They are only words - unless they are true

Blessed be those that, when having nothing to say, say nothing at all

Hide U

Me and Crushed debated that icky, sticky thing called love the other day, and agreed upon disagreement. Considering I have never actually been in love, I don't carry as much weight in the conversation as Crushed does - besides, I'm a teeny tiny little woman, I don't carry much weight at all. But I know how to stand my ground.

Here's the thing - is love defined by the urge to protect someone away from the surrounding world?

We argued about this for a while last night, because we don't see eye to eye. Crushed consists in his beliefs that when you love someone you just want to wrap that person (in his case, unexplainably, Sara Sidle) into your arms and take care of them.

In my beliefs, that's what you do to a stray dog, not someone you love.

Maybe I'm the ultimate relationship altruist, but I think that when you merge two lives, you should try and wrap as little as possible. I mean, just because you are a couple doesn't mean you have to switch the "me" to an "us".

That's by the way extremely enervating, when a person describes him or herself (for some reason, this happens mostly around women) as 'us'.

Wrapping someone up in the proverbial blanket of comfort, taking care of them, hiding them away from the world - okay, in theory it might sound comfortable for a while, but let's face it, we all have lives of our own to go on with.

Merging two lives does not mean you give up on individuality. You owe it to yourself and everybody around you to keep nurturing an individualistic trait, where you have your own friends, your own hobbies, your own duties. Because being together 24/7 is tiring in the long run.

Heck, try being together for 24 consecutive hours and see if bloodshed wont be the inevitable result!

(she said, realizing she might be the only person in this world that is that difficult to live with)

Actually, I've never had complaints about being too clingy - it's the other way around, while in a relationship, I seemingly spend far too little time with my significant other. Or so I've been told.

Could it be that I've just been taught to take care of myself as a grownup and manage my own wishes and needs and wants and not constantly lean upon others to fix my life, wrap me into that already mentioned proverbial blanket and hide me away from the world that sometimes rejects me, and rejects me harsh?

Or maybe love is just that - individual - and nobody is a hand to glove to someone else. We adapt, but should never give ourselves up.

A man marries a woman, hoping she'll never change, but she does.
A woman married a man, hoping he will change, but he never does.

How about this - the person you fell in love with, with all the quirks, the neuroses, the borderline psychosis, the looks, the temper, the works. You fell in love with that person. If s/he changes, is it the same person? Or are you just meant to be with someone else?

Another issue - the One and Only? Crap!
If I have to look for one single person that I'm suited for in every aspect (and the prospect of that relationship bores the hell out of me right off the bat), I might as well curl up and die. Many people in this world, about half of them men - so many men, so little time!

Besides, how should I deduct the One and Only - by trial and error? Eh... drag me naked through the rosebushes and slap a sticker on me right now - slut, anyone?

Love is unexplainable. Love is unpredictable. Love is hugging someone one minute just to shout and throw stuff in the next. Love is respect and friendship, but not only - love is when you feel your heart thumping like a horny rabbit in your chest for no apparent reason more then a smile, a smell, the sound of that familiar voice you can't get enough of...

Love is giving each other space. At least it is for me. I'm not a hugable person.











...but today I really, really need a hug...




*sigh*

My hump, my hump...

The relativity theory migth be wasted on my coworkers, but conspiracy theory is not. Today, I realized why it's always me that is emptying the dishwasher. Not because there is a lack of women, and therefor domestic abilities - I'm a firm believer that a man with two hands is perfectly capable of emptying the dishwasher himself.

It's as simple as due to dresscode. Strickt dresscode. Suit & tie for guys and suits for women. Most often skirts, off course, because it's the summer and it gets hot. And how does a skirt that belongs to a suit look?

I bend over. (Stupid enough, not realizing that might be the thrill) Giving them a perfect view of my derrier. They sit and lean back and look and smile. One did things with a banana I didn't think possible.

"I'm half a braincell away from dryhumping you right now" he said.

I walked up to him and kicked him. In the shin, true, but that's due to the dress code as well - had I had a skirt with more mobility on, the kick would have been in a much more hurtful place...

Taking time off for the Midsummer. Will NOT dance around the huge penis. Hoping for rain, just because I'm that vicious!


...plus, rain would damper the festivities - it makes it quieter, and maybe, just maybe, I'd get to sleep the night trough.

