Roll credits

I’ve read about a million and a half times that there’s so much abandoned stuff on the internet that now a lot  of what’s online is just pure outdated trash. I don’t really want to abandon this blog, but since I already have, I might as well put it to rest with the little class that’s left in it.

I’m not too sure why I no longer write here. I stumble upon ideas from time to time, and certainly stumble upon lots of people being rude, funny, delightful, and all those things people can be. And of course, I still live in the world, a place that, as we all know, surprises us on a daily basis. But for some reason I began to think that none of it was good or remarcable enough to write about – or maybe the blog is just not a good enough means anymore.

Anyway, I’m still here and so is the blog. Maybe I’ll get back to writing some nonsense on it soon, maybe not so soon, maybe never. Either way, I’ll let you know, but for now let’s just leave it at that.  See ya!

What do you do with a brand new Armani bag?

You paint it.

I bought this bag last December in New York, thinking it would do wonders serving as a bag that I didn’t have to hold in my hand whilst out and about (mostly whilst out and about at night, for I’m normally sober during the day (with the odd exception) and don’t really worry about losing my handbag). So there it was, a bit expensive for non-leather, but more animal-friendly and shiny.

I think I wore it only twice before I got the idea to put some color on top of it. Actually I think I only wore it twice, period. And then it was off to the crafts shop (great place to meet people – not) to look at different kinds of (cheap) paint that would be easy to use and stick to the metal tag that came with the bag.

It didn’t turn out quite as I had expected it to be, but I did buy permanent paint and what’s done is done. I like it still, but it sort of reminds me of that dreadful camouflage pattern people insist on wearing – even if in more unusual colors.

I can’t decide whether I’m a sucker for labels or a hippie on the inside, so I guess this is good compromise.

The bag as it once was

The weapon of the crime

The final result

Surprise, surprise

Interestingly enough, none of my ex’s speak to me. Which, obviously, is my fault, and not theirs – when the rest of the world has a problem with you, the problem is within yourself, and not in the rest of the world. And my very first boyfriend hadn’t spoken a word to me in 5 years till last week. But then, he did.

After years of neglecting, denying and resenting each other’s existences, me and my ex actually sat down and discussed all things possible, such as the weather, his current job, my travels around the globe and the world of harm we did to each other. All without tears (there was a close call on a very personal matter, but it did not happen), screaming or fighting. Who would have thought?!

It was great to see him again. He’s as well as can be (with all the problems that that entitles), and it felt both like meeting an old friend and meeting someone for the first time, which was an uncanny situation. I guess people change, but they don’t really.

I’ve told a number of my friends about this meeting, but I don’t think anyone really cares, or gets how important this was to me. Which is fine, but it really was something else. I live in hope and hate to see people hating me. I screw up and am screwed over, but my never-ending optimism insists on making me think that everything can be healed, that I can be friends with everyone. I’ve accepted defeat on that matter with a few people, for different reasons. But hey, my ex was one of those. We might not become (or regain our status of) best friends, but the wall of resentment that stood between us for so long has been torn down. We might never cross the line where it once stood, but at least we can see through it now. I’m being really tacky, but life is indeed awesome.

Oops.

Earlier today me and my friend were shopping in Santa Monica, one of the richest places in Los Angeles. I say “we” were shopping but it was mainly him, for I don’t really have any money right now (hmmm, the common places of my stories) and was mainly just tagging along. We went inside this GAP shop and I noticed an abandoned Lush bag next to a pile of shirts (you know Lush, the shop with all the soap bars, solid shampoo and the like). I looked inside to see if there was stuff in it or if it was just a neglected paper bag, saw that there was indeed stuff inside and just walked past it, thinking “Hmmm, a free bag full of Lush stuff!”. But I let it be, and went looking for my friend.

And here’s my first confession: I thought to myself “If the bag’s still here when I come back, I’ll take it”. I wasn’t too sure, but I thought of doing it.

And here’s the second one: I took it! I even told my friend “OK, I’m taking the forgotten bag, let’s make for a quick getaway”. He ruined the quick getaway, but that’s hardly the point. The point is, I shouldn’t have taken it. I should have given it to the cashier or some other store clerk and said “Look, someone forgot this, you should keep it in case they come back”. But I didn’t, I took the bag and tried to blend into the crowd, looking like just another person with just another Lush bag – not one that was forgotten and then stolen.

