Facebook Timeline Dilemma

So, I know this is kind of out-of-context for me and my blog but today I have decided to talk about the whole Facebook Timeline story that is all the rage on our widespread social media platform at the moment. Sooner or later, everyone will have it so it is worth thinking about already for when that transition arrives. I have asked myself a few questions regarding the Timeline:

1. What do I want it to say?
2. Do I want it to say something about me as a person or my ideals? (although I guess they go hand-in-hand)
3. Should it be a fancy OMG-that's-so-clever composition or just a "sweet" pic & profile photo?
4. Do I want to out myself in my profile pic? (as until now I have never shown my entire face)
5. Would it be a good idea to build it up professionally as in showcasing my talents or do I want it personal so that my friends can relate?

Question upon question and only one thing is clear for me at the moment: I kind of want it to stick out from the rest that is out there. I have seen different timeline ideas in the last week, especially on Mashable and ofcourse there have been a few where I thought, "wow, that is pretty awesome!". And that is what I want for mine. I just haven't figured out how yet.

I tried one thing, but failed miserably... It was a collection of items important/relevant to my person all laid out on the floor, which reminded me a little of the following comic:

... but I would have needed a) better lighting b) a product photo light table or c) just better equipment. So my version didn't turn out nearly as good and definately not usable as you can see yourself:

Top: @DavidWeir: great
Bottom: @MissLisa: rubbish

So now I'm still waiting on the world-shaking idea that I am capable of implementing (physically and digitally) and above all, the answers to all my own questions.
Until I find something, I'm gonna continue looking at other peoples timelines and laugh myself silly to Ben Champion's AutoCorrect song... gets me every time...

Christmas is nigh... (5)

Following on from Christmas is nigh... (4), the final bit:

“Have you got a… partner?” 

“You said you were going to explain. So please explain.” 

“Ok. Well then I’ll just explain, and be honest. I… Brian, I… damn I just know I’m going to cry. I erm… I spent a long time wondering whether to actually do this. I know maybe I should have called or told you or I don’t know… but then you know me, a bit crazy and that just turning up and standing in front of your door at Christmas…” 

He looked up from his potatoes. His eyes were wide and she couldn’t tell whether he was angry or not. 

“What do you want to say Marie?” 

“Ok. I missed you. I thought about you almost every day and when I wasn’t thinking of you I imagined you thinking about me. I kept your photo close by me all the time and I prayed you’d answer my messages. I told myself over and over how stupid I’d been and hoped one day you’d forgive me. I thought I’d never see you again or hear your voice and in the end I just couldn’t take it anymore. I had to see you. So here I am. And I guess that’s it. I guess that’s what I want to say. I don’t know whether it’s an apology or explanation but I love you Brian. I loved you the first moment I saw you. I loved you all those years hoping it would happen and then it was all so complicated and in the end I messed it all up. I know I messed it up and I wish it hadn’t been so. I have that regret and I wish so much I hadn’t been so stupid. I’m so sorry. I am so so sorry and if you have found someone that’s fine. I wish you well. I wish that you get everything you deserve. I know you were with someone and if you still are then please say because I’ll leave. I’ll do as I say. I don’t want to do wrong again. I care about you too much…” Marie felt the tears begin to tumble down her burning cheeks. “I’m so sorry.” She yearned for him to take her in his strong warm arms but he stood frozen to the spot. 

“I know. I’m sorry too. It wasn’t easy.” He spoke; matter-of-factly. 

The tears raced and she felt sick. It had been a long time since she’d felt so vulnerable and so weak. 

“What do you want me to do Brian? Tell me and I’ll do it. No wait… Let me give you your presents first. I want it to be a good moment.” 

Before he could answer she’d sped to the tree and retrieved the two treasured presents she had hoarded in her home so long. She passed them to him after he’d wiped his hands and moved back to the door frame beside the fridge to allow him space. He carefully unwrapped the first present and smiled. 

“You had this a very long time. I thought I wouldn’t see it again.” 

“It’s yours. It has your name in it.” 

After unwrapping the second one his smile was lighter still. 

“I’ve been practising…” 

She looked him in the eyes. Those sweet, loving eyes she’d missed so much. If anything; this moment was worth her visit. Just looking into his eyes meant everything to Marie. 

“So now tell me Brian. What shall I do? I… I don’t know what to do.” 

Brian put the present down and moved towards her. Marie’s heart thumped beneath her rib cage. He stood before her; so close again she could smell him. She wanted to wrap her arms around his waist and hold him tight. She craved to reach beneath his shirt and feel his warm skin beneath her fingers. Her hands quivered as she watched his thoughts shift to words. 

“What do you want me to do? Shall I go? I…” 

“Shh…” He pressed his fingers to her lips. She swallowed her words and relished the moment more than he would ever know. 

“I’ll tell you what I want.” 

She looked deeply into his eyes in anticipation. 

“I want you to stay. Stay and play a game of scrabble with me. Stay here. Stay here with me. Say you’ll stay, forever.” 

Marie swallowed again and breathed in. She closed her eyes as she felt the tears begin again; heavily and with such relief. 

“I want that. I want that so much. I’ll stay. I’ll stay forever.” 

They stood for a moment before finally, after such a long time, they held each other so tight that it was clear; they had loved each other from the very first moment and throughout all that had happened; it had never gone away. 

“What did you wish for this Christmas Marie?” 

Marie smiled, a tear budding in her eye: “It just came true.”

Christmas is nigh... (4)

Following on from Christmas is nigh... (3):

“Let me get you a cup of coffee… Or do you want to have a shower? I’ll make you a cup of coffee while you shower if you like? Here; I’ll help you up the stairs but then you’ll have to do the rest. I’ll grab you a towel too.” 

Before Marie could protest Brian had pulled her arm over his shoulder and helped her to her feet. He was unaware of the bewildered look on her face and as Marie realised this she wrapped her other arm around his neck. Her body breathed in his scent and she felt warm with love. 

