Same country, different county
It was really nice to able to hear your voice on the phone last night. Welcome “back”!
Entries Tagged as 'stingoo'
Over-simplification
I am looking at this dog of mine and trying to remember how many times in the past two months I caught myself explaining to others her puppy-readiness to explore. Jumping on complete strangers, begging for affection, drinking from the puddle, chasing garbage on the ground, playing with the dogs that ignore her, running tail-between-’hind-legs from the dogs chasing her to play, and generally chewing her way through her our early life (I hope!). And I have been using a Romanian common saying, “not everything that’s flying can be eaten too”…
And this morning I was reading a comment on a friend’s blog, that prompts me thinking about translations, among other things, and I have decided in a flash I’d oversimplify this saying gladly to illustrate, again, me. Not everything is flying.
Odd restaurants
Taking advantage that my site is up, because you never know when your bandwidth can be exceeded, let me tell you a few things about “my” restaurants.
The “first” one is “an old one”, meaning that I wanted to write about it for a very long time now because of the bill at the Chinese restaurant, “’round the corner” for les conaisseurs, which literally lists the courses like this: E02, G02, G05, B12, C01, F01, water, Prigat, Pepsi. Enjoy!
The “second” one is the most expensive, well, my most expensive. A sort of all you can eat, only about 30 dollars per person. It’s called Churrascaria Carnivore and their wireless was not working when we were there.
If after Churrascaria I could barely move (read roll to the taxi), at Unirea’s food court shushi place I had the most expensive fast food. In my life. Half the price compared to the above mentioned, but my stomach was not even half full. More like half fool.
Now, let’s move to the Middle East. Not literally, only culinary. Both places I am talking about have an improvised decor, but the food was delicious. First one on my list Coin Vert, at the more expensive end, about 2o dollars, worth every penny, even for the service. The “second” one is Abu-Abdu, the final reason for these lines you’ve been reading. I was there last night for the first time. The food was excellent and the service passable, that is if you don’t mind eating in a cantina like atmosphere under the hawk eyes of the supervisor who literally has his desk in the “restaurant”. The fauna was remote and friendly and neighbourhood like. It’s right next door to my place, so I can picture myself there sometime soon
Now, credit goes to fellow bloggers who make me join them at times and get out of the house: vvritz, high low profile, was Transilvania and the nice co., the terribly late one, his gayness, the one and only. Thank you , I’ve had a great time every time.
Energie sandals
My Energie sandals are true rain machines. Remember the curse of the white pants? It’s either you have a very good memory, or I just give you the link. I have not been wearing my white pants in a while, but I had various fashionista trials with the said sandals. Yesterday it was the first time they failed to bring rain. There was only a drop in temperature.
This has been only an introduction to my true moaning and mourning. My allergy has not left me. Work still doesn’t work. And unfortunately other things in my life started to copy that pattern. I am talking about my Facebook account, my external hard disk, my project partners and a few other stuff.
On the bright side I have met with I-have-turned-in-my-resignation-within-my-first-eight-hours-at-work-and-of-course-I’ll-tell-you-why (and how) expert, the Stingo. Also, now I can print. In fact I have printed. My Apple based printing is irresistible.
Oh. And if at any time today you meet with a red bright light, don’t worry, it might be the spot on exactly the center of my forehead. It’s so eighties, for me.
Daily revolution
Relax, nobody gets hurt. That’s mostly around myself. Take yesterday, for instance. The moment I got out of the house, I caught a little fly between my eyelids. Isn’t that special?! OK, OK, it was my righ eye, but still. Thirty minutes, a panic attack, two pharmacies, and half a bottle of eye wash later I have managed to remove the little thing. It has not survived the above mentioned hardships. Do you know the joke with the crocodile tamer and the blonde? Yeah, that’s how I felt, only nostrils dried from the antihistamines.
In other unrelated news, I have been to the bookshop. That’s the thief of my heart, now that the boyfriend is in the mountains. Buying books, underline buy, not read, makes me feel intellectual. Of course, at a cost. Also being the gay I am I have bought Madonna’s latest. And Lenny Kravitz’s. Tell you what, you wannabe DJs, these two don’t go together, not for the time being, I’ve tried.
And now off to work, celebrating by doing this Labour Day.
Stingomeme
Inspired by my neighbor’s piano practice, beginner level, roll eyes here, and my other neighbor’s loud party, I was tempted to pass altogether Stingo’s request. But here I am, ten years after. Can I say I know who I am? What I want? Where I am going? Cause sure as hell I had no clue ten years ago.
I am more carefree than ten years ago, but not much more mature. I am one of those people whose exterior change goes unnoticed. My baby fat is burned, my long hair gone. My black leather motorcycle jacket is long gone to shreds saving the life and skin of a friend. Not me, the jacket! there is little I could have done. After all, he was riding his bike approximately one thousand miles an hour, do you wonder he’s skidded?
So, yeah! lets take this imaginary train to back in time, to ten years ago!
1997 is the year of my graduation. When I said “I am graduating a ballerina school, only without the pirouettes” much to my teacher’s distress at these words. He was angry with me, but I had been angry with him before that. He had recommended my diploma paper for a nine, and later made the mistake of coming to me in these terms: “Reading the other papers… now I regret I have not recommended you for a ten”. Of course I wanted to bite back.
Ten years ago I applied for a leader’s position. With the Soros foundation. My first application, my first interview, my first job. I had the nerve to tell the commission, which consisted of an executive manager, three branch managers and a psychologist slash HR specialist: “You called me to interview for the wrong position, I have applied for the Chief of department. I decided to come to let you know”. After a months trial I was Chief of department.
In 1997 I was dealing with my first real life invoice, dully noting at the time that all the schools I have been attending to that point had served me shit. Ten years ago I was a freshly graduated student who had no clue about basic financial procedures. It was on the occasion of supervising my first international conference. I was becoming an event organizer.
Towards the end of the same year, the Foundation was rendering obsolete part of their machinery. I have thus bought my first ever PC, a famous 486, which I was mostly using as a typewriter with a screen. I also remember a recurrent dream I used to have. The dream went like this: I see an excel file in front of me, I am filling in the numbers, I am checking them one by one, then I apply the sum formula and add them up. Then I sellect all, erase and start all over. Such a dream used to last an entire night, while I was preparing the Foundation’s Annual report. 400 A4 pages of names, figures and unintelligible text.
That year I don’t remember if I was seeing a girlfriend or not. But I remember seducing, in my small but no so small hometown, Timisoara, a gay British professor by the name of… Parrot. He kissed me on a bench next to the rugby field, hold my hand in the taxi, took me to his hotel room, where he came on me telling me “It’s good clean sperm, don’t you worry”. That night I made my first and last shameful exit from a hotel, at two o’clock in the night. I continued to send him poetic email, until he cut me loose. Very direct, almost made me bleed. I was not under the impression I could ever have a relation with him at any time, I just nedeed a vessel for my literary creations. I don’t know what came of these. They are still stuck on little floppy disks, in Timisoara.
Finally, ten years ago I had a passport featuring me with long hair. And I had no driving license.
In brief, I had no idea of where to go, but I was determined to get there fast.
Why are moms, mine included, great
Because they feed your friends. They proofread your books. They want you home for Christmas, even when you plan differently. And the list goes on.
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