The S-word

No, it's not about the sea, sand and the sun. It's not even about safe sex. It's about s = spinster as opposed to s = single. Spinster... a woman still unmarried beyond the usual age of marrying. Single ...one only; unique! How does a word which means the same generate such two different meanings. Unique - that's super cool. Beyond the usual age of marrying - what age would that be may I ask? And why does the opposite; bachelor suddenly make me smile??? Spinster as opposed to bachelor. You get bachelor pads, those are cool too. Bachelors are men who have been through loads of women, whose bed has seen so many women fake orgasms, and maybe a handful of them getting the honour of real ones. And while bachelor may make me smile, spinster makes me frown, big time. And that it my picture of spinster, a tight women, with facial hair, dressed in ugly clothing and frowning upon the world. Because since she has not known any man (at least that it what the picture in my mind is like), she has also not know the big Oh-Yes! Thus she is automatically frustrated and frowns on what she has never had and tries to equal it by convincing herself that her virginity is as divine as that of the sculpture of St. Theresa in Ecstasy, which the same saint describes in her autobiography......

"I saw in his hand a long spear of gold, and at the iron's point there seemed to be a little fire. He appeared to me to be thrusting it at times into my heart, and to pierce my very entrails; when he drew it out, he seemed to draw them out also, and to leave me all on fire with a great love of God. The pain was so great, that it made me moan; and yet so surpassing was the sweetness of this excessive pain, that I could not wish to be rid of it. The soul is satisfied now with nothing less than God. The pain is not bodily, but spiritual; though the body has its share in it. It is a caressing of love so sweet which now takes place between the soul and God, that I pray God of His goodness to make him experience it who may think that I am lying."

Plenty of food for thought. But I choose not to be called a spinster, thank you very much. Probably not even single. Thus that makes me co-habitating... with, let me add up... 11 creatures.
A.M.

Housekeeping

I am a terrible housekeeper. I have been brought up in a pristine house where everything was in total order. That was my childhood. But it didn't rub off onto me, not now, not ever. I must be one of those very odd female creatures who have no domesticated gene in their blue blood. Blue of course, it's all royal in there. I cannot clean, I am a lousy cook... i.e. I never cook because I am not interested, it seems so much trouble to go through. My house though, is mostly in order and smells fresh thanks to my friend Brigitte (God thank you for making her come into my life). But there is just one thing which, sadly, unfortunately and strangely enough I excel in. That is Laundry with a capital L. Why? Because it's so easy, you jut dump things into a washing machine, pre-treat fabrics with the appropriate stain remover, take them out, hang them out to dry and iron them to perfection. Another thing which I am good at... ironing. And I never ironed anything before I left my mummy, but I just got tired out of shopping for mostly-Lycra-clothes. So I can iron.

And that makes me wonder what kind of woman I would have been at the turn of last century. Would I have been left a spinster (horrid word) because of my failing culinary abilities? Would that have ruined my chances of winning Mr. Darcy? But who cares, I wouldn't have gone hungry anyway. I would have lived on ice-cream, and if that hadn't been invented yet, I would have invented it myself.... to perfection, because the things I love I do to perfection. Would I have burned my bra and fought for equality? But I love bras, pretty pink and fiendish red, and intense purple and virgin white and seductive black. Let's go waaaayyyyy back. What would Mr. Cavemen have thought, after going to all the trouble of knocking me unconscious and dragging me back to his den, only to find out that his hunting prize was going to rot and that his guts would grumble? Who cares? BUT, would this ruin my chance of clinching Mr. Big forever? Hmmm probably not because he always dines out so that would be so much fun! You see times have changed, and thankfully, the undomesticated me still stands a chance in 2008. Because Shakespeare was a fortune teller..... "If music be the food of love, play on"'. It may be dated and cheesy. But that's exactly what I do.

Mater Dei and other matters

I had to wake up at the unearthly hour of 4.05 am today. Ghastly time. But I had to, one of those things you keep postponing, and postponing, and again postponing until you just have to do. Why would a 30-something, very young lady, push herself awake (amidst 100 alarm calls) to pop two tiny pills? Because ladies of a 30 something sometimes have to take tests just to see they're in working order... there goes the denial of the mid-30's. (Does that sound middle-aged or what?) Thankfully I have a nice, well-mannered, soft-spoken doctor who is as gentle as you get. And that kind of takes out the sting of having to trudge to Mater Dei, just for a check-up. Mater Dei makes me claustrophobic. It obvious that whoever designed it is not a smoker, never has been and never will be. Windows are tightly shut, and I dread to think how it would be to make a stay-over there. Where the hell would I smoke? In the bathroom? That is something wild 15 year olds do at school. And that seems so recent too. Don't blame us 30-somethings, we lacked the proper info, or let's say that by the time we had the proper info it was way too late. So, what if you were recovering in your cosy room in Mater Dei.... wouldn't a patient's maximum comfort be imperative? And wouldn't that include a nice cup of tea, and wait for it... a cigarette?