Standing under the shower she let the hot water run over her face as her thoughts bounced around her mind. Surely he wouldn’t have let me stay the evening in his house if he didn’t want me here. Then again he wouldn’t have sent me home. He looks so incredible. She felt even the thought of suddenly being so close to him, after such a long time of wanting to be, make her stomach jump. The shower felt so refreshing and she felt herself humming ‘silent night’ to herself as she heard him outside the door. 

“Marie? I’ve put a t-shirt and some training bottoms here for you and a jumper.” 

“Thank you,” she mumbled back, clutching her arms to her bare chest in protection; from what she did not know. 

As she pulled on the t-shirt and bottoms she smelt him all over her. It was too familiar to be true and she choked down a few tears in the fear it would all be over soon. That she had got this far was already incredible. 

Brian was busy in the kitchen as she padded down the steps. There was a brightly decorated Christmas tree in the corner of the living room and there were presents underneath; both of hers too. 

“It looks lovely. Erm… I probably should explain why I’m here.” 

“You probably should.” He replied, without looking up, as she watched him sternly chopping potatoes. She felt a cold chill down her back. 

“I… I’ve moved to Germany.” 

“I know.” 

“I’ve been really busy and that… I’ve… No. I’m sorry. I’m doing it already. I’m talking around what I actually want to say.” 

“So what do you actually want to say?” 

Marie looked around the kitchen as the cool of his voice spread over the warm memories the room had for her. She looked towards the door where she had watched him wash mud off her shoes after the walk along the canal. She smiled at how they had stood by the counter and kissed. Then she breathed in and remembered that was not where she was now. So much had changed since then; so much had happened. Valentine’s Day had been unique that year and it hadn’t been the same since. 

“I… Can I be honest?” 

“I expect that.” 

Her stomach dropped. This was it. She had known to expect this. The final tear at the wound. The final moment that was going to end everything. He had found his way and she had lost her part in his life. She was the past and he was still her future. She would have to learn to leave him behind.

Christmas is nigh... (3)

Following on from Christmas is nigh... (2):

Marie peeled open her eyelids, aware of the fact that she probably had remnants of mascara glued to her eyelashes. You didn’t take your make-up off. How strange; you don’t normally forget unless you really had too much to drink. Blinking furiously to try and recognise her surroundings, Marie tugged the blanket up to her chin. She squinted, and as she did so she felt a sharp pain in the back of her head. Groan; what did I do? 

With a sharp intake of breath she held onto her forehead as if it were about to fall off. Half-awake she realised she still had clothes on and was not in her own bed but on a sofa. She blinked twice as the large giraffe in the corner of the room, beside a rather familiar television came into focus. That’s when she remembered where she was and suddenly felt caught off guard without the two angular presents tucked under her arm. Then she heard a voice she had so longed to hear for many years. Brian’s. 

“Hey. I’ve wrapped a bandage round your head. Sorry if it’s messed up your hair. I kind of tied it back with a hair bobble but I’m not really very good at doing hair.”Marie looked towards where the voice had come from and felt the nape of her neck crunch into life. 

“Ow” was all she could say. How stupid of you. After years of thinking and imagining this moment over and over and ‘ow’ is all you can think of? He must think you’re so stupid.
“What happened? It looks pretty nasty.” 

How come he hasn’t asked me what I’m doing here and why did he let me in and what does he mean with ‘What happened’? Marie was glad she didn’t have the strength to ask all these questions and before her eyes closed one last time before the morning sun woke her she mumbled;
“Merry Christmas Brian.” 

The glass of water on the little side table glistened in the morning light that came streaming through the gap in the curtains. Marie thrust her hand towards it, gasping with thirst. Yet due to a lack in coordination she managed only to knock it over the table. 

“Oh bugger!” she cursed as her body rolled off the couch onto the floor. 

“Oh dear, you’re a bit shaky aren’t you?!” Marie looked up to see Brian stood above her, reaching to lift her limp body onto the couch again. 

“Let me get you a cup of tea. We may want to get you into the hospital to have you checked out if it doesn’t get better till this evening.” 

“You’re here,” Marie whispered under her breath. 

Brian laughed. She’d missed the sound of his laughter. His laughter was so real and warm; filled with honesty and warmth. 

“This is my house. It’s normal that I’m here. What is a bit surreal right now is that you’re here and that last night my mum and I spent a while wrapping a wound on your head as the rest of my family unwrapped presents. It was quite strange really.” 

The last comment hummed in Marie’s head. She struggled to get to her feet; noticing only the strength in his warm hands. 

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be here. I messed up. I messed up your Christmas and I shouldn’t have come. I’m so sorry. I’ll go.” As Marie lifted the blanket off her shaky legs she breathed heavily. It didn’t feel like she was about to get up and she was right. Her body slumped in fatigue and pain. 

“Don’t Marie. Please don’t.” Brian hurried to speak as he wrapped his arms around her waist and lowered her back into the couch. “You should recover first.” 

“But I…” she fought to get her thoughts straight. She wanted to be there. It was what she had wanted for so long and now she was fighting to leave. “I… Merry Christmas.” 

“I know Marie. You said that last night. I heard it. Merry Christmas to you too; from my family too. They thought it was quite a funny way of meeting you.” He chuckled widely. 

“Meeting? Oh god; I must have looked such a mess. I slipped, outside, it was icy and I slipped on the ice. Then my heel; after I slipped on the ice, my heel broke off and on the tissue; there was blood. It was my head… the blood on the tissue. I mean the blood was from my head, on the tissue. But my bag and the presents. I have presents; the two that I had…” It took Marie a while to realise the grin on Brian’s face as she talked complete and utter nonsense. 

“You looked beautiful Marie.” 

Marie froze. 

“I? I..?”

