first stone!

Today I caught one of the nuns b-i-t-c-h-i-n-g about another nun. Well! I tell you I wanted to tap her in the shoulder and go 'ahem! ahem! a little unholy don't you think!'.

But instead I just cursed for again not having my camera (read: phone) with me.

and of course one finds a stock photo of this!

wee hours

I'm currently trying to get used to a normal rhythm for normal people. Going on two months now and I still have problems. It's the having to wake up at 6.30 a.m. that bothers me the most. I love the night time. My mind is like a hyperactive 3-year-old on a sugar rush when most people are sleeping. But when you know you have to be chirpy when the sun rises (I envy you guys who might have to go to work early but who can go with a sulk or nurse a hangover for the most of the day, you lucky whatchamacallits), three hours of sleep is not enough. So I groan and moan and sometimes even cry (theatrically) five times every week when the alarm sounds. After ten or twenty minutes of messy thoughts, half sleeping, hoping to die, I get up and try to find something positive about why I had to maneuver myself out of bed. This is especially hard when you have a boyfriend who gets to stay in bed and has just held you tightly and told you not to go. Yes. I know. I can't believe my luck. How is it possible to meet a person like this? All through the relationship I've written down all the sweet things he's said and done, in fear of forgetting them later. By now it's already a big book. Pardon for the schmaltz, but come on! (We do fight, well no, spat, sometimes. Rarely.)

If I wake up at my place, which happens rarely nowadays, I might be able to have breakfast and take a minute to decide what to wear, instead of choosing the first clean things I find, but mostly I get ready in 15 minutes and rush to the bus. Then I proceed to take two or three different modes of transportation to reach my work. I tend to annoy other passengers in all these crowded vehicles by eating breakfast while I travel (saves time, what's the problem). In this city you don't carry coffee with you. But because I'm a little rebel and my fuel is coffee, I revel in the glow of disapproving looks. I always smile back at them, which is a stretch since it's SO EARLY.

photo from here

When I get to where I'm going I start. At the door I have a final passing thought about calling in sick or just simply running away, but I never do. I greet the nuns with their soul-scanning glance as politely as I can, but also a little defensively (what did I tell you about being a rebel). After all because of them I can't wear mini skirts at work. Hateful. My mood improves a little bit when upstairs I'm welcomed with a wave of hellos and good mornings and hugs and kisses. Joy. Even if five minutes later someone might bite you in the knee because you told them not to try to bite you in the knee.

And now I wonder what is the point of this post? Ummm. Maybe just to voice my desperation about the early hours of the day. The city is filled with tired faces all going somewhere, all unhappy to be out of their beds, but understanding too that this is what we have to do to survive.

But I have plans. I'm working on them. They don't involve getting up before nine.

My dream job is googling all day long

I love the internet.

confessions of a self-acclaimed nonconformist

I bought boots today. I mean wellies, wellingtons, rain boots. For the first time in my life. I know there are more important things going on in the world as you read this, but hey. Big news for me. I'll tell you why. I feel very grown up. Since becoming an independent, self-sufficient adult (at least I delude myself of being one) I have had difficulties buying things, really necessary, wise things. I like making do. I tend to ask myself  'do I really need this?', which is ok and quite wise and keeps me from blowing my money on stupidities, but I think I push this a bit too far. So I only buy one cream for my face and body, instead of 10 different ones for each part. Same goes for cleaning products. I use toilet paper for everything (tissues? kitchen paper? unknown in my shopping list) (if I ever made shopping lists). I have one big knife in my kitchen, I cut everything with it. Wine glasses, who needs them? Umbrellas you buy only to lose them. I'm supposed to have a tool box? For what? I use conditioner for my hair, because I'm not stupid, but all the other hair products make me crazy. I don't have that much space in the bathroom!
And I walk around in ballerinas even if it rains hard.

I took this poetic photo this morning. Rainy days should be spent in bed.

