You’re a dyke, you’re marrying a Jew and you’re a registered Democrat, need I say more?

Phooey, what a week. I know I say that every week, but it’s especially true this week.

Monday? I had a press screening of a Russian/French film that I now have to review. Went to work at the call center. Against all better judgement, treated myself to Street Kings.
Tuesday? Was supposed to write review, spent it planning the Bookparade day, on which we are doing a special issue of my newspaper. And I watched several small clips from Britain’s Got Talent on youtube. I’m great at procrastinating like that. Was supposed to do more laundry, only got around to taking out the garbage and picking up a little.
Wednesday? Bookparade Day. The day we have been planning for for months. The day that now that it’s there, I really don’t even feel like doing anything about it anymore. Actually, it just annoys the hell out of me at this point. Maybe I’ll be happier about it tomorrow, but I doubt it. I will have to have texts till Friday and I just really, really don’t feel like writing these particular ones. I wish this were all happening a month from now. Will have to write Monday’s review so that it can be proof-read for Thursday.
Thursday? Going to a press screening, sending off Monday’s review, writing Wednesday’s texts and hoping to find someone who will proof-read them for Friday.
Friday? Send texts that will be in the special issue, deal with any crap concerning said special issue, go to work at the call centre (but am most likely to call in sick).
Saturday? Clean up the residual special issue crap. Write Thursday’s review and get it proof-read for Sunday.
Sunday? Send off Thursday’s review. Reflect on how this week was supposedly called a holiday week.

Somewhere in between, I will run out of clean undies, forget to go grocery shopping, ignore my dirty dishes and then wonder why I’ve run out of spoons and knives, not get around to paying this week’s bills and curse myself for writing this blog post instead of working on my review.

But now I’m going to tell you about days that are not weekdays, so let’s move on to this more fun topic, shall we?

In one of the last posts (I think it was the naughty meme, but I can’t remember, I’m getting old), I mentioned what I like to call “dyke days”. Some of you commented or wrote me an email saying “what on earth are these?”. Well, today I’ll explain.

As all of you who read this blog know, I’m bisexual. I usually don’t really state it like that, I just live it and go with it and occasionally mention dating a girl in my posts. I just thought I’d say it loud once, so that we’re all on the same page here.
But you see, liking both men and women is not rocket science. There’s no percentages on my likes. I don’t like men 71% and women uuhhh…. (hold on I’m thinking) 29%. Or the other way around. It’s not 50-50 either. It just is. Great, now I sound like a Calvin Klein ad.

“was zum Essen, was zum Essen” – M. Mittermeier

However, I occasionally have days were I feel like a complete, total and utter lesbian. These are my dyke days. I usually get them when I’m alone, but not always. A sure sign I’m having a dyke day? I go out without a handbag. What was that sound, you ask? That, my dear readers, was the sound of all the girls who know me personally go “huuuuuuuhh?”. Yes, my name is Anna and I’m addicted to handbags. So for me to go out without one, well, that’s definitely a dyke day.
So I put on a pair of cargo pants (because they have lots of pockets, heh), a comfortable but pretty top (I may feel butch on the inside, but I don’t look it on the outside), take my house key off my key ring and carry it separately (if you saw my usual key ring, you’d know why that is necessary) and carry just the essentials in my butt pocket: ID, public transport card, a few loose coins. You’d be amazed how liberating that feels. And though I don’t ogle girls more than I usually do, I do it far more obviously. It just cracks me up when I see a couple and I am looking at the girl and they both give me a defensive look because they think I’m ogling him. The moment they realise that I’m ogling her is just priceless, every time. Even if you’re not bisexual, you should try it. It’s great fun.

So these are dyke days. Days where I metaphorically have beer with my Cornpops, put on some pretty make-up, scratch my figurative balls and go outside to ogle girls.

Live long and prosper, peace,

Anna

I have had it with these motherfucking snakes on this motherfucking plane!

The day has come. No, not the day the music died. The day Anna first got published.

Let’s savour this moment, shall we? Come on, say it with me: Anna got published. Anna got published.

I am Anna and I’m saying this loud and proud: I have been published!

