So, I just moved.

You knew that already, as I'm not very good at covering the truth about myself..."that's why you have a personal blog, silly, haha". Yeah, like she said. :)

But as of today, I also moved the blog on a new page, for practical reasons you will not need to read about.

As a mini-teaser, you should know I'm planning to focus more on letting the world know what my woman-child mind produces in the near future; and maybe I'll dig out some old ideas I have put down in my computer along the time, in the "Red/Blue-pill_for my eyes only" category.

So should you wish to continue reading me, please check out this new place - which currently looks exactly like the current one, I know. Don't panic, though, I'm just too lazy to change the template now. :))

Daca plec, hai, vii cu mine? : )

I'm a true-blue romantic. But sometimes I embrace reality with my cruel soul. 

Many people have seen both sides. And I fear both of them, in equal measures.

I learned that sweet&cute coincidences are coincidences and nothing more.

Because if we start seeing something repeatedly, it may be sweet and cute, but it means nothing to the untrained mind. To the trained mind it means just that it has been trained very good in that aspect.

Rehab is for quitters. I miss smoking and I'm a hypocrite for telling people to stop smoking.

I will give myself an additional year before I will stop feeling guilty for telling people to quit smoking. Until then, I'm still in probation.

Speaking of which, tequila is back in my life. :heart:

Let's take "I will always", but let's just say something about "I never" and a little bit about "I love you".

I equally hate and love the above 3 dangerous words/foolishnesses.

Yesterday evening I dined at a restaurant who is now high on my favourite places' list.

Best sea food and desert I've ever had. I'm starting to fall in love with Cuba.

"Nothing is more powerful than the human spirit."

"Life is about creating yourself."

So do something good, while you're at it.

Returning today from Ljubljana I realised I haven't thought enough above my friend, Paris, in a while.

I will never forget you, Paris. But Paris, you see, we will meet in another lifetime, when we will both be cats. 

We have to.

Hit it, Gary:

Your guitar still brings the chills down my spine.

You either have it. 

Or you don't.

50% chances for you to make it, which is still not such a tragic case, one might say.

But it's not enough. 50% chances are never enough for you to be able to touch the stars from the floor of the small room you've isolated yourself in by now. They can merely help you grab a stool and stand on it, but your hands will barely even reach those shinier 65% chances. 

One might also say that 65% chances do sound better than the 50% you had before grabbing that small stool in the corner. So you listen to one's voice and now you get the courage to go even higher. Thus said, minutes later, you're standing on a stool, with a broom in your hand, stretching your body towards the ceiling. 

85%. 

Not bad, not bad at all, I'm quite a bit impressed.

I might dare to say that you do look a bit ridiculous, you know. ;)) 

A grown up, standing on a stool, holding a broom, stretching like a kid for the candy on the top shelf. :) 

But you're not hearing me anymore, do you? 

Of course you're not. Now there's only 15% chances between you and your desired 100%, so you forget in a glimpse about my annoying voice...now you're thinking only about what you should do to get your remaining 15%. 

You take a look around, but there's nothing else in your tiny room. In your tiny, isolation room there's just a silly grown-up, standing on a stool, holding a broom, reaching to the lamp. 

So the silly grown-up decides to jump. 

50% chances to fall, 50% chances to make it work. 

Oh, Alice...

You go get them 15% chances, girl. :)

You know I rarely lose my words, my kind, serious friend. 

I rarely stop thinking, so I rarely can get away from reality - even when I'm dreaming, I still can't convince my feet to get off the ground completely. 

But when I do lose my words, please, show me patience. 

I know that patience is not my favourite quality of them all, but this is the thing...since I cannot have it all the time, I love quality-patience and the people who can afford it. It's that patience that doesn't give you the sentiment of wasting time, it's that patience that gives you the warm and fuzzy feeling that, yes, yes, a thousand times, yes, it's worth it... It's that beautiful thing that comes up with a bucket of white roses at the end of the rainbow. 

So, for moments when I need you to show me your quality-patience, be sure that, in return, my smile will grow small, white roses, just for you to keep in your upper-left pocket.

Thank you for your patience, meine ernste Freund. :)

As if life wasn't complicated enough, a snowstorm just had to start.

As if it wasn't cold enough, my book just had to end before I even started writing it.

As if curiosity wasn't enough, my fine cat senses made me put my whiskers in the air.

Sniffing...something's happening.

A sandstorm during a snowstorm must surely happen somewhere. No one has ever heard of such a predicament, but it's happening now in a far-far away land, where 43 squirrels are dancing with their mates, as if that's such a normal thing to dream about.

