Good grief, woman. Your skills in the art of matchmaking are positively occult.

Most useful thing I’ve done in months: clean out my inbox. I can breathe again!

In doing so, I found (and did not delete) a whole lot more emails from the Indian than I’d thought he’d written me, in the time we’ve known each other. One of the early ones says: “You are a delightful girl.” Now imagine that in an Indian accent.  *swoon*

Strange factoid: the majority of emails (which went back almost one and a half years – ya, it took ages to clean that inbox out) were from my editor and friend whom I write my bi-monthly movie column for. We have been swapping a whole hulking lotta emails since we started working together. The other huge pile of deleteable emails was from my ghostwriting. Not so strange, that.

Weird tram story of the day: a young mother (probably between 18-20) with her baby son and a friend (or sister?) in the back. The baby was in a buggy and while generally happy and giggly, he would suddenly screech. I think he just enjoyed making that sound and particularly liked that it made the two women pay extra attention to him. The mother did two things when he screeched. One really cute. One… really not cute. Cute one first: she would lean over him, squeeze his adorable little face (I’m not one who loves every baby she sees but my goodness, this one was a keeper) between the palms of her hands and make a blubbing noise while making his cheeks wobble. It made him giggle like mad. The other, positively insane way to make him stop: screech with him. That’s right. I kid you not. He would scream and screech and she’d make the same noise, only much, much louder. It did make him stop for a little while but my god, it was awful. She had a strident voice to begin with but it got a lot worse when she yelled with her son/at her son.

Then she got a pack of cigarettes out. Her odd way of dealing with her baby son, that I could have forgiven. Smoking? Despicable. Though it was in tune with her overly low-rise jeans, self-dyed black hair with Amy Winehouse extensions, pale, cakey foundation over unclean skin and the three piercings in her face. I hate it when people are predictable like that. And careless with their children.

Live long and prosper, peace,

Anna

If you’re stuck in the ducts when the rocket launches, then, well, boom. And I’d miss you.

Here’s my micro-post for the day, I was mulling over it all night.

 

Can you miss somebody that you’ve only ever met twice?

 

And I mean miss, as in feels like someone you love is gone. I find that I occasionally get that feeling about the Indian (remember, the guy I met on a train and gave a note with my phone number to), now that he is thousands of miles away from… me. I’d usually say “away from here” but something very compelling tells me it’s “away from me”.

The facts are these: I’ve met him in person only twice. Once on that train ride where he barely noticed I was sitting opposite him, until I clumsily and with apple red cheeks stuffed a note in his hand as he was exiting. The other was a sort of first date, to which I came half an hour late, because my bus and tram were unusually late. We have been on the phone many times and every time, we both enjoyed the conversation. Though I do get a bit stupid around him.

Then his stint at the research lab here was over and he moved back to India, because it’s much cheaper looking for a new job sitting there than sitting here. There are, I suppose, chances that he will find a job somewhere in Europe in the coming months. But there are also chances he will find one in America or Asia. All I know is: he does not want to stay in India right now, it’s just a station for him.

After our date he was busy and I was busy and although we did still manage to telephone, we didn’t manage to see each other again. Then there were a couple of weeks in which I heard nothing from him. I figured he was done with me, for whatever reason. I didn’t chase after him. Then he wrote me an email, telling me he was leaving for India soon and could we maybe get on the phone one last time before he did. He was also sorry for having been silent, he was just crazy busy packing and executing all his paperwork.

He left for India and I a few weeks later, I wrote him an email in which I told him about a dream I had had, that featured him prominently. Nothing, then, out of the blue, again an email. It’s been going like this ever since. He writes me an email, short and sweet. I answer. It takes him another few weeks to answer. But it does seem that every now and then, he remembers me and then takes the time to sit down and write to me. He’s quite the head-in-the-mathematical-clouds scientist, so this is not him playing games with me. I’m sure of that (just in case that was passing through your head right now).

