Friday, December 31, 2004


This will not be a happy 'I'm in Canada' post, I'm sorry.

My best friend was in Puket with his girlfriend Aya when the tsunami hit. Tsunamis are my one real phobia, I cannot even hear the name, I would never live by the river or the sea in Lisbon because we're long overdue a big earthquake again and guess what comes next. A search party of 6 men went from Israel to Thailand yesterday to look for them, they're army experts who specialised in locating missing people. I don't know if you all pray but I am so worried, I can barely think about anything else. So if you do pray, please pray for them and his safe return to us - or his battered return, I don't care as long as he comes back.

His name is Uzi Saghi and he is the most generous and genuinely good man I've ever met in my life. I cannot bear to think of him not here anymore. I cannot bear to think of him crushed by a 30-feet tidal wave.


Tuesday, December 28, 2004

Portie Girl in Winter Wonderland

Hallo dahlings, i'm alive!!! I survived that ghastly flight and everything else and AM IN BLOODY CANADA and yes, they do say aboot time, and going sooth, and eh! The capilene underwear WORKS!!! I am v tired bcs I ended up not sleeping for 48 h but - am having a blast!!!

Alright, the cold. HORRENDOUS. I tend to step out into the strees, holler 'Oh hell!' and retreat. It takes a while till i finally manage to stay out. The cold is ok at first, and then it just bites you, without warning. I often feel like my jaw is disintegrating, v painful and disturbing. And what it does to one's jeans!!! THEY FREEZE!!! But the capilene works (thanks S.!), despite its naffness, and the snow - how can I say this? The snow is gorgeous!!! It piles up on trees in the prettiest manner, and on rooves, and I often cannot resist stepping into a snow mound just for the sake of it. It's just so pretty!!! Maybe I'll even build a snowman and have a snowball fight. Yes. Igloo building won't be any good bcs the snow type is wrong, who knew. I'm enjoying the snow bcs I can always go back in and, AS PREDICTED, I am v v warm inside, much more so than in my flat at home. SNOW IS FUN AND PRETTY!!! It also gives me away as a foreigner immediately, by forcing me to surf the icy surface w much arm-flailing and cursing instead of walking. it All this talk abt traction shoes and knee-bending ice strategies is no help whatsoever. I must look like a bleeding idiot, everone else going abt their business and me, either jumping into snow mounds or reaching helplessly for the next lamp post, legs further and further apart.

I had a taco, I did. V good - but the dough could use some more cooking. Coke tastes a bit diff - ours is better. Dr. Pepper sucks rock. Will of course go to Niagara Falls. HAVE BOUGHT EVERY SORT OF CRISPS THERE WERE in Wal Mart- and do you know, guacamole crisps are fabulous . Am SO looking forward to going to Guelph's vet school. Canucks, BTW (which I pronounce Canoocks bcs it fits Hebrew so perfectly and can be pluralised it into Canoockim), look v different from us. I noticed in the mall that more people than usual were looking at me. Not quite staring, just a look held longer than a casual one - you know, we look at people when we're walking past them and sometimes something in them draws our attention and we look closer? It fully surprised me bcs, but for the snow pants, I'd have thought I'd blend right in. NOT.

So yes, FUN! Very much so. Will go now and have some more.

Sunday, December 26, 2004


Yes, I am. I really, really am!

I will leave the house in one hour and land in Toronto in - iaiks - 18 hours. I dearly hope I'll have nothing to blog about while travelling, that'd mean I will have slept most of the way. Let it be so, please please please. Above all, let my eardrums behave.

I will keep you posted on my Canuckia adventures, promise. And for dinner tomorrow? TACO BELL! I've always wanted to try that.

[They'd better not infect me w their accent though. It's bad enough I sound Icelandic. Or something.]

Dahlings, have a good one!

Saturday, December 25, 2004

"Reach Out and Touch Faith"*

UPDATE: Season now officially over, my family are done w C. Ooooof! *magnificent sigh of relief* It is no exaggeration when I tell you I ate more for the past 2 lunches, 3 dinners and in between than I have for the past 2 weeks. And we are not one of those families that habitually stuff their faces but this year I simply could not resist the codfish, the turnips, the sprouts, the raddish, the broccoli, oy, it was v tasty (and healthy, see?). I ate loads and all I want to do now is lie down on the sofa and take a nap, I've been falling asleep on the sofa under my eider down duvet for the past 2 nights at about 2 am, oblivious to the ping of the MSN windows even (I'm a very light sleeper), and waking up - brace yourselves, Bridgets! - around 8. EIGHT IN THE MORNING!!! So I need some rest, especially bcs I'll be travelling for *GULP* 16 hours. On a brilliant note, there was turkey today (Anglo transculturation, yes) and I now have a handy bone collection: 1 femur, 1 humerus, 1 ulna, 1 radius, 1 fibula and 1 tibia. It will be useful to handle this. Finally, many people have placed pins on my cute Guest Map - thank you, I love the pretty flowers! I will visit everyone when I get back. Except the Israelis, that is, who really can't be bothered. [Metumtemot!]. Canada? I should be alright, my smartass cousin gave me a tiny Canadian flag pin to ensure I do not lose my way. That way, even if I lose my voice or develop amnesia, I can always grin manically and repeatedly point at the maple leaf, thereby ensuring I will be shipped off in the right direction. In the meantime, 16 hours till departure - and do you know, I AM GETTING ALL EXCITED!!!


Yesterday turned out to be quite lovely, we had loads of fun. My Mum did what she always does, started telling the same old stories from when we (my 3 cousins and I and now my cousin's daughter) were little. We've listened to them a thousand times and still it never gets old. Then we all join in the re-telling. Very cosy.

We all miss my aunt, she died in May. We didn't talk about her much but it was on our mind the whole time. That made this C. season particularly hard. My Mum has no other siblings - we're an appalingly small family really - and she misses her terribly. Knowing this I should be more able to not let her nagging affect me but she knows JUST WHAT TO SAY doesn't she (mothers!), and I am awful, I snap under pressure. Not the most graceful of creatures when cornered, no. Yesterday evening I tried harder to not let any of it get to me. She was also in a better mood, less cranky. It helped heaps as well.

Christmas is always bizarre. I was an exchange student in Germany and it didn't faze me one bit bcs it was all so different, there was no reference frame. First of all I managed to blow the tea party on Nikolaus day (Dec. 6) bcs my dear host brother told me "Don't forget it's Nikolaus tomorrow" and I said "Ahhh, right." and then wondered what on earth that was. But I'd been dutifully opening a window on the Advent's Calendar every night [and hell, was I annoyed when, on the 24th, I GOT A RAT. A FUCKING RAT! ON AN ADVENT'S CALENDAR. I ASK YOU.] So I decided to go downtown after classes and arrived home at 18.00 and was there displeasure in the house! Upon seeing everyone at the table merrily eating and sipping away I thought I'd forgotten someone's birthday. My host brother kept saying "But I told you, I told you!" Yes, the ritualistic repetition of the word "Nikolaus" is bound to inject all these new facts into me, yes. That worked out well. He shut up only when I screamed back "You said it was Nikolaus Day, nothing else, how was I supposed to guess, Dummkopf?" So on Christmas we baked this very huge and bizarre loaf of bread/pastry thing with LOADS of ham inside. That was the meal. [No codfish, no octopuss, oy] [I don't eat octopuss and never cared for the taste but my parents and my cousin swear by it.] [My first meal w my host family, when I first got there, was a huge salty pretzel at 14.00. I was starving and could not believe I was being given an inflated snack to eat, w too much salt and butter. Grew to love it but yes, cultural shocks galore.] After dinner my parents went to Mass (only time they did, from what I could tell) and my host sister and I, being too cool for churches [and I being too coll for this organised religion thing, was an atheist back then], went for a walk in the freezing cold. And that is how I managed to miss a Protestant Christmas service. Granted, I'd probably have been bored out of my mind but I wish I'd done it so I had an idea. 18-year-olds can be insufferable. (And Merry Christmas to those of you who celebrate it, dahlings, have a lovely one. I MEAN it.)

So my point? Nothing abt C. there annoyed me, it was too different, too fremd. Here? Oy vey is mir, aber wie. I have yet to find my niche. As Noorster has so brilliantly put it, "I'm too Jewish to properly enjoy Christmas but too assimilated to properly ignore it."

Nobody expected the Portuguese Inquisition either.

[* here]

Thursday, December 23, 2004

"Lioness in Underpants", courtesy of MSN

[This was an unlikely bedtime story and yet here it is. I was talking to LJ and he started spinning off this tale.]

