Pink – check. Three classes in four days – check (though that wasn’t even on the list I just realized).

Balcony – half check that comes with a good excuse courtesy of all the rain, which made window cleaning pointless. The gooseberries do have a new home though and look quite happy.

There was no writing or chart making though I did draw sunshine and played with Puss in Boots. All in all I was not productive whatsoever. I didn’t even look for any eggs...after all that is a privilege of being all grown-up, I can just buy my own chocolate without having to dig through muddy flower beds.

So objectively I guess one could say that I was being quite lazy for the whole four days. But as my wonderful friend Claire just put it – for the first rainy weekend in the year, one needs to hibernate as the soul requires it. Best excuse to sleep and watch Gossip Girl ever – thank you, Claire!

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.

Mr. Director & Misses Stylist.

With so much inspiration from Toffie Pop my head feels too full to actually do anything productive with said inspiration yet, so I decided for today to just go down memory lane a bit. While I was watching a clip from one of the speakers yesterday I suddenly remembered the one and only music video I ever styled on my own in New York. I don’t think the band still exists and even back then they weren’t really famous (I mean after all why would they have hired me – an assistant?), but for me it was it was the most exciting thing in the world. Obviously I had an immediate and big crush on the director Charles. I felt very grown-up-stylist to discuss clothing options for the band while I was batting my eyelashes at him just a little bit since I was still trying to play it cool. To no avail though. I don’t quite remember if his coke habits turned me off or if the whole thing just ended in general disaster, but I know it didn’t end well. Maybe that was the reason why they never sent me a copy of the video. Or maybe because the band actually never made it anywhere. Either way, I just found it online. Here you go, amuse yourself, think of me, tucking shirts and adjusting collars while trying to look sexy from behind for Mr. Director.