Christmas is nigh... (2)

Following on from Christmas is nigh (1):

I wish… this Christmas 

The road shiny with ice it invited the already nervous and erratic steps of Marie to become off-balance and with the thought of his eyes gazing down at her with love she felt her legs slip away from her and with a single yelp; grasping her bag with her life she felt her head smack against the pavement and her side ram into the floor. It’s a sign. It must be a sign. The same thought repeated itself over and over in her throbbing head. She heaved herself up and supported her aching cold body on her elbows. Gathering the presents she felt something wet on her palm. Great, now I’ll have mud on me too when I see him; how flattering. Searching frantically in her handbag, praying nothing was falling out in the dark of the night that she might still need, she felt the same wet in the nape of her neck. Finally Marie grabbed the pack of tissues and wiped her hands; yet it wasn’t mud. The warm on the back of her neck was a thick red colour on the tissue and slowly Marie felt the wooziness that accompanied the blood smeared on her palm and the tissue. Oh dear, well now at least you have a reason to knock on his door; an ice-breaker to say the least. 

Marie stared down the road she knew she had to go.  Brushing her trousers down with the flat of her hands that were all sorts of grubby she carefully picked herself up. As she attempted her first step on shaky, cold legs her weight plummeted to the floor again. Inspecting herself she realised why; her lovely shoes that had already caused her so much trouble had lost a heel. Great, that’s it. I’ve had it. She unzipped both boots and stood up again. Buttoning her coat to the top and sniffing her nose she once again clutched her bag and the presents under one arm and the boots in her hand. 7:45 read the display of her phone. She had sent him a text message a few days previously and had received no reply. With a great sigh of fear, nerves and encouragement she crossed the road. The cold felt damp on the soles of her sock-clad feet. I must look so ridiculous. She could see the light on in one house only on the entire street. That must be his. If it isn’t number 3 I’ll… what will I do? She ignored the thought and licked her lips. It was so cold out. It was number 3; she could see his car in the drive. She crossed the lawn quietly; almost creeping. She lured through the passenger seat window as if not sure whether it was his car. But there was Henry the frog; squished in-between the seats. He was home. A deep dark hole gaped open in her stomach. She felt queasy again. Henry the frog seemed to have crawled into her throat as she struggled to swallow. 

What were you going to say when he opens the door? What if it isn’t him that opens the door? What if it’s his girlfriend? You can’t say it’s the wrong house; there are no other people at home in the neighbourhood. It’s the wrong road; that’s what you’ll say. Or no-you’ll ask whether he’s home. You just want to wish a merry Christmas and return something of his. That’s all. You’re not asking for his hand in marriage; nothing of the sort. Now pull yourself together and get on with it. 

As Marie reached for the doorbell she felt a wave of nausea spread through her head. She heard it ring inside and footsteps come to the door. As the door opened her heart dropped as she saw his eyes and then it went black. She felt his arms around her ribcage as her head lolled. Then everything was dark.

Christmas is nigh... (1)

The days seem to be flying by at the speed of light. Wasn't it November a couple of days ago? And now it's almost Christmas? Oh dear... Luckily almost all the presents are packed and we're set to go. But before we do so, here's a story I wrote quite a few years back about love, christmas and in general what we wish for. I'm gonna have to split it up as it's rather long but I hope you enjoy it anyhow. I called it: 

I wish… this Christmas

It had been a good two years since she’d last been in England and many of the memories had not been too joyous. This year, however, she wasn’t about to let it get to her. She had spent long enough working through her past and as the sweet words of ‘Silent Night’ sung in her ears she felt a wave of courage and boldness. Tonight she was going to find out whether the love in her heart was worthy of someone as good as him. 

The lights glistened in the white of the snow that perched silently on streets and pavements. Rainbows of colour spread a Christmas feeling throughout the city and despite the stress and rush of buying and finding there were smiles all around. In the trees rows and rows of lights beckoned for song and although Marie had always been a Christmas-lover and fond of anything that yelled for seasonal cheer; tonight she wasn’t going to be singing songs or smiling too soon. At least that was the fear that had nestled into the pit of her stomach since she’d stepped off the plane. 

Her stomach jolted; almost; almost she’d lost her balance for the fourth time. If only she hadn’t worn those boots that despite looking great had made her slip countless times on the ice. Slow down and take it easy; he’s not going anywhere; she told herself; over and over. Marie wasn’t even sure whether he’d be home on Christmas Eve. Surely he would have gone to his parents for the season? Determined she clutched the two carefully wrapped presents that had dug themselves into her cold fingers. She sniffed as the icy wind blurred her already teary eyes. It was somewhere here, she thought, racking her memory for the way to the house. She uncrumpled the piece of paper with the address on it. 3: that was the number of the house. She had written it so many times on so many letters that she knew he must have received but probably thrown away. 

Marie’s heels clicked and clacked on the cobbled stones. She’d always loved the cosiness of the colloquial England she had grown to know. The little town positively buzzed with a warm Christmas cheer and as she tried desperately not to slip on the ice her mind raced through countless memories of him. How much she would like to spend Christmas strolling around this town filled with children’s smiles and stretch up to kiss him in the middle of the street; savouring every minute as the snow flakes tickled her nose and planted themselves on his eyelashes; framing those deep, loving blue eyes with their delicate meaning. 

A car raced by. She stopped. What am I doing? He won’t want to see you. He has a girlfriend; he’s probably not home. You’ve come all this way and you’re probably just going to hurt yourself. Turn around. Walk away while you can. Just go. Yet her feet kept going. 

Listen to more on my youtube page:

Love to Live

What do we live for? 

Not to die, not to be unhappy; so to live? 

We live to live? 

We live to be happy? 

We're happy to live? 

We live to love? 

We love to live? 

We live to love life or love? 

We live for memories of a happy life. 

We won't ever achieve anything other than nostalgic post-modernity. 

A face, a smile, words, moments. 

Even in the present a reminder of the past. 

I live to love the life that I live. 

It's only love I could live for. 

And so this life I have to love. 

There is no way to live. 

But there is a way to love. 

Love like you live; entirely.

"When I saw you I fell in love. And you smiled because you knew."
Arrigo Boito

English Man in New York

Christmas Christmas Christmas

So, after a month of searching high and low I have managed to fill 24 (!) bags with prezzies for my man. My kind of advents-calendar. Not the chocolate kind or where you get stupid plastic toys that noone needs. I invested time, thought and a pocket full of love (and also a bit of money ofcourse). I believe I have twenty-four presents that are a mix of sexy, useful, funny, delightful, agreeable, generous and attractive. So I look forward to every morning...