LJ diz:
Lioness In Underpants - a true story
LJ diz:
Once upon a time
LJ diz:
there was a lionesss
LJ diz:
called Johnny
LJ diz:
Everyone knew her
LJ diz:
because of her name: Johnny
LJ diz:
Although she was a lioness, she actually used a lion's name
LJ diz:
This upset many of the lions who said:
LJ diz:
'Hey, she can't use that name; it's not right!'
LJ diz:
A lion called Johnny said that.
LJ diz:
He was most unhappy.
LJ diz:
'She's stolen MY name,' he growled.
LJ diz:
'And I am going to get it back.'
LJ diz:
Oh dear, what a pickle.
LJ diz:
Meanwhile, Johnny the lioness was preening herself in the sun and looking at her reflection in the nearby watering hole.
LJ diz:
'I am Johnny the lioness,' she said with a deep purr.
LJ diz:
'Johnny the lion can get lost,' she said smacking her lips.
LJ diz:
Johnny met with three other lions, each of whom was also called Johnny.
LJ diz:
‘She has called herself JOHNNY?’ roared one of the other Johnnies in disbelief and horror.

LJ diz:
‘That is against the Lions Law!’ roared another. ‘She cannot use a lion’s name because she is only a bloody lioness!’
LJ diz:
‘Why doesn’t she call herself Ethel, or something?’ asked another Johnny.
LJ diz:
to be continued . . .

[NOTE: if you're a Portie, you may think you now know my real name. MAybe part of it but - really you don't. HA!]

Quick editorial note

I call people Dahling bcs I like the way the languid, stretched-out "a" sounds;

I say Porties for Portuguese bcs I somehow started doing it and it fits them [us]. Mostly, it's filled w tenderness;

I say "it sucks rock" bcs once someone left a comment in a blog I read saying "Like the Lioness, I'm an insomniac" and I wrote a comment back meaning to say "We suck rock!" but Typepad doesn't allow it and it ended up reading "We suck rock!" and I immediately fell head over heels in love w it and fully abuse it now;

I say Plaphora - no, actually I hardly ever do and it’s a bloody shame;

I write bfr for before and bcs for because bcs I'm lazy and I do shorten everything when I write things down on paper. Often I don't even realise I'm doing it. It doesn't much matter bcs I can't understand half of what I write anyway.

I think that’s it.

Black Poison

These are two of my fave songs, LOVE THEM. I've been listening to them on repeat bcs I really really need some powerful kick to make me feel chipper. I can't link .mpegs but I can leave you with the lyrics. Not the same, I know, but it's halfway there. These songs KICK ASS.

(Pearl Jam)

Sheets of empty canvas, untouched sheets of clay
Were laid spread out before me as her body once did
All five horizons revolved around her soul
As the earth to the sun
Now the air I tasted and breathed has taken a turn
Ooh, and all I taught her was everything
Ooh, I know she gave me all that she wore
And now my bitter hands chafe beneath the clouds
Of what was everything?
Oh, the pictures have all been washed in black, tattooed everything...

I take a walk outside
I’m surrounded by some kids at play
I can feel their laughter, so why do I sear
Oh, and twisted thoughts that spin round my head
I’m spinning, oh, I’m spinning
How quick the sun can, drop away
And now my bitter hands cradle broken glass
Of what was everything (note the lack of question mark)
All the pictures have all been washed in black, tattooed everything...
All the love gone bad turned my world to black
Tattooed all I see, all that I am, all I’ll ever be...yeah...

Uh huh...uh huh...ooh...
I know someday you’ll have a beautiful life, I know you’ll be a star
In somebody else’s sky, but why
Why, why can’t it be, why can’t it be mine

(Alice Cooper)

Your cruel device
your blood, like ice
One look, could kill
My pain, your thrill...
I wanna love you but I better not touch (don’t touch)
I wanna hold you, but my senses tell me to stop
I wanna kiss you but I want it too much (too much)
I wanna taste you but your lips are venomous poison
You’re poison, running through my veins
I don’t wanna play these games

Your mouth, so hot
Your web, I’m caught
Your skin, so wet
Black lace, on sweat....
I hear you calling and it’s needles and pins (and pins)
I wanna hurt you just to hear you screaming my name
Don’t wanna touch you but you’re under my skin (deep in)
I wanna taste you but your lips are venomous poison
You’re poison, running through my veins
I don’t wanna break these chains
(guitar solo)

One look, could kill
My pain, your thrill...
I wanna love you but I better not touch (don’t touch)
I wanna hold you, but my senses tell me to stop
I wanna kiss you but I want it too much (to much)
I wanna taste you but your lips are venomous poison
You’re poison, running through my veins
I don’t wanna break these chains
Poison (Poi-son....)

I wanna love you but I better not touch (don’t touch)
I wanna hold you, but my senses tell me to stop
I wanna kiss you but I want it too much (too much)
I wanna taste you but your lips are venomous poison
Well I don’t wanna break these chains
Runnin’ deep inside my veins
Burnin’ deep inside my brain
and I don’t wanna break these chains

Dear Mr. Bad Guy:

Please be bad. Please be mean. Please abduct me and keep me locked away somewhere till all madness ceases. I am begging you.

I will NOT survive this Christmas season.

All Lisbon has gone mad. Cousins and uncle arrived, Cousin's daugther, bless her, behaving like a spoiled brat, all high-pitched and generally annoying on purpose. We recently discovered she hardly has any sense of smell, very bad. Could be high-pitched ultrasonic sonic sounds are tied to poor hearing also, very worrisome. I always prepare everything so that I will NOT have to leave the house during these days but to go to my parents'. Cousins STILL HAVE SHOPPING TO DO, had to drive places along with the other three million and four ants. HAVE BOUGHT LONG UNDERWEAR (capilene). [If I were brave enough (and had permission) would post INANE MSN chat I had re the subject. I'm too daft for words, so painful] You will never believe the only colour available. Powder blue. Powder blue, I ask you. Will feel impossibly dorky, never mind that no one will see it. Could I look any more innocent, whitey and naff in it? No. Bloody hell. The fabric feels cheap, amazingly so considering each piece cost 44 Euros. At least will never freeze my butt again during a necropsy in the anatomy shed, intend to use it till summer. Also got 2 pairs of knee-length mountain socks. Regular Pipi Lange Strumpfe (minus the monkey and not so scary-looking hopefully, the freaky kid). Blah.

Mother is on a rampage: skin = bad, cold = bad, skin + Canada = cold = bad; how will you eat??? = bad; exams = bad, not studying every waking hour of day = bad; state of car inside = dusty = dog hair = never mind that it was hoovered recently = I should also be hoovering every waking hour of the day = v bad form = bad; table at flat entrance with wooden flowers = apparently bad; hair in a bun, please make sure you don't go around LOOKING QUITE LIKE THAT ABROAD = bad; me = too thin = probable severe anaemia = too little protein in diet = will be serioulsy ill oh dear oh dear = take these vitamins with you but [cousin:] MAKE SURE YOU DON'T OVERDOSE = bad.

So you see, Mr. Bad Guy, my preference would be an abduction to a quiet place WITH CENTRAL HEATING (bcs it's beautiful and v v cold here now) and loads of books and cable TV. NO RANSOM NOTE PLEASE. You could return me on Saturday afternoon so I can pack. It would really be most kind of you and I hope you will give this plead serious consideration. Am at the end of my bloody tether. Alternatively, I need either to be shipped to Canada like NOW, never mind the clothes, or to be clubbed on the head with mighty strength. Or you could just shoot me. Any old shotgun will do.


Wednesday, December 22, 2004

Lioness shakily presents...

... one reservation and one booked hotel.

Ooooof! You would NOT believe how frightful it was!!! Sucked rock majorly. The site would NOT take my card, flights were being sold out bfr my very eyes, it took 3 people in 2 continents and 3 different countries - er, and one functioning brain (Viscondessa's) - to do it, through the US. It was very very stressful, argh!!! Am fully knackered. Was woken up at 4 am after I'd fallen asleep at 2 am [yes, I actually FELL ASLEEP AT THAT HOUR for the first time in weeks and had to wake up to deal with winged business! *coughs up furball in disgust*) and it took forever and then it was 8.20 am already and had to stay up to MAKE SURE I'd confirm the reservation here on our end and Beth and DM are coming to visit in April and when the hell did my life become this exciting??? How did this happen exactly? Let's see...

Yes, I STARTED A BLOG didn't I!