Chasing Cars

I've noticed that the longer posts, the fewer readers - most of you are probably just like me, drowning at the shallow end of the kiddie pool... so I'm gonna help you out here and keep it short.

You want to know my definition of romance? I've been asked time and time again, considering that I don't believe in marriage and monogamy and lifelong commitment, nor do I give much of a rat's ass about romance - do I believe in romance? )No, I believe in God - everybody else has to have signed documents of validity) What is my definition?

Let me enlighten you. It's quite simple really.

There is a CD on the desk of one of my coworkers. It's a simple, home made mixed CD of romantic songs, that her husband of 13 years made for her just a couple of days ago. It says "To the best thing in my life - I love you".

No reason. He just thought she should have it and think of him, remembering how much he loves her, when she's at work.

here's there the collective sigh comes in when all the cynics of the world either switch side or knock their fingertips against their foreheads

To me, that's endearing. Because it's so simple, it doesn't take much time, but proves he thought about the songs she'd enjoy, and to brighten her day up at the office, and to tell her he loves her!

(...I wonder if he has a brother....?)

I've never got a mixed CD. One of my ex's handed over the compressed version of his entire CD collection, which to me spelled out "Here, all the music I have - make your own damn mixed CD". Another told me, very mature, "Aren't we too old for that shit?".

Hey, it's not like I asked them to write me a song!


So there, there it is. My definition of romance. Little, thoughtful things. Cause the devil's in the details...


Now share: ...what is the most romantic thing you've ever done for another person? What's the most romantic thing anyone ever did for you? And what grand (ehum) gesture are you still hoping for...?

Hey guys, remind me to kick mr Jason Mraz in the unmentionables, will you?

Out of one of the very few gene pools I wouldn't mind dipping my toes into to the urge to cause serious harm - ow do you switch so quickly?
s
Well, it is Monday, and as all Monday's, God is pissed and He lets us know it. The morning begun with an unexpected blackout in the middle of the night, which caused the alarm clock not to ring. See, the batteries that are inserted in the back of it and are supposed to minimize the possibility for a complete oversleeping decided to run out sometime during the night, too.

And no, I don't have spare batteries in the night stand.

So, the alarm didn't go off, but thankfully I've got loud neighbors that woke me up at 6.40am, which is about 40 minutes past my get-out-of-bed-curfew. If I don't get up at 6am, I wont shower, and if I wont shower I'll walk around like a huge, black cloud all day long at the office and stink. I don't know what's worse - the smell or the temper tantrums I keep throwing.

I sprung out of bed and slipped into the bathroom, where the faucet more or less exploded on me. Which means they had cut the water during the night and air had gotten into the pipes. Now, air came out, pushed by dirty water, and the only silver lining to this was I was still in my PJ's and therefor could change.

I showered quickly when the faucet stopped hissing and spitting at me, dressed and turned off the coffee maker, so it wouldn't burn itself out and explode. I did not want to come home in the evening and pick shattered glass out of the walls and cabinets in the kitchen. Again.

Instead of the morning walk of twenty minutes that's designed to wake me up I had to take the car. And, off course, on the road where there's no traffic nor workers, today I encountered both. I was late. Very late. And fuming.

Hot air did in deed come out of my ears, like in cartoons, just a few minutes later, when it became clear that the coworker that had been off work last week had called in sick today.

Okay, I get it, you get sick, but I believe in sick-sicker-dead, and he should have passed that line a long time ago. Nobody catches a cold two days a week, every week!

Shipping trouble. New contracts. Decisions made way above my head that I had no influence what so ever over, but somehow have to explain and get scold over by our customers. That's why I love sales - the client is always right, even if they are so far off centre they aren't even in the suburbs of right.

At three pm, I was completely stressed out, not having been to the bathroom, not having had coffee nor lunch and not lifted my ass since I parked it on the chair behind my desk in the corner office where I see people from other offices actually enjoy their workday through the huge glass wall overlooking the parking lot of the business district.

My ulcers were growing ulcers of their own.

Then it just happens. In the middle of a forty minute long tirade over the phone over an agreement the client had made with the HQ and that I had nothing to do with, and that she's apparently not happy about at all - now, in the retrospect, off course. My head hurts, my jaws are tensed and my tongue is hurting from all the "yes, ma'am" I have to heave out of myself where I in fact would nothing more then love to tell her to go fug herself somewhere she wont bother anybody else...