His face this morning, needless to say, was priceless. Last week we had talked about calendars for Xmas and he told me his mum used to craft and fill them herself with titbits: bit of money, sweets etc. Whilst he told me I tried so hard not to smile as I had already started filling the bags so long ago. Thank goodness I had my hot, spicy soup to accidentally choke on the stop myself laughing!

And the last week had been a back and forth with things he said he needed that I managed to postpone til today and obviously rearranged the contents of the bags to accommodate his wishes!

Obviously I can't tell you what is in the bags; he might read this too. But I can tell you this much: I think he will like every single one of those presents ;)

Get into the Christmas spirit with my fave at the moment: Michael Bublé:

Nan's Crackerjack Café and Milkshakes (2)

The last titbit of this chapter. I may consider not letting on too much about my book from now, so that you will be keen to buy it when/if it gets published ;)

“Riza! Hey! Wow! What’s up? Good news?” Lily spluttered and muffled through Riza’s coat and hair. “The BEST news!” Riza beamed as she stepped back and smiled at Lily. “But I’ll tell you when Natty is here.” She tore off her coat and threw it over one of the chairs. Riza was wearing a typically colourful and wonderful outfit with all shades of purple and pink. Lily loved Riza to pieces. They had met at University and had since been inseparable: soul mates tied at the waist. Except for the time after Stuart. But Stuart was a long story and Lily was never in the mood to tell it. After Stuart, Lily had spent a while in Berlin. She had always wanted to visit her roots in Germany and Berlin had been a great city. But she had missed Riza and Natty and her quaint English village life (well, it wasn’t that quaint but Lily loved wellies, English gentlemen and tea and scones and that all counted as quaint for Lily) and so she had returned. 

Riza was already diving into a full-blown story about her love life as they both saw Natty fighting her way through the crowd. “Alright? Do you mind movin’ a bit, love? This place is big enough for the both of us!” Ah yes, Natty loved to brawl. Lily and Natty had met at the Hard Rock Café on a particularly rocky night with goths, punks and all sorts. Natty was off her face drunk and had complimented Lily on her totally out of place head to toe white outfit amongst a sea of black leather and PVC (and the fact that Lily was not wearing a bra!). They had swapped numbers and been close ever since. 

“Hello Lovelies. God it’s full in here today: nightmare! And d’ya think I’d find a parking place when I’m wearing my Miu Miu’s and it’s bleeding knee deep in snow out there. Of course not! I had to walk ten minutes from the car. What a sodding winter!”
And so the afternoon with the ladies began.

Job, Life and me in the middle.

The things you see when stuck in a promotion job.

Channelling Asian Look for
Asia Wellness Programm
at convention

Passion for Fashion - ps. I love you

So, dear readers, I don't think I've written anything about fashion yet in my blog so I'm gonna make a start today. I've always loved fashion. It started as a young girl when, out of sheer desperation, I began sewing clothes for my barbies. I grew up in Portugal so you didn't really have toy shops with fancy barbie clothes. You pretty much depended on relatives and friends importing them when they came to visit. As I was so keen to play with my two barbies and it bored me to death to see them in the same clothes all the time I sat by my mum as she sewed clothes for her singing gigs for herself and bagged the left-over scraps for my own, hand-sewn, tiny, pretty barbie outfits.

During my university time I made my own ball gowns and ties for the men and even the costumes for our final performance. I loved it. I loved the creativity, the fabrics, how the dresses evolved and changed over the course of sewing them. And I still love it now although I don't have a sewing machine at home and I never sew things anymore. I guess I just don't have the time.

Instead I have kept my passion for fashion alive in my every day. Although I don't always dress up (especially not for work) I do love it when we got out or for a special event when I get my best frock out and spend my time on my hair and make-up and relish every minute of it. I don't really own expensive things, neither my clothes nor my make-up are fancy and expensive but the combinations always make the difference.
So I watched ps. I love you yesterday with my mum. And I have to say, Hilary Swank has never been a favourite of mine. But that film made me cry and laugh and gaze in wonder at her character's wardrobe. So feminine, light and still bold and special. And her hair: elegant and simple. So tomorrow I'm going to the hairdressers and have put together an outfit for my next "performance" ;) It's a mixture of fifties petticoat, Audrey Hepburn elegance and Stepford's housewife.

Will keep ya posted. Am not up to date with the fashionworld at the moment. Saw Roberto Cavalli's show: interesting. But widening my horizon to Chanel, van Laack and Vivienne Westwood at the moment. How I'm gonna get them all under one hat yet, I don't know.
But I'll be sure to tell you soon ;)

And until then: here is the fantastic scene out of ps. I love you with Gerard Butler dancing. Yum!

Nan's Crackerjack Café and Milkshakes (1)

Following on from Friends, Gabba and Cosy Nights.... Promise to also find a way to categorise my posts to enable easier reading for you all ;)

The next day Lily had a day off. It wasn’t always easy working freelance. She found herself spending months with so much work: modelling, acting, translation work and the job at the boutique followed by a slump where she earned no money and had to use her savings in order to cover the most important costs. Frankly, she hated it. But on the rare occasion of having a day off, Lily liked nothing more than to meet with her friends and chat about life, men and probably shoes. 

