Blackberry Boo. Be afraid. Be VERY afraid :)))

Flashback from 4th grade, courtesy of some SPB photo blog.. This yard's adjacent to my old school and on my way home, a 30 min walk used to take 2 hours as my best friend lived right there and we'd chat in front of those gaits forever..and then I'd go on to my bus stop which I'm sure will pop up somewhere soon :))) All these signs..I'm being stalked by memories. I fear I'll go back and this third space will just close in on me, forever..brrr.

MAN..WHY CAN'T THIS BE MY LIFE ?!..:))) OK, I'm allergic to cats, lets just say that's why..right.
About the Author: Carolyn McFann is a scientific and nature illustrator, who owns Two Purring Cats Design Studio, which can be seen at: http://www.cafepress.com/twopurringcats. Educated at the Rochester Institute of Technology in New York, Carolyn is a seasoned, well-traveled artist, writer and photographer. She has lived and worked in Cancun, Mexico, among other interesting professional assignments in other countries. Clients include nature parks, museums, scientists, corporations and private owners. She has been the subject of tv interviews, articles for newspapers and other popular media venues.

Boo's on hunger strike all day. 2 bottles of milk and a cracker and that's ALL. WTF. She had her shots yesterday, maybe that's why..otherwise being her usual playful self. I lost it at breakfast and let out this blood curdling scream, scared the hell out of myself and her..All those years holding a grudge for mom making me eat and here I am, a mash monster yelling at a toddler. Nice. Wanted to take it back but alas..Felt awful, thank god her attention span is still short..took her for a walk and she was kissing me all the way there..

This is what I know..its actually 3am, summer white nights, only in SPB, only in summer..

Russia I've never seen. SPB is absolutely and utterly unrussian, no wonder it's been resented by the rest of the country ever since it was built.

Spent two hellish days going from ER to the orthopedist after boo took a tumble off the bed and hurt her arm -- the wizards in ER tortured us for 4 hours and said there's a fracture and to keep the arm immobilized till we see the doc in am..HA. Tell this to an 18month old who won't stay still even in her sleep. Next day we have to wait till after 5pm to be seen and ply her with codeine but when we finally get there turns out there is NO fracture, just a slightly dislocated elbow which this godsend Patch Adams pops back in right there and then and in 5 minutes we're all back to normal..Oh, boy..what's next ?..Whatever it is, as long as its not with boo, I can take it, I know that much.

http://vaga-land.livejournal.com/123294.html

hairy scary wonderland complete with rabbit holes and dressed up frogs and mad hatters..time for tea :)

Ms.Mamma -- for you, and may life take us everywhere we want to go, while we still want to go :)

Nina, are you messing with my google ads ?..:)))

"Henry and June". I saw the movie before I read the book, both courtesy of my then lover, the only man I was truly obsessed with, though it was never about love... Anais Ninn's affair with Henry Miller is as intense as it sounds and Uma Thurman is absolutely brilliant. Nothing glorifies sin quite like this combo. My life has not been the same since :)

Things I will never understand, in no particular order..

1. Not wanting to travel and experience new things. I once heard a woman say she'd stock up on canned foods before going to a foreign country just so she can continue to eat "American" (or her sorry version of it..)

2. Michael Bolton.

3. Child abuse. Mortifies me.

4. Anyone so desperate for approval they compromise their integrity and boil over with resentment when people don't fall for their phony "generosity"..the really screwy manipulative ones with their Cosmo-borrowed ethics that readily and prudishly judge anyone not primp and proper enough in their book and label anything they fear or can't comprehend vulgar or dysfunctional. I understand vain, I certainly understand insecure, even bitter and confused, but I don't understand deliberate annoying arrogance. Although I bet there's plenty of people that will say I fit that very description :)

5. White Chocolate (its not even chocolate, and its vile)

6. Fake flowers. Even in cemeteries.

7. That motorized scooter thing that slowly drags itself while you just stand on it. How dumb.

8. Hairless cats.

9. Russia now. Or ever.

10. Baseball.

Found ! Real life Cinderella !!! It is, after all, possible to have it all..(although she might be dumb as a door nob but who cares ?! ..) The one, the only, ever so beautiful Natalia Vodyanova..from rags to riches and on top of the world by tender age of 25..Born in Russian equivalent of a Detroit ghetto into Russian equivalent of trailer trash (wife beater drunk step dad, retarded siblings, shared flat in projects, the whole nine yards..), this delicate flower blossomed right through the turds and into covers of Vogue. Married her prince, too, a British baronet and a real estate mogul who worships the ground she catwalks on. She is now expecting her 3rd child. Now THATS a Happily Ever After !