Now, in the name of complete accuracy, it’s not I, myself that has been published, of course. It’s my first two official movie reviews. I left the file card days behind, I have risen above movie reviews in my own blogs, I am now an official movie critic and no, I’m not getting tired of saying it.
The links to my two reviews (more to come on a more or less weekly basis), are on the side, in my blogroll. I may not be Roger Ebert or Pauline Kael yet, but I’m getting there. Well, one day anyway.

I am completely psyched about this. When I first saw my reviews up there, this is what I did:

Squeaked. Giggled. Laughed out loud. Squeaked some more. Pumped my fists up in the air and shouted “I have been published, baby, YEAH!”. Laughed hysterically. Laughed maniacally. Squeaked some more. Wiped a tear out of the corner of my eye.

Nothing equals a moment like this. I would not say that other moments of intense joy fade in comparison. I’m just saying, that particular kind of joy is just so very special. It’s overwhelming and empowering and it makes you high and lust for more, more, more of it. It makes you think “it was worth it”. And it didn’t even matter that I don’t get paid for it. It was worth it. It is worth it.

And it’s so motivating. Today, I caught myself thinking: pursueing this job, this career, this passion is worth putting myself through the process of getting healthier. I don’t want one without the other. I want to be altogether fabulous, not just brains-fabulous.

For the first time in many weeks, I also didn’t stay home the entire Saturday. I have been working like crazy these past months (and it’s just getting worse) and whenever I had a few hours or, god forbid, miracle of miracles, a day, I just stayed in my PJs and stayed home. I was too exhausted to go do something. Today, I was so bubbling over with happiness and pride, I decided to go shopping. Now, those of you who know me personally know I hate shopping (NB: unless it’s in a foreign city). The principle of shopping usually brings out two things in me. First, my cojones. I turn into a guy. I figure out what I need and I go to town with a firm purpose in mind. Second, frustration. I may have a purpose, but rare are the times when I actually find what I am looking for.

Not so today. Today, I put on some comfy but pretty clothes, dabbed on some lipgloss and braved Zurich on a Saturday. I had a purpose and I got exactly what I wanted. First, I hit the English bookshop and got myself The Daywatch (’cause I just finished The Nightwatch and am going cold turkey on Sergej Lukyanenko), Will & Grace Season 3 and two impulse purchases. Whatever Happened to Baby Jane and, wait for it because this is so in tune with the rest of the stuff *g*… Snakes on a Plane. It was the only copy they had and I almost bought it for the ironic wrapping alone. Ironic wrapping? Is she going completely bonkers now? That’s right, ironic wrapping. It had a price tag on it that said 59,90, which had been crossed out and replaced by 9,90. In Euros, that’s 6€ instead of 40€. I had promised myself not to watch, rent or buy this movie, but lord help me, I did. I just couldn’t resist. I wanted to know what it was about, if it was really that bad. And I figured (as I always do in these cases) that first of, this was less than the movie ticket would have cost and now at least I can watch it as many times as I like and second, I can certainly use it somewhere in a class. Either as a good or bad example of… something.

After that, highly contented already, I headed for MAC and gave them one last chance, ever, to wow me. And it happened. I got two fabulous MAC Pigments in teal and rose which you can mix in almost anything, from lipstick to eyeshadow, to vaseline or body lotion. There were also some people in town with cue cards reading “free hugs”. They had big smiles on their faces and while I was at the MAC counter, they came along and hugged everybody. It was so cute and it really made my day. We should offer free hugs way more often to one another. And then I went home and to redeem myself, did some laundry.
Now I’ve got clean sheets and enough DVDs to last me at least… a week.

As I am writing this, I am also processing Snakes on a Plane. I’d like to say: “I have seen far, far worse”. I even own movies that are worse than SoaP. Like Immortel or Shaft the remake. It’s an awesome action movie. It is fun and gripping and gross and just plain one hell of a ride. Sure, they could have worked on the snakes’ texture. Or given it a better soundtrack. But all in all? Motherfucking awesome movie.