Will be found flying into Toronto in 4 days. [Just scared myself a bit][A LOT] And blogging WILL continue from Canuckia, how could it not? Look under "SHE DIED OF EXPOSURE, WHICH DIDN'T SURPRISE HER ONE BIT." Ha!

Have snow clothes, will travel.

Tuesday, December 21, 2004

This is looking good

Let's see, a trip to Canada minus flight and lodgings. Yes, that should work. Oh this is going brilliantly.

Sunday, December 19, 2004

In which instructions are handed out by the tonne

I was woken up at 9 today. Even though I slept very little, this is fabulous: I WOKE UP WHILE IT WAS STILL MORNING. Because I was actually awake at a reasonable hour and hadn’t seen my parents in over a week (bad insomnia makes me shy away from company), I thought I’d join them for lunch. I was very much looking forward to leaving Lisbon and spending time with them, the weather is dreadful, very grey and rainy-y and rather funny smells wafting in from the river (I swear I sometimes surprise myself with the verbs I know) - so I drove to the beach.

I got home and sat down with my mother talking about my impending trip. I had a feeling it might amuse me - you see, I DO know my parents. My father was expected to burst in through the door at any moment saying “Look what I’ve fished today!” [NOTE: read, my father strolls down to the beach and waits for the fishermen’s boats to return, and then he chooses the very fresh fish HIMSELF, and in between talks to other fishermen about, you know, fish and the weather and other deep stuff, and returns home with said fish feeling very cleansed and accomplished bcs he both engaged in an ancient outdoorsy manly activity - i.e., fishing - and is a true provider, bringing home his catch for his mate and the cub to eat. My father is adorable.] So I sat with my mother and we talked about my trip till he came home and then we talked about the trip some more and eventually my father connected to the modern world and said:

“What? You’re going to CANADA??? When did this happen?”
I looked at my mother.
“Er, did I not tell you? I’m sure I told you she’s going to Canada! Oh you’re impossible, you never remember anything!”

My father is possibly the most scatterbrained person I know, so much worse than me, and can at times barely find his way back home. From that moment on all was surreal.

L: Well yes, it seems like I’ll be playing around in the snow after all.
Mother: SNOW!!! DEAR GOD, snow, but of course! You couldn’t possibly, OH YOUR SKIN, my poor child!
[NOTE: the sun and the warmth are good for my skin. Because I’ve had psoriasis since I was 5 (very unusual) I cannot remember a time when the fams were not sun-worshippers but it gets out of control. My mother has rung me on really cloudy days to say “Please get out in the sun!” - and they live 5 min away from me so it’s not likely the weather will be that much better in my neighbourhood.]
L: what about it?
M: you need to go to a warm place, oh how someone with P can travel to a place where it’s that cold I can’t fathom! Couldn’t you go to the beach? I thought you'd go to Israel the moment you had money!
L: I couldn't possibly go back to Israel when Uzi is travelling the world, it wouldn't be the same, I'll wait till he comes back. And besides, it's exotic! SNOW! I need to do something different. I’ll probably be less cold there than here, inside the house anyway.
Father: She is old enough to decide where she wants to go, you know, she should have fun!
M: She’ll never be old enough that I don’t know what’s best for her!
F: Will there be Eskimos?
L: I’m sorry?
F: Eskimos!
L: No, no Eskimos, they’re in the other direction. I don’t think I’ll come across many Eskimos.
F: So what about exams?
L: I told you, they’re later this year but I’ll take some books with me.
L: ???
F: The weight, think of the weight! You mustn’t carry too much weight!
L: I’ll only take a couple, don’t worry!
M: Oh promise you’ll take good care of yourself!
L: It’s CANADA, not a labour camp for pity’s sake!
F: Well yes, but you have to listen to me, you can’t carry too much weight, you never pay attention to your back so listen to me carefully: you must never bend over, I see you do that all the time! You must flex your knees! [brief heated discussion follows, in which the merits of the verbs “flectir” vs “flexionar” (roughly to bend vs to flex) are discussed], ALWAYS bend your knees when picking something up! Like this: [demonstration follows] You must be very careful.
L: It’s a suitcase ON WHEELS, I will not be picking it up much! And even I bent my knees I couldn’t lift it properly, I’d topple over with it!
F: But at home!
L: The wheels also work at home!
F: Well then, what about the airport?
L: Oh my God, my WHEELED suitcase and I will be travelling by car! It will be rolled along.
F: All right then, just be careful.
L: And can you TALK to your friends?
L: ... How do you mean?
M: Well, are they educated?
L: Yes. College degrees galore. No worries. Educated. Quite.
M: Well good, I wouldn’t want you to be bored, you need people you can talk to.
L: Yes, mother.
M: Don’t be meek, I know you’re being sarcastic when you’re this docile, IT IS important and we need to be surrounded by people we can relate to!
L: Agreed but don’t worry, I’m sure I’ll be properly entertained.
F: Have you got a hotel yet?
L: Well no but scouts have been sent off in every direction. I actually rather fancy staying in a motel like the ones in the movies. The good ones, I mean. Very North-American.
M: Isn’t it too… brothel-like though??
L: *choke* Er no, I suppose it would rather depend on the kind of motel, I’ve seen pics of some really nice ones. And Mother, NO ONE would dream of booking me into a cathouse you know!
M: Well, just make sure you ring us often.
L: Yes, I'll do my best to ring you every single day.
M: Oh good, that'd be lovely!
L: No it wouldn't, I was JOKING! I am NOT going to ring you every single day, that's insane!
M: Well you don't have to call every day, just email GF every day and she'll ring us.
L: I WILL NOT, that's crazy, I'll give you a ring when I get there and then send text messages once in a while!
F: So what are your plans?
L: Well, for starters I’m REALLY looking forward to buying LOADS of 2nd hand paperbacks in English!
L: Oh Father…!
F: Oh alright, just let us know if you need more money.

I adore them.

Saturday, December 18, 2004

You are NOT to

Listen up you Bitch:

1- you are NOT to stare in horror at my hands with a mixture of revulsion and pity on that pinched face of yours and actually CHECK YOURS quickly just to make sure I haven't infected you yet. I couldn't possibly fail to see my hands, my body and yes, I know all about it, IT LOOKS FUCKING HORRIBLE you stupid twat but do you think I'd walk around this carefree if it were CONTAGIOUS? You want we should go back to sounding little bells so you are warned of our approach and have time to flee?

2 - You are NOT to call your husband and kids' attention to my hands in such a blatant manner that everyone around us starts paying attention and watching me as well, some cringeing, some not. And I am standing RIGHT NEXT TO YOU, you little piece of shit, in case you hadn't noticed and am neither blind nor deaf. You think I forget about it often enough that I have to be reminded of it by fucking idiots like you EVERY SINGLE DAY OF MY LIFE? Would you like to feed me as well? They keep peanuts and herring just for this you know, just throw them at me and I'll try to catch them with my mouth.

3 - You are NOT to wonder aloud HOW ON EARTH I CAUGHT SUCH A THING and then place a protective hand on your youngest's shoulder thereby holding him in place and ensuring a safe enough distance between the two of us, just in case. I can tell you are one of those charitable souls who will ask me WHERE ELSE HAVE YOU GOT IT and then proceed to tell me, given half a chance, that SHOWERING MORE OFTEN might just make it ALL go away.

4 - You are NOT to actually jump in the air a bit when I suddenly lay the back of my hand against yours on the counter and say "BOOO!". Just be happy I didn't smack you, because I wanted to SO BADLY I could taste blood, I swear.

5 - And above all, you fucking stupid bitch, you are NOT to scream "That's so RUDE, how dare you!" when I meet your eye and say into your face: "It's called psoriasis and it may go into remission yet; YOU, on the other hand, will ALWAYS be ugly as sin ."


And because I do desperately need some beauty this very minute:
(V. sent me this yesterday, I adore it. If I were a poem, this is where I'd come to breathe.)

The Invitation
by Oriah Mountain Dreamer

It doesn't interest me what you do for a living.
I want to know what you ache for
and if you dare to dream of meeting your heart's longing.

It doesn't interest me how old you are.
I want to know if you will risk looking like a fool
for love
for your dreams
for the adventure of being alive.

It doesn't interest me what planets are squaring your moon.
I want to know if you have touched the centre of your own sorrow
if you have been opened by life's betrayals
or have become shrivelled and closed
from fear of further pain.

I want to know if you can sit with pain
mine or your own
without moving to hide it
or fade it
or fix it.