In rare (and soon to be gone for good) moments of peace and quite I try to process all that's happening, not even trying to keep up with it, just dodging the bullets and bracing myself for whats to come soon..A complete uncertainty. Everyone in my family got ill to various degrees over the last few weeks, I can't but secretly dream of some drug-induced sleep myself..Its hard to come to terms with, but I guess my luck indeed has run out as far as "having it all". I still have my baby, my health and my looks (for a few years maybe..),but I'm sure as hell not meant to either be rich or free -- I had my run with it, it came at a price I couldn't live with, time to let go, cut losses, and assume the position. I'm being totalled by the worst case of "American dream" -- I'm now looking forward to getting a house I can barely afford even deeper into the cornfields of Midwest suburbia, some shit hole with a dreadful name like Waukonda where I'll spend my long bleak days driving from home to work to Wallmart (what else IS there ?..) trying to make ends meet, debt piling up, I'll be alone all the time, get fat, and old, and bitter and will go into shock accidentally stumbling over my old travel pics..Why is life dealing me blow after blow ???...Haven't I been through enough already ?..I always worked hard for everything but I would always get what I want, eventually..not anymore, my luck has run out for good. I am so tired, tired of life, at 35, and I imagined I'd just be starting now..god, I need a break..

Piter

City of Thousand Statues, part II..
I imagine they all come to life in full moon and hold elaborate tea parties in Hermitage :)..

Every once in a while my husband just mixes up whatever's on our walls, for an ongoing exhibit or just because..Right now his most magnificent large paintings decorate a tiny hallway of his parents flat..it makes no sense and I miss them..I miss him too..wishing he was back home and well and we'd be watching Frasier reruns at 1am like a couple of geeks that we are. This quote caught my eye today.."We exorcise the demons of others to placate our own"..how very true. I should let the stranger demons be, luckily I'm pretty comfortable with my own, they're house trained by now and don't make me into a sociopath.. I miss my friend.. we used to poke fun at drama queens of both genders till we couldn't stand it, we were terrible, especially to men :)..f I guess friendship, like poetry, can't be too calculated and polished, you really have to connect with someone, accept them, rough edges and all, love them for them and let it be known, not just because they make you feel great -- you can't "dose" your affection and praise and dispense it like a biscuit every time someone jumps on your cue, its insincere and offensive, and people feel it, everyone knows when they're been used or patronized, no matter how you sugarcoat it..If its too conditional, no one needs it, it isn't love, its bargaining for control and affection and that's pathetic..Thank god it didn't get that way with us, we just parted ways unable to weather the drastic changes in both our lives, I do miss her though..

Here's my last week in a glance..
1. Family crisis in Russia
2. Family crisis here
3. Some issues resolved with both -- still flying out there in a month or so..this saga's far from over and it'll make or break me..
4. Husband had surgery today, he won't be able to pick the baby up for a month..he's staying at his parents now to recover so Veronika won't jump all over him, instead she jumps all over me.
5. On the way home from the hospital had a fender bender with my poor sick hubby hunched over in pain..
On the other hand..I'm alive and well and I do get things done and it feels good.

Few random thoughts..I've picked up this paperback novel (there's a "book club" at work, believe it or not..in addition to coffee club :)), hoping no one will catch me with it, for it looked to be a book equivalent of "Star" magazine..AND I CAN'T PUT IT DOWN ! It's "Running in heels" by Anna Maxted, I love it ! I find a lot of myself in it, my many selves rather that changed over the years..I can so relate it's pathetic. I don't feel all too original now, but the validation is worth it :). Though I'd probably think it cheap if not for its British flare and humor. It would be "Sex and the City" all over again, and I OD'd on that one till I couldn't stand it..Anyway, it's a riot.
Today heard someone say dead seriously they got gastric erosions from swallowing a loose tooth crown and it scratching the stomach. Had to keep a straight face on and even sympathize. How do I do it, I don't know :))..
I'm a voyeur, always was..I wrote here about it. I can't help but peek in the windows and see what's cooking and how they got the furniture :) I often have dreams where I'm invisible and go door to door wrecking havoc :)) And even one where I'm locked up at Whole Foods at night and go crazy in cheese isle :) Browsing blogs feels the same. I mean, I'm here for me, and I enjoy this space, yet its a thrill to open new blogs, some feel like exotic escapes, some like dorms, others like crime scenes, there are ones that are Pandora's boxes where suddenly a rotting corpse falls out of an adorably decoupaged closet..It takes all kinds. It blows my deviant mind :))) ...