Don't get me wrong, its not that I'm against all these things, on the contrary. When I go to my mom's or my sister's or my friends' (i.e. houses where I can take liberties) I enjoy myself thoroughly. Oh how soft are the tissues they hand me for my runny nose! How beautifully the wine glistens in the oval glass! There's a product for shining the shoes! The strawberry scented face cream makes my skin shine! The magical spray settles the annoying tuft of hair in the back of my head, imagine!

I'm like this because I'm like this, but also because at times my life has been incredibly restricted by the balance of my bank account and there have been days when I've had to decide whether to use the remaining two coins for milk for coffee (luxury) or for something to eat. With this in the background it's hard to understand that now I actually have money for lemon scented candles. Or an eyelash curler. Next I just have to get over the fact that I hate shopping.

You can rightly wonder how I generally survive or if I'm even able to feed or/and dress myself. I understand your concern. But no worries, I have a lovely man in my life who is, ahem, like...my...mother. In a sense that he loves spending time in the supermarket choosing the things he buys. I'm going to be so comfortable and looked after in our future home.

The boots are pink, in case you're wondering. I love them.

they forgot me from the list

plus I fucking love this fucking page on Facebook!

kodak moment

Today on the tram I sat next to a nun who was playing Tetris on her phone. 

I would've laughed more had it been Angry Birds.

or Nun Attack!

photo from here

happenings

So my boyfriend and I are moving in together. I will be living with a man for the first time in my life. It doesn't count that I grew up with two brothers, right? Or that I hosted a stupid guy from F...another country, who was sort of my boyfriend but not really (but we shore did all the things that couples do), for 3 months in my place five years ago (he never paid his share of the rent and only very rarely contributed in all the other expenses, because he was after all saving up for a grand trip to A...a country far far away, where he would eventually hook up with his co-traveller, which I had to find out from other people and ended up not being able to eat for three days, because I felt so sick about it...but this is a story for another time).

Anyway. Since leaving my childhood home I've been living alone, dealing with things alone, unplugged the sink alone, travelled alone. Not in a hermit kind of way, but safe to say I have been independent. I've kept my (sometimes non-existent) love life and home life separate. And now I want to move in with this guy?? Yes. Oh so much. So much so that today while sitting on the bus I caught myself planning the menu for the first week in the new place. I might as well put on high heels, freshen up the lipstick and tie myself to the stove.

Going, going, gone.

too bad our wages wont cover this kind of loveliness. yet.
photo from here

the skinny truth

You know how you go to a store and buy clothes that are too small for you, but you like them so much that you buy them for the future, when you eventually will fit into them? Yes, you know, ladies and weight conscious men. Usually you end up storing these clothes in the back of your closet and never use them. Well, not me. I mean the storing part is true but I always end up using them! In the end. Ha! So much for that theory aswell! I don't buy clothes that much so when I see something I go for it. And sometimes (often) what I buy is too small for me. And I keep them for that 'one special day'.  But it works!

I recently fit into a pair of jeans I had bought 5 YEARS AGO (that's dedication people!). So it means I've lost weight right? They are smaller than the average size so I should be happy. But I don't really feel that much thinner. The same places bulge. And I don't have eating disorders, I'm not in denial about not having eating disorders, don't have Body dysmorphic disorder, I'm down with my body, she with me, we have a connection. It's just funny to realise that sometimes you lose weight without really noticing.

This post is gonna cause some serious hate mail action. I just know it.

top 5 things about being an adult

1. sex (something to balance the horribly unfair and nasty things about life? we have it!)
2. you can have chocolate for breakfast and pop corn for dinner if you want and no one can tell you not to. of course you can (try to) tell yourself not to, but what's the point of that?
3. tequila
4. wearing what you want (unless when working with nuns) (but if you're lucky that consists only 3,5 hrs of your working day)
5. shoes
6. (just to throw you off) understanding that less really is more (except for numbers 1, 2 and 5)

photo from here

bitch please

You know how women are. I mean towards each other. Always angels. Supportive. Happy for the success of their friends. With them you know what you get, there's no hidden meaning to what they say. When they say 'yes' it doesn't mean 'no'. Yes? No.