I want to know if you can be with joy
mine or your own
if you can dance with wildness
and let the ecstasy fill you to the tips of your fingers and toes
without cautioning us to
be careful
be realistic
remember the limitations of being human.

It doesn't interest me if the story you are telling me
is true.
I want to know if you can
disappoint another
to be true to yourself.
If you can bear the accusation of betrayal
and not betray your own soul.
If you can be faithless
and therefore trustworthy.

I want to know if you can see Beauty
even when it is not pretty
every day.
And if you can source your own life
from its presence.

I want to know if you can live with failure
yours and mine
and still stand at the edge of the lake
and shout to the silver of the full moon,

It doesn't interest me
to know where you live or how much money you have.
I want to know if you can get up
after the night of grief and despair
weary and bruised to the bone
and do what needs to be done
to feed the children.

It doesn't interest me who you know
or how you came to be here.
I want to know if you will stand
in the centre of the fire
with me

and not shrink back.

It doesn't interest me where or what or with whom
you have studied.
I want to know what sustains you
from the inside
when all else falls away.

I want to know if you can be alone
with yourself
and if you truly like the company you keep
in the empty moments.


OMG OMG OMG!!!! Am I serioulsy considering this? Travelling into THE SNOW?? YES. What am I thinking, what am I thinking!!! (breathe L, breathe, in and out, yes, that's it) What the hell can I be thinking, I must be mad! Is this not mad? This is mad! And yet I'm surfing the web, looking for, er, things that fly and DO NOT crash please God. Oh bloody hell. Well, I suppose one place is as good as another to study and what with the cold - oh fuck me the cold!!!! THE FUCKING COLD!!! What will I do??? How do people leave their houses, I WILL DIE! OMIGOD, -5,8 F??? That seems awfully low, doesn't bode well, what's that in Celsius? -21º???!!! As in BELOW ZERO? What do they mean IT FEELS LIKE? They can't be sure? It gets worse than the actual temperature? Oy! And I will die, 5 cm of snow?! I don't DO snow! Snow is COLD, I don't even own any snow clothes, I have no clothes for when it's, you know, SNOW COLD because it's so impossibly unbearable to even think about it I have no wish to get close to it! I have seen snow exactly three times in my life and I am cold all the time here, imagine in - OMIGOD, I WILL FREEZE!!! I can barely survive 10 ºC, and see, that's 50º F, sounds like a lot doesn't it but nor once you convert it into proper UNDERSTANDABLE temperature, it's much too low, breathe, L, breathe, don't panic. I am dead! Actually, I quite fancy the idea of going to a frozen country, it's as close to radical sports as I'll ever be but. BUT. I will turn into a block of ice, seriously, doesn't it hurt terribly to breathe? How does one survive snow? And the cold in general, this sort of cold I mean? With SOUTHERN EUROPEAN clothes that is? Oh bloody hell, I won't be found till Spring.


Overheard on MSN:

Noorster diz:
about the cold believe me, I know my shit. But the key to the cold game is LAYERS
Noorster diz:
over waist: bra, sleevless top or even better, a body, a thinner cardigan, a warm sweater, scarf that not only covers your neck but also covers part of your chest, and a jacket
Noorster diz:
below waist: semi-thick stockings (the trouser-like ones) - like 50 den thick, knee-length socks, jeans
Noorster diz:
if you can't get hold of them, try a pharmacy for compression hose (varicose vein stockings). AND: gloves. if you don't have a warm cap or hat, or you don't like wearing them, try at least covering your ears. Also: never let your feet go cold. if necessary, carry around an extra pair of smaller but warm socks
Noorster diz:
now, about beauty routines - they can be life-saving: lip balm, body lotion and moisturiser. It counts believe me

Yup, come Spring.

Friday, December 17, 2004

Danny, this pic is for you, the horror stories are for everyone

You love it, just admit it. Yes, it’s Morocco. Glad to hear you, er, knocked out your opponent in less than 3 seconds. And I hope your ribs will stop hurting soon. I could have used your skills there you know. I now FULLY believe all the kidnapping stories. I've spent the past two days of trying to memorise EVERY AFFLICTION KNOWN TO HORSE, COW, SHEEP, GOAT, PIG, DOG, CAT AND THE BLOODY CHICKEN and still I haven’t got past the respiratory system and THAT only by 1/3 as it is. Also, a while ago I chopped off part of my thumb trying to peel a carrot and the stupid thing would NOT stop bleeding and am GENERALLY annoyed (actually, PARTICULARLY, but let’s pretend). So I’ll tell you all my Moroccan Passion Experience when I was 20 and may all cleansing begin.

Cornered me at the border - the.freaking.border, I wasn’t even IN Morocco yet! - and tried to persuade me to go live with him [hopefully not in sin] in a “big house, with many windows and plenty of food, oui?” He must have thought I needed fattening up, which is HILARIOUS AND DEMENTED bcs I’d been away as an exchange student in Germany for a year, had eaten many a loaf of bread and weighed close to 70 kg (160 L, see how sweet I am?) when this took place. I looked like a fucking Valkyrie! [Those pics will not, I repeat, will NOT be uploaded]. So, Scarface (big scar from left side of forehead down to the bottom lip OVER the eye) wanted me and I was beginning to really be worried when the guys in our group [27 of us travelling in three vans] saw what was happening and joined us - he had me backed up against a car by then - simultaneously smiling and frantically asking me in Portuguese what the hell was going on. As I smilingly answered back he wanted me to move in but I felt I it was a bit premature and HELP ME! they all started pumping his arm and patting him on the back and thanking him profusely but you see she’s our sister, our father would never allow it, Oh but I give animals, many animals, donkeys [and WTF, I’m not worth camels???] Oh thank you that is most kind but we live in a very small house, all of us, we wouldn’t know what to do with them back home, and somehow they so annoyed him that I was removed from the ruck slowly [I was actually passed on from brother to brother till I left the inner circle] and ran inside the van and he just threw his hands up in the air and walked away. I don’t know, of course, but a) he was SERIOUSLY scary; b) I was SERIOUSLY scared; c) he was wearing lots of gold and fancy (if hideous clothes), this was some powerful man. Then I was given mucho grief by my beloved “brothers”, what, I need this? It was my fault?

I fell asleep while we were in some suburban area and woke up in the Atlas and it took my breath away. Because I cannot begin to describe such staggering beauty I’ll just say it was, indeed, staggering. Bu the wind was so bloody cold I was crying, so I decided to take cover in the tall grass while the men peed, and soak up some sun (it was a very clear day). As I lay there I started hearing this whispery noise and couldn’t believe my ears when I realised the grass was going “Psst! Salut, la gazelle!” (hallo, my gazelle!) I opened my eyes and saw a dark head bob up from the grass, there was a man lying in it close by, staring at me from above. I got up and ran, him following in pursuit screaming “Oh la gazelle, faut pas avoir peur!” (My gazelle, no need to be frightened) [FAUX PAS indeed you wanker - and hey, you may not know this, but I just made a joke in French, this is HUGE, I don’t really DO French!] The sweet “brothers” eventually shooed him away but not before they had talked to him and realised he was offering 15.000 camels for me and an unknown quantity of rugs(!), as far as they could tell. All those camels made an impression and I was ALLOWED, as they put it, to go on with our group ONLY because they couldn’t figure out the camel currency. Over this, as well, much grief was given me and I can assure you that hollering “Oh we can always sell HER!” when counting spare change in the hopes of seeing more appear magically gets old VERY, VERY QUICKLY.

The gas station ATTENDANT who all of a sudden shoved HIS ENTIRE UPPER BODY inside the tiny van’s window [they’re very lithe, Moroccans], half lay on one of the guys and started stroking my hair (it was quite long then), refusing to let go of it even when being punched and shoved by my “brothers” who would hiss, in between smacking sounds, “You are so dead, stop laughing!!” because, seriously, IT WAS SO FUCKING HILARIOUS I was crying, it really was, and so I am SO VERY SURE that some of the blows that landed on me might not have been innocent at alI, the pigs. What could I do? I wasn’t scared, it was too ridiculous, you’d have laughed too wouldn’t you? Again, mucho griefo for the next 100 km.

Very, very scary. This happened in Tetouan on a day when the Bedouins come down from the mountains to sell their produce. This one man started following us and the guys told him he could follow, nothing they could do, but he wouldn’t be paid bcs we didn’t need a guide. He was fine with it and was quite sweet I thought, explaining things and eventually suggesting we all went back to his BIG house for tea. I was delighted! This story is coming to you straight from the HOW DO YOU SPELL TWAT, TWAT? AWARD recipient.