Now we are finally at the missing him part. I am not in love with him and yet, I miss him like I would someone very dear to me. Whenever I pass an Indian restaurant or watch a movie with Indian characters, that feeling heightens. But it also comes without prompting. I catch myself thinking: maybe I’ll see him again. Or: in an alternate universe, we could have been together. None of these possibilities is likely now. I am really bad with numbers but even I can tell you, quite assuredly, that the odds are not in favour of us seeing each other again, let alone anything else happening.

Still, a part of me wishes this weren’t true. I think he’s a fascinating man. In my personal dictionary, there’s a picture of him next to the word “captivating”. There is so much more to him that I know is there, that I would love to be allowed to see, to uncover. It’s a bit like we didn’t get to finish what we were meant to do with each other.

It sounds like I might be hung up on him but it’s not like I can’t move on emotionally all of a sudden. We were never together and we were not around each other enough for love to develop. Or just a sense of us knowing where this might be going, up or down. But I still miss him.

Any wise thoughts on this? ‘Cause I’m afraid I’m all out of wisdom about this issue. So much for micro-posting too, eh?

 

Live long and prosper, peace,

 

Anna

You can stop looking at me like I just stabbed a puppy.

Wow, things are crazy busy around here. And when I say crazy, I mean crazy. Like, Chris Crocker crazy.

I am buried in work and am trying to maintain a semblance of a life and diet. Btw, I reached the four weeks mark a week ago and lost, well, 1,2kg. Not the world, but better than nothing. I’m still continuing, though I did snap yesterday and bought a döner kebap box and some mini Oreos. It’s all part of life, right? Right.

All this to say: don’t be surprised if I don’t have much blogging time right now. Until December 8th, I’ll be ghostwriting, tutoring, teaching, dieting and trying to finally get to the doctor again.

Just a glimpse of my day yesterday: on the way back from university and the supermarket, there was a man in the tram oggling me. He was thin, pale and a little scruffy in the face. He was one of those people you instantly get a creepy vibe from and he was definitely staring. He was staring because I am fat. What I couldn’t tell was if he stared because he hated me for it, or if he did it because he loved me. Creepy, creepy guy.

I also went to see 2012 yesterday. It is the mother of all disaster movies. It’s excellent! It’s pure, adrenaline-packed, tear-jerking pleasure. 2012 is, for all intents and purposes, the motherload. If Swiss cinema ticket prices weren’t so high, I’d go and watch it a second time.

 

Live long and prosper, peace,

 

Anna

Swordfish

Hey y’all! No, the password to the post below is not swordfish. Due to recent, cruel backlash concerning some old posts of mine (not protected, so I’m not gonna bother with it now – the damage is done), I have decided that the post below is probably best password protected. If you are eager to know what I rant about in it, drop me an email and I’ll send you the password.

I’m sad that it has come to this but it can’t be helped. You know how to contact me, it’s all right there in the contact me page! Duh.

Protected: I’m Israeli. This isn’t my first exploding ambulance.

This post is password protected. To view it please enter your password below:

Password:

Well, kiddo, I thought you outgrew superstition.

Today’s Halloween and for all my American readers, here’s my bitchin’, rockin’, fantabulous costume:

 

 

What do you mean, you don’t understand? I’m going as The Bride from Kill Bill! What? You still don’t get it? C’mon! It’s totally obvious: it’s the end of Vol. 2, where the Bride goes to confront Bill, finds her daughter, tucks her in and then takes off her necklace (!) and drapes it over a picture frame, in case Bill does kill her and she doesn’t come back. It’s that necklace! Well, a replica anyway. I’ve taken to making my own beady jewellry and this is necklace number two. Actually, this necklace is what inspired me to go do that in the first place. I just loved how frail, simple and yet beautiful it was. So there you have it, I’m going as the Bride. And by going, I mean I’m having dinner at home with a movie tonight. And by as the Bride, I mean my neck is. I’m also having a few Reese’s Pieces tonight (what is the American obsession with mixing peanut butter and chocolate? It’s like 90% of your candy is composed of these two, way too stuffing ingredients) because I saw them in the toy store and was intrigued. They’re orange, brown and yellow, so they are perfect for Halloween. And they are also the only way I seem to tolerate peanut butter and chocolate, because they are smaller than Smarties, thinner too and I only need two or three to satisfy my sweet cravings. Gotta think of that diet, it’s week 3!

