Happy kitty holidays.

I wish I could sound all grown-up and cool and pretend I prefer Thanksgiving to all other holidays as it is in fact the least commercial one and I think should be celebrated by all, American or not. Saying thanks with family is simply nice and everybody should do it.
Alas, I cannot. I adore Christmas. I adore presents. I love giving presents and I love getting them too. When I was little I combined the two – I would use my pocket money to buy presents for my dolls, which ultimately ended up looking very much like things I had added to my wish list already. My mother had a hard time reinforcing her mantra to keep things excited for Christmas Eve – you mustn’t buy things you want, just because you can, when Christmas is approaching. Now that I have been out of the house and away from her watchful eye for some years, her mantra is completely gone. These days as most parental presents come in some form of money, it seems to reinforce my pre-Christmas shopping craze. Though I do love the fact that no matter how old I get, they still always get me something for ‘under the tree’.
My love for gift swapping hasn’t subsided since I moved here, but the overall holiday feel is lacking a bit. As much as I don’t want to exchange sunshine for snow, fair weather is just doing a bad job in creating a festive atmosphere for me. I have been less than enthusiastic to decorate my flat or even considered getting a tree; it just feels all wrong. That was till I went to Raith’s the other day, found this, and couldn’t resist:

A Knusperhäuschen was one of my favourite things during Advent when I was little and Hello Kitty, well, Hello Kitty just makes everything better anyhow.

That was the idea. This ended up being reality:

No need to point out that it has been a while since I decorated a Knusperhäuschen and yes, I truly suck at it. It doesn’t matter though, I love it, and the Kitty faces covered in icing sugar instead of being properly glued onto the cookies actually just make me laugh. So there – first cheesy holiday decoration in history, guests are actually allowed to laugh at…

Happy Holidays.

Eternity and silliness.

I want to travel, I want to be in New York, I want to write, I want to have intelligent conversations, I want to be someone else every day.
And then I want so much more. I want to feel a tiny bit crazy. I want to be just me. I want to have this beautiful knot in my stomach. I want to blush ferociously. I want to have a secret little grin on my face. I want to be exactly where I am. And just for this little second I want to capture the way I feel... for eternity.

Yeah yeah yeah.

I sometimes wish I was one of those people who could get away with writing or saying things like “Hell yeah, bitches!” It may not be very proper or polite, but sometimes it just feels appropriate. I am not one of these people though. It makes me sound like an idiot and I am fully aware of it. Today however is one of these days when I just have to make an exception and just go with. So here it is … a triple “Hell yeah, bitches!” for … my Dad arriving today… us going here on vacation here …

… and for pizza nights when it’s raining outside…

Of weddings and vampires.

This was supposed to be a straight on wedding reminiscence and congratulations post, not sure how it happened, but the vampires just snuck in somehow…

Weddings, even when not your own, are a tricky one. The line between just going down to City Hall and a big white Hollywood thing a la Breaking Down is actually quite fine. I would say I don't want either, but I will admit I was completely mesmerized by those hanging tree branches covered with white flowers in the latter that made everything just look magical. Or for me magical as in vampires eating Mississippi Mud pie, which I totally dig. I know - no more True Blood for me. Anyhow back to the real weddings…

The only wedding I really remember is my friend's Deniz, who in fact went all out and avoided an either or scenario by simply having three weddings. One at City Hall in NY, classical with post-yes dry martinis; one in New Orleans, and one in Istanbul. I attended New Orleans and that may have started my Mississippi Mud pie wedding craving, because at that time no vampire except Brad Pitt or Buffy had ever be seen on a TV screen.
I remember it was beautifully hot and humid, everything we ate was fried, and we convinced Kervin to not only buy, but also wear a t-shirt saying “I have the body of a God (unfortunately it's Buddha)”. In addition we just spend an overall great amount lounging by the hotel pool, drinking Coronas, and convincing even the bride to cancel her hair appointment so she could join us for the fun. The outrage Gladys and I displayed when Ipek got us egg salad sandwiches instead of Po'boys for lunch that day still makes me giggle and long for a fried oyster Po'boy.