“Oh, that is so kind of you, let me tell the others.”
“No, no need, we’ll go ahead and they’ll follow, it’s right this way”
“Oh. OH. Oh no, I couldn’t possibly, they never let me go anywhere alone [strained smile] - João PLEASE COME NOW!”

João and the others did come as the “Guide”, absolutely furious now, started demanding his money and saying: “Look, I just want my money, here are my brothers, and those are my cousins, and my neighbours are there as well, we all just want what’s ours” and damn if the tiny square hadn’t filled up with brutes who looked none too happy to see us, and João shoved me and the other girl close by in the van and yelled at everyone to GET IN WE’RE LEAVING NOW and much confusion ensued, it’s a bit of a blurr really, but we did manage to escape with doors wide open and tyres squealing. It was like a fucking North African Western! The “brothers” had finally had enough - we had all been pretty shaken, to tell you the truth, that was entirely too frightening - and stupidly decided I was both to blame AND to keep my head and face covered whenever we were among OTHER people. It’s a good thing this happened right at the end of our journey really because THE.BLOODY.TOSSERS.MADE.ME.DO.IT!

Not freaks, rather CURIOSITIES:
We went to the all the way to the Sahara desert, had dinner with the Tuaregs (© The Blue People), with whom we later danced, and slept on the dunes under the stars. Let me tell you, OVERRATED. The cold was unbelievable and I was still removing sand from my bra days later. Hell! You can actually see in my pic up there how swollen and reddish my eyelids are. In a carpet tent I met another Tuareg with whom I haggled badly [I’m terrible at it, feel very embarrassed] and who after the transaction was over said: “Stay with me, you can meet up with your friends later, spend the night with me.” I was gobsmacked and started blushing and stuttering [I’m still very sophisticated that way] and, again, politely declined. He looked me straight in the eye and said “Well, you have forfeited THE MOST EXCITING NIGHT OF LOVE of your entire life.” Now, French has never done much for me, I’m an Anglophile and find it a bit too patati-patata [you must purse your lips while saying it to see what I mean] but hell was that hot! He looked just like this
©, which didn’t hurt none. Ah well. Anyway, when I was leaving the van to go inside I’d noticed an old man, a Bedouin judging from his garbs, looking at me strangely. Never mind, this is Morocco, in you go quickly [I was well trained by then and my face and hair were free so I was determined nothing else would happen]. When I stepped out on my still weak legs I saw the brothers talking to him through an interpreter and laughing. Again, the joke was on me, the man had never - NEVER! - seen someone with blond hair and blue eyes and had asked them whether I was a male or a female [ok, tell me again how much I weighed then? Where do you think the extra fat was stored? Think MONUMENTAL hourglass and you can't possibly miss. Apparently you can.]. Also, my being tall was further proof of my non-definition. Did my ears perk up upon hearing it! I was in my 1st year of the Anthropology program and OF COURSE wanted to talk to him immediately about his fascinating weltasnchauung but he wouldn’t even look at me because “my eyes bothered him, they were unnatural, surely there was sickness?” [I actually like it when the natives win. I do.]

I loved my week in Morocco, it was absolutely fabulous, unforgettable and I truly didn't threatened all the time but it was a bit of a relief to cross the border and find myself in the Algarve, by then I was very ready to go home (with its modern plumbing and TOILET SEATS, yes). A friend of mine's not even blonde or blue-eyed but she's pale-skinned and freckled and was also a big hit in Yemen [I'm not THAT pale, mind you, I do tan a lovely shade of gold even if it takes the looongest time, I'm not an extreme honky. I got GENES.]. I don’t think I’d go there again if not in a big group. There IS safety in numbers, you know, even if the numbers have to complain about it ALL.THE.FREAKING.TIME.

What you want from me?

You need an Israeli accent to make the title work to its full potential and properly honour the very exotic phrasing. Do an upward chin movement as well, aggressive-like. There you go, how does it feel? Macho, I'll bet. Yes, I KNOW!

Can you tell I'm having a blast with all the scanned pics??? I'm LOVING it, have been meaning to do it for OVER TWO YEARS and today Da Nympho my friend kicked me into shape, actually resorting to dragging me by my - now - fabulous hair to her place to have it done. [She also wanted me to make it absolutelly clear to you lot that all she wants is to have SOME fun - not, you know, catch an STD - but hell if I'll do it, SHE'S LYING.][Oh pfff, are too!]

Anyway, here are two pics I had forgotten I had (I've found loads I'd forgotten, there's one of me in a black cape with red blinking horns on my head, I actually remember walking the streets of Stuttgart - with my friend Tom protecting my back - glowing in the dark, on and off, a night to remember!] [I'm having the BEST time, why oh why didn't I do this scanning thing before!).

The first one is here. I like it A LOT because it feels like I'm falling off the face of the earth. It actually gives ME that feeling a bit, like riding a rollercoaster, belly ALL butterfly-y, mmmmm. A cat can dream of flying, can't she?

The second one is OBVIOUSLY Sex and The City hereby revisited in Frankfurt - which, as we all know, HAS TO BE the SEXIEST little city EVER. I spent too long outside and BAM!, was overcome by the desire to pay homage to the Gods of Fertility. Porties seem to be prone to it. But because I'm cool I smoke WHILEdoing it, not after.

Thursday, December 16, 2004

My Kin Ship

This is my family, many moons ago. I think I was about 11 (which would make my parents 47 here, don't they look SO MUCH YOUNGER??? We all suffer from delayed development). My Mum’s hairstyle is significantly different today and we are all grateful for it, her especially. I still have to scan my favourite picture of her. My little cousins are all grown up, gorgeous and big. Can’t believe they were this small ever! The baby, A., is *shudder* married already and V., the older one, is built like an ox, he's massive in every direction, all muscles. When he hugs me he can lift me right off the floor without even thinking about it. He could probably lift off the floor itself without thinking about it. It is particularly lovely to look at him today because about a year before this pic was taken he was in hospital with ostiomyelitis. He was very, very ill and everyone was worried sick because there was a chance he might lose his leg if they couldn't get the infection under control. He was there for ever, and I clearly remember those days, A. had just been born and my cousin, their mother, would drop him off at our house before going to the hospital. So it was the housekeeper and I babysitting. My adoration for very small babies comes from those times, I clearly remember how wonderful he smelled, how he suckled in his sleep, how he would open and close his tiny, tiny fists. I could sit and watch him for hours. My cousin V. was eventually discharged and A. no longer spent the afternoons with us. I missed him loads. V. was a very brave kid really and I still can't believe it at times, when I look at him, that we were all this lucky and this great oak of a man was given a second chance to grow right into the sky.

Little Hormones Everywhere


Girlfriend: Hey, how does one say cartoons in Spanish?
Lioness: Er… Dibujos animados?
G: You sure?
L: Hell no, wait, gimme a sec… Ok, yes, that's it. Google School of Arts says so as well.
G: Good. You know what I was thinking?
L: No, what?
G: We haven’t done this in ages: one of these days I’ll dig out my pretty skirts and we have to go out! AT NIGHT. We’ll go wild!
L: *wide-eyed shock* WTF?!
G: Well yes, when was the last time we went out?
L: Get off the phone, Ineedtowriteapostaboutthisrightnowbye!

- She DOESN’T like to go out, ever
- She never does unless it’s someone’s birthday or something equally unavoidable
- She HATES going out, always
- She never does unless severely emotionally blackmailed outside of birthday season - and even then, tricky

Insert possible scenarios:

G has been kidnapped by aliens who brainwashed her and intended to have their wicked way with her. Since, alas, anatomical differences did not allow for biblical interspecies knowledge as we know it, and this isn't Cocoon, she, having fallen violently in lust with their sexy, rugged green leader [a
Rugby playah back home, WHO CAN BLAME HER], and in the throes of hormonal ravage, has decided she will instead immolate herself on the altar of the Teenage Gods Of The Lisbon Night. As things stand, she need not bother don a pretty skirt, our teenage boys only require half a female pulse and yippy ya yei there you go. The whole country runs on testosterone.

G, who has both one steady boyfriend here AND a virtual lovah in North America whose head she turned when they met here and vice-versa [a smooth talker with piercing blue eyes but it’s all very chaste even if a bit ethically blurred - if you discount the groin-grinding in an African club in Lisbon that is, you KNOW how those dances are, GROIN-Y, I heard the windows were fully fogged up], has, in the throes of hormonal ravage, decided things need spicing up YET AGAIN, it therefore making sense that she should immolate herself on the altar of the Teenage Gods Of The Lisbon Night etc. And I am to participate in all this novel dissolute behaviour. G, I have to warn you though, I am through with barn bonking, you’re on your own this time.*

Hormonal ravage keeps insinuating itself into my mind because, frankly, what other reason can there be? The woman’s gone mad, I tell you, THIS IS NOT MY FRIEND TALKING!