Now I’d like to make one thing really clear here, especially with all of you going over to read my movie reviews in a moment (inshah’allah). This is not a Citizen Kane or Vertigo or Garden State or Paris Je T’Aime kind of awesome. This is not an intellectual movie or even an extremely well narrated, acted or scripted movie. But it works. It satisfies a need. And when I call a movie awesome, I also look to that. It is not always about deep dialogues, subtle, enthralling acting and great directing. Movies are meant to move us. They are meant to trigger, enhance and support emotions. That is a movie’s main purpose, before anything else. And so when you are feeling on top of the world, even if it’s a fantastic film, you might not feel like seeing The Lady from Shanghai. You might need to see Snakes on a Plane.
Obviously, when I review a movie, this is something that factors in a little less than when I talk about a movie that I have watched out of a certain mood. When I review, I look to more formal aspects. But for me personally, when in the right mindset, SoaP is motherfucking brilliant. Yes I know, it seems I can’t stop staying the m-f word, but that’s what any Samuel L. Jackson movie does to you. Actually, I have one small complaint about SoaP: Sam Jackson delivers this post’s title line very well, orally but not mimically. The one line that everybody wants him to say is this one great phrase and he delivers it looking all around himself like he’s a preacher expecting the approval of his parish. That line, dear Sam, is a disappointment. It was the one line you had to deliver flawlessly and you, well, didn’t deliver.

Anyway, I need to go now, I have to install motherfucking Skype for a Skype staff meeting tomorrow and I don’t want to. But I have to. Ugh. I just hope this motherfucking thing works or else. God, I just love me my potty mouth.

And after I have installed Skype, I will watch SoaP again, even though it’s 2am. Just like I did with Aeon Flux. There, now I’ve fed you all you’ll ever need to blackmail me into giving you 50% of my prize money when I win the Pulitzer for the most amazing film review ever.

Have a great Sunday (I know I won’t, I have to work), live long and prosper, peace,

Anna

Well, that certainly calls for a "dirty".

I happened upon this naughty meme over at Mistress Matisse’s fantabulous blog and I shamelessly snagged it. Haven’t done a good meme in a while and anything with the word “naughty” in it is always fun in my book. Though in my humble opinion, it should be called the “tame test whether you’re an outlaw” meme. But here goes anyway.

Disclaimer: read at your own risk

Have you ever…

Taken a picture naked? Nope, not of others while being naked, that’d be weird. I have however taken nudie pics of myself once (and then deleted them because being self-pics, they predictably turned out crap) and of others. Which didn’t turn out crap. This question should definitely be re-phrased.

Made money illegally? Why, I never…!

Had a one-night-stand? Yes. And I loved them.

Been in a fist fight? No. But you bet I could take ya on, homie!

Slept with your best friend? Yes. To this day he introduces me like this: “this is Anna, she’s my soulmate and we slept together. It was amazing!” Aww, shucks pa.

Had sex in a public place? Hell yeah. Had nettle burns all over my butt afterwards. Aaah, fond memories.

Ditched work to have sex? Not yet, no.

Slept with a member of the same sex? Kinda. Sorta. We definitely did a lot of sleeping.

Seen someone die? Why on earth is that following the same-sex question? I have seen several pets die and that’s enough for me, thank you very much. I’ve also been to an autopsy of a person. So while I haven’t technically seen the man die, I have seen him dead. I hope he rests in peace now.

Ran from the police? Are you kidding me? The one and only time I got stopped by the police I was driving Heiner home from the Entity Christmas party. I rolled down my window, excited that it was going to be my first real breath-control etc all-included police control and smiled at the policeman peeking in my window. “Yes, officer?” I smiled, ready to pull over to where they had at least 10 other cars and breathe into the thingy. He looked me up and down, looked at Heiner half-asleep on the seat next to me and waved. “It’s okay, move along” he said. What can I say, I’m just a model citizen and apparently, I reek of it.

Woke up somewhere and not remember how you got there? Yes, once. I was 4 or 5 and had just had an operation. Teehee. What?! I wanted to say yes here and you know there’s not been any other similar, drug-induced occurence like this since. I tried to not be a complete bore.

Worn your partner’s unmentionables? No. I am a complete bore.

Fallen asleep at work? No, never. I’m not the fall-asleep type.

Used toys in the bedroom? Not when there was another person with me in the bedroom. And yes, that speaks highly of my exes. And besides, I’m not overly fond of toys anyway.

