Fairytale gone bad? - Not so much

If only life where a fairytale and all men were like Orlando Bloom in Pirates of the Caribean my life would be a happy place. We would live on a rainbow and at the end instead of gold we would find endless fields of milk and Oreo's. Milk and Oreo's because you don't really need gold, just food in order to survive. I am a practical sort of girl that way.

From Tasty Paintings: http://tastypaintings.blogspot.de/2011/04/cupcakes-creativity-art.html

If life was a fairytale I would not have to get up at 8 am on a Saturday morning after only two hours of sleep.

If life was a fairytale, my fairytale, everyone I loved would always be close to me. Of course I would also have a cute little white winged pony called Tinkerbelle and I would never have to clean up after him. 

Heck if life was a fairytale I would have my very own fairy godmother, who would love me so much, that she would grand any wish I had.

While my life is obviously no fairytale (there is no one fulfilling my wishes with magic wands and a pony, winged or otherwise is pretty much out of the question; even Oreo’s are taboo because I forbade myself from eating bought sweets), there are some occasions that make you wonder. Moments in which a person you have never had much to do with takes the time at 3 am to listen your troubles and actually goes through the effort to find a plausible solution with you even though they don't have to. It's when someone you barely know gives you a hug just because you need one right now. It's also a friend who, when you are alone on the street at 4.30 am and are afraid of walking the darkest part of your road on your own, suddenly shows up out of nowhere to walk with you, especially if you don't want to be alone right then.

It's moments like this that sometimes make me believe that maybe my life could be a fairytale after all.

Brazil 101: Round Four

If one of your closest friends wants to hook up with the guy you have been sort of staying/not staying (how would I know I don't know the correct definition) it makes you feel crappy. Especially if you realize how much you would actually like to try for something more.
If you are not sure if they have actually hooked up it makes you feel like shit.
Believe me! I know. I am there right now.

For women - though useful information might also be found in here for men

Today I received this email (you can find the English translation below, which I hope is more or less accurate. I am better at writing free than doing translations.) and I thought I would share it with you:

Für Frauen:

Ich lese keine Anleitungen. Ich drücke Knöpfe bis es klappt :-)

Ich brauche keinen Alkohol um peinlich zu sein. Das krieg ich auch so hin!

Wenn ich ein Vogel wäre, wüßte ich ganz genau, wen ich als Erstes anscheißen würde!

Ich bin nicht zickig, ich bin "emotionsflexibel"

Die 3 schönsten Worte der Welt? "Ich geh shoppen" :-)

Ich habe keine Macken! Das sind Special Effects!

Frauen müssen wie FRAUEN aussehen und nicht wie tapezierte Knochen!

Vergeben und vergessen?  Ich bin weder Jesus noch habe ich Alzheimer.

Wir Frauen sind Engel und wenn man uns die Flügel bricht, fliegen wir weiter - auf einem Besen!

Wir sind ja schließlich flexible.

Das ist kein Speck! Das ist erotische Nutzfläche!

Als Gott die Männer schuf, versprach er, dass ideale Männer an jeder Ecke zu finden seien werden..... und dann machte er die Erde rund.

Auf meinen Grabstein soll stehen:  "Guck nich so doof, ich läge jetzt auch lieber am Strand."

I don’t read instructions. I press buttons until it works.

I don’t need alcohol to be embarrassing. I manage to be without.

If I were a bird I know exactly who I would poop on first.

I am not bitchy. I am emotionally flexible.

The three most beautiful words in the world? „Let’s go shopping.“
I don’t have quirks! Those are special effects!

Women should look like WOMEN and not like bones with decoration.

Forgive and forget? I am neither Jesus nor do I suffer from Alzheimer’s disease.

Women are angels and if you break our wrings we continue flying on a broom.

…We are flexible after all…

It’s not fat. It’s erotically usable surface.

When god made men he promised there would be ideal guys around every corner…and then he made the world round.

On my tombstone it shall say: “Take that stupid look off your face, don’t you think I would prefer lying on the beach right now?”

Well, I guess we women are just one of kind.

diamonds, seriously people!?