And while I was typing this: RIIING RIING!!!

G - Well, where is the post? Can't see it anywhere.
[Thus one tricks one's friends into reading one's blog]
L - I’m finishing it, don’t be like this, there’s an art to it you know, beauty can’t be rushed.
G - Oh shut up!
[thus she abuses me regularly]
L - Now, you WILL want to kill me but remember I’ve changed details and made you anonymous alright?
G: Like what, you told them I need to be dragged out of the house?
L: Something like that, yes, just REMEMBER what I said, ok? I’ll give you a ring when it’s finished.
G: Ok, but we ARE going to go out, right?

Yes. Mad as a hatter.

Me, I’m roadkill, dahlings. But I’ll try to visit your dreams so you won't have to miss me too much, let's see how that works. Possession doesn't sound half bad either, that way I'd be able to post again. But dude, I don’t care what’s cooking, I am so NOT wearing a frilly skirt!

UPDATE: the bitch called ME a bitch, she really did! Let’s see: there’s your celibate, well-behaving, innocent-eyed Lioness; there’s your I-have-a-hot-body-here-and-another-across-the-water-with-whom-I-exchange-steaming-if-still-controlled-emails. HULLOOO!!! Know what else she said? "And on top of everything else you say this time I'm on my own!" I see how that can be a shocker, G, seeing as how we USED TO GO HUNTING FOR MEN IN PACKS, fangs glistening in the dark, covered in sweat and latex, trying to flush out the right sort of young, firm-fleshed prey. Yes. I rest my case. She IS frightening me. If this can come to pass, believe you me, ANYTHING CAN. So seize your chance and let us know: what would YOU like to see happen in your life? It's now or never.

* NOTE: The Lioness would like to keep her reputation untarnished. No frolicking in barns ever took place, not with her, not with anyone she knows, SERIOULSY. There simply aren’t enough barns, you see.

Wednesday, December 15, 2004

Money in da house!

Yey bee-yeatches, money in da house!!! [How to spend it? How to spend it???]

Matter fact, this rappa lingo has me in its grip now, this bad yo, but now you’ll have to think twice before you fuck wit LIL LI-YO-NESS, but y'all knew that, yeah Snoop and Fabolous hang out tough and you KNOW ain't no other way to play the game the way I play, can't fake it, just break it, and when I take it, see I specialize in making all the girls get naked - so maybe I ain’t an all da way rappa, know what I’m sayin, but I rhyme SLICK on ya, I'm a have to put the Heimlich on ya, pistol whip you, dip you then flip you! Baby come close, let me see how you get loose! And I ain't just layin a verse. I'm sayin DA FACTS.

Rappas and they bitches, was reading a few lyrics, case you didn notice, they FINE bitches hmm-hmm, kinky-like, like it rough, hos ain’t troubled by a lil VI-O-LENCE, hos still like’ em Bad Boys, they grateful fo ‘em coz they be NASTY, they WELL HUNG, they go A FULL FIVE MINUTES NONSTOP, that’s how every chick they bone can't leave the dick alone, so I know it's one of them every time I flip my phone.

That boy must be tired but yeah, this will do it every time girlfriend, you KNOW I can’t lie.

I’m a have to say life’s changed since I started pimpin, yo.

Tuesday, December 14, 2004


I don’t even know how to tell you this, I’m afraid that if I type it out loud it will go away, enter Lioness' regression-to-animism mode, turn up the superstition volume, make yourselves comfortable *pats seat next to her*, come, come sit down and LISTEN, you’ll never believe this:

As of Monday I am on school holiday!!! Who the hell knew??? The whole school apparently but the thing to remember is, I found out in time to fully enjoy it! Anticipation is the key to all flavour explosion and man, am I getting some! YEY!!! Have I mentioned lately HOW MUCH I truly
<3 Christmas?

And here, come closer, this is REALLY huge, I don’t want to say it too loud: remember that very ugly Biochemistry exam? It’s at the end of March!!! And that bones exam? On the 24th of January! And do you know when my first exam is? On the 24th of January! *gasping, gasping* Do you REALISE what this means? DO YOU??? OMG it means I will, for the first time in THREE YEARS, be able to actually NOT STUDY during part of the holidays!!! Time off omigod! *panting, panting*

*full-blown hyperventilation*

Catch me cos I be fallin hard, yo! You know, what with the money
, the exam calendar and the unexpected holiday things have been going brilliantly for me! Well, we should discount the very disgraceful Dreidel game on Saturday at the synagogue because really, Rabbi, it wasn’t my fault I lost our money EVERY SINGLE TIME I spun it, and it wasn’t very nice to keep poking me in the ribs and saying “mah zeh zeh, ech ze ifshar, ma karah lach nu?” was it, I DON’T KNOW WHAT THAT WAS, I DON’T KNOW HOW IT COULD BE AND WHAT DO YOU MEAN WHAT’S WRONG WITH ME? Nu, you were the one who wanted to pair up with me, that will teach you.

And fabulastically, I spoke to Beth
yesterday, insomnia being a transatlantic phenomenon it would seem. Have I mentioned TODAY how enamoured I am of this whole blogosphere and MSN thing??? [A nice audio trend inaugured with Australianess of all places, imagine that, from Lisbon to Down Under loud and clear.] I spoke is actually very accurate because I couldn’t hear her at all even though she heard me. So I rambled and she typed. Slowly. [‘s ok dahling, it was lovely. REALLY.] Dog was v uncooperative in the barking department though I managed to persuade her to growl a bit; cat was purry all across the ocean, Beth DID hear her. Very very cute, very very HAPPY about the whole thing. And DID YOU KNOW she can talk like they do in Fargo??? Well she can! But she can also turn it off, which is a very good thing to be able to do, just in case. Sadly, Canada was experiencing a major technical meltdown. Those Canadians… *bemused head shake* Do you know, I thought I could look up to them, them being so tall and first-worldish and all, but the poor things live AT THE EDGE of computer crashing AT ALL TIMES? Unlike their neighboUrs. Makes for a very, very difficult living. My heart goes out to you, Canuckim, I feel your pain. Or as my Californian friend would say, I’m in a very empathetic place right now.

Anyway, I feel quite giddy, YEY!!! - and I bet you 2005 is going to be a bloody fabulous year because a) it’s an uneven year and those are particularly good regarding feline THRIVEYNESS [of course there is!] and b) how can it start ending like this and NOT be glorious? You’ll see.

And so, even though I haven’t slept AT ALL AGAIN [but I did remember to eat a bit of rice, see how everything is looking better already?], I AM SOARING!!! Winged Lioness, hmm hmm, you be HIGH!!!

Monday, December 13, 2004


I was expecting to receive 1000 Euros for that copy-editing job I slaved over for so many months but - NO! I received 2500 Euros, which means - pay attention - WHICH MEANS I have 1500 more than I was counting on. And because I didn't expect this extra money,


does it, it stands to reason: it's FREE MONEY!!! OMIGOD, there's NO WAY I'll be sensible about this, NO WAY IN HELL! No matter how I look at it, it's too little to induce spending-paralysis and too much not to be put to great use, I've been good for so tiringly long with my money, received those 10.000 Euros from the TV show and applied it all right away [see "paralysis" above mentioned], the gods OBVIOUSLY WANT ME to have fun, it would be rude not to listen, RUDE, it needs to be freed I tell you, it's burning me, BURNING ME!!!

Sunday, December 12, 2004

I couldn't edit my profile so here it is, w/ groveling unapologies from the management:

Is it BIG ENOUGH for Your-Royal-Highnesses now? I know I said i'd come out but this is ridiculous. And a) it was dark on purpose and b) YES, I KNEW! You think you might be able to live with it for a little while longer or must I go buy a dig cam-cum-scanner this minuteI really have no other .jpg pic you know.

Did you get your stories together beforehand or decide to mob me independently? WHINERS. And stop giving me grief about the one eye only, nothing I can do about it, I swear I'll upload both of them next time. But note: the left one is just like the one you do see.

Oh shut up.