...and I'm Yours by Jason Mraz came by. That summery, breezy, lovely song I can't help but to enjoy, all the time, constantly, turning the radio up at the max whenever it's on. So what do I do? It's the Man with the Voice and the Hat and the Smile. I just wanna take my pantyhose off, change out of the suit and into a summer dress, put a hat on and go to the beach! I just want to close my eyes and feel the sun kissing my cheeks and the wind ruffling my hair. I just want to...

I hang up the phone. In the middle of a sentence. Then I turn it off, close the door, kick my shoes off, close my eyes, lean back in the chair, hands clasped behind my messy, curly head - and just sit and listen to the song.

He got to the end, Jason that is, completely, before my boss knocked on the door and told me off. And I replied.

No, I haven't been sacked, but I'm not very liked right now. Plus, being yelled at by the boss is never fun.

So remind me to kick Jason in the unmentionables for putting out - the song, that is, the rest I could definitively handle - DEFINITIVELY - and make me feel good and exhale every time it comes on.

I exhaled. To that song. I shouldn't have done it, apparently.

You might argue with me on this, asking "How is it Jason's fault that you're so easy to please?", and I gotta tell you - it's not the issue! It's not about me. It's not even about that song. I just need to sink my teeth into someone today, and it's easier to be angry and threaten the well being if not life of someone you will never meet and therefor actually hurt.

The anger will go away - eventually - and you're left with your own life. But it feels better to know that you have semi-gotten rid off the frustration, you know?

So, remind me to kick Jason Mraz in the unmentionables.

Oh, and yeah, I'm wearing pointy-toe metal spike stilettos. It will hurt.

Beautiful Mess

I'm a mess! I'm complicated and neurotic and messy and psychotic and needy and soft spoken and I shout at the top of my lungs for you to leave me alone - it's take it or leave it, can't choose the best parts for your scrapbook as you perceive it. You either love me or you don't - most chose the latter - you want me to change, but you know I wont...

I've been called a bitch when it's been called for, but it's when it's uncalled for that it gets to me

I've been called J.Lo and Shakira because of my butt, but I don't mind - it's possibly the second thing man sees from space, but I like it that way - cushions my falls

I've never been in love - I've felt the stomach turn and the knees get weak and the heart thumping like a bunny on drugs, but it's never last - I don't have it in my genetic makeup to make it last

Yet I'm a firm believer in monogamy and whether I see really old couples, with more wrinkles then hair on their heads, my heart melts - holding hands, not for freshly in-love anymore!

I think I'm beautiful, but a bad hair day can make me falter and creep in under the covers, hiding from the surrounding world, like it stands and falls with the strands of my hair - and even though I've got an armada of gorgeous hats, it just never occurs to me to make the best of the situation - I'm shallow and walking a thin line between good self esteem and complete devastation

I love dancing in the rain and to hear it drum on the window sills while sitting under a warm blanket with some whiskey - but I hate getting wet and will run and hide and shriek and curse until it hits me that instead of letting it bother me, I can let it become me - and dance

I can run a marathon in high heels and not trip nor get shaken in my very foundations, even when I'm on cobbled streets in a brand new place and it's dark so I can't see - but I walk into door jambs around my old apartment, like I have no idea where they are

I've got tons of scars, from being a Tomboy and climbing countless trees and fighting countless boys and outrunning and outsmarting them all while growing up - and from those two times I nearly lost my life together with those skid-marks on my panties - but if you'd trace my body with your fingers, you wouldn't find a single mark - I heal remarkably well - externally

Wishing I could support myself by my writing, and host another gallery opening with my art and be able to do graphic design and just be, the artist and writer that I am, deep inside, underneath it all - but still at the end of the day, I need to have my life sorted into nice labeled boxes, pie charts, alphabetized, put away for storage - at the reach of my hand, just at the tip of my fingers

I dress rather eclectic, with designer labels mixed with old, worn out jeans and a pair of stiletto heels and a baseball cap and a shopping bag thrown over my shoulder, yet I'm always professional, and the pantyhose almost grow out of my legs themselves - but would you come by unannounced, I wouldn't open the door, cause you might catch me in my PJ's, or my ex boyfriends old sweat pants, held up by pure will, and a Playboy t-shirt and no undies...