Lily had decided to meet the girls in one of her favourite little cafés: Nan’s Crackerjack Café also known also Nan’s Crack (Awful, I know, but hilarious!). It was a fantastic little place. The owner, Patty Jackson, was a brand of her own. She seemed to have got stuck in the 50’s with her permed and perfectly styled jet-black hair complete with quiff and livid-red flower; flaming red lips; thick black eyeliner under perfectly arched eyebrows; heaving bosoms caged in a dark-blue and white polka-dot dress, covered scarcely by a crisp white apron; suspender tights in skin tone with a black seam and killer red heels. At the age of fourty-nine Patty had an enviable figure and was the life and soul of every party around town. Today, Patty’s kids were hanging about too. They were two adorable little things, who both dressed in the unmistakable fifties look. Jethro, the youngest of the two, had his hair slicked back expertly with pomade into a ducktail (John Travolta eat your heart out) and wore a tiny baseball jacket and dark blue Levis doubled at the hem. His sister Judy, loved pink. Everything had to be pink. Appropriately she was sporting a pink and white polka-dot ensemble with a white belt clinched at the waist, tiny white ballerinas and her mum had gone to the trouble of sewing the words Judy on the back of the gorgeous little leather jacket she was wearing. With her golden-brown locks loosely tied back and teased into an elvis quiff at the front she looked fit to take over the world if she wanted to. 

Lily also liked to make herself look pretty when she went to Nan’s Crackerjack Café (whose name had come about from Patty’s nan. She had owned a cracker manufacturing company with her husband, Jack Jackson. No one questioned the name of the café/diner but the nickname had meanwhile reached Patty who needless to say was less impressed!) Nan’s Crackerjack Café meanwhile had an outrageous list of special, famous guests but Patty liked to keep things simple. She didn’t roll out red carpets, nor did she adhere to special wishes for coconut water, organic baby carrots or colour coordinated M&Ms. She served great food, a mix of home cooking and diner specialities and mixed a mean mojito. From hot chocolate in the winter to fresh smoothies or cola floats in the summer, Patty stuck to her menu and strongly opposed to special wishes (which normally resulted in the celeb being kicked out by her burly husband; Grant). 

Today Lily had decided to wear her pleated coral-orange knee-length skirt with a crisp white blouse and a navy cardigan. She had decided to wear quite thick tights and little booties too alongside her winter coat that kept wonderfully warm in the bitter winter they were having and reached way over her knees but unfortunately looked like a sleeping bag!Lily brushed a few flakes of snow off her eyelashes and stomped the remnants of slush off her boots as she unbuttoned her coat and tried to make out her ladies, Riza and Natty. Nan’s Crackerjack was so wonderfully whacky and simultaneously heavenly homely. The walls were a gorgeous mix of turquoise and dusky pink and speckled with memorabilia that reminded of Elvis, the Beatles, children’s tea partys, ladybirds, Dame Edna and a Las Vegas show meets Cher meets Elton John’s glasses collections. From the big-bosomed, Beryl Cook inspired salt and pepper shakers to the Pop-Art Napkins and the red and white checkered table cloths Patty had managed to combine a thousand looks from all eras and make them look holistic and cosy. 

Lily inhaled deeply as a fresh apple crumble made its way past her on the white gloved hand of a waitress dressed in a sailor outfit with petticoat and navy boat hat. “Mmmm, that smells delicious…” Lily muttered under her breath, her mouth watering. She made her way past the first tables; artists, actors, writers, families, couples and even a few businessmen. Patty really pulled in a wide crowd. Finally she found a table upstairs in the attic space of the café: her favourite part. The attic ceiling was slightly skewed and had rustical tables made of old tree stumps and car motors with glass plates on them. There were hardly any chairs that were alike: it was a mixture of sofas, armchairs, swivel chairs, highchairs and interestingly painted ikea chairs (Patty had once had a creative phase in which she had painted everything that came into her hands!). Lily found a table made of three very worn (and interestingly painted!) mannequins with a glass plate on top. It was covered with an old lace tablecloth with napkins decorated with ladybirds next to bright yellow plates and tall glasses with lime slices drawn on them. Perfect. She slid onto a highchair that resembled a hand. Just as she was tucking her coat away she saw Riza legging it up the steps, panting like an athlete. “Lily! Lily, Lily, Lily! Oh my GOD!” she squealed as Lily buried her head in her hands with a smile and slowly pushed the chair back. Riza shoved a swivel chair aside, almost knocking it over, slammed into Lily and squeezed her tight. 

Don't forget to check out my youtube channel too:  themisslisa1984

Growing old in Love.

A little something I wrote as I observed an older couple, thickly in love and wonderfully caring towards each other. Something we should all wish for and work towards.

Picture by misslisa
Original: Käthe Kollwitz

  Visit more here.

youtube: I'm giving you a go...

As of today, I shall attempt to play some of my written word onto youtube too. I have so many papers lying around filled with poetry and words dancing across the lines. And I guess I have come far enough since those relatively morbid and sometimes dark lyrical musings to share them with you all. Sometimes we need distance to be able to stand above things. So, enjoy and stay tuned (literally, cos I will be talking to you directly.)

Here it is: themisslisa1984 on youtube <-- just click here!

Your, Miss Lisa

True Blood - I miss you...

Hi y'all,

Cos I'm missing my daily dose of True Blood I've done a few cartoons to remind me of them. Eric, Sookie, Bill, Sam... I hope you guys come back again some time very soon...

Check out the characters here: True Blood Moopy.

A little smthg for on the go!

xx

Time to go Home

gapingvoid.com

Not only the skies have clouded over with grey. As the faces grow long and the eyes red I bury my face in my hands, rubbing my eyes over and over again, hoping it will make time pass faster. But as I look up I see that it isn’t over and that it is still too early to go home. Furiously I search my computer for a distraction. All the work I have to do, I’ve done. All the extra-work I could do, I’ve done. All the things I normally have no time for, I’ve done. All the things I don’t like doing, I’ve done. And now? Now I just have to face the music, my boredom and the ticking of the clock until it ends. I begin to wonder what it will feel like on the final day. Will I be overcome with relief? Anxiety? Both? I fix my gaze on the middle of my colleague’s table and I stare myself into a little daydream…

It happens more than often now that I drift off into my own little world whilst staring at my computer screen. I try to block out everything happening around me so that when asked whether I’ve noticed gossip, bad moods or other uncomfortable office chat I can say, “Nope, I was so involved in my work. I didn’t notice, sorry.” I don’t think about much in particular when I zone out. I just try to do it in order to ignore the horrible asylum of a business into which I voluntarily aspired to integrate myself. They are raising their voices now. It’s been like this all day; like chickens fighting over a piece of corn. One of them is in a very bad mood. I haven’t quite caught on to why yet but I get the feeling it’s a general bad mood brought on by life, relationship and a general “I’m in a bad mood cause I wanna be” feeling.

