everything you need to know about girls

and if they figured it out in thailand, where even many boys are girls, it must be true.

dear 2010

no year made me feel so directionless like you did.

you even made me feel like this, once:

were you out to get me?

 we didn't speak the same language at all.

(the chicken is you)

 i was also a bit scared, a few many times.

but i thought a lot about it...

and we're cool, 2010.

the blackout's divide

we're experiencing a blackout. and this is no metaphor. light is out. black is in. therefore, a blackout. and you'd have never thought, but blackouts are the best way to tell adults from children (and this can be interpreted more loosely).

during a blackout, a child (and some of the more laid back or nonchalant adults, as well) will be thrilled with lighting up all the candles in the house, enjoy the quiet and, perhaps, if reminded by an adult in proximity, will feast on all the goodies in the fridge before they go bad.

during a blackout, an adult will worry. primarily about the fridge, secondarily about the candles burning the house down. he or she will be angry, irritated, almost as if he or she was served a fly in their soup or found pee pee drops on the toilet seat. 

which one are you?

status queue

in the 80s, romanians have queued professionally. and with lots of interest. yes, they were forced to and lines were long, they started early in the morning, but with time they also developed a kind of social dimension. 

when i was around 3, the lady who was taking care of me (aka mamaie lili) used to make me cut the line and go in front to get the goods faster, with my kiddish good looks and my stray cat charm, and it worked, it worked so well, we made such a good team, until my mother found out and exposed us for the low class smugglers that we were. she saw us from afar one day, one particular ordinary day, coming home from work early, well, she actually saw this dirty kid cutting the line and thought oh, poor kid, what parents must he have, keeping him (i might have looked a bit boyish, but i was 3) dirty and teaching him to be sneaky, but as she got closer she not only recognized the kid, but also the parents. she made it without a heart attack (which probably helped prevent the one she could've had when we got an astronomical phone bill upon my discovery of the internet, so it does all even out).

after my mom's emotionally affected story, my grampa, the colonel, retired so he could look after me with one eye and watch over me, with the other. my hiding under the bed from him started about the same time i realised there would be no cutting queues with him. nor corners. it might have been a coincidence. 

so, bottom line, except for me, we've been trained to queue. but it was something that obviously washed away like cheap mascara during a difficult break-up, because romanians do not know how to queue. 

(this is not a romanian queue)

example 1: munich airport. flight to bucharest. status: boarding. our little romanian queue was blocking the entire hallway, it was spread out and penetrated all nooks and crannies, we were like a giant, humanoid, thick spit. a middle aged woman, standing in line behind me for about 5 minutes, decides to fight her tea-drinking-socially-wired-lack-of-interaction-with-strangers and ask me "what are we waiting for here?". well, we were obviously boarding the flight to bucharest, why would she be asking the obvious, i wondered, but politely answered anyway and then she snapped and cheerfully walked away saying "oh, i'm not even on this flight!". of course, it took her another 5 minutes to escape the human sucking romanian queue because if there's two things to fear they are the flexible eyebrows and pointy elbows of a romanian. 

example 2: bucharest airport. lost luggage office. 3 computers and 3 computer operators inside a small, unaired room. around 60-70 drained and angry people, mostly romanians, waiting outside. the same, spit like, diform queue was transforming my joy of being home into surreal pictures of growing huge jaws and snapping heads off. it felt like i'd never get in. it felt like this monstrous queue was keeping me stuck in a point while it was letting everyone else advance on my right and left flank. 

two hours later and a lot of eyebrow and elbow shaking later, i got in. but a miracle had happened. i was cured. my nerves had been stretched to the maximum and, so in tune with the universe, started contracting into little nerves, that aren't even able to make me snap at a horde of three old, sneaky ladies cutting in front of me in a line, let's say. (which i will qed in the next case).

example 3: bucharest train station. me, first in line at the information desk. 0.5m between myself and the dirty window. three sneaky, old ladies coming from my right side, advance beyond limits of common sense and, with eye contact, position themselves right in front of me. no please, no questions asked. just cut.  before, this would have made me boil potatoes inside, but now, it made me smirk and say, good one, karma. 

but merry christmas. 

and ask santa for common sense, you can't ever have too much. 

i.t.a.c.f.h.

all night, last night, and all day, today, i've been crazy restless, crazy to do something, crazy with impatience. which obviously led to not doing anything. ANYTHING. in connection to the time that i have idealistically allocated for study, i'm living a drama. it hasn't gone away and i cant ask it politely to go away because we don't speak the same language. so instead of anything helpful i decided to admit defeat, but with some self-help baloney on top: it's positive restlessness, of an adventure to come.

p.s. should i have grown up with a strict german nanny? would i have turned out ok then?

i am the only one looking for you

plastic cones, stolen rooms. i've got style, miles and miles. that's what pavement said. and i'm just reproducing. you should know. cause i know. and if i know you know. now.

and then there's winter, with its julefrokosts and tunes and people. do i deserve this? 

jeg er klar.

he's not a giraffe

giraffes are gracious yet weird. and pawet is a strange mix, too. but a different strange mix. just like cherries and onions milkshakes are a different strange mix than detergent and chili. pawet's mix involves ink stains, rolled cigarettes, six strings, tom waits related compliments, space for surprises and a bunch of other things. 
i'd like to add this is one of my favorites:

see more of his drawings here. 

or else you won't.

love spam?

sarah miller, a dame who reads the stars, predicted sugar, spice and everything nice in november for me (and approximately half a billion other people around the world). but i did read that whole huge report and took note of the "special" days, so now i can add a bit of hypocrisy to my mocking. tastes better this way. 

and look, while i was busy mocking, it happened. love spam. and what a name, too. psheesh.  

and dear favour,  color and far distance do matter. for example, i can't stand light blue. and far distance makes me squint, which makes me look like an eskimo and they pee in the snow and i can't really stand yellow, either. 

isn't there anything i can do?

i am watching a movie about  an international crime syndicate planning to take over the world with psychotropic gum smuggled in phony Ming vases. i wish you knew how awesomely awesome mystery science theatre 3000 is. now you do. mission accomplished.

this one from the clip is called "spring fever" and it's about a world without springs.

(hilarious, i tell you.)

pleasantries and hair

i have two new theories:

one - people who say nice things at least want to mean them, in case they don't. which is still kind of nice.

two - i'm like hair. i grow on people.