All I wish for is some stability in my roller-coaster life, with a good job and a white picket fence and someone to come home to - and I'm fully aware that at the end of the day, I still want to be able to skip town on a minutes notice, not even packing, just go, wherever the next flight is going, and see where life takes me

I'm a planner, I write lists, I research, find out the background information, see everything from every possible side before making my mind up - I'm reckless and I just decide, and when I've made my decision, nothing will make me falter in my beliefs - I can change my mind at the drop of a hat

Things that hurt me, I never forget, and even though I might not think about them ever again, all it takes is a hint of a memory, and I'll know exactly whom done me wrong and how - I've got the memory of an elephant, sadly I focus on the bad things instead of remembering compliments and praise I've gathered over the years

Very little becomes me, because I was hurt once, badly, in my life and decided never to let anyone have that much power over how I feel, and make me feel so low and shitty like then, ever again

I'm not happy - but I'm heading in that direction - life is a marathon, it starts when you are born, and death is the goal - it all comes down to what you do during the run

I know I can hurt someone worse with a single word then any action, yet there is no connection between brain and mouth some times, and the oral diarrhea hits me unexpected, getting the best of me, and there is not enough TP in the world to clean up the shit I heave out of myself - occasionally, I bite my own tongue so hard it starts to bleed - pacifist, diplomat, eloquently shutting up

I don't know how to give advice, because I don't want to impose my ideas on others, even though I will run you over if you disagree with me, because I come prepared to the arguments I engage in, and if I back down, you know I'm regrouping and I will hit you with my best shot the moment my cannons is re-calibrated, and you wont even see it coming, and you'll pick up the pieces of your shattered arguments, sweeping the dust off yourself, under the rug, and move on - and I'm adorable and with a crooked, cute smile I'll tell you you're completely right, stroking you gently over the back

I'm snappy and bity and witty and insecure so my intestines tremble but you will never see my cry nor falter unless you come real near, deep inside, where I hide all my secrets from the world, afraid they would go up in flames if I'd let the sun shine on them - I nurture my neuroses and psychoses and fears and enjoy the occasional panic attack for the heck of it - and feel I'm alive, because fear is what keeps my heart pounding like a drum

I'm the most poised, calm and controlled person you'll ever meet and you'll admire me for being that until I slide up in the convertible you're driving at an interstate and throw my hands out to the sides, feeling the wind nearly knocking me out of the car, screaming at the tops of my lungs and laughing so hard I nearly wet myself and not beg you to slow down because you are going too fast - life is to be lived - nobody regrets on their deathbed the things they did, just the things they didn't do

I'll give you a good tongue lashing or the silent treatment and you wont ever want to go through another, but you'll always, always see them coming, and not once will you guess correctly which one it will be - those come up randomly, just like the temper tantrums I keep throwing without prior notice

I'm a mess. You either love me or you can't stand me. Leave. Get out.

Most chose the latter.

I'm hard to stomach. I get that. I like that. I don't see myself as a bundle of contradictions, because I'm too organized to be a bundle of anything but labels and lists and pie charts. And I'll fix your life into a rout too, then hate you for letting me mess you up.

Caught by the river

The rain caught me off guard. It was eleven am and I was finishing up at the office, getting ready for a weekend off, getting off work early, as I always try to manage on Fridays. The sky was gray, revolting, angry. My boss laughed at me for wearing a sunhat to work, asking me if it moonlighted as a rain cap. I laughed with him, even though the joke wasn't funny, wondering quietly if the hat would tolerate being rained on. Some don't...

The huge windows, that take up one entire wall of the office building, offers a splendid view over the boring, dirty parking lot outside. Behind the parking lot is a low rocky slope, on top of which a nice, white picket fenced residential area is located. Suburbia - where they tear out the trees and name the streets after them.

Five to noon I was running down the stairs, minding my steps in the three inch wedges I had on for the sake of it being casual Friday. I stopped by the door, the glassed entrance, watching the summer day that had woken me up bright and early with birds chirping and sun shining turn into a water world. The streams of water ran down the front entrance like tiny little rivers...

I hoisted the door open and ran across the parking lot, holding onto my hat, car keys in hand, jumping in behind the steering wheel as quickly as I could. I slammed the door shut, sitting there, watching the water wash the windshield clean of yesterday's pollen. I finally turned the engine on, put the wipers on high speed and steered out from the office area, going home.