As if it wasn't hot enough, I just know I attract these things, so there's no one else to blame them for.

Might as well embrace them, Miez, might as well embrace them.

Such is life. : )

In the end, I still haven't found the answer to what is stopping me to finish all projects I start. Most probably, the simplest explanation I have found by now is that, if the process is too long, I am getting bored, like every 2 year-old gets bored of their toys. 

Too bad this usually applies to the most important of them, most important to me. You know how sometimes you find a line in a book or see what may appear like simple small talk in a movie, that turns your mind to reflect on it for half a day? I do that often, I split hairs and get ideas, sometimes from nothing. 

My Mom told me once, in one of our very few argues we've encountered in my mature life, that I sometimes treat the people I most care about, with the least consideration, as if I consider them to be next to me no matter what, without imagining that they someday might just pack their bags and leave. Truth is, what are families and best friends for, if not to stay by your side no matter how much of a perky jerk you are, right? Wrong. That line opened my selfish mind, not a single person around us has to be there no matter what and accept the shit you put them up to just because you are blood related or you share some good memories. After all, blood may mean nothing if you don't need a transplant and good memories can be stained with bad ones, if you choose the wrong path in dealing with anyone in your life. 

I currently have an exact, small number of people whom I can tell I love. Others know that I care about them, but only these few could actually hear the words pop out of my mouth. And I'm proud of it. Nothing good really comes in big quantities.

Did you ever have that dangerous feeling that too much sleep might kill you?

Yeah, me neither.

Sleep depravation, please go away, you're making me tired.
My minds feels as (s)mashed up as this song:

   

Funny how sometimes you feel like 24 hours are just not enough for only one day.

Though your mind and body could definitely stay awake for at least 12 hours more, the corrupted world that we live in and which we are constantly blaming for everything that basically doesn't work around us, tells us that a day has 24 hours. So, fuck you, system.

And even if science proves that days are getting longer, neither of us will live long enough to get to live that 36 hours' day; so the hell with this science blah-blah. Still, such a pity.

But sometimes, you get the brilliant chance to enjoy such a warm and fuzzy feeling that I usually like to call "happiness". And even if reason tells you to go screw yourself with this romantic idea that comes into your mind, deep down, you just know that you're wishing this moment will not end soon. Oh, you dreamer.

So in order to make ends meet, I think we should be able to choose when the days could be longer. We just have to keep in mind the fact that quality things usually come in small portions, like they serve food at fancy restaurants. But from time to time, we should really be able to say "fuck you, reason, I'm making this day longer", so that this warm and fuzzy feeling could stay around for more...making people happier, allowing them to be better, fighting the corrupted world around them, making the system better. Damn you,  you, enthusiastic, you.

I know you share this idea.
While you are reading, I think you have a smile on your face. 

I think that now you are remembering about that day, when you looked at the clock and realised time simply flew and you can't even imagine how some hours went by, without you even noticing. And look outside, it's already dark, hah. But there are still so many things you would do at the very same time and you hear the words coming out of your mouth, like a child is asking for candy: "No, wait, what do you mean it's late and you must go home?" Your mind is now creating a million arguments for the very simple situation in which you are just trying...to make that day longer.

Oh, you hopeless romantic. : )

I had a dream.

I wished for a road-trip, for a new teddy-bear, for a car, for discovering interesting music, for meeting new people.

I had a dream and then I had some more…and fulfilled my small dreams, piece by piece. And then I had another dream. And moved to another country, dreaming some more about anything, everything and mostly everyone I ever had for at least one or two minutes in my mind.

So I dreamt a lot by now, but I’m surely not stopping now. Cause if we don’t dream, how else should we know what is the base for our wishes and how else could we make those wishes turn into plans and then to actions which become dreams…that will eventually come true?

I wished for my Mum to hear the waves, from every sea and ocean I heard, even if she was still back home and not there with me. I still call her, every time I’m near the waves.

I wished that my Dad could go to a rock concert, even if he was sick for more than a year – I stood in my car at the entrance, ready to pick him up and take him to a hospital if anything happened. But nothing happened and we just went home after the concert.

I wished that my Aunt would deliver her child before I moved to another country. 4 days before I left, I met the new member of the family.

I wished that the people I once loved and had relationships with would find their peace, happiness and true halves, as I clearly wasn’t the one for them. Some of them already did, some are still on their paths to happiness. But happiness is a long term plan, so my wish still stands.