 

Anyway, happy Halloween to all my readers who celebrate it, I hope you have a really good time, especially those with rugrats! I tried my best to be a part of it!

 

Live long and ghoulishly, murrrrrrder,

 

Anna

We were just having a slumber party. (update)

Being a film journalist does have perks. Last night, I went to the This Is It world premiere (it was premiered at the same time, in cinemas all over the world, which made it a 3am start here in Zurich). It was a fantastic tribute. There was a standing ovation at the end. You could feel the love in the room and it was really sweet and impressive.

And I looked like this:

Yes, like this:

When else, if not at a Michael Jackson film premiere, will I ever get to wear red superhero-mask like make-up? I totally owned it and the photos don’t really do it justice, since I took them when I came home, at 6am. And please excuse the poorly plucked brows. I never do them as well as my hairdresser.

Live long and prosper, peace,

Anna

 

update: a thought just crossed my mind – do you think the invitation to the premiere party and the film will be worth something one day? I think I’d better keep them…

ps: I always keep my press invitations anyway, I love them more ‘n my luggage

pps: I know, I’m weird

ppps: and I will bet you money that when Miriam reads this post, she’ll be glad to have been too tired to join me at the party, what with my crazy ass make-up and all

pppps: the bouncer flirted with me but I didn’t respond as well as I should have (guess my flirtin’ is a bit rusty). But my mind is made up: next time I walk past there, I’ll go tell him he’s yummy. He’s a big, strapping, hunk of a guy and I think he could stomach a girl telling him he’s yummy.

ppppps: I shoulda just put all this in the post, shouldn’t I? I told ya I’m weird.

pppppps: I just realised, I have the day off tomorrow! Woohoo!!!! Now I just have to decide which movie I wanna watch tonight.

Let’s go ask Melanie. She’s fluent in sushi.

Wowza. I just had the most yucky sushi I’ve had in a long time. It wasn’t quite the worst I’ve had, because the rice was cooked (barely), but it’s a close second.

There’s a sushi restaurant chain in Zurich (possibly Switzerland) called Sushi Kalifornia and one opened close to where I live. Since I was right in the area today and hungry for some healthy lunch, I decided to give it a try. Sushi is, bar none, my favourite food in the world. Evah! Which means: I know the difference between good sushi and bad sushi.

I have to admit, I acted against my better judgement here. Since this place opened, the most people I’ve seen in there at any given time were three, and that’s including the lady behind the counter. This restaurant is in an area where lunch time business should be better.

Anyhoo: I walked in there at 1:45pm today and it was empty. Literally, empty. The lady behind the counter stood there, looking lost and a bit apprehensive. First of all: they don’t have a chef in sight. Good sushi places usually have a chef preparing the food in front of everyone. Then, they have a weird additional warm buffet, which serves some pseudo-Chinese food and, inexplicably, some pasta with salmon too. Yes, I know, I must’ve brain dead for a few minutes to still actually buy something from them. They have a refrigerated counter with the sushi, already boxed up, on display. I bought the one which had a selection of all the types they offer (except some crappy mayo-tuna shit sushi that I really wasn’t about to buy). It costs a fortune for eight pieces of sushi.

And let me tell ya, it was awful. No, really, awful. The pickled ginger was prepackaged and old, as was the wasabi. And the sushi contained: canned green bean bits and canned carrot bits. Are you fucking kidding me? And to top it all off, the salmon sushi didn’t have fresh salmon on it, it had smoked salmon on it. Either that, or I will be throwing up all night and be hospitalised come morning. I have never been so appalled by the ingredients some people dare stick into sushi. Sacrilege!

Anyway, if you live in Zurich or plan to come here one day, don’t have the Sushi Kalifornia shit they dare call sushi. MacDonald’s is probably healthier (and definitely tastier) than the crap they sell there.

Live long and prosper, peace,

Anna