I feel bad. Not bad as in “I want to kill myself” bad, but bad as in “I wish someone would return my bag if I’d forgotten it in a shop”. And I try to do to others what I would like done to me, I really do – obviously enough, I often fail.

I know it might not be a huge deal, and I try to shake it off by thinking that some people wouldn’t even give this a second though, after all the bag was forgotten, I let it sit before I took it, I was shopping in Santa Monica and whoever bought it can probably afford more. Would Bonnie and Clyde feel bad?! No. Would Butch Cassidy and the Sundance kid?! Would Robin Hood?! (now I’m just trying to make myself look a bit better). Well they probably wouldn’t, but I do. Which is, at the same time, silly and…honest.

I don’t want to flog myself too hard, and I am trying to convince myself that this is not that big a deal, maybe just some belated juvenile delinquency. But I’m pretty sure that bag wasn’t worth taking. Damn it. Too late.

 

Kill me now

I have always dragged boyfriends to clothing stores and made them look at numerous outfits for hours before making my mind up. Not only look, I’ve made them comment as well – I say “made” because mainly I’m always the one talking, they mostly agree: “I like these pants, but the seams are kind of weird, no?”, “Yeah, sure”. For hours on end. And obviously I’ve heard that men dread going into such shops with women because that’s exactly what they get: an endless parade of shirts, skirts, pants and dresses that they have no interest in, while we girls try to figure out what’s flattering and what’s not quite worth the big bucks. But I’ve always figured men are being rather dull, because obviously good clothes can be really interesting, if not fascinating, almost. Hmmm, I was wrong.

I was recently dragged into a Sears by a (male) friend. He is quite the handyman, he works fixing cars up and building boats and what have you. Therefore, he is a toolkit addict. Therefore, I was screwed.

After we’d already spent a good 20 minutes roaming around the store – at first I was trying, looking at all that stuff, not knowing what most of it was for – I decided to give him some time and go look at the women’s clothing section while he was in awe with all the tools for sale. Turns out Sears is shit for clothes (don’t go there) and I was done very quickly. Which put me back at the start, trying to convince my friend it was time to go. Please.

But he was nowhere near to being done, and kept telling me how awesome everything was. “Look at this saw. Do you have any idea how much this thing weighs? This saw can cut through wood like it’s butter”. Oh, yes. Wow. “Have you ever seen a tool like this? It stretches your wrench so you can reach in deeper while working on an engine”. Ah. “Oh, I haven’t seen these for sale in ages, let me go ask the sales guy if they have it in the 2-inch-gage”. Oh dear Lord, please take me away from here, never to come back.

So there you have it. I’ve learned my lesson. I had never figured out exactly how much boyfriends suffer while I try on some clothing candidates, but now I know. I had to learn it the hard way, and I tell you right now it wasn’t easy – we spent at least an hour in that shop, but it surely felt like a week. So cease this opportunity, ladies, be glad that I went through it so you won’t have to, and let your men enjoy freedom while you shop.

Young at heart

I’ve never been much of a gym-goer, a statement for which my ass is living proof. But I’ve recently  joined the YMCA and I have to admit it’s making me feel great. I’ve been doing Yoga and Pilates and they’re both awesome, the swimming pool is fantastic and there are plenty of classes to join. But that is not the best thing about it. The best thing about it is that most of the people who go there are, much like myself, people who have nothing to do all day. And we all know who those people are: the really old. And although I’ve had my fair share of having to look at swimsuits so old and thin they actually cover nothing – and looking at naked old people is not a hobby of mine – I’ve been feeling extremely fit, and that’s what gyms are all about in the first place. I’m always one of the best students in any given class (albeit one of the youngest), and I pride myself in the fact that I can do at least 5 laps in the pool while the people who were previously in the water are still on their way back to the locker rooms, struggling not to slip on the poolside while they cling to their walking frames – I am not kidding.

I know that I might be comparing myself to other people too much, which is probably not healthy, but although I normally have a 40-50 year-advantage going on for me in this case, I still feel awesome.