I wished for adventures, so I’ve tried some in my life by now. I fell in love with people, colors, music, cats and objects, I drank and smoke until 10am next morning, I danced, oh, how much I danced, I travelled, I took pictures and was photographed by both amateur and professional photographers, I’ve met stars, asked for autographs and shaken their hands, I went to concerts and sports matches, I tried to build up a career, I smiled and laughed, I fell in love some more, I wrote, tons and tons of pages of Word documents,

I wished to be powerful and proud, but I felt both like a powerful animal and a humble human being, I competed and won, I cried and moved on, I kept my back straight, but twice I felt like begging is my last option, I was sad, furious, happy, disappointed, trustworthy, curious, quiet, talkative, enigmatic, open like a book, elegant, creative, friendly, bitchy, stubborn, cry-baby,

I wished to be a better person, so I volunteered and helped, I asked for help and received it, I made surprises and got rewarded with brilliant, genuine smiles, I taught people and learned from the wiser ones,

…

I left the commas where I still have dreams to dream about.

And, to quote a T-shirt text of one of my dearest friends’: “so far, this is the oldest I have ever been”.

“All grown-ups were once children (but only few of them remember about that).”

Antoine de Saint-Exupery – The Little Prince

You can listen to me dreaming, here.

Fara ezitare spun ca ne simtim inveseliti de obiectele mari, vazute in miniatura si de obiectele mici, vazute mari. 

Adica ne plac puii de ciobanesc mioritic, pentru ca sunt asaaaaaaaa draguti si ne plac casutele in forma de ciupercuta, pentru ca sunt asaaaa de simpatice. Adica ne plac elefanteii in ureche si turnul Eiffel ca breloc si ne plac stropitorile in forma de floricica si sa ne dam in gargarite in parcurile de distractii. 

Da’ normalitatea de cand nu mai e feşăn? 

Si de ce? :)

poza de aici

Da. 

Ce te faci cand o parte din solutie este reprezentata chiar de o parte din problema? 

Te-ai aflat vreodata in situatia in care sa complici lucrurile si mai mult prin aplicarea solutiei? Desigur, asta nu inseamna decat ca solutia respectiva nu era chiar cea corecta...probabil ca ai putea sa te arunci cu capul inainte si sa presupui si asta....dar eu cred ca solutia este cea corecta pana la proba contrarie. Si mai cred ca nu ai cum sa iti dai seama care e solutia potrivita, pana nu incerci. Si pentru ca am divagat destul, o sa zic doar ca de luni intregi ma zbat intre solutie si problema, ca amandoua ma contin pe mine si ma rod pe mine de ganduri si ca sper ca solutia potrivita sa vina curand. 

Altfel plec in Brazilia, unde o sa imi iau in grija 2 pisici. :)

Bula se intalneste pe strada cu un prieten care il intreaba:

- Bula, am auzit ca ti-a murit soacra. Ce-a avut?

- Ceva bijuterii, un televizor si putine economii...

- Nu asta te-am intrebat. Ce i-a lipsit?

- Pai, masina, o casa sau un apartament proprietate personala... ...

- Bula, de ce a murit?

- A fost la noi in vizita, eu i-am spus sa mearga in pivnita sa duca niste cartofi, sa facem pireu. A cazut pe scari si si-a rupt gatul.

- Ce ghinion! Si ce-ati facut?

- Macaroane cu branza.

"Unde sunt oamenii? ... esti atat de singur."

"Singur esti si printre oameni."

LE: din Micul Print

Nu credeam ca voi ajunge in punctul in care voi spune ca nu am un animal in casa. Sintagma este corecta de cateva luni, adica de tot atatea luni de cand m-am mutat din casa alor mei. Dar aveam animale in casa lor, deci pana la urma sintagma asta nu era chiar corecta, si pentru ca inca nu m-am dezobisnuit de a scoate pe gura cuvantul "acasa" atunci cand fac referire la casa parintilor mei.

De mult nu m-am mai lovit de o melodie ca asta. Care sa ma loveasca si ea inapoi, care sa se lipeasca de creierul si centrii mei nervosi de parca ar fi ceva caruia nici macar nume nu-i pot gasi.

Ca si cum ar fi ea insasi un adeziv, un adeziv care sa mi se lipeasca de minte si de tot aerul pe care il respir.

"Cum sa nu-ti gasesti locul? Cum sa stai locului si sa nu-ti gasesti locul?" de azi dimineata ma gandesc cum sa raspund la intrebarea asta.

viata fara pisici e ceva ciudat.