So maybe it's not called Mater Dei for nothing. The mother of God, well she suffered quite a bit. Strong woman though, and nowhere in the Bible does it say she was ever in need of hospitalisation. Not even during labour. Queer name this Mater Dei.

Nails again

So, as I promised myself I would be posting all nail art, this is the new in-art. I love it, but somehow it doesn't attract the same kind of attention as before. Loads of food for thought, when they looked devilish, guys couldn't get enough of them, and by guys I mean the straight and the gay-happy-go-lucky. Now it's all pristine flowers, virgin kind, they like them, but they still ask about the devilish ones. Funny, and not funny, so the male species loves spice. Well who doesn't, but interestingly enough, both the straight and the gay act exactly alike.... just in this world. But then maybe just once difference (although big) does not make up for the rest of it. Well I still love my nails, I love the way they go from plain to all dressed up. It is sooo artistic And while I would perhaps forgo my hair, makeup and other stuff, I would hibernate sans les ongles. It's an addiction, and one which is staying. You try it.

Curiosity killed the cat

Me again, here again, back to my faithful old blog. So as it happens, people are getting curious about my Brigitte and Co. No, it has nothing to do with the good old Bridget Jones, though she is another darling. But my Bridget is something else, note the difference in spelling. It's good old BriDGET but sexy BriGGITTE! So here I am about to reveal how it happened..... . Walking around a cold school with even colder people every Tuesday wasn't much fun. I have to confess the janitor is hot hot hot, as in sexy hot, but that's about it. Except for one kind lady who once upon a time offered me a coffee, and about me feeling so cold that I so gladly heard a yes please coming out of my mouth. Good old yes please, it found me a friend who's hard to come by. So Who is Brigitte? She is one of the mums who had/still has her younger daughter attending this school (better not mention which school this was/is) She is polite, down to earth, funny, brainy, a wise woman with a young head on old shoulders. She can also be a hot mama mind you, a sophisticated lady when the need arises, but otherwise makes you so comfortable. At least that is how it felt drinking her coffee back then. It still does now. All right I am getting somewhat emotional now, it's because we really share a lot. I will always thank the Higher power for Brigitte, because as it was we met quite by mistake. Totally unplanned, but I am so grateful for her. And somehow I know she will never harm me, quite the opposite. along with her come her two lovely daughters, girls the way they should be brought up. I like watching them grow up, I love talking to them, sharing make-up, shoes, clothes, I love it. Because they are like young sisters I never had. And yes Brigitte should also get an Oscar for the way she has brought up these two delightful daughters. They are friends, it is all based on mutual respect and the preservation of dignity, and yes it works. Another Oscar for Brigitte organising my home.... she can do it like no other. Oh and another Oscar...... she has become my factory for ice-cream. Now I like to think of myself as an ice-cream connoisseur (sorry cannot resist it), and the best is Haagen dasz, but this tops that too. Colourful, creamy, it's like a honeycomb of goodness, like a web of ingredients stuck together to make you happy, and the best part of all, it's done with love. Yes, you guessed it now, by Brigitte and Co. Kisses to my 3 girls Muwaaaaaaaa!

The heat is on

I am blessed with a heat rash. And it's ugly. And painful. And sore, and red hot. To look at it one would think I've spent all day lounging around in the sun with no sun protection cream. Now my skin doesn't tan, it burns. So I am accustomed to splashing on an SPF of 50, 70, and on the rare occasions I find it, of 80. Yes I am a brunette with the palest of complexions, and the does does not give it easy to me. I can only dream about having a golden tan, because it just has never happened. But this time, it's not because of the sun, but of a very innocent looking necklace worn for something around 2 hours. Yep, 2 hours of necklace wearing and I get such a massive heat rash that it's scary to look at, even more scary to feel it. And I get the urge to scratch because it itches. Instead, I am putting on ice. The best part of me, the face plus cleavage and really I should hide under a sheet; it's that bad. And there are two ways of looking at it. One perspective is that it is totally my fault for having even so much picked up a necklace, or another perspective; maybe the Goddess of cleavages got jealous because she'd like to have what I have!!!!!! Yeah right. But it really goes to show, which perspective we would choose, and that in turn could classify as as what type of people we are, with all the baggage of numerous neurosis and things like personality traits and personality disorders. I choose the first perspective, that of having gone near a necklace, but I secretly dream that the cleavage Goddess has had a very bad day. And that in turn makes me look like some nitwit who thinks (and wants very much to believe) that the supernatural can be human. But then it's either supernatural or human. Or maybe as advert of Herbal Essences says.... unlock the goddess in you. It's time we did it more often.