Ran a red light? No. I’m just a really careful driver.

Been fired? No. I rather tend to accumulate jobs actually.

Been in a car accident? Only a really minor one, sometime in my childhood, before my brother was even born.

Pole danced or done a striptease? Yup, done a striptease. We were playing truth or dare and I had All Saints’ “Bootie Call” as my strip music. I don’t think I looked very sexy doing it though.

Loved someone you shouldn’t? Is there anyone we should not love? Is it really forbidden to love certain people? What the hell? I certainly don’t think loving anybody is off-limits. The question is whether you act on that love or not. So no, I have never loved someone I shouldn’t have.

Sang karaoke? Yes and it was great! I’d do it again in a heartbeat but all my friends are pussies who won’t do it. It was roughly three or four weeks after Steve had broken up with me and I sang “I’m Outta Love” by Anastacia, “Torn” by Natalie Imbruglia and then, in a duet with Marcel, “You’re the One that I Want” from Grease. Awesome, awesome night.

Done something you told yourself you wouldn’t? I told myself I would never weigh in the three-digits again.

Laughed so hard you peed your pants? No. But I think I once laughed so hard I farted… eww gross, moving on!

Caught someone having sex? Yes, back when I was working in Egypt. To this day, I’m sure they believe I didn’t notice.

Kissed a perfect stranger? Yes. Happened one of the few times I’ve been in a discotheque. He wasn’t such a bad kisser actually, but there was too much slobbering going on. If he’d had his oral waterworks under control, he might have succeeded in taking me home.

Shaved your partner? No. I’m not much for shaving body parts other than legs and armpits. I’ve tied my partner a tie though!

Given your private parts a nickname? Seriously, who does that? Oh wait, a friend of mine had a boyfriend who called his “Freddy”. Because of Freddy Mercury. Ok, I’ll hang on while you finish laughing.

Ever gone in public without underwear? I never go without a bra. Never. But I do go commando every now and then. Usually on my dyke-days.

Had sex on a rooftoop? Nope. Isn’t that kinda dangerous?

Played chicken? Vehicular sex you mean? No, that’s just plain stupid. But smooching in a car is niiiiiiice.

Mooned/flashed someone? Yes and believe it or not, I was twelve the first time. While I was in hospital in 2005, a friend of mine and I used to play “extreme elevator flashing” though. Hey, gotta make your own fun if it ain’t provided around you!

Do you sleep naked? Yes, except for when it’s really cold or I’m with someone I’m trying to impress with a sexy négligé or so. Which usually leads to nakedness anyway, right?

Blacked out from drinking? No, I think we’ve established by now that’s not something I’m prone to.

Felt like killing someone? Who hasn’t? Yes of course I’ve had moments where I thought “I’m not morally opposed to murder, I just don’t have the balls to do it”. Disclaimer: OF COURSE I’m morally opposed to murder, as well as the death penalty. But there have been certain moments when that option seemed somewhat justified, is all I’m saying.

Had sex more than 5 times in one day? I think so. The edges between separate times do seem to blur though, don’t they?

Been with someone because they were in a band? I’m not the groupie type. I’m probably more the “has groupies” type, if anything. However, I have been with someone who was in several bands, namely my first boyfriend. But it was just incidental, not because of that. And can I just say: guitarists are fine lovers, in my experience. I understand why someone would be a groupie.

Taken 10 shots of liquor in day? I think my maximum amount of shots in one day would be… one.

Shot a gun? Yes, many years ago with my grandfather, who used to hunt. I would love to take that up again, it was great. I only like handguns though. Rifles aren’t my thing.

Gone outside naked? Does the terrace count?

So there, we’re done. I think I’m not quite the outlaw some people seem to think I am, right? Right. It was fun doing it though.

Live long and prosper, peace,

Anna

You lost me at carrots. Which was the first draft of "you had me at hello"

Sooooo. Cooking. Cooking can be fun. It can help you feed yourself. It burns calories. Cooking. Cooking, actually, is not quite as bad as I thought it was. Okay, I was freaked out a little today when I suddenly got up from my computer, cranked some tunes and started making pizza dough, but that went away at the first knead. Hmm. Is it a fluke, is it a sickness, is it Armageddon? No, it’s Cooking Anna! Babumbumbaaa!