What to do? I could go to the toilet. That always wastes time. I will do that. The nice thing about going to the toilet is that when the air conditioning goes on, I bury my head in my lap, curling into half of a foetal position and everything drones out. Then I close my eyes and just breathe. No more office noises pounding my already weary head, no more yelling, aggravated tones of voices or task-driven workers albeit slavery.

I check the clock again. Time has passed quickly. I spent a few moments watching a “situation”. But time hasn’t passed quickly enough. I’m getting bored. I can’t find anything on the Internet to entertain myself. I’ve read and re-read the latest news, the older news, checked my mails again and again, looked through countless social media friend photos some of which I don’t even know. I am bored.

But anything could happen right now. Any minute my phone could ring and unexpectedly my client requires a million and one things from me. Any second now my boss could charge in and demand I do something for him. Any moment I could PLING! Oh no, I’ve got mail. My heart sinks. Do I look at it now? Do I ignore it? Do I muster up enough courage to stand above it and say “It’s fine, whatever it is. I can do it.” And so I do: I brave clicking on the evil eagle that unfolds its nasty wings over me day after day. Thank goodness, I breathe a sigh of relief. It’s sorted in minutes. I reply in full-flowing literature (because I have too much time on my hands) and finish it off with a Please do not hesitate to call, which I quickly regret. I get a reply with “Thanks. Will be in touch later.” I panic. Should I tell my client now already that I am leaving at six o’clock on the dot without looking back? Or should I play it cool. I decide to stay calm. I will keep my feet still until five-thirty and only then will I let the client know that I am off. Relieved I sink into my chair. Please don’t make me stay longer…

I’ve done it. I’ve written an e-mail to my client saying I will only be in until 18:00 but would LOVE to talk to him before then or check my mails in the evening. I’ve become tougher. It wasn’t always this way. I used to cave and sit and wait for that meaningless call; but not anymore. I feel relieved (as well as exhausted and yearning for a hot bath, chick flick and crisps). Not long now. The countdown has begun. I begin tidying my desk. Why not? I have nothing else to do. I’m not the only one who’s bored. My boss is flicking through a glossy magazine, tutting at too skinny minnies, shaking her head at outrageous outfits. I giggle to myself. She might actually sit here till this evening yet again although she has nothing to do. I’m not stupid anymore though: why be here when I can be home?

Not long now. I have pre-written mails that I will send a few minutes before I leave so that they can’t reach me after. The cleaning crew has moved in and are clearing all tables, shutting down the coffee machines and generally giving us the feeling we should get the heck out. Half an hour to go: what to do with myself?

Almost done: I’m like a dog waiting in front of the supermarket for his owner. Any minute now: nothing can go wrong. My client is informed. If he rings at 18:00 I will be curt but kind. The exhaustion is too great for me to go any longer. Home.

I’ve done it. I’ve charmingly chatted to my client and listened to all he wanted to say and get off his chest. It was a short but great conversation, I re-confirmed how we are ever so hard working and moving forward and of course we don’t need a week longer. My client is happy. And just as we are finishing the conversation he says “It’s 17:59 Miss: I won’t keep you any longer.” And I smile, and I’m even happier than before that I’ve been let off, I can go, I needn’t have a bad conscience. So I bounce out of the agency, happy to see the end of it for today. Tomorrow will come soon enough. But for now I am going home.

Friends, Gabba and Cosy Nights...

Following on from Friends, Homes and other Stuff...:

To say it looked like a bomb had hit it would be an insult to the bomb because it was far worse. There were clothes strewn over the floor, plates and cups randomly placed around the living room. There were egg cartons pinned against the wall in a long-lost effort to soundproof the room. As Fraser was a passionate painter and artist you would stumble upon really good pieces hidden under women’s underwear, stacks of unopened bills and other random unidentifiable objects. Lily wondered sometimes why he didn’t sell his paintings or do something with his talent. But she had long given up trying, as had Matt and apparently also Fraser himself.“Well, I’m hitting the town tonight. Not sure whether my unemployed money is on yet but should be a blast. Wicked night yesterday too; fell asleep on a couch in the club. At one point round six in the morning I got my wallet nicked but then it was great sounds til midday. Had a nice long sleep and now I just gotta think about where I’m gonna eat something…” he trailed off and started rifling through his pockets. “Oh yeah, they nicked my wallet. Oi Matt, can I use your phone? I just need to call my sis, yeah?”Matt looked at Lily who rolled her eyes and went about tidying the rest of the flat like she always did when she was slightly peeved and didn’t know what to do with herself.
Matt somewhat reluctantly gave Fraser the phone and stroked Lily’s back affectionately. “I really should start charging him per minute, huh?” Lily relaxed, smiled and enjoyed it as her heart melted a little. Matt was such a sweetheart. And he always had a way to make her laugh. “Tonight we’ll have a cosy night, ok? Just you and me. I’ll cook something nice and we’ll have a glass of wine. Ok?” Matt stopped her tidying and wrapped her in his arms. It was great having a man taller than her, Lily thought, it always made her feel so safe. “Ok,” she whispered into his chest.“Thanks mate, there you go.” Fraser appeared at the door with the phone in hand. “I’m gonna head off now. You don’t have ten quid you can lend me right?” Matt felt Lily tense again and rubbed her softly over her back. “No mate, afraid not,” Matt said, ushering Fraser out the door.“Bye Fraser!” Lily shouted after him, finally stopping her mad tidying frenzy. She caught herself gazing at Matt dreamily. “Why are you looking at me like that? It almost makes me think you like me…” Matt slowly slid his arms around Lily’s waist and tenderly kissed her forehead. “Maybe I do like you, just a little bit,” she swooned back. They both laughed and simultaneously giggled, “I hate soppy couples!” Just as they were about to kiss they heard it. “Oh no… not again.” Lily sighed. From next door they could hear their neighbours wonderful taste in music hammering through the wall. The music genre was called gabba they had recently found out and it was a mixture of death metal and hardcore thumping. Basically, the music got your heart racing and your fists in a rage. “That’s it,” Matt let go of Lily and grabbed his house key, “I’m going over there. You call the police.” Lily watched him storm out the flat. “Ouh,” she said out loud. That definitely didn’t mean it would be a cosy, lovely night. Oh, how she hated her life sometimes. It was nine o’clock in the evening, they hadn’t been food shopping and they would have to wait for the police to come and interview them before they got anything done. Nevertheless, Matt and Lily always tried to end a bad day well. And so Lily told Matt about her day and watched him squirm with laughter as they finally sat down for dinner at ten o’clock.

