To say I was dreading the dinner party would be the understatement of the century. You could say those are just not made for me, but the truth is: I am not made for them. ‘Dinner party’ – especially the one I had been invited to – that sounds like fancy drinks, exquisite cuisine. They are not the problem. I might be clumsy, but I am able to behave now and then, so there is a good chance I will not spill a drink, drop a tiny decorative piece of the (or even the whole) hors-d’œuvre or spill sauce down my dress.
And right away we have entered the realms of the real problem: the dressing part. I generally feel awkward with no matter what kind of clothes I am wearing (and yes, I do wear them, I am not a nudist). They never seem to fit me right or make me look weird. When it comes to an invitation like the one tonight things get even worse. Take a random movie scene of a woman rummaging through her clothes, divide it by lack of valerian pills, add some more frustration and subside some action and find me, sitting on my bed, wardrobe closed, going on how about I have NOTHING to wear. In funny pictures you see this line in combination with an overcrowded wardrobe and people think it is so ridiculous. What is so absurd about that? Yes, there is fabric in my wooden clothes container and I do not claim it is little filled. Still, there is nothing to wear, or let me specify: there is nothing to wear for me! Ergo: I got nothing to wear. Especially not tonight.
There are five sections in my armoire:
The ‘last fit into this three years ago’-one. The ‘bought it cuz I was on diet / planning to go on diet and surely will fit in soon / next season’, the ‘needs to be sewn when I have time’ – ‘matches everything I don‘t have’ and”kept it for sentimental reasons’-one accompanying it. And that is only the stuff that is INSIDE. There is another pile of clothes on a chair that was supposed to be my make-up-seat, but it has been long since I was able to actually use it for that reason and not to stack a one meter-high hill of clothes that have been washed, but just put aside to put more clothes onto my drying rack so they could end up on and make the hill become a mountain.
…By the way; the dinner party started at 8PM and the hors-d’œuvre was a delicious shrimps cocktail. I did not try it, a mate just texted me. When I was still home. Looking for clothes, pondering if there was a chance I would make it till dessert.
When a mate sent me a link to ‚Blogtember‘ I was excited and wanted to participate right away. Well, ‘I wanted to participate, but then rescheduled shortly after‘ might not be the best start for joining, still that is the way it is. I can give a thousand reasons why I won‘t make a regular posting to it, but as Jenni has said, ‚there are no rules‘. 😛
A particular topic has planted itself in my memory, though. I first read it was about ‘being afraid‘ and might of missed the ‘very‘ in it, but at that point the post had already been written. I am not desperately trying to find a connection that is not there, just to be able to say ‘Yay, I blogtembered‘, but since it was this what set off my entry today, I thought I needed to credit.
There are lots of things to write about concerning fear – I am sure, if we all had to name as many of the fears we have within 10 seconds, we would at least make it to five. There are big ones, small ones, those that paralyse us, some that we have learnt to deal with, others that drive us mad, some we do not even realize we have anymore. They can be blocking, but some are even necessary because they make us cautious. We need to face them to get rid of them and sometimes find that we should have done so ages ago, another time realize that when it happened was exactly the right moment.
Yesterday I have found myself back in an area I have spent a lot of time in, even lived there for a while, but ever since not returned to. Only while approaching the metro station it suddenly hit me, how familiar this place once had been. Walking down the streets I passed by houses and shops I had seen or been to so often and memories overwhelmed me with the force of an orcan.
There have been lots of good and nice times there, but also some of the worst I ever had to experience took place or started in those green and quiet streets and when I left it was not for good.
Like always when years later you return to a place you used to see on a daily base, you try and match it with the picture you have in mind. A few weeks ago I visited a house I grew up in and though I have never forgotten the house number I went back and forth to check if I was at the right spot. Other buildings still looked as if I had just time-travelled back, but ‚my‘ house must have been torn down and rebuilt. For several minutes I just stood there, lost in photos and movies in my head, listened to voices from the past. I would not have noticed anything from real life then. When I woke up I stared at the pink-purple walls of the Kindergarden next door and back at what I had tried to find here, but it was all gone and so I left.