Ok, ce-am scris/linkuit gresit in postarea asta, astfel incat sa primesc zeci, ba chiar, sute de comentarii spam in ultimele luni? :|

Si oare de ce scriu asta aici, eu oare chiar nu stiu ca de cand am lasat blogul asta sa zaca in paragina, mi-am pierdut si mana de vizitatori pe care o mai aveam? :-<

Pur si simplu asa e. Cuvantul asta imi vine in cap de fiecare data cand ma simt neputincioasa.

Stii ca in jurul tau se intampla lucruri pe care, oricat te-ai stradui, nu ai cum sa le impiedici sa se intample si pe care stii ca le vei regreta, chiar daca nu esti responsabil pentru ceea ce se intampla.

De cele mai multe ori cand am sentimentul asta, se intampla ca in jurul meu se intampla lucruri pe care mintea mea naiva crede ca ar fi avut cum sa le schimbe. De fiecare data cand aud "s-a facut tot ce era omeneste posibil", imi vine sa crap de ciuda ca sunt doar atat de putin om si ca n-am putut sa fac mai mult, astfel incat "tot ce era omeneste posibil" sa insemne ceva cu adevarat important. Ceva care are un sens pozitiv, despre care oamenii sa stie ca e ceva bun si nu doar un premiu de o stranie consolare, ceva ce aduce semne de tristete, inca de la rostirea primului cuvant.

De ce oamenii aleg sa faca ceva ce duce la distrugerea propriei vieti, nu voi avea niciodata capacitatea de a intelege. O sa refuz si-o sa ma incapatanez cat am sa pot eu de tare, astfel incat sa nu ajung sa inteleg de ce un om alege un lucru care ii face rau, in detrimentul a ceva pozitiv. Astept un om capabil sa-mi explice cat vrea el de mult, despre cum uneori nu ai de unde alege, ca uneori totul se imparte doar intre gri si negru si ca albul nu se intrezareste printre bucatile de durere. Il astept eu pe ala care stie sa-mi spuna de ce.

Mi s-a spus sa scriu ca sa nu-mi pierd indemanarea. Problema e ca de cele mai multe ori am scris cand am fost la cate o extrema sau alta sau cand pur si simplu nu aveam altceva de facut. Am ajuns sa scriu si sa sterg, pentru ca cel mai probabil, pana la sfarsitul frazei, deja ma simt mai bine. Dar pentru ca nu prea am momente la extreme, iar timpul, oricum insuficient pentru cate ar fi de facut, mi-e pretios, nu scriu. Nu mai scriu. Mi-e dor de scris, dar mi-e somn, mi-e foame si uneori mi-e prea lene. Sunt la baza piramidei si de acolo mi-e sila sa ma ridic pentru a scrie.

Anotimpurile mele trec de multe ori diferit. Uneori vara imi dureaza ani de zile, alteori iarna, neagra si friguroasa, tot apare si nu mai dispare.

De cateva luni traiesc intr-o primavara, caci nu ma simt mereu in comfort zone-ul meu, dar imaginea pe care o am in fata ochilor ma infatiseaza imbracata intr-un tricou colorat, cu o hainuta subtire pe deasupra. Mustacesc un buchet de flori colorate si de cele mai multe ori ma simt ca si cum ar ziua de nume a mamei. Fiecare Constantin si Elena pe care il traiesc ma face sa o vad pe mama cu bratele pline de flori, motiv pentru care zambesc cand recunosc ca mi-ar fi placut sa fiu nascuta primavara.

Dar si cand mi se face toamna...ma duc acasa si ma bag la un film. Acum suntem doi tomnatici, asa ca iarna nu mai are cum sa invadeze cotloanele micului nostru locsor, cand impreuna ne concentram zambetele si fabricam primavara dupa primavara. : )

Nu pot promite, Radu, ca incep din nou sa scriu, desi asta mereu a fost una din bucuriile libertatii mele colorate, dar voi promite ca incerc sa scriu din nou. E greu cand timpul meu se imparte mereu la doi, dar e bine ca voi sa stiti ca daca nu scriu ... sunt bine. :)

Muz[ic]a: Concert Alexandrina @ Guerilla

Ciudate si intortocheate mai sunt caile ... negocierii. : )

Desi e neplacut ca ideile mele sa fie puse pe tapet de altcineva, totusi nu ma pot abtine sa nu am o oarecare satisfactie de Gollum atunci cand vad ca aceste idei sunt apreciate. : )

Totusi, aceasta atitudine nu va persista, caci coloanele vertebrale din plastilina nu-s tocmai preferatele mele.