Friends, Homes and other Stuff...

And here is the next little something for you, following on from Nappies, Vaginas and Walking Talking Johnny:

Lily arrived home to Matt and Fraser chilling on the couch. “Oh no,” she groaned under her breath as she hung up her coat and tidily placed her shoes on the rack. Fraser was a genuinely great bloke, a babe magnet and a great artist but unfortunately also a bit of a bum and had mastered the art of survival in the city with no money whatsoever too well. He really was a lovely guy but when he and Matt got together it was like the world around them disappeared and any appointment or to-do list went right out the window.
“Alright Fraser? How you doin’? Any news on the job front?” Lily muttered as she went about tidying the living room, teeth clenched.“Nah, not really… getting money for every job application though which is great, cos they don’t ever take me anyway!” Fraser laughed and his bright blue eyes creased up with enjoyment at the prospect of never having to work.“So what’s the plan in the long-run?” Lily probed further, ignoring Matt’s evil look.“Erm… Don’t know really. Got to do some washing I guess…” He stared down at his shirt, cross-eyed. Lily did wonder sometimes why it was that women threw themselves at him. Sure, he looked rugged, a bit like a man who had been out at sea too long with tanned hands and a friendly face; but his shirt said otherwise. His shirt said: man, what a night: what did I smoke and where did I sleep?!
“Oh, right: yeah, didn’t you want to do that last week already?” Lily fluffed a pillow somewhat manically, over and over again. The last time they had visited Fraser at home Lily didn’t know how to get through the living/bed-room in order to reach the balcony. It wasn’t that she was obsessed with cleanliness or obsessive compulsive about tidying. On the contrary, Matt and Lily lived in a cute little apartment in their own little creative chaos. There were postcards, memorabilia, hand-drawn sketches, baby photos, holiday photos and all sorts glued to the wall, lined up on windowsills, on top of bookshelves and anywhere they could find space. They had recently refurbished the bedroom with the help of Lily’s mum, Maggie, and were feeling quite comfortable in their own four walls. Of course, it wasn’t what Lily wished for in the long term, but it would do for now. They had made it homely, their friends felt comfortable and Matt was a born host who loved to cook while Lily entertained. They had also managed, after three years of always wanting to, to finally clear out the boxes left over from moving in together. It felt homely, cosy and Matt and Lily loved snuggling in with a glass of wine in the evening. Although they were both still young they enjoyed their time together and were seen as a bit of an old couple or even husband and wife by friends, colleagues and even the cashiers at their local supermarket! But what went on in Fraser’s four walls was beyond good and bad...

Nappies, Vaginas and Walking Talking Johnny

Here is the last titbit of the first chapter, following on from Fetish, Fun and more...:

... Just as Sonya turned around the corner from the bathroom where she had been hiding Walking Talking Johnny’s arm flung out from behind the curtain with the panty and thrust it crotch first in her face. Sonya yelped and Walking Talking Johnny dropped the panty. Lily watched and stifled a laugh as she calmly picked up the panty. “So, what’s the deal; are you going to take it?” she asked, staring at the intimidated little man. “Erm… I’m going to have to think about it again… You know, it’s just that I…” Lily hung the panty in the changing room and started marching Johnny out the door, a stern look on her face. “I just haven’t got all that much money and I…” They reached the door and Lily interrupted: “You know, don’t worry. That’s fine. Take care. See you soon. Ok?” Walking Talking Johnny stared at her, his Mac steamy from his excitement. “Erm, yes. Ok. Thank you… I, you know…” Without paying further attention to him Lily began closing shop. Sonya shot towards the door after having recovered from the panty situation. “What are you doing? We still have fifteen minutes.” Lily looked at Sonya: “No, we don’t. Matt is waiting for me at home with sushi and wine and I’ve had enough of nappies, vaginas and smells for one day. Come on, help me get these shoes inside.”

More to come the next few days. I'm on holiday, so not online as much. Sorry, folks!

A Train Journey in Hotpants

www.zaggora.de/hotpants/

Today I decided to wear my Zaggora Hotpants to work. But hold up: let me start from the beginning. A week ago I received my order from London. A pair of Hotpants with which I can apparently lose 2 clothes sizes in two weeks. Hey, it was reduced- so why not give it a shot! I'm lazy, lack self-control and hate jogging so why not try something where I actually don't have to do anything but put them on and go about my business. (Although even the thought of having to put them on and then also put trousers on feels one step too far for me. I'm telling you, I'm lazy.)

So this morning I thought yeah, why not. I have to walk quite a bit to work so hopefully it'll be worth it. The pants are relatively comfortable. Like a pair of riding shorts in wetsuit look, feel and smell kind of comfortable. But hey, losing weight isn't meant to be fun and games. It all fit underneath my clothes and apart from a slight diver smell it isn't noticeable either (nothing a little perfume won't cover).