Now you all are thinking pizza dough? I thought she made pizza two weeks ago, is that the only thing she can cook? No, it’s not the only thing I can cook, thankyouverymuch. It’s just that my creativity ran wild today and I decided to invent my own recipe. I call it cheesy pizza pockets. Ok, so I just made that up. But it’s pretty much accurately descriptive of the dish. So I went to town with the flour and the olive oil and the water and made pizza dough.

Here’s the proof. By the way, I love that bowl. It was given to me by my mama, when I moved to Switzerland. I think that bowl is older than I am. I cannot recall a time when it wasn’t in our household in Munich. And now it’s here with me in Zurich. *wipes tear out of eye corner*

After actually making the dough, came this:

And then this:

Went into the oven (along with two experimental ball-shaped ones) and came out looking like this:

Looks delicious, doesn’t it? Mmmmhhhh. Well, not really. To be completely honest, they were a bit of a disappointment. Hey, I’m sure Edison didn’t come up with the lightbulb right away. And I’m sure Einstein had to erase a few things on his blackboard and in his notebooks before he got the whole relativity theory right. And anyway, it wasn’t my fault. I put in twice the amount of salt it said in the original pizza dough recipe and it still wasn’t enough. That’s right. Me, who has her own newspaper called “SALZ” (salt), didn’t put enough salt in her dough. The truth? My cheesy pizza pockets were bland. I finally ate them dipped in vinaigrette, to get any taste at all.
But making them was fun!

In other more mundane news, I went out with Patrick, Carola, Esther and Katharina on Saturday night. Nothing wildly exciting, just a yummy dinner, whose conversation quickly veered (read: instantly) towards cocks, sperm and lesbian orgies. Yep, by the time I arrived, Katharina already had had two cocktails and that was about one and a half cocktails too many. But the night was a blast anyway (or precisely because of) and I even had some peach daiquiri. I think that might be new favourite, proper cocktail. I mean, the sound of it alone is great. Just say it: peach daiquiri. And it tastes so very, very good. And then it’ll donkey-kick you in the head. I had one and was completely fine. So I decided I’d pour myself another. After two sips of the second daiquiri, I suddenly felt the alcohol coursing through my body, so I stopped. But it was all really tasty anyway!

Well, I have to go to bed now, but in my next post, I’ll show you my made over kitchen cabinets and cupboards, I’m just too lazy to upload them now.

Have a great Tuesday and week, month, year, life, live long and prosper, peace,

Anna

ps: in the first draft of this, I’d written “peach” instead of “peace” – apparently, peach daiquiris are addictive

Maybe some women aren’t meant to be tamed. Maybe they need to run free until they find someone just as wild to run with.

Miranda: When did you stop calling her the idiot stick figure with no soul?
Carrie: Three weeks ago when I saw them at Café M. He was smiling and holding her hand and I finally got it. They’re happy slash we’re over.

So. I think we can all agree that I was a very self-pitying sad sod in my last posts. Various remarks from friends and even my father got me thinking a little harder than I’d cared to originally. Miriam went the sly, subtle and altogether effective way of sending me her comments wrapped up in poems.
So I’m here to say, I think I got the message. And I think you are right.

When did I stop calling her the idiot elementary school teacher with no soul? Yesternight when I was cleaning up my cell phone’s contact list and saw his number still there. He was still in my phone and holding her hand hundreds of kilometers away from here and I finally got it. They’re happy slash we’re over.

I can’t believe it and I’m almost a little ashamed to admit it but yes, I have been majorly hung up on Steve. But yesternight (yes, this is a word, go read Shakespeare, you philistines *g*) I was reading through an old notebook of mine and I found a poem I wrote after the second night I spent at Steve’s. It was dated 24/04/2006. How’s that for a kick in the head? I realised that it’s been almost two years since we’ve broken up and that even though I was not hoping for a reunion, I still hadn’t let go of him. I was still torturing myself with the memories of him.

The way he sniffed my hair in delight right before our first kiss. The way he used to make me laugh. The way he used to look hurt and bruised and the way I was the one able to make that look go away. That time he insisted on re-enacting Titanic with me. That time we stayed awake all night after a really serious conversation. That time Babette slept in his shoe while we were cuddling on the sofa.