Somewhere down the road, the rain stopped. I was driving by the bakery, getting stuck in a long traffic line. It's graduation day, and there is no parking in the entire city. Even my prepaid parking lot was busy when I was pulling up, down my street, but when I turned and steered back, it was thankfully vacant again. People rush in and out of the florist, the bakery, the small gift-shops, getting last minutes errands in order before rushing to the next graduation...

I killed the engine, turning the wipers off and sat in the car, contemplating the weather forecasts. It's been hot like in a furnace not many days ago, and now, today, the entire world seems to be under water. Sitting in a glass and steel container that is the car, I felt out of place, like I was in an empty aquarium, with all the water outside of it.

I rushed home, realizing I could run very well in heels, even the geisha typed wedges, without breaking anything. It was amazing that I didn't break anything.

The rain stopped after maybe an hour or so, and I bravely went grocery shopping. I got there and home without getting wet. The usually gray, tarnished asphalt that covers the parking lot outside of my house shun in black and sparkling with water drops like diamonds as the sudden, unexpected and very brief rays of sun pushed through the dark clouds and hit the ground, spreading a cascade of sparkles.

When my mum called, asking if I'd go pick up a parcel with her, I didn't hesitate. The weather was improving and it looked like it would clear up any moment. The day was moving on, slowly, and I didn't want for it to continue without me.

Walking home from the post office, carrying the huge parcel for her, we were caught in the middle of a sudden and very real downpour. Out of nowhere, with the sun shining and not a single indication it would ever rain again, suddenly there it was. Catching us off guard, catching us in the middle of nowhere, on the street in a residential area with about ten more minutes walk home.

I was soaked. Top to toe, not a single piece of clothing had remained untouched by the rain. It came in short, brief, never-ending thrusts, like the sky had opened and someone was rapidly turning the tap off and on. Like I had been walking through a waterfall, reaching my hands out, stepping barefoot, gently over the polished rocks, trying not to slip. Like a river from the skies.

I don't think I've ever laughed so hard in my entire life. Had I not been carrying a parcel, I might have started to dance.

That's the best time to dance - in the rain...

Are you prepared to take a dive into the deep end of my head

Today I saw something that kinda scared me - if nothing else, then made me think. Long and hard. About reality, the presence, future, outlook on life, expectancy, abilities etc, etc, etc. Let's just say my head hurts now more then ever.

Two boys, maybe five years old, with rifles. Plastic toys, off course, but still. I'm not oppose guns - not that I am the next spokesperson for the NRA, but I do believe in every man's right to bare arms... I wear tank tops myself, so... :)

Jokes aside. We're talking about kids here!

They were putting up a war strategy, 'shooting' on one another, killing one another - then they rose, again and kept on running, yelling things like "You can't kill me, I've got my invisibility shield on!" or "I'm not dead, I'm immortal!". I don't blame TV nor the computer games, but maybe they have a little something to do with the fact that kids of today think they are truly invincible...

I blame the parents. Because it's easier to put a kid in front of the TV or the computer and get a couple of hours to yourself rather then having to put up with the why's and where's and whatfor's. I get it, I completely do, but then again, cause and effect.

That's another reason to why I don't want kids - I'm fairly sure I'd be a shitty mother. I would never be a good role-model. I'd be the kind of mother that worked too soon after giving birth, leaving the kid with grandparents and nannies and private daycare, and then travel around the world, dragging him or her along, take long latte pauses with friends, forcing him or her to read tons of books and not bother me with the constant questions...

Kids are like sponges, they suck up every single word, action, event they hear, see, live through and store in their huge, empty brains, filling them up for later. Then they repeat things, in a wrong way, at the wrong time, giving you bad reputation over things you never got to enjoy doing. And what's worst is, they know way more then you expect them to.

And you can hurt them by one bad stare, one wrong word, one single minute when you falter in your being.

You shape them, creating the people that will grow up and rule this world, and hopefully choose your retirement home. You have to be firm yet kind, educative yet adaptive, holding them up so they don't fall yet let them learn from falling... I don't think I could do that.

I'd be a bad role-model. How can you shape someone else's life, when you barely can handle your own?

Too much pressure. Too much resting on my shoulders. I argumentative and rarely back down from a challenge, but this one might be way over my head.

So yeah, I'm giving in, giving up, throwing in the towel.


I'd be a bad role model...