I was fortunate enough to never attend a traditional wedding, where a pink bow on my butt or similar scariness would have been required of me. It looks like my wedding luck continues as here comes the next bride who is so chilled in fact I seem to have more butterflies than she does. My amazing, wonderful, beautiful cousin, and best friend Thekla and her Adam are getting married. After some thoughts, a long engagement, some more thoughts, tomorrow now is the day. No big ceremony, no big white dress, no bridesmaids (I will just pretend a little bit and use it as an excuse to go to the spa). Simply two people saying yes, two witnesses, two kittens followed by champagne, family, friends…

Simple or not, I must admit I am still excited like a little child with the genuine feeling of complete selflessness – two wonderful people are getting married. Both are great. Together they are even greater. I believe in that and I will remind them if they will ever need a reminder.
Sorry, getting a bit teary here (not that you would actually know), but...that's okay, bridesmaid or not...it's a wedding!

Big kiss and the best wishes for your life together, Thekla and Adam Salmon!

Work and play.

It is an untypical Friday afternoon as the office is quiet and there are no last minute pre-weekend emergencies. Pure bliss and I am using the time wisely for a sneaky little post before getting into the inner debate of whether I should do a yoga class after work or drink wine.

Due to my co-worker getting very drunk last night and being m.i.a. till I got a very hung over SMS this morning at 08h30, I was thinking of what my Mum always told me: if you can party, you can work. An unfit translation, but I think it gets my point across and she got hers as I always stuck to this rule. Mind you there were definitely days I only survived with massive amounts of muffins, coffee, KFC/Mc Donald’s/Full English breakfast, but I always made it to work and with one half exception always on time. And so the story goes…

It was the night of Marie’s and my first going away party (yes, we had more than one) at a beautifully dodgy place somewhere in Alphabet City. I was due to fly for a last job to L.A. the next morning and little organized me had booked a shuttle for 06h00 to meet at my office to collect 10 trunks of wardrobe and take me to the airport from there. I am not quite sure if staying up all night was actually part of this plan and since I like my sleep I would assume not. The party though was too much fun and I don’t remember much except the Oreo cake someone had given Marie. This cake landed on the floor at some point. There is a picture of my red toe nails in navy Old Navy flipflops next to this cake. Luckily the cake was the exception to the rule and landed on the right side. Which Kervin didn’t know so there is also a picture of him pulling a face when Deniz tried to feed him with the cake after we had recovered it.

This incident actually sounded funnier in my head. Guess one had to be there…

The next thing I remember is sitting on my bed thinking it a wise idea to rather stay awake instead of attempting to sleep for 2 hours. Then my eyes closed and I was more or less woken up by a phone call from my frantic driver inquiring where I was. He was in front of my office with 10 trunks and well, I was drunk and in bed.
Sometimes I am amazed by my own organizational skills, who seem to be able to work on auto pilot when times are tough.

I: Shower and getting dressed.
Driver: Driving to my house.
I: Packing my personal stuff as in throwing random pieces of clothing in a bag.
I actually do not have a clue why I didn’t do that the night before, such a rookie error!

Driver & I: Driving to my office.
Driver: Loading 10 trunks and counting twice.
He could see I was in not state to do that, I didn’t even have to ask.

Driver: Hitting the gas hard.
I: Requesting him to pull over for Gatorate and a snack.
He didn’t even argue, he knew I wouldn’t make it out alive without.

Driver & I: Actually arriving at the gate just in time.
…to be told that if it was just me they would let me on board, but since it was me + 10, no sorry can’t do. Alas, this story only counts as a half exception as I still blame the luggage for having to catch the later plane and not making it to work on time.
Call it work and play German style and imagine my smug grin here. Though the Gods did punish me: still drunk plane rides are no walk in the park and neither are bright orange wallpapers in the hotel room once off the plane.
Therefore I will be eternally grateful that even in healthy and chic L.A. one can order a plain old greasy burger with fries for second breakfast.