These memories are gone. They have long since ceased to be related to something tangible in my life and I accept that. I accept that for all I know, they are planning their wedding. Or maybe that they’re broken up by now and he’s with someone new, yet again. I accept that he played a part in shaping the life I live now and that this is the only thing which will truly remain from our relationship. Well, that and his Black Books DVD. Panta rei.

And what’s more important still: I will live on. No person can ever make or break the path that I need to make for myself in life. I can’t be dependent on another human being to “make my life complete” or some such crap. Of course it used to be much easier to say this while I was happily in a relationship. It was easier to believe that “one and one make two”, as Alanis sings. However, this does not change the fact that Alanis is right. We’re not a half waiting to be united with our other half. We’re one and we function very well as one. And after all, a broken heart’s a natural function.

And so I will stop being hung up on Steve. I was brave enough to delete his number from my cell last night and even though it stung, it was the right thing to do. I will look forward and I will look to see myself, not somebody else.

Speaking of which, a quick tangent: I have been really good and cooking for myself and eating fresh things instead of instant crap. And since I’ve started doing that, my allergies to all the articial doodads they put in a lot of food have completely gone away. Yay for me!

Tangent over. So finally, I would like to leave you, once again, with a song that I just discovered. And just for good measure, so that you know I haven’t turned into a self-help guru just yet and am still very much capable of appreciating trashy entertainment, I’ll tell you how I even got turned on to that track. You see, I read the Celebitchy blog, which as its name says, is all about celeb gossip (hey, it saves me money, I don’t have to buy any mags this way). And they had this bit where they showed Teri Hatcher (I know, from the unspeakably obnoxious Desperate Housewives) singing a bit of “Before He Cheats” by, wait for it, Carrie Underwood. Now, Carrie Underwood used to be “that girl in the Sketchers ad whose actual music hasn’t reached Europe yet” for me. I had never heard a single song by her. But I had to go look it up and it’s a rocking, rocking, awesome, fantabulous song. And while Steve didn’t technically cheat on me, this is precisely what I felt like doing in the anger phase of my mourning of the relationship. Instead, I just kept his Black Books DVD. Not quite keying his (non-existent) car, but close. And it’s the spirit that counts, right? So, ladies and gents, enjoy Miss Carrie Underwood in a rendition of her greatest song ever (well, it’s the only one I know): Before He Cheats! Take it away Carrie!

Watch it quickly before they cancel the embedding, as they’ve done on all the other vids of this clip. It was a pain to find this version I could embed.

Live long and prosper, peace,

Anna

I have played three presidents, three saints and two geniuses. If that doesn’t create an ego problem, nothing does.

There was a real bad time in my family when we had someone die about once a month. Yeah, for about a year they were dropping like flies.

This flippant quote, taken from the character Jason Stiles on Gilmore Girls, is rather how I feel at the moment. So many people in Hollywood have died this year and in the last months of last year, it’s become frightening. Just when we were all getting over Heath Ledger’s death, wham, the next one goes. Yes, the great, the awe-inspiring, the often polarizing Charlton Heston has died. I know these actors (and directors, let’s not forget Anthony Minghella) are not part of my immediate circle of friends, but every time, it feels a little like losing someone I know. When you grow up with someone’s films, I suppose you start feeling a connection. And the fact that I’m a film freak the likes of which even God himself hasn’t seen (name that literary quote) doesn’t exactly contribute to me taking all these deaths any lighter.
I’m especially sad about Charlton Heston’s passing, because only last year I saw Ben-Hur and Khartoum (among other Heston films) in 70mm. The man truly was one of the great ones.
In a way, it probably is better that he has died, in regards to his Alzheimer. At this point, death might really have been a relief for him. Anyway, I hope you rest in peace Charlton, I will never forget you.