Whoever came up with this 'Diamonds are a girl’s best friend.' crap had no idea about women. This of course suggests that it was a man. Probably one who worked in advertisement, or one who cared more about poetic phrases than spending one second of his self-centered life thinking about what really matters to a woman. For a woman‘s best friends are never diamonds.
They are her handbag, for it carries all her important stuff and her shoes, because they carry her to all the important places.
How could diamonds ever compete with that?
Not that I don't like sparkles. What girl doesn't!? They look pretty and if you don't want them anymore they make good cash, too. It’s just that they come in a distant third to my two besties.
Recently I read an article in which was stated that there are basically two types of women when it comes to handbags:
One is the type who buys one handbag and carries that particular bag with her every day. My mom is that type. She has been carrying the same bag for at least a year. It feels like at least five to me. She never changes it, never takes anything out of it. In the morning she just grabs it and is out of the house. I was forcefully reminded of this when it took about 6 months for her to use the bag I sewed for her once! It was a really pretty bag, too. I had to practically through a fit to get her to use it! (No, my feelings were not hurt by her behaviour. That ominous piercing feeling in my chest must have come from eating too much ice cream... cough, cough.)
The second type of woman owns several handbags and changes them frequently. 
I definitely belong to the second category. Not that I don't see the benefit of knowing all your things are in the same spot all the time, but I love choosing between different bags! This too, might explain why I love sewing bags. This weekend I finally finish my sister’s b-day present. It's way late of course, but whatever. I also nearly broke the sewing machine when I tried to sew on the straps... I had to take the whole thing apart and put it back together to disentangle the stupid fabric from the needle. Even thinking of it now makes me a little mad. 
Also I finished another present-bag and broke about five needles while sewing on those straps.
At least I got to go to the fabric market a few weeks ago, where I bought THE cutest wax fabric! It goes without saying (though I will tell you anyway) that I just had to sew myself a new bag from this, too!

I also finished a pillow that lay half finished at my mom's place for months. Furthermore I started another project. Whether it will be one of those that I never finish (there are many of those) remains to be seen. 
I also finished a little pouch for my hygiene articles aka mainly my tampons. 
I have this annoying habit of having all kind of stuff flying around freely and unbound inside of my bag. The problem with this is that sometimes when I take something out, one or the other freeloader hitches a ride and ceremoniously makes an appearance at the most inconvenient moment. Some people might not mind, but I find it awfully embarrassing when strangers get to see my tampons unused as they might be. It was obvious to me that something needed to be done about this.

In any case this was a very productive weekend.

The New Flat Mate

We have a new flat mate. He is 21 and seems to pretty nice. After carefully choosing him from a choice of three he should be, too. Oh my, maybe I should have gone for the 43 year old or given my vote for the awfully chatty one!? No, I think in the end my choice was right. 
However you should have seen my face when I was cooking yesterday and he came up behind me starting our conversation with: "Hey, you are a biologist, right?"
This question always makes me wary. When people say this to me I never know where they are going with it. All I know is there is another question coming. You would not believe what people think a biology student (I am not a biologist yet after all) should know. Like my mom, who told me once that because I am a biologist I should know all the Es food companies put into their products.
So when my new flat mate asked me that question I prepared for whatever might be coming next. 
Only I wasn't prepared at all for what hit me with after my cautious "Yes." 
Instead of asking me what I wanted to do after my graduation (which seems so far away right now I can't even say it’s in sight) or even any study related question, Mr. Flatmate asked, during what time of her cycle a girl was most likely to get pregnant. 

From BZgA, who make some of the best condom advertisement ever!

I must have stood there dumbfounded, my hand on the rolling pin, for 30 seconds or something. My mouth probably hung open and my eyes darted wildly to all sides.
Maybe I should find a single apartment. Sometimes I feel like a mom here these days. Now I don't only get kid-questions from Ms. Flatmate and have to explain to Mrs. Flatmate (she is the oldest of my flat mates that's why I am calling her Mrs. Not because she is married. Not that I know of anyhow.) how life here works in general, no, now I also get to do sexual education.
Not that I mind telling him, but really!? When is a girl most likely to get pregnant? What do parents and teachers teach their children these days? When he went on talking and I was still trying to wrap my mind around the question it sounded as if he believed a girl could not (just could not) get pregnant shortly after her period. 
At that point I was two seconds from banging my head against a wall (or smashing his with a rolling pin).
Instead I smiled sweetly and said calmly: " If the girl is not on the pill her cycle can be irregular so you can never tell when her ovulation starts." Stanger things have happened then a girl getting pregnant at the 'wrong' time of the month. 
I know he has been in England for a year, but Great Britain is hardly located behind the moon, or am I that geographically challenged? So how can he not know this? Didn't he read Bravo or something? Maybe it is a girl's magazine. So what? Obviously guys should read it too! Dr. Sommer would definitely be a great help to them as well. Or someone should start a magazine that deals with those topics for boys. 