Ingrate mi se mai par discutiile despre bani. Lucrez in vanzari de atatia ani, deci am tot avut discutii despre bani. Sa nu mai pun la socoteala ca aproape jumatate din experienta mea profesionala s-a desfasurat intr-o banca, deci asta face subiectul acestui post si mai ciudat.

Dar pe cat de usor imi este sa ii spun unui client ca asta e pretul pentru ca bla-bla, si ca putem face asta, si ca pe langa asta se poate face si altceva, cand vine vorba sa discut despre bani in particular, mi-e suficient de sila cat sa nu-mi mai doresc sa deschid vreodata subiectul.

Toata saptamana a fost coada la agentia de asigurari de la parterul cladirii in care lucrez. Oamenii din front office si-au dublat numarul ieri si azi, ca sa faca fata numarului mare de solicitanti de polite obligatorii pt locuinta, pentru care termenul limita de contractare este astazi.

Si tot vanturandu-ma eu pe usile alea, cu treaba, evident, gen dupa cafea la Mc si sandwich-uri cu pastrama haiduceasca de peste drum sau vorbitul la telefon chestii personale [precum si mersul la cele 8 intalniri avute la foc continuu zilele astea :)], iata ca am reusit sa extrag datele pentru o mini-analiza. Asta pentru ca tot imi place mie sa stau sa observ orice, in ciuda aerului de aeriana [Sâc!] pe care las impresia ca l-as lasa sa ma guverneze macar cateodata. :)

Media de varsta: 50 ani.

Oameni simpli, amarati si in varsta, pentru ca teama de amenzi si ideea de corectitudine tot la amaratul simplu se va gasi mereu.

Ieri, un nene italian care locuieste in Romania de 6 ani, ii povestea colegului meu/prietenului sau italian, venit in vizita in Romania cu afaceri, pt 3 zile, ca la noi in tara, ca si la ei, politicienii sunt de cacao [italienii vorbesc tare colorat :))] si ca in loc sa construiasca un sistem care sa functioneze, aleg sa taie pensiile si salariile bugetarilor. Omul in cauza nu este un mega om de afaceri, si-a deschis un magazin/restaurant cu produse italienesti in Bucuresti si traieste din acest biznis. Discutia a debutat dupa momentul in care o batrana a intrat in magazin spunand ca ii este foame, iar tipul s-a indreptat imediat spre bucatarie si a revenit cu o punga cu mancare.

Tot el a tinut sa mentioneze ca iti trebuie un skill aparte sa deosebesti cersetorii profesionisti de oamenii amarati si ca in niciun caz nu da bani/mancare acolo unde miroase ceva, dar ca atunci cand vede un om aflat in situatia batrenei de ieri, nu se gandeste decat ca omul respectiv poate a fost profesor la viata lui, iar acum, din cauza unui sistem gandit de mafioti si hoti, este nevoit sa isi tarasca batranetea prin cea mai trista forma de respingere.

Discutia cu cersetorii este lunga. As putea scrie pagini intregi, dar nu despre asta este vorba. Mie omul asta mi-a placut. Nici macar nu-mi povestea mie, ii spunea celui venit in vizita, in timp ce eu ma zgaiam la borcanele lui cu de toate. :)

Intr-o conversatie separata --> stiam ca francezii, englezii, italienii sunt nationalisti, dar n-am stiut ca sunt atatia italieni care sa fie dezamagiti de tara lor, asa cum multi dintre noi gandim despre a noastra. Tara lor, in care romanii nostri se duc sa munceasca in cautarea unei vieti mai bune, ii face pe cei mai buni dintre ai lor ... sa isi caute speranta unei vieti mai bune, in alte tari - asa cum am tot auzit povesti cu exemple concrete.

De un an de zile ma tot gandesc sa plec, caci pana atunci am tot zis ca se poate si ca o sa fie bine si ca nu o sa mai am un sentiment de razvratire impotriva mizeriei umane care ma inconjoara, la diverse nivele.

Dar in ultimul an mi-am dat seama si mi-am impatantenit in cap ideea ca, fara niciun soi de emfaza, sunt prea bine crescuta si am invatat prea mult, ca sa primesc atat de putin. Curaj nu am indeajuns, dar nici nu o sa plec in alta tara, ca s-o iau de la zero. Caini cu covrigi in coada am auzit ca ar exista, dar de vazut eu n-am vazut niciodata, asa ca o sa stam cuminti pana se iveste ceva concret si purtator de banet suficient cat sa-mi mentina minimul de confort cu care m-am obisnuit in ultimii ani ... si pe urma o sa mai vedem. : )