Yesterday it partly was the same. I had a picture in mind and then saw reality. Shops had moved a few metres or completely disappeared, houses had been torn down and rebuilt. The only person I recognized was working in a fast food stand like he had been doing for about ten years. Continuing my ways I wanted to pass by the street I had lived in, but my feet would not let me, so I entered it with mixed feelings. In comparison to the other childhood-place I had not planned to come here, I was not prepared, but taking the bus to reach my actual destiny just seemed stupid. Two stations only and lovely weather, you get my point.
When I was younger I detested changes, I loathed them up to an extent that I would not accept them in my favorite series or books either. Or perhaps, especially not there. A good friend of mine has once claimed that the reason why we even cry over a animated character‘s
death was that that world had to remain untouched, had to function as a steadiness in our everychanging life. And she was right. There are people who read and watch without many emotions left right after having finished dealing with the respective medium. I might not be devastated over characters‘ demise anymore like I used to in my teenage years still even later on it was hard to even accept other major ‚dreamworld‘-novelties. When people from one of my favorite teenage series left school to go to college; I was deeply saddened once more. You can call it stupid, but dealing with a lot of changes anyway, this was a part of my life that was still about to come and I wanted to hold on to some steadiness in my fantasy world my everyday life could not provide during these months. It was like trying to Peter-Pan-like cling to childhood when I had to grow up. Had he knocked at my window back then; I would have joined / followed him without a second guess.
Part of yesterday‘s respective street name means ‚beautiful‘, but there was hardly anything like that left. I lack the ability to understand how an area that has been famous for its warm colors of yellow, sand and terracotta could now mostly be turned into grey facades. Cold bright grey and cold dark one. They tried to make it look chic, but all they did was taking away the lovely flair it once had. The warmth had gone and so had the feelings.
I had been afraid to come back to this place. When I finally did it was unplanned and even if it just was a superficial return from the outside, it was a deep one on the inside and as I went on, a huge lump inside of me disintegrated.
The new layout had changed everything. The old spirit was gone. You would not have liked it, M., not quite our style.
Recently I have been invited to a friend‘s house and… no. Let‘s not start like that for if I continue my mates might wonder who I was referring to and why the hell I did not say anything and I would have to admit I was just struggling with a first sentence.
So, let me begin like this: Recently I was flipping through the catalogue of a famous furniture shop. I am always looking forward to their next edition for they have so many great ideas and even if you do not have the money to buy all that stuff in there, they also offer some good advice on giving your own home a new touch with only a few hand grips.
I like all the different categories, but the kitchen part always is my favorite. The colors, the materials, tons of different pots and pans and forms for pretty much every size and use.
Then I came to the cups and glasses and once more I wondered why – apart from looking chic – anyone would buy those tiny vessels. (For everyone who thinks we now have departed to the world of china for doll houses, no, we are still in our everyday one.)
I mean, yes, there are beautiful glasses and cups and they would surely look unique and wonderful in combination with the rest of the decoration I plan for my next dinner, but yes, that‘s what I mostly might buy them for: for decoration.
For myself, for my mundane life so to say, they have to be big: I want a cup that can hold at least 400 ml of tea or coffee. I do not see the sense in any smaller glass than 0.3l either if not for sporty reasons when you are forced to get up over and over again for a refill. That again is something I have to do anyway for who can live that long from such a little amount of liquid? Okay, I know people who drink not much more than that for hours, but they receive the same kind of confused look like adverts that tell you to make sure you drink 1.5-2l a day. Personally, I am over and done with that around noon mostly. So yes, I am one of those whose bag is always heavy for no or only a small water bottle are out of the question.
As much as I like to eat; give me any minuscule plate or cutlery and I am fine. As for bowls: go back to paragraph two. And now I need both hands to get another sip from my thermos
I spent my break at work in a coffee shop next door. It is not part of a chain I usually prefer, but it was raining, that one was closest and I had a voucher for a free drink, so hey, why not? My number one shop is in a different country anyway. That and did I mention it was raining?
Honestly? They should offer a coffee-shop-tours if you ask me. City-related, across-Europe or world-wide. If no one has come up with that idea so far, I call dibs on it.
There is some special air only those places have: and it is not just the scent of freshly ground coffee. It is the whole thing: you might find the noise of a huge and exclusive coffee-machine annoying in any other situation, but here, it just belongs and it would not be the same without that or the hum of the coffee grinder, the hiss of the cappuccino creamer, the clacking sounds cups and plates meet or are put down with, the chattering voices around you or the cashier‘s loud one that orders the desired beverages from the barista preparing them.