More Friendship.....

Here again. This blog is really starting to grow on me. And it's better than smoking, drinking or whatever. So on with more friendship. The good side, totally, completely good friendship. Sometimes, well most times lately, I am finding myself reminiscing on how friendship can be as accidental as a C flat in a C major scale. But then a C flat goes perfectly with a C major scale. And no matter how shy I am, I tend to reach out. Especially when the C flat is outing and reaches effortlessly into me, the C major. And after all the C flat is just a leading note into me, the C major. That is why I thank the stars, the universe, the almighty who made this part of fate happen. Because you cannot get better than Brigitte, or maybe better as in Brigitte and Co. Her daughters who are growing up fast to be lovely young ladies. God bless Brigitte and Co. That is friendship, and it'll never ever go away. I love you girls. xxx

Friendship

My blog says one not to cry because it's over but instead smile because it happened. It is really like the eternal question, would you have loved and lost or never have loved at all? But could it be, just for a moment, that it could also work in reverse mode; smile because it's over and cry because it happened. Hmmmm yes it definitely could. It would be a swell idea on how to close nasty experiences of the past.... just smile because they are over and they would really be over and done with. But it's not that simple. A man said to me once, a total foreigner, a total drunk, in a totally London pub, "Never marry the one you love, marry the one who loves you, and keep your special person in your heart. That way you will never get hurt." And as drunk as he may have been, it made so much sense. Sense, that is if you're on a journey of being bitter. But somehow I'm not bitter. And well, should I really go about life on a drunkard's-based opinion? Of course not, that would take my (he's mine all mine) Austen's Mr. Darcy away, and shove Sex and the City's delirious Mr. Big down the drain. And I cannot do that. Because Mr. Big belongs to me, totally. He is the one who offers challenges, has a great smile, and.... makes me swoon in that little world of make believe-cum-real. And although Mr. Big keeps screwing up (because he's a real person you see), I still keep on loving him!!! Because we are mortals and we all make mistakes. and we (or at least I) love making up because of a lot of bonuses which I cannot mention here seeing it's about to go onto the world wide web uncensored.

The way we conduct our relationships, be they with lovers, friends and cats and dogs, says a lot. Are we ready to kiss and make up? Yes. Then are we ready to bury the hatchet and call a truce? Yes we should. Because remembering a good friend who screwed up just once in the pool of humankind is my choice. Does a just once overshadow the loads of others? It shouldn't. And we maybe have no choice whom to love, but we do have a choice as in whom to hate. And hate is boring, and not good for cellulite either because it can get to oversaturates in the same way fat hits our 30 something bodies. Forgiving is a liberation. You know you still are in the pool, and you're winning, not just by letting things go, but by laying a particular experience to rest. It might have hurt a whole lot in the past, but the past is simply history and now is now. Should we learn from our past? Well there are people who do, and people who don't. The choice is being bitter against being free. And I choose freedom.

The Patter and the Clutter

My house is a constant patter of tiny feet. And of the patter of those feet making their way through mountains of clutter. They go about balancing themselves for dear life but perhaps after 4 and 5 years they are used to it. They don't even so much as bat an eyelid, they love dangerous territory. for them, the sky's really the limit, the patter can go as high as the ceiling. There is also a lot of acrobacy going on. The Circus? Well they could learn a thing or two from my lot. My lot are daring, they do not stop to think about consequences, they are just naughty little balls of fur which i love to bits.

The clutter. That is something which just seems to grow on me. It becomes extremely dense by the hour and only one person can take care of it. She too it quite an acrobat when it comes to taking care of the clutter. Shut your eyes for a moment, and it's a brand new day, brand new house, brand new perspective of life. Really, people like her exist for real. No joke.

Nail beauty

There is one woman who goes about life quite unknown. She is a state of the art artist but doesn't admit to it. I have searched high and low for someone like this, and finally stumbled on her one day. And I have gone back again, and again and again. And I will be going back again and again and again. She is my nail technician who just works magic with a pot and a brush. Evidence doesn't lie. Above is all the evidence needed.

de la glace chez Brigitte!

There is out there one woman who can make so many things it sends shivers down your spinal cord. She can also make things which send shivers elsewhere, like on your palatial glands, and then directly to your gastric system... in a good way.
It's called ice-cream, but the name does nothing to honour what this is like. One scoop and heaven starts calling, and you think you're having an out-of-the-body experience and start seeing celestial angels strumming on their harps. It's *that* good. Now, I like to think of myself as an ice-cream connoisseur. But then I never banked on tasting this one. Haagen-Dasz? It's cheap compared to this one. If only it went on the market, it would take it by storm. Really. It's that good. And no, I'm not sharing. No way.