Despre wombats sau cum arata viata la 20 de ani

"Wombats have four sphincters compared to the human's one," I'm told. “It means they can make flat-sided pooh."
Why, I wonder, would any animal want to perform such a perfect piece of anal architecture?

*********************

De cand nu m-am mai blogosferizat, s-au intamplat prea multe incat sa imi destainui viata asa ca am sa spun ca nu s-a intamplat nimic, ca sa fie bine pt toti. Fara sa fie prea multi, sa stiti ca totusi au fost cativa care si-au facut griji ba c-am crapat, ba c-am fost rapita si dusa pe insulele Virgine de catre seicul Mohammed bin Rashid Al Maktoum, ba ca, doamne fereste, am tras obloanele la blog de tot. Dar nu s-a intamplat asa.

Nu stiu sa numar saptamanile in care am fost in coma blogareasca, dar intre timp am invatat sa numar primaverile pana la 20. In ziua cu pricina (20 de ani in 20 avril, luna bolunzilor) imi suna telefonul. Vad ca-i mama. Ma uit la ceas: "de ce trebuie sa ma sune cu 2 ore mai devreme? Poate de-aia ca in Romania e deja ora 12 noaptea...Hmmm, se poate". Si pana am facut eu acest rationament cartezian, telefonul nu mai suna. Pai da, mai fratilor, ca la 20 de ani deja altfel sta treaba cu prospetimea neuronala. Plus ca, oricat de atipica, tot ardeleanca raman. Asa ca a mai sunat o data dupa vreun minut, si acum am avut viteza de reactie mai de doamne-ajuta, ca am apucat sa raspund. Si ce-mi aude urechea dreapta?! O haita de oameni cantanad la o chitara - de fapt canta numai Imi la chitara, banui - si la voci fara numar, o melodie de 20 de ani.

Ecoul - Taina (o lume de 20 de ani)
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Lume veche de 20 de ani...Nu stiu daca ar fi trebuit intai sa pic in depresie muiereasca din pricina asta (fereasca sfantu` sa ma mai cunoasteti la urmatoarea schimbare de prefix), sa multumesc pt dedicatia muzicala, sau sa incep sa analizez procentajul de adevar din zicala "viata misto ca la 20 de ani" - care zice-se ca e cea mai gigea varsta...

Da` pt mine...la 20 de ani, viata nu-i nici prea roz, nici prea cu picatele. Ar putea sa fie mai rau, ma bucur ca nu e. Dar si mai bine, si ma frustreaza ca nici asa nu e.

Acum e varsta adultului-bonsai. Ai deja o idee - mai mult sau mai putin vaga - despre cum si cu ce se mananca viata, da` tot puiet esti, raportezi totul numai la tine pt ca ai pe cap responsabilitatea propriei persoane numai, n-ai copchii de hranit, nici barbat cu acte-n regula, nici macar un job. E un soi de dolce far niente, fara partea de dolce neaparat. E varsta la care mancarea de baza inca e Kellogg`s si eventual orez, daca nu ti-e lene sa-l fierbi. E perioada cand in unele zile te scoli la 10 dimineata pt ca ai stat toata noaptea sa te uiti la filmele lui Almodovar sau ai fost la un chef unde ai dansat pe Manu Chao si nu te simti prost ca ai ratat cursul de Contract Law. Pt ca la varsta asta inca scoti cugetari destepte precum "The future ain`t what it used to be." Ai auzit tu odata o melodie, The Time Of My Life, si nu numai ca iti venea sa te zbengui pe ea, ci ai chiar crezut ca versurile au fost scrise pt tine. Acum dai de prima sesiune si incepi sa iti pui intrebari profund dureroase de genul "cine p&#@ calului m-a pus sa fac Dreptul?", dar tot acum ai bolunzenia necesara sa te trezesti dimineata si sa te sui intr-un avion si sa mergi unde te taie mintiuca, cat sa iti faci damblaua pt o zi (vezi episodul atat asta, cat si celalalt). Acum intalnesti oameni demni de nomenclatura de "best friend forever" cu care stai pana noaptea tarziu la sesiuni de epilare inghinala si apoi privesti rasaritul de soare cu o sticla de vin rosu si discuti despre "unde dracu` ne duce viata asta?"

Nu stii daca e de bine sau de rau, dar adopti o atitudine mai miserupista si incepi sa enjoy the moment mai mult decat o faceai. Nu mai vrei atat de multa stabilitate, cat o "viata interesanta".