Too many times I've met strange females who on the outside seem gentile and kind, true friendship material, new wonderful sisters...until you find out their dark side. At first they're full of compliments, full of praise for anything you do, full of support for whatever you do, and you're full of warm fuzzy feelings of planets aligning and how life makes sense because you've met another person who really understands you and it's not because they just pretend to get you so they can get in your pants (sic). But in the end you find out what they are really full of.

Example from real life: I met this woman from A...nother country. It was like kismet. We met through work, had brief conversations between gigs, quick cups of coffee together and she seemed to be my cup of tea (ah ah ah), we agreed on various things (important when you're starting a friendship, later you can start revealing your true opinions). I was happy, stupid naive me, as I always am when meeting a potential female friend. Then she told me that she was is the process of divorcing her husband, so we had a lot of talks about that. And she was starting a new relationship with another guy, so we had a lot of talks about that. The guy didn't treat her well, so we had a lot of talks about that. Once in a while we brushed on the issues I was going trough, but very quickly got back to her. She often invited me out with her 'new friends' and I often went. I met people through her and sometimes these people would want to see me again. The beautiful thing is she would ALWAYS (people, always! I'm not kidding) say to me 'So, she/he asked for your number, should I give to her/him? But I warn you, this person is a bit crazy, talks too much, calls me all the time, really annoying, seems like a nice person, but ooohh boy, when you really get to know him/her...' Did I emphasise enough that she aaahhhlllways did this? I thought it was strange, but I was so happy of my new friend that I let it go. For too long.

I could write a book about this woman. But that would give her too much attention and that's exactly what she wants. Even if she never read that book, somehow she would know that her wonderfulness had been documented somewhere (this post obviously doesn't count). So I'll give you the cliff notes of our wonderful "friendship": About 98% of the info she told me about her life was false. She complained about every person she/we knew. She complained about me to other people. Told lies about other people to me. Told lies about me to other people. She bitched about her boyfriend excessively (to the point that he abused her and was a psychopath) but didn't ever finish the relationship. And in the end she made me feel that I had ruined our friendship, but never really specified what I had done to her.

What creates these types of women? Why make friendships if you wanna screw people over? Where's the satisfaction? I have too many questions and only stupid fragments of answers. Is it really just jealousy that ruins the affection between women?

this calls for a caption contest
photo from here

                                                            
To balance things a bit, I do have sweet, supportive female friends. All four of them. I trust them not to put a knife on my back. To listen patiently to my long winding stories that I don't always tell very coherently. To whom I can actually make a 4 AM phone call. They tolerate even if I don't call them for awhile because I'm  'busy'. Then one day I pick up the phone or send mail and we feel like no time has passed from the last time we spoke.

Then there are the men. But that's another bible altogether.

in the soup

For the most part of my adult life I have lived on sandwiches, coffee and fruit. Ok, I've cooked every now and again, I even have my pièce de résistance (lentil soup) (what do you mean it's easy to make?!) and I've always liked to bake. But I admit I'm one of those people who often have only milk in the fridge. I like supermarkets, especially the fruits and veg section, but hate shopping for food. The only way for me to actually grab enough food for a couple of days is to go the market hungry. So hah, that rule sucks!

Seven  months ago I met my current boyfriend and it's been amazing. For various reasons, one of them very x-rated, but most importantly because he likes to cook. Joy! He also likes to talk about food and plan ahead what to make. This I'm not so fond of, but I'll take it, since I know these conversations will eventually lead to me having something delicious in my tummy.