Source: BZgA

Though I until now I believed every semi-intelligent teenager would already know this. Obviously I was wrong. If he knew better he would hardly have asked. Either he already did something stupid or he was planning to. I tip on the former, but hope for the later. I really don't know what makes people believe this won't happen to me. It's like with cancer: It can happen to anyone. You can just minimize the odds.
To tell the trust, I wanted to shout at him to just be smart and use FREAKING condoms! Then I decided that I was not his mother and I didn't know him long enough to be so crude.
Maybe I should start a sex consulting business. Or I could start that magazine on sexual education. Damn, I really need to find a way to make this into money.

Cat in Bed

This sounds so familar! That cat is like me. Only smaller, furrier and it gets regular pets!

drinking, partying and getting into trouble

First of all I would like to mention that I am posting this from my netbook. The kyeboard is broken, so there might be some typos... I hope I found all of them but no guarantees!

On Friday I had my last test for the semester. It was my last try and now I am seriously worried about the results. I don’t know what I will do if I do not pass.

As a result I tried to get totally drunk. It was an attempt at forgetting my troubles. An attempt I might ad, that did not quite work out the way I had planned because as it turns out getting drunk is harder for me than most people. Believe me, I tried really hard. I drank all night long! One caipirinha after another. At one point in between I thought I was getting close. I was getting a little fuzzy and plenty happy, but after that it felt as if the alcohol lost all its effect on me. Maybe my friends just started to substitute the cachaca in my drink against something non-alcoholic and while I cannot prove this theory it is pretty unikely anyways. They were all way more drunk than me and not capable of actions this complicated. So probaby I just have a pretty good tolerence level. In the end I believe my faiure in getting drunk was for the best.

Until now I never understood what people meant when they said they get depressed when drunk. Now I do. Drowning my problems in alcohol completely blew up in my face. Instead of forgettig I stared worring even more. At least now I know to not even try. Why do other people do that more than once!?

At least I know better now. I also know I can’t even get drunk when I try.

From now on I will just save my money and stay with water…mostly. 

Not that that's a heartship since I usually don't drink anyways.

Next topic on my list are… can you already guess?....yes! MEN!

After mostly not talking to Mr Brazil for weeks (no, there was no non-verbal 'communication' either) I decided to put an end to awkward situations and just stay firends. Seriously, who am I to wait to get a guys attention? Do I look deserate!? Okay, so maybe you can't see me but let me tell you that no! I am not desperate. Not that desperate anyways. Nor am I willing to waste my time on a guy who has not asked me out once since I met him. I bet we agree that asking me to watch a movie at his place does not count. 

Then yesterday he contacted me and asked me why I…. get this I…. was ignoring him. Puhlease! I already explained that I didn’t know how to behave towards him three weeks ago! I was sort of waiting for pointers from him. (Another decision I should have known better about.) So I explained to him that after him not contacting me and ignoring me when I finally saw him I thought he just wanted to stay friends, which was fine with me. And it is. Actually I think it's even better than fine because as much as I like to hang out with him, there are just no sparks. This way I at least don’t have to worry about how to bahave. I really hate when I get into situations that are not clearly defined.

Of course he said he didn’t just want to be friends. He didn’t want something serious either. He also didn’t want to be friends with benefits (I asked out of cuiousity, duh!). Excuse me, but what does that leave?

Whatever it might be I don't know and have no desire to find out and seriously, at that point I was just glad he gave me an easy way out.Maybe I would have gone for it had he told me from the beginning. Probably not. Right now I am very relieved this awkward situation is finally resolved. It leaves me free to explore my attraction to PiC who is funny, sweet, good looking and seems honest. He also can tell me that my eyes are pretty without making it sound totally corny, so when he asked me to ‚stay’ with him on Friday I kissed him. Though I still don’t completely (more like at all) understand the concept of staying with anyone I at least want to try. With him I already feel that prickly warm feeling in my tummy.

Of course that might still be the result of all the alcohol I had last Friday night.