Nu stiu ce voiati voi la 20 de ani, dar eu, una, vreau sa merg in Australia sa vad care-i treaba cu wombatsii. Starea care ma caracterizeaza cel mai mult in momentul actual este asta
N-AM STARE!

Sunday morning love - I have a question

I have a question.

Should love be 'natural'?

have you ever met someone, and from the moment of your first words exchanged, it just seemed as if some kind of magic love dust had been sprinkled on the two of you exclusively? you immediately clicked, as if there was just an undeniable connection that the two of you shared, along with cohesive views on life and love, cracking up at the same corny jokes, even bonding over your mutual obsession with butterfinger ice cream and the CNN political news ticker.

well, due to certain events of the last month of my life regarding my relationship, and the relationships of my friends, and coworkers, i have been thinking very heavily about this whole 'love is hard work' thing. call me an idealist, but it seems to me that love should have a certain amount of 'natural feel' to it. it shouldn't be all work. now i know that of course keeping a relationship interesting and fresh and love new requires some work on both sides. but should it be ALL work? should it be a JOB just to love your partner with the same intensity as they love you? i have always been a believer in destiny and soul mates and finding your 'perfect match' (and i think there are several 'perfect matches' possible for any one person), so i guess that is why some things have been troubling me as of late. you see, i've experienced a natural love.

the kind of love where things just kind of fall into place. i've been in the 'just be' love. where the initial newness isn't the only time you feel like you're floating in the clouds. it doesn't just wear off with time because you two share the kind of intensity that people look at and say, 'damn.' if you disagree with each other, you can talk about it without someone's blood pressure rising.

now of course 'mama said there'd be days like this', but how many days like this is one too many? how many arguments based on your core differences/beliefs is just too much? how far of a gap can there be between your similarities and personalities and compatibility before you say "you know what, we just aren't meant to be."

i do believe that marriage is hard work. but that's understandable. when you get married, several other factors are involved. you have bills together, accounts, mortgages, children, legal documents. so i can understand why people say that 'marriage is hard work.'

but should the love itself be just as hard? is it okay to settle for a good relationship with a good mate....or should we all be striving for a great relationship with your soul mate? how much work should you invest?

is it possible to 'grow' to love someone as intensely as you would if it just happened 'naturally'? maybe i'm delusional.

maybe i've just been fortunate in my experiences with love. maybe i'm just being foolish. i just have to believe (because i've been there) that 'easy' love does exist. easy like sunday morning...or at least sunday evening :) that's what i want. more importantly, that's what i deserve. the question is, is it possible to build that....or is that something that fate decides? i wrote this poem a while ago, but i can't say it doesn't still apply to some degree.

the missing piece

there is a piece missing...

i should feel tipsy, right?

the love bug should FEEL like something, right?

the automatic flick of the switch in my heart should click, right?

where are the butterflies?

sweet hellos, long goodbyes?

smiles, hugs, cuddles, adoring stares?

-did i miss something?-

shouldn't there be moments?

time stops, heart drops, outside world fades lost in love?

where are the long walks in the sand on the beach

with interlocked fingers and hearts? where is it?

candlelit dinners, poetry sharing, museum exhibits..

naked beauty at 3am with strong arms,

mind, spirit telling me i'm beautiful...

-where did it go? was it ever here?-

soul searching 6am, bible study,

and church at 10 comforting silences,

stolen glances, sexy ear whispers in crowded rooms.

shoulders to cry on in bad times

arms to jump into in celebration

encouraging, believing, achieving.... together

-SOMETHING is definitely missing-

long heart to hearts have been lost in our busy lives

no time for relationship matters

'just because' gifts morphed into 'i'm sorry i forgot, i'll make it up' promises

gone are the cherrystrawberry aphrodisiac picnics at sunset

rollerblading on the strip..

whenever, wherever, i want you NOW passion..

lip biting, sheet grabbing, sweat dripping explosions of nature....

-where is it, dammit?-

intelligent convo, subjects politics,

self-awareness, society strong morals, opinions,

respect for each other....

home training, home cooking, home making..

working hard to provide, but still making time to rub my feet...

beautiful poetry flowing..

speaks only positivity towards me..

-i am seriously missing something-

strong black man...

got my back AND my front i got his too..

handles his business boardroom to bedroom
from hello mr..

to whaddup my nicca!
got his shit together..

vibing to the roots, jay z, aerosmith and coltrane

without missing a beat

real man.

real woman.

best friends.

the missing piece of my life..