And it proved to have been a good idea to put on a little more perfume than usual because my train journey was a nightmare. Packed like sardines and smelling like them too I clenched my bum cheeks together and braved the journey. Each stop emptied the train a little but also filled it a little more. I tried to concentrate on my loose knees trying to ying and yang my body in harmony to the start and stop of the train. It wasn't proving easy. The train jerked and I suddenly noticed a very foul smell. Like foul eggs; foul eggs that had been eaten by someone and let out again in gaseous form. I gagged. I've said it once and I'll say it again: my stomach is not strong in the morning. Quickly I grabbed my scarf and covered my mouth. It managed to stop the worst of it. A bike rolled over my foot. I love mornings.

Once out I gasped and breathed in deeply. It would be a lie to say I breathed in fresh air cos let's face it, this is Berlin. But it was a relief... And so I made my way to the bus station: fully aware that I would probably have to wait 15minutes. I walked in long strides trying to make the most of the hotpants. But my legs were still cold and frosty. And they still are pretty cold. But I'm sat down, the pants safely hidden beneath my trousers and can't wait for two weeks to check whether in two weeks I will notice a change.

Go, Zaggora, go! And only a few more days of stuffy, over-filled trains... yay.

Fetish, Fun and more...

Back by popular demand, here is the next part of my book or rather the first chapter. A follow-on from the Blog entry Monday Morning. Enjoy!

It thrilled Lily to encounter such interesting people for a large part of her time but at times like now she wished she could crawl under the counter and pretend she wasn’t there. This guy, nicknamed The Walking Talking Johnny was about 5foot high, average weight, in his fifties, ever so slightly socially awkward and a rubber fetishist. Lily and Sonya could already smell him at the door as they heard the shop bell go. “Evening ladies!” he drawled, hobbling towards Lily and Sonya like Harry Potter’s Dobbi. “Evening,” they mumbled back as Sonya elbowed Lily in the ribs. “Ow!” she hissed, “No. Not me, you! I went last time.”As he wobbled towards the cowering girls behind the till the stench grew stronger. “I’m not going. I feel ill already. I have a headache. You can’t make me.” Lily clenched her teeth together and leaned casually over the counter. “What can we do for you today, young man?” Walking Talking Johnny beamed from ear to ear: “Oh my! Young man? Haha… Not me. All set in my ways!” Lily held her breath as he approached the counter. “I’m sure you are, I’m sure you are,” she whispered. “So what are you after?” Sonya had escaped to the changing rooms at the end of the shop and watched at a safe distance with her hands wrapped around her Yogi Tea. “Nappies. The transparent, rubber ones; I saw them last time, extra-large. I’d like to try them on.” Sonya spluttered tea out of her nose as Lily sighed again, her hands semi-aggressively on her midi-length, silk-woven, jet-black-skirt-clad hips. “Sir, we can’t let you try them on. We explained that the last time.” His crinkly eyes lowered in disappointment and his arms fell limply to his side. “I thought, if I wash myself right and wear cotton underwear you might make an exception? You know, I haven’t got that much money, and…” He trailed off as he unbuttoned his rubber mac, “… I would just really like to try it. Or the underwear to tuck away my… you know. That looks like a … you know.” Oh goodness no, thought Lily, not the prawn-smelling underwear that made her shudder just at the thought of someone wearing them. There were things with which she was able to deal and others with which she could not. Nappies and penis strap-away vagina panties were definitely on the not List. “Really, I am totally clean and I went to the…” Lily interrupted him and stepped out from behind the till. Walking Talking Johnny’s eyes lusted over her from top to bottom; the spit rests in the corners of his mouth quivering with excitement. He blushed a little as he realised Lily was watching him (and shuddering with disgust). “Right, let’s just go downstairs into the basement and have a look.” 

Lily gave Sonya an evil stare as she lifted the rope out of its hook and ushered dear Walking Talking Johnny down the stairs. How long was she going to have to overcome this urge to turn around and run? Sure, it was great that every day was a surprise in that you never knew whether you were going to sell nappies, nipple clamps or ridiculously expensive, Swarovski-covered evening dresses. However, Lily was starting to want more. She had responsibility, talent, a wicked sales-speech, a great connection to the boss and the freedom to do pretty much everything she wanted to in the weird and wonderful little boutique; but she wanted more. Lately she had been craving more of a challenge; not in the sense of an over-weight, sweating man in search of being dressed like a woman with suspenders, heels and a basque; no, more like a higher position, the ability to work her way up. And at Real Life Taboo, the only raise she would get would be to become the boss and welcoming as such responsibility may sound, Lily knew it wasn’t what she wanted.Walking Talking Johnny made his way down the narrow steps into the “naughty” basement like a little child at Christmas time. He was mumbling underneath his breath but Lily couldn’t make out a word as the rubber catsuit beneath his clothes squeaked continuously. She stayed back a few steps as she watched him disappear around the corner and breathed in deeply before braving the dungeon of horrors. But only seconds later he emerged at the foot of the stairs with the pink, jock-strap similar rubber panty in hand and a huge grin on his face; “It’s still here, this one’s my size.”Lily gave up far too quickly; “Oh, come on then. Let’s get you in a cabin. But I’m telling you now: you have 15 minutes. If there is anything, and I mean anything on that panty when I get it back then you are buying it, ok?” Johnny made his way to the changing rooms like a dog that had just got a treat and was going to bury it in the garden. Sonya jumped as she saw him approaching and quickly disappeared in the bathrooms. “Thank you,” he mumbled, clutching the panty as if it were a gold bar, “I won’t be long.” 

What followed was 20 gruelling minutes of peeking into the cabin to make sure he wasn’t getting up to any shenanigans. He had sat down on the stool in the changing room and carefully placed the panty over a pair of long, woollen underwear. His stumpy, pale legs covered in sparse black hairs looked like the legs of flies in the harsh lights of the cabin. He didn’t attempt anything and instead just marvelled at himself in the mirror like a young Cher.“That’s twenty minutes already. Come on. Put your trousers back on.” Lily stood infront of the floor length mirror outside the changing rooms and tapped her Bottega Veneta heels on the floor impatiently. She could hear him shuffling nervously in the cabin. What happened next Sonya and Lily would not forget for a long time...

For more, comment below. That's the only way these delicious tit-bits are gonna keep on coming :)