Speaking of films but moving on to slightly more, ahem, fecal, matter (pardon the pun, I couldn’t resist, you’ll know why in a sec): I’m about to go to my first press screening!! It’s on Thursday morning at 9:30 in an independent cinema in Zurich. The film I’ll be reviewing is a Korean flick, the themes of which break down like this: future, shit (yes, it plays in Shit City), sex and violence. From the rumblings I’ve heard, it’s quite awful. So awful, in fact, that my editors at the internet platform asked me whether I really wanted to do it, seeing as it’s going to be my first press screening and all. They were concerned for my mental safety and said “it’s totally fine if you don’t want to go, we’re not forcing anyone”. Not one to pass up any kind of challenge (*chortle*), I deftly replied “I’ve seen South Pacific and Ice Station Zebra, out of my own free will, nothing scares me anymore. Sure I’ll go!” And no, I’m not getting tired of hating on South Pacific. What about Ice Station Zebra you ask? Well let’s just say the story is shite and boring. Can’t be that bad you ask? They spend the first 45 minutes pushing buttons and yellingly (is that even a word?) explaining to each other why they are pushing that button and what that button does. Then again, this might be THE dude flick of all times and since I’m a chick, I just don’t get the appeal.
Anyhoo: I’m going to my first press screening! Woohoo! I’ll link to the review as soon as it’s up and don’t give me that “I don’t speak German” crap. Get down and gimme twenty! Now do you speak German? That’s what I thought. Nah, just being crazy (I had some of that blue organic lemonade today, Patrick would say “now she’ll not be any use the rest of the day”, so forgive my stupidity), just go there and look at it and ooh and aah a little for me. I haven’t played three presidents, three saints and two geniuses, so my ego needs it.

In other challenge news: I made pizza for the first time since I moved to Zurich! I had Carola over last night and we made it together. Of course, we cheated a bit and used ready-made dough, but that was only because my kitchen scale didn’t have the proper battery in it yet (a mistake I corrected today). It was so much fun and so yummy, I decided the whole process needed its own photo op and here are the glorious pictures:

That’s our baby before it went in the oven. Originally, there was supposed to be some broccoli on it as well (because I could kill for broccoli) but it would have been too much. I didn’t kill for broccoli this time.

That’s our baby after it came out of the oven. Yummy, n’est-ce-pas? Yes, I think so too. These are all original, non-enhanced colours by the way. I haven’t got picture project loaded on my pc yet. Mmmhh, isn’t your mouth just watering? We polished off half of it.

And now, for the dessert! Yes, I decided to go all out and make dessert too, because after all, I don’t get to cook much with Carola (though this is all about to change, we have great, great culinary plans). What did I opt for? My specialty: milkshake. This one is a raspberry-vanilla-lemon milkshake. Yuu-huh-hummmm. Picture, stat!

I’m almost as proud of the cup and spoon as of the actual product. But seriously, isn’t it perfect? It’s so perfect I should really spell it purrfect. That’s right. Purrrrfect.

In other less exciting news, I’m a bit behind on my German sentence analysis, mainly because it bores me to death. I have to hand in the first chapter test this week and boy oh boy don’t I feel like doing it. Whining doesn’t help though, does it? No, I didn’t think so. FAILURE IS NOT AN OPTION. Name that nineties tag line, heh.

Ok, that’s all for now folks (name that cartoon quote). I promise I’ll try and refrain on the “name the…” next post. I just love me me quotes, luv.

One last nod off to Charlton Heston and his movie era, and I’m gone!

This is cinema the way it is supposed to be. Pictures taken last year at the Schauburg Theatre.

Live long and prosper, peace,

Anna

She asked me if you were tall, dark and handsome. I told her you were tall.

I hate it when I only get a fraction of what, deep down inside, I think I deserve the whole of. Lately, that’s been love.

The Spaniard is just not coming through. It has been months since our first date and though he keeps stringing me on (and to be honest, I have let myself be stringed on for too long by now), nothing ever happens. The phone calls have gotten less, that second date is but a vague memory of the future. Sure, we text messaged a lot all those months in which we didn’t see each other, but really, what’s the point? Everytime we were supposed to finally go on that second date, something came up. His father got a heart attack, his flights were delayed or cancelled, emergency meetings were called in that he couldn’t back out of, his friend died in a car crash. Sounds like a drama series to you? Yeah, to me too. I think for months on end, I didn’t want to see it. I liked him so much (well, as much as you can like someone you only know the way I did) that I was willing to believe all these excuses. And truth be told, they all sounded real at the time. But if I take a step back and look at it: there are just too many coincidences. Unless you’re Sydney Bristow, your life simply does not involve such huge emotional or work related setbacks, week after week after week.