I love to watch how the single ingredients are put together; a little splash here, a little dash there, some sprinkles maybe… when I am at home I mostly drink my coffee with milk only, steamed one when I wanna go special and on some occasions I even have syrup, but that is as fancy as it gets. In a coffee shop I want it all; the chocolate, the sprinkles, the cream… sometimes the lack of a cocktail- or rather coffee-umbrella is traumatising. Just kidding. But the absence of a cookie next to my café au lait in a café is. No kidding. Forget the little glass of table water when bringing the espresso, but never arrive at my table without the little baked deliciousness. I will not cut down on tips, but it will ruin at least 27 full seconds of my time being there.
Sure, I also like to sit in a nice café and no, it is not he same thing, There is a huge difference between the two of them. Whereas a coffee shop also is for ‘transit traffic‘, cafés are for staying – well, mostly. If you get served and not ignored. Or a football team or hysterically screaming bachelorette-party-planning-committee sits next to you and you cannot just switch places for all seats are taken. But that is worst case scenario and has no place in here.
It must be difficult to offer a comfortable ambience even in a walkthrough-place, but with the right pictures (give me scenes of an Italian baretto or market or overly big cups of coffee anytime), maybe an old, unhandled stone wall and slightly scuffed furnishing you can create a location people will like to return to. If the main ingredients are right, of course. Delicious, fresh coffee, a variety of tea mostly made from complete leaves, cold drinks and some yummy treats, both salty and sweet. And free internet for the time staying. If you feel writer‘s-blocked; take your lappy and or pen and paper and try a coffee shop for inspiration. What does not come out right away will be saved in your mind for later. Works for me at least.
So, off for grabbing some more coffee. See ya.
I am a fan of happy endings. Guilty, Your Honour. I like when a character I have laughed and lived and suffered through a story with makes it in the end and the respective book / movie /series leaves him where xe lives a happy life, surrounded by friends and family.
When I was younger I got so annoyed by bad endings I first checked the final pages of the book to see if the main characters were still mentioned lacking the words ‘gravestone’ or ‘deceased’. It did not necessarily mean that even they died I would not read the book. I just wanted to be prepared.
I have many friends that stare at me with shock when I tell them I still now and then do that – but at least it saves me from reading 500 pages just to find out the funny, witty guy I temporarily fell in love with on page 16 leaves me on page 498, two pages before the end.
I think the trickiest book about a dead main character was ‘Last Orders’ by Graham Swift. There are no surprises on that protagonist: he is dead right from the start because this is what the story is based on, on his friends and family trying to fulfill his last wish and pour his ashes into the sea together – it would be hard to do that if he was still alive.^^
As far as I remember I read the book within two days and when it came to an ending expected right from the start I thought I would be prepared, but I could not help the tears streaming down my cheeks.
A mate’s story (she has written it years ago and so far it has not been finished) involved her male protagonist’s death. She told me how she imagined the female main character holding him during and after his last minutes on earth when a certain song would preface the end credits. For about 20 years I was unable to listen to said tune without instantly being reminded of that story and I figuratively kicked someone’s derriere for about the same time for it used to be one of my favorite songs.
Call me stupid, call me stubborn or incurably romantic, but I think life is hard enough and so aside from two short stories all of my main characters have made it so far and yes, I do like it that way.
How about you guys? Do you like it dramatic, romantic, happy, sad? Feel free to let me know. 😉
Really? you might ask. A first blog entry about blogging?
I feel weird blogging, just as I feel weird twittering or have been tumblering. I have tried myspace and the only thing out of all I have more or less gotten used to (though my fingers are hovering over the ‘delete profile’-button at least once a month) is Facebook.
Twittering is just like facebooking, I thought: they give you even less space to send countless messages into a possibly uncaring world, about the chewing gum on the ground you just saw or what you have for dinner. I have been undecided about it for quite a while and I still feel a bit like sleeping with (and I do not mean my way through)
the enemy social media, but maybe I am just old-fashioned.
However – here I am, first real blog entry at hand, purring cat next to me. Time to get this thing started.