Friday, December 10, 2004

A rose by any other name

A few hours ago my friend Mega rang me. My friend Mega of the eunuch status, i.e., he is male but not really because I have known him for so long he’s become an honorary girl. Knobless, as it were. He is in a complicated relationship, prospects are bleak, denial is acknowledged but flies high still. The conversation left me feeling I’d been run over by a lorry. It wasn’t an easy one because I, it seems, am to blame for male predicaments across the globe and why do I have to be so difficult, I am too picky, how can I be so picky, honestsly, isn’t it high time I settled down [mind, I don't even get this from mother], why weren’t X and Y good enough, they never stood a chance did they, how big is that requirement list of mine, no really, I’m impossible, I am, I know that don't I, what do I want, we’re all the same you know, we’re never happy with what we have, seriously, we should tell him what we want, he's known me for ages and still doesn’t understand what I’m looking for, WHAT THE BLOODY HELL DO I WANT FROM A MAN?

Well Mega, it might have helped if you'd let me talk. And even though I understand the need for some carefully chosen displacement activity and the creation of white noise, bugger you and the mare you rode in on, now I will finally say my piece and feel much better for it, you monologous git.

These are my impossible requirements from a man:

  • Intelligent and with a sense of humour. This is an absolute must as dull, dense people put me to sleep. No, actually they make me want to put them to sleep. A man who is threatened by my intelligence isn’t worthy of my time. A man who can make me grin and laugh till I cry is a thing of wonder and it's never boring.
  • Manners. Can’t stress this enough, ill-mannered men are the pits. Nothing spells hormonometre like chivalry. If you think manners are outdated, well, you don’t know what you’re missing. You’ve been spending time with females of the threatening variety with unshaved legs and armpits, perhaps? So yes, open doors, hold chairs, take the outside of the pavement, offer her your coat. Politeness makes the world go round in a most soul-warming manner, and it certainly is hot.
  • Eyes. Men don’t need to be pretty. In fact, I don’t like pretty-pretty men, I tend to find them blah. I’m very particular, I like men who are indeed that [homem que é homem], no sissies, men who are intense, men with [sorry for the Barbara Cartland:] smouldering eyes, eyes which take you places when they're aimed at you or make you wish you were there already. Men who do not look harmless. Case in point, the singer of Maroon 5: not pretty, but on the This Love [brill song, brill lyrics] videoclip he looks edible because of the way he looks at the camera. Eyes are sexy, loads.
  • Mouth. Hugely important. I don’t much care for a man’s butt, never really notice it right away, but the mouth? I like luscious mouths and unlike what the word might imply it doesn't mean it has to be full - to me, obviously, the English language might disagree. I’ve met many men with luscious mouths who had thin but sexy lips bcs they looked carved. That’s the word, lips that are well-defined. Yes. Luscious is a carved state of mind.
  • Readers. Men who do NOT read are an absolute turn off and may God keep them at bay. Oy, and men who say No, never read that, too thick leave me in no doubt they are describing themselves and not the book. There is nothing like a man saying Did you read X? You must, it’s brilliant. It’s foreplay really.
  • Smell. One of the most important things. Not much to be done here, it boils down to physiology and chemistry but it absolutely needs to be there. Pheromones pave the way and I for one I could spend the whole day with my face buried in the right man's neck. In fact, I react so strongly to smells that I would probably be too weak to get up anyway. Smell, YES, and thank God for the 5th sense.
  • Cheeky man, daring men, men who surprise me. Men who let me know in no uncertain terms they like me. Men you fancy who look at you like they want to eat you up? Very effective. The surprise bit is very important, if I feel I’m in control at all times I may still be in the relationship but it will certainly not be for very long, who wants to be Master to a Servant all the time, no relief?
  • Men who love English as much as I do. Men who have fun with languages and understand my linguistic jokes, who laugh at BlackAdder and Monty Python every single time. I have many foreign friends and I am so enamoured of English that it is inconceivable to be with someone who doesn’t master it because frankly, English is fabulous and if he doesn’t know that he simply doesn't know enough.
  • Renaissance men. Men for whom Human Rights matter, men who vote, men who give a damn, men who are so sure of themselves in the proper way that they can be generous, kind, empathetic, men who are willing, men who volunteer, men who know what’s going on in their country and the world.
  • Men who I feel can protect me. No bras to burn here, bras are pretty. I am very independent [an effective male filtering device as I’ve discovered, took me years to realise I scare men off in droves], I am more than used to standing on my own two feet and I don’t need a man so I can know who I am. I need a man so I can be happier knowing it. I like to know - no, I need to know he’ll be there at all times. I need to know that he’ll offer me comfort if I’m sad, that I can curl up on his lap and he’ll make it all better. That he’ll love doing it. That he’ll let me cry as much as I want or rant as much as I need without ever feeling threatened by me. That he’ll put up with my pouting and sulking [yes, unfortunately I’m the original princess in The Princess And The Pea and therefore easily slighted] and will, in fact, make fun of me [as he should, it's embarrassing] thereby disarming the Ice Queen and infuriating me. That he’ll not take any rubbish from me ever (and sadly I can behave in ways you wouldn't believe), I need to be able to always respect him. That he’ll be there at all times, just as I will, because I matter at all times, just as he does.

I don’t want a glamorous life, a thrilling one. For me beauty is found in solid, small things, everyday things. In white spaces with clean designs and sober lines. I dislike clutter, I dislike frills, I dislike ostentation. I want to one day live near, but outside, the city. Where the birds can be heard and you can grow rosemary and basil on the windowsill, where the air is so crisp it stings your nostrils and your animals can run free and chase butterflies in the walled garden (so you never worry about them). I want to have bushes of the miniature Rosa 'Cecile Brunner' (Sweetheart rose, Rosa de Santa Tere*sinha), a scent so intoxicating it fills you with primeval beauty.

I want pillow fights, lazy breakfasts on the weekends with the sun pouring in from big windows and his eyes lighting up when I walk in the room just as my heart goes bababoom. I love the idea of spooning till you fall asleep, of going to sleep with the same man every night, of knowing every angle and plane of his face, every bone and nook in his body, of growing old together (even if it scares me a bit). I want to always feel grateful that I have him, and always know he feels the same.

I believe it is possible to have exactly THAT, and I will not settle for less - and THAT is why I haven’t settled down yet and started breeding like a prized cow. I want a Knight, yes, and why shouldn’t I have him.

He is sanctuary - or nothing at all.

Thursday, December 09, 2004

When I don't know what to do with [Fill In As Appropriate], I do Poetry

[From The Gift by Hafiz, Sufi master, 1320-1389]


And love

“I will, I will take care of you.”

To everything that is



The warriors tame
The beasts in their past
So that the night’s hooves
Can no longer break the jewelled vision
In the heart

The intelligent and the brave
Open every closet in the future and evict
All the mind ghosts who have the bad habit
Of barfing everywhere (…)



And I have become
Like two giant fat people
Living in a
Tiny boat.
Bumping into each other and



Both of our mouths
Can fit upon this flute I carry.

My music will sound
So much sweeter that way.

With your breath and my breath
Poking each other in the ribs
And kissing. (…)



Where we live
Is no place to lose your wings
So love, love,



Of a great need
We are all holding hands
And climbing.
Not loving is letting go.
The terrain around here
Far too
For that.

Sweet Chocolate Lioness Jazz

Oh, insomnia, how do I love thee? As per Noorster, I pimpafied myself. I take whatever distractions come my way right now. I kept clicking bcs a) I got nothing better to do at 4.30 am, sad as that is; b) it’s addictive; c) I started viewing it as a sort of pimpish runes, if you know what I mean. I have been enlightened.

Treat with appropriate reverence.

Magic Tickle. Lioness Smooth
Lioness’ skin is very smooth, yes [some of it anyway, let’s not do this now] and her moves? Astonishing. You should see her dancing salsa. And Lioness is VERY ticklish and loves it, ABSOLUTELY loves it. Also having her feet massaged with oil.
Allogrooming in general is always warmly embraced [pun intended], Lioness is unashamedly touchy-feely. Lioness is MOST PARTIAL to this particular brand of pimping.

Sticky Fingers Lioness Fresh
A bit of a tricky one. Lioness does not have sticky fingers and does not find them attractive per se. But if they are sticky from MASSAGE OIL, ahhh, yes. Or from condensed milk. Or ripe STRAWBERRIES. Lioness finds freshness VERY ATTRACTIVE. The smell of laundry, wet soil after the rain, a man’s neck where it joins the shoulder. Lioness also does her best to ALWAYS be fresh and fragrant herself outside of the necropsy room in her brand of choice, increasingly difficult since Portie Laura Ashley stores NO LONGER carry Nº1. [For shame!]