The bottom line on this? I think he might really be playing me for a clown.

This is not a circus / so don’t you play me for a clown / how long can emotions keep on going up and down?

For too long. But that’s all over now. This week, we were, once again, supposed to finally schedule that date. Instead, I got a text message saying “I just got back from Valencia and I’m leaving for Rome”. Excuse me but, what the fuck? (count the movie quotes in this post and win a prize) I told him so. He tried saving it by ordering me to come to the airport the following night, for another pit-stop date. I asked him if he thought I was take-away food and informed him that I did not want his time leftovers. He got pissed off and wished me a nice rest of my life. What are you, an infant?! I said “you don’t know what you’re missing”. He sheepishly answered “sweet lady, I don’t wanna miss out on you, but… yadiyadiyada”. I said he could give me notice when he finally found time for a real date. Given our history, I doubt that will ever happen. I find this a real shame. I can’t tell at this point if he has been lying to me, I honestly can’t. As I said, from listening to him, he sounded truthful. But the evidence just speaks against him. And let’s not forget, it’s possible to beat lie detector tests, so how hard could it be to lie on the phone? I usually have a pretty good Truthsense (count the literary quotes in this post and win an even more fabulous prize), but I’m only human, it’s prone to failing too.

I’m tired of getting love fallacies. Since Steve, everytime I thought there was a romantic interest on the horizon, it has turned out to be a mere mirage. I’m starting to question whether I’ve lost the ability to find love and, worse, to let it find me. Steve broke my heart so very thoroughly and sometimes I get the feeling that I don’t know how to properly put it back together again. Everytime I think I’ve got it all figured out, the puzzle is missing essential pieces. And I just don’t know what they are anymore.

I’ve gone out on a date again on Tuesday. At least, I think it was a date, at least that’s what it felt like by the time we parted. I’ll call her Snowy here, because I feel it’s too soon to disclose her real name. We’ve actually got a lot in common and also a lot where we’d probably complement each other really well. We just went for an after-work drink, which turned into after-work dessert. I like her, I really do. I like her personality and her cherry lips and that she’s tall. She’s very secure and a insecure at the same time and that makes one want to cuddle her. The only thing is, I think we pulled an emotional Freaky Friday moment upon meeting. She had gone to the date thinking “I’m not looking for love, but for friendship” and I had gone thinking “I’m looking for love, rather than friendship” and when the night was over and it was clear we were getting along really well, I think I was leaning more towards friendship and Snowy more towards love. I can’t speak on her behalf, but that was the impression I got. However, I haven’t made my mind up. I can’t, not after one date anyway. I definitely want to see her again and she wants to see me again too, but I wonder what the future holds for us, if it’s anything at all.

Somehow, though, I’m not satisfied. I wish looking for love wasn’t so difficult. And there’s one thing I really don’t understand: so far, everytime I’ve been comfortable and happy, somebody materialised in my life, I didn’t even have to search for them. This time, nada. Which is probably where the aforementioned worry comes from.

I wish I already were the super-heroine I can feel buried inside of me. I know I might sound preposterous, vain and egocentric saying this, but I truly can feel her there. And yet, she is buried under this thick flesh, under this superficial insecurity, under this woman who is facing the world alone. I want to break free. I want my body to be in tune with my personality. But I think what I really might be afraid of, irrationally, is the force of nature that might be unleashed if I let that happen. I want to be that force of nature, I feel it in my guts and in my heart of hearts anyway, but at the same time, maybe I’m afraid of standing even more alone if I let it loose upon the world. It’s just all so confusing. I’m not alone in terms of friends and a professional network, but being without love feels just like being all alone in the world, sometimes.

Live long and prosper, peace,

Anna

ps: because I adore youtube for all the wonders it has brought into my home, here are two tracks that sort of underline pretty well what I was talking about – enjoy, weep and think of me a little

Impossible by Christina Aguilera

Cinderella Beautiful by Peter Cincotti