Eco-pain

Before I first started working for Amnesty International I made myself the promise not to become one of those people who are always advocating in the name of a cause in a completely unrelated scenario. The people who always bring up the political roots of world poverty, who paint verbal pictures of slaughters as soon as anyone orders a burger, who post their candidate’s material on Facebook. I knew I’d signed up to become much more aware of the daily disaster that is our society, but I wanted to keep on being someone who doesn’t harass anyone else, regardless of how little they’re doing for the environment/society/animals/what have you. Plus “right” and “wrong” are highly debatable concepts, and far from me to tell people (if they don’t ask for my opinion, that is) that what they’re doing is wrong. Least, that what I’m doing is right.

But Amnesty (and awareness about the world on which I cruise) got to me, and I’m obviously becoming someone who’s more and more taking steps towards the “eco-friendly”, the “socially just”, the “environmentally correct”, the “healthy choice” (all of that in brackets because who really knows?!). I buy organic food whenever I can (afford it), I’m a vegetarian (who wants to be a vegan but loves her leather stuff too much – go figure), I want to keep working for NGOs (even if for free). And while I don’t judge people who don’t act or think like I do – or at least not out loud – I think I am growing more and more…obnoxious about my personal choices. Even though rationally I disagree with my own attitude, I admit that I now frown upon people who show no respect for others or for the environment around them. Upon people that litter, people that like rodeos, people that despise the homeless, people that refuse to spend another dollar to buy free-range eggs.

I watched The Cove the other day and I highly recommend it. It’s a greatly made documentary about the dolphin entertainment industry and the cruelty behind it. It’s awesome because not only it shines a light on an alarming subject, it is also a very cool piece of film. It didn’t commit what seems to be my own sad destiny: become so self-involved in your cause that you forget to also live your life in a carefree, fun manner (or, in the film’s case, become so self-involved in the cause that you forget about making a proper film, and end up with a piece of crap nobody wants to watch).

On the following day I decided to watch Food Inc., another documentary (hello, obsession?!), this time about – obviously – the food industry and how disgusting and deceiving it really is. My friend watched it with me, and left the room, in shock, after some chickens were shown being put upside down and having their necks gashed open, one after the other. Maybe it is too strong of a scene, maybe they didn’t need to show that, maybe my friend didn’t have to see that much. But then again, where does she think her lovely chicken nuggets come from?!!!

Watch out. I’ve become a tree hugger pain in the ass.

Love you, bye!

When I first boarded the train to come home yesterday I sat close to a girl (who must have been about my age) who held her ticket for about an hour before the ticket checker finally saw it, and while she was holding it up she looked at me and gave me a smile, meaning “My God, I’ve been holding this ticket for a long time, is he going to check it or not?! This is kind of funny, me sticking my arm here forever while he checks what seems to be everyone else’s tickets first”, and I smiled back, meaning “It is kind of funny indeed, good luck holding your arm up”. And then he finally checked her ticket and we were on our way, me thinking “what a nice girl/moment of interaction with a complete stranger”.

And then she started talking on her phone, and all of a sudden got really gloomy and grumpy, the smile that had been on her face just before nowhere to be found. She got gloomier as she spoke:

“Where are you?! Where?! Oh my God”. Clearly disappointed at her (I was soon to find out) husband for not being somewhere else.

“What are we doing for dinner?”

“Tonight!”

“What? No. I thought we were staying home tonight, I thought we were having a quiet night. You want to go see a film? Oh my God”. Like going to see a film is such a hassle.

“What film is it? What is it about? Oh and we are going to see that. Oh my God”. By now she was almost crying.

“What? No! Well I’m not staying home by myself. Oh God”. (why not?!)

“Who’s going to the movies? What?! Oh my God”. Disappointed at the company her husband had arranged.

“I don’t know any of these people. No, I don’t know them”. So?

“Are they internet people?”. Not sure what that means.

“What? Yes they are. They aaare. Oh. My. God”. Just totally, totally whiny.

“No, we’re different people. We’re different. We’re married people”. The conclusion to why she’d rather stay in and cook dinner rather than go out and see a movie, that movie, but not if she’s staying home by herself, because she would never do that.

“Yes, love you, bye!”. Well-done, ending on a positive note!

And that just put me off marriage forever.

I’m so awesome

Few things in life annoy me more than people who constantly compliment themselves. Maybe they’re fishing for other compliments, going first so that people will follow suit: “I’m so amazing”, “Oh, yes, you are, you truly are amazing”. Maybe they don’t really think they’re that awesome and they’re trying to reinforce the idea on themselves. Maybe they just believe that they are that cool and want to share the idea. Whichever the case, it drives me absolutely…I want to say mad, but that’s not quite right. I think bored is more the case.