Delicious Lioness Slim
Stop, you’re embarrassing Lioness. And yes, at this rate Lioness will be even slimmer because Lioness can be exceedingly daft. Although, rest assured she bears evolutionary proof of her femininity; Lioness’
steatopygic assets will, regardless, always be able to sustain her through famine [don’t fret now, her boobs are much much perkier and her belly's still flat].

Silicon Slick Lioness Wicked
Lioness may be wicked OCCASIONALLY [it’s the professional-looking lab coat, she can’t help herself] but has had no enhancements except for a belly button piercing. Which, quite frankly, ROCKS. Lioness feels silicon should ONLY be worn on the outside and ONLY if there are breathing holes.

Silver Tongue Lioness Silk
Lioness does NOT know how to address the tongue issue without sounding like a ho or, perish the thought, a BORING ho, so she will not touch this AT ALL. But a cat can dream, can’t she? Lioness only likes natural fabrics, silk, cotton, no rough wools, that much is true.

Big Playah Lioness Kicks
Lioness isn’t a Playah AT ALL and cannot stand Playahs because life’s too short and love too important for stupid games. So yes, Lioness HAS kicked some ass in the past and is likely to kick some more in the future. Lioness has also developed a little anthropological theory because Playahs often are
inhalahs, preferring quantity to quality - and gropingly so. Lioness doesn’t much care for random anatomic rearrangement attempts. If Playahs are feeling randy in her vicinity, they are very much ENCOURAGED to go fuck themselves.

Delicious Lioness Gates
Wouldn’t you like to know.

Oy is just Yo backwards

For my Jewish brethren, you will LOVE this! Goyim much welcome to give it a try, you'll find it funny as well. Very catchy. Hannukah sameach!

Wednesday, December 08, 2004

What's up Pussy Cat

I am an idiot. AN IDIOT!

I think I may have found part of the reason for my rampant insomnia last night (till after 9 am)[the rest is a secret]. I forgot to eat all day. I FORGOT TO EAT, how dementeder can I go? I only had a small bag of crisps. And guess what? It's almost 8 pm now and I'VE FORGOTTEN TO EAT TODAY AS WELL! *coughs up furball in disgust*


omeone give me a huge *KICK* please. And drag me by the hair across the floor while you’re at it, I fully deserve it rough.

In which she brags

Do you know what I did today??? DO YOU? You’ll never guess! Go on, guess! Go on, go on! GUESS! Oh alright, I’ll tell you. I went to check Mis-nagid’s blog and he had a post with a pic in Hebrew which he asked people to help translate. I looked at it thinking “As if” and OF COURSE I didn’t get a thing, Which Didn’t Surprise Her(.) but was still discouraging because she doesn’t care to be BLATANTLY reminded that her beloved Hebrew could be much improved, oh no. And then something started nagging me because the one word was simply too long for Hebrew, what the hell, and what other language do we know where you can just combine words ad nauseam? Yes, GERMAN! Which I speak! So I realised it was Yiddish, and sadly I can deal with Yiddish better because of the German bit, even though the way the language was changed is VERY bizarre, so I decided to give it a try.

And I DID IT! I translated it! It was a very tiny text but: I translated a Yiddish text - which I don’t speak - written with Hebrew characters! HOW EXCEEDINGLY GLORIOUSLY COOL AM I???


[Oh just let me brag, it’s 8 am and I am STILL here, STILL awake, it’s something to occupy my mind with! See, S., this is how you do it, 8 am = no sleep = mucho posting. Nothing fancy to it, just plain old endocrine malfunction. You could do it too if you tried.]

Tuesday, December 07, 2004

Feline that I am... maybe

I’m half coming out of the Ploset (no, no typo, wish it were, read on). If I dare that is, I may yet change my mind, fuck but my hands are shaking.

Remember my mad outburst yesterday? Much better today, why thank you, because:

a) Yesterday is frigging OVER innit.

Repeat after me: aspirin is your friend! Yes it is! Hoos yaw fwend, hoos yaw fwend? Aspeeween, oh yessitis, yessitis! Who cares if I exsanguinate as long as I do it painlessly. YEY!

c) When a day goes that wrong anyway, you have to laugh because seriously, it’s just ridiculous.

Uhmm… I’m still not sure I should be doing this but here goes, THE SIGNS ARE HERE, Fate has seen fit to give me a little shove and I might just not end up flat on my face. If this goes wrong I’ll blame The PaulMonster bcs that’s where I found the quiz.

Remember how I said I wasn’t going to talk abt my skin yet bcs I was too raw [let me just interrupt to say I’m in love with my animals: tripod cat is curled up in a perfect ball next to me, too cute for words, I might have to eat her; full-legged cat is on the armchair facing the back, with face shoved deep into the cushions, who knows how she can breathe, I might have to eat her; dog is curled up against her, head lying on cat’s flank, I might have to eat her. Whaaat? I’m procrastinating? SHUT UP! You have no idea how hard this is for me!]

So - my skin. Too raw [no pun intended but, bloody hell, if you only knew how you funny it is!], blablabla. Anyway, I concluded by saying I was tired of the Return of The Pink Panther. Before I claw the Pink Panther’s eyes off, let me say that that tune has to be one of the sexiest things ever composed - it works for me anyway. I used to have it as my mobile ring but then switched mobiles and now it’s too slow AND I’M HEARTBROKEN!!! [Whaaat? I’m procrastinating again, you say? I TOLD YOU TO SHUT UP, IT’S STILL BLOODY HARD! It’s all I can do not to delete all this. I’m serious, not much of the Lioness left right now, it lives, it's a cub and not a very brave one at that].

So yes, Pink Panther, we all follow right? And we now know I like the PP, even though I hate being IT. Because that’s what - FUCK ME BUT THIS IS HORRENDOUS!!! - I look like. Periodically. More often than I care to. And my possible come out has been preying on my mind because I think it could help me, but mostly because I know what I feel when I see things written on other sites, so maybe I could help someone who reads me. But we (the PPs) have all learned to cope with ourselves one way or the other, but not with YOU (the dermically unchallenged); it might help others if YOU learnt what to say to them. Or more importantly, what NOT to say. Because that’s when we die a bit, somewhere, somehow, when you open your mouths and unwillingly walk all over our scarred and bare souls with spiked heels. So yes, I’ve been thinking about actually LEAVING THE PLOSET a lot since yesterday.

Today I found a quiz over at paulmonster’s, as I said: “Which famous feline are you?” I took it. HA! Guess which one I am? It's quite funny really:

You're the Pink Panther!
You're the Pink Panther. Suave and sophisticated,
you enjoy your superiority and your natural
grace. Though to some, this attitude makes you
appear arrogant, most people are attracted by
it rather than turned off. You especially enjoy
being in the social spotlight. It just doesn't
get any better than this.

Yes, well done! I’m the fucking Pink Panther, who’d have thunk it! So I had a serious laughing fit, which left me gasping for breath, and when I could breathe again I said “FUCK THIS AND THE MARE IT RODE IN ON!” and came in to write this post. What am I worrying about, it’s all over the Blogosphere already! So, again [DON’T TRY AND RUSH ME, I’M DYING HERE!], that’s what I look like. Periodically. More often than I care to. And not much to be done, no, not much to be done. Well there's chemo but WTF? I’d rather RETURN than have liver or skin cancer as a side effect. Or baldness. Or hair growth all over. Or mutant babies, if I ever have them. So no, no chemo for me. Because, despite all, I’m still one of the lucky ones.

Fuck this, really! This is HIDEOUS! I may just be crying a bit and my face is burning. But that’s ok because it’s silly at the same time so I’m laughing as well. And I can always turn my blog private anyway - which would defeat the whole out-of-the-Ploset purpose I suppose but is still comforting to know.

So I apologise but I’ll not tell you what I’m talking about for now, I need to see how you react to this first. Tasting the waters if you will [I know it's testing but I taste them]. I need to see whether you'll be turned off if I say it's a turn-off alright before I tell you exactly how how much of a turn-off it is. Not to be melodramatic or anything but what may seem like nothing to you is in fact tremendously hard to be candid about, and tremendously hard to live with, and tremendously hard to be judged by. I'm blonde and blue-eyed and have always known what it's like to be judged by one's skin. We're the new black.

But I’ll give you a hint. It pso pso phucking psucks!

RE-HINT: check the spelling of the last paragraph, VERY important, I wasn't being creative, there’s a point to it I prosmise. In response to you lot (comments and other media): a) I am NOT dying nor is it very serious right now, compared to - never mind for now; b) it’s NOT acne; c) it's NOT herpes