-where is it?-

not here.

excitement, passion, longing
have all fled a shell of what we used to be...

a photo album of happier times is all that remains...

very 'significant other' has become under appreciated 'spouse'
need to find my missing link..

yin to my yang..

i know it's out there...

just have to find it....

my missing piece.

Fingernails!

Azi a fost prea de tot. N-am mai rezistat. Mi-am taiat unghiile. De tot. Ma rog, ce era deasupra "liniei de plutire", n-am taiat de tot unghia de pe falanga. De aratat, arata tare ciudat, intotdeauna am avut degete lungi - si acum imi dau seama ca pareau lungi pt ca unghiile erau lungi. Acum am unghii, si implicit degete, scurte. Dar curate. Ferchese. Dragute. Ca de copilas.
Cand eram copil, mergem week end de week end la bunici, in carierul alaturat, si imi traiam pruncia cu toti porii. Traiam fiecare clipa, fiecare calorie la maxim. Ma consumam in jocurile de la bloc, ma implicam trup si suflet, imi juleam haine, coate, genunchi. Ma cataram in copaci, pe blocuri, pe dealuri. Astfel ca duminica ma aducea bunica acasa...de nerecunoscut. Eram ghertoi de jeg. Mama ma baga direct in baie, hainele plonjau direct in lighean, intai, sa iasa noroiul si pietricele si iarba si jumatatea de vegeatie din jurul blocului bunicii mele. Si abia apoi in masina de spalat. Urma apoi baia, cu spuma, cu ratusca, cu samponat si plans, cu intratul sapunului in ochi, eu stropind-o pe mama de suparare si nervi. Apoi prosopul de vreo 3 ori mai amre decat mine, care ma claustra, in timp ce maica-mea ma tortura stergandu-ma brutal pe cap - am parul cret si cand eram mica era si foarte lung, pana sub fund, deci aveai ce sa storci si sa freci la el - si intr-un final...eram pusa ca pe un tron regal pe masa din bucatarie. Bucataria era mare. Si aveam un neon care o facea sa para si mai mare. Mama se aseza pe un scaun si imi taia unghiile. La la picioare. Apoi de la mama. Cu o unghiera din Turcia. La picoare imi placea. Dar la maini era pur chin pt ca le taia foarte scurt. Ei bine, cred ca de atunci am hotarat ca atunci cand cresc mare, sa imi las unghiile in voia lor proprie.

Am crescut. Si eu, si unghiile. Nu le-am taiat niciodata. Sau daca le taiam, le taiam cu forfecuta, nu cu unghiera, care imi lasase in trecut sechele serioase. In schimb le rodeam. Le rodeam la scoala, la scrima, la joaca, pe troleu, pe strada, la birou, in timp ce scriam pe blog, in timpul filmelor, la restaurant, in timp ce vorbeam cu oameni. De-a lungul timpului, in urma numeroaselor observatii, am rarit-o cu rosul unghiilor. Stiti, in mine cred ca s-au adunat cele mai multe ticuri nervoase - odata cu trecerea vremii am aflat ca si rosul unghiilor se incadreaza la ticuri nervoase, desi nu eram nervoasa in timp ce faceam asta...ma rog - de la asta, pana la ticuri verbale, batutul ritmului in masa, jucatul cu degetele, dup-aia cu parul, dup-aia tuguiatul buzelor - nu ala hollywoodian, sexy si provocator...:)) ci ala de nevoie, de strambaciune, de concentrare. Acum rod unghii foarte rar, imi place o lungime medie, care imi face degetele sa arate decent. Dar saptamana trecuta...s-a intamplat. Le-am ros. Le-am ros urat.
Asa ca azi le-am taiat. Mi-a luat o saptamana sa ma incumet sa pun mana pe trusa de manichiura. Nu am nici experienta, nici indemanarea, dar mai ales, nici rabdarea necesare sa fac asta. Dar azi am avut chef sa nu mai simt unghiile alea scurte cum se freaca de orice obiect si parul de pe mine cum se ridica, in secunda numarul doi.
Sa stiti ca e mai bine asa. Macar acum au o rampa buna de lansare de unde sa creasca. Azi sunt scurte, foarte scurte. Daca ma mananca pielea, nici nu ma pot scarpina, atat de scurte sunt. Dar stiti voi ce senzatie de curat e? Si de bine...:) Le-am dat si cu oja. Incolora. Stralucesc.
Ma simt bine.
Desi, etimologic, manichiura...e cura pt maini. La mine cura si-a extins efectele benefice, ele nu s-au rasfrans numai asupra mainilor. Cred ca am sa repet experienta. Deocamdata astept sa creasca.