I can be having a great time with whoever, but as soon as they drop the self-loving it completely puts me off. It is seriously the most tedious kind of conversation I can have with anyone. Or monologue, rather, because not only do I have no will to participate in something like that, I don’t really know how to react, either. I guess the only way to go is to agree, because you can’t really say “In fact you’re not as great as you think you are”. It’d be rude, even if the situation calls for it.

Everyone complains about different aspects of their lives, me included. Sometimes the house you live in is not quite your dream house, sometimes your family drives you nuts, sometimes (or most of the time, more often than not) you don’t make as much money as you would like to. But that, dear self-lovers, is life, and not some injustice forced upon you, a magnificent creature. “I’m too creative to be waiting on tables, I can’t waste all the fantastic ideas I have on such a stupid job”. Now hold on. You may have good ideas indeed, but waiting on tables is just an annoying job, not because you’re a genius, but because it just is (I would know). The fact that you think it’s annoying doesn’t mean that you’re too good for it, it just means you’re alive, basically. Pretty much everyone I’ve ever know that waited on tables thought it was quite boring and not intellectually challenging, because it’s not. But if you agree with that, you’re just another regular random person, not a genius wasting his massive brain on hot plates. People have jobs that don’t deman so much of them, they go through situations they’d rather avoid, they read books they don’t like. That doesn’t make them fantastic, it just means maybe the book wasn’t so good.

I had a friend who use to brag on her good looks all the time. And by “all the time” I mean “all the time”. “I’m sick of working in a place where everyne is jealous of how good I look”. Really?! Problem solved, because that statement just made you look ten times uglier.

“I was surprised I couldn’t deal with that situation, because normally I’m very clever. I pride myself on my intelligence”. Honestly, that instantly makes me want to call the whole thing off. Being intelligent, if nothing else, is kind of rare. So bragging about it, in the very least, is rude – most people around you – most people in the world – can’t “pride themselves” on their intelligence, so at least don’t show off. And self-complimenting is just about the least sexy thing anyone could do. Ever. You’re so intelligent, you should know better.

Posh (short) flying

It’s been a tradition that I’ve followed ever since I started choosing my own clothes that I always look like crap when I travel. A plane-hater, I put comfort first (not only on planes, as is obvious by the way I normally dress) and simply forget about anything else. I dress in track pants, a lose t-shirt and normally change into flip-flops and socks (always a good look) 5 minutes into the flight. I never ever wear make-up to fly, and rarely ever can stand accessories. I even take off my day-to-day studs because they get uncomfortable when you’re sleeping with your head on your knees. So basically I’m my most unattractive self when I travel. And while I don’t really care, I feel kind of jealous of glamorous-flyers – not that I see many of those in coach, my class of choice.

Surprisingly enough, I pulled off something incredible last week, when I went to Wellington on a holiday. I packed, went all the way to the airport, flew and got to my destination bathed in class. For a start, my hand luggage was my handbag. Designer handbag. Which meant  that for once in my life I wasn’t dragging stuff around the airport with me, carrying a huge pack on my back, my jacket on one arm, two plastic bags full of stuff, half a sandwich, a water bottle and a magazine on the other. I had a dark blue leather handbag, that contained all of my stuff, and that was that. Pure class.

I wore black from head to toe, and none of it was fleece. I had a proper top on, and jeans, believe it or not. And not loose-fitted, either. I wore earrings and a necklace, and, cherry on the top, I wore knee-high boots. Yes, knee-high. Boots. On a plane! And I didn’t take them off!

I had no random pieces of luggage to store on my overhead compartment (which may shift during flight) nor under the seat in front of me, I didn’t queue to go change in the toilet and come out looking even worse than I did before, I didn’t even put my feet on my seat, like I normally do. I just sat straight up, hair down, make-up on, admiring the fact that for once I was on a plane and didn’t look like a mess.

So from now on this is my new travelling style. Sad thing is, I can only go places that take no longer than an hour to get to. More than that and I go back to my pre-Cinderella mode, carrying a million things, wearing the top half of my pajamas and flying in a pumpkin.