After a billion or so various meals together I decided it was my turn. After all I CAN cook, I've just chosen not to. So I buckle up, go buy the ingredients (and some chocolate to please my grumbling stomach) and start the preparations. He doesn't leave me alone in the kitchen.

me: 'It's ok, I don't need help, I've got it covered.'
him: 'Are you sure? I'm happy to help. It's nice to do things together.'(who is this guy?)
me: 'No, really, this is my gift to you, I owe you a nice meal after all this time.'
him: 'Oh come on, that's not necessary. Why are you cutting the onion like that?'
me: 'Because it told me this is the way it likes to be cut.'
him: 'Hm.'
me: 'Come on, relax, go play with your computer or something!' (am I a great girlfriend or what!)
him: 'I'll peel the carrots'
me: '(only if you keep quiet) awww thanks, you're so sweet!'
him: 'I think it would be nice to add some celery to this.
me: '(it's my recipe, mine!) trust me, it will be so good, I've done it a million times!'
him: 'Yeah but how can a little celery hurt?' (starts cutting the celery)

Cut to the soup (yes, the lentil one, duh!) simmering on the stove for and hour or so. All this time he has to check it every 10 minutes. Various comments: 'It's not looking good'/'Maybe we should have added the lentils a bit before?'/'It needs more salt, right?' I count to a hundred. Slowly. We sit down to the table and start eating. Being an intelligent and observant man of this century he says: 'A really good idea to put the celery in!'

There rest of the soup he had to wipe from the floor.

A week later I made a lasagna. In my own flat, alone. From scratch. For the first time in my life. He ate his share and asked for more. Did not ask for celery. Even called his mom about it.

this is the start of the soup. I know it looks like vomit, but this is not a food blog, people! it really was perfectly good. with celery and all.

full of grace

Guess what? I work with nuns. Nuns! I would never have believed to be in this situation. I am, after all, a non-religious person. Spiritual yes, but religious...I frown at the thought. So of course it's me who is put on this job, to work with brides of Christ. They are lovely people in general, but I can only imagine what they think of me. Unholy. Pagan. Child of Satan. Stupid. And with blond hair above all! Little bitc...eh, who knows.

On my first day I met the head nun, and immediately wanted to wail out 'I'msorryI'msorryI'msorryI'msorry!'. It felt like she could see inside my head, what I thought and what I felt. For sure she saw that I had left the church 10 years ago and still hadn't told my mom about it, that my favourite saying is 'oh-my-fucking-god', that on this particular day (which I'm afraid was like most of the other days) I had come to work in yesterday's clothes, with messy hair and so-so make up, straight from my boyfriend's place where we had done unholy things all night long. But I gulped, made my best effort to give a self assured smile and said 'good morning'. I wondered if she went back to the chambers and gossipped about me with the other nuns. Maybe they do that, how do we know.

After starting to work there I keep running into nuns everywhere. Once I saw two of a different sisterhood sitting opposite each other in a bus, both idly looking outside the window. I was surprised they didn't talk to each other. I wanted to say to them 'come ooon, you both work for the same boss, you should have loads to talk about!' In their shoes I would be all:

'Oh hiiii! Fancy being in the same bus!! Which congregation?'
'Noooo way, yeah, what a coincidence! I 'm [insert suitable name of a congregation here please].'
'Oh right, I was looking at your habit, you guys have such lovely clothes and I loooove the colour! So you must work with Father O'Brian!'
'Yeah, you know him?'
'For sure, I just saw him the other day. We made plans...'

At this point the conversation was in danger of getting too dirty, so I stopped. And yes, in my head they spoke like teenagers.

No surprise, I crossed off being a nun from my list of future jobs a looong time ago.

shit

I just realised that the previous post can be considered as a foreword.

no dramatic curve

There are no forewords for this blog. I generally don't like stories with a beginning, middle part and an ending. I like pieces of information, new things that make you think, flashes, wonderings, snippets. There are no huge, life altering reasons why I'm writing here. I just wanna.