I remember this too well, I was lovesick, ditching school, watching the water for hours..Spring fever :)..I am blessed..blessed to be at peace and not chasing some imaginary demons. How do people live with a notion that the world is out to get them ?..what a curse..what a waste.

existential

I'm at work, at break, chomping on a dead woman's muffin, again. I had received a dead patient today, the poor thing went right on the change of shift, bless her soul, and I got stuck with a heap of paperwork and post-mortem care..As huge as death is, the System will shrink it to fit its files and process it into a perfect little package, tags on toes, sealed, delivered. The bed's not cold yet but already assigned. Nina, you're very right to note that in the System, people are but specimens. Guess what, so are the caregivers forced to deliver, maintain volume, numbers. Exceptions are rare and not covered by HMO. I've been through it from both ends and can sympathize with both parties..the System won't work any other way, its too huge, the wing span's too wide, no one knows whats on the other side of the wall and the margin of error is humangous. Its all tasks, shifts, turnover. Its monster-high tech and it'll suck you in its centrifuge and spit you out with the same damn itch and a bill to boot. We're all nice, caring people here, we mean well, we're just trying to keep up and hold on to our jobs..all in the name of good buziness and allmighty dollar..sad. Happy Nurses Week ! Don't anyone else die on me tonite..LIFE. IS. There, think positive :)

SOMEBODY STOP ME !!!
This german coffee's laced with speed, I swear..There's a floor full of nurses running like mad..I just changed 3 IVs and looking for more..Gotta get some for home :)

As a shamelessly self-absorbed and shallow narcissist (that only poses as an angel of mercy by day), I often dream of great fortune :)..These thoughts lazily floated into my head today as I was getting a long overdue pedicure and contemplating world domination, as usual..
Here's what I'd do if I suddenly struck gold..
1. Quit work
2. Get pregnant again
3. Take care of my family and few close friends
4. Buy a lakefront Mansion with a beautiful garden and a wine cellar
5. My husband's own gallery and a print shop uptown
6. Go on a long European tour with husband
7. Hire help so I can spend time with kids and not worry about chores
8. Hire a personal trainer, a beautician, and a masseur
9. Buy that damn Armani already..
10. Buy a classy luxury car
11. Collect Russian art and antiques
12. Go out a lot -- theater, art galleries, museums, fine restaurants
13. Spend winters in Caribbean with kids
14. Catch up on my reading
15. Procrastinate
16. Donate to church and hope for the best :)
And, as I'm coming smack down to Earth, I will most likely splurge on that massage and quite possibly get pregnant, but I will never ever catch up on my reading :)

Ever notice how ridiculous the wires and banners look in old european cities ?..What fits right in in NY or Tokio is an eye sore here..

"Mary, take the child, the river's rising
Muddy water taking back my home
Won't be back to start all over
Cause what I felt before is gone.."
I usually have a pretty good sense of what I would like in a place, so when 2 years ago me and my husband decided to go to New Orleans (about a month before Kathrina), I was ecstatic. I so loved the idea of New Orleans from everything I've heard, I was sold on it already. Well, as far as expecting good times, my sixth sense was off on that one, WAY off. It might have had something to do with the fact that I was in my second trimester and my hubby doesn't drink, though there was more to it. I want to try and recreate what I felt there, as I have never ever felt this way about a place, and I've been to some strange cities before, not to mention growing up in the strangest of them all..This isn't "prose", its merely a recollection..
It was hot and humid, not in the nice Caribbean breezy way, but more in a sauna atop an open sewer way. The spring was in full feverish bloom, flaring up allergies we never knew we had so bad we could barely talk between sneezing. The air was thick with smoke, spilled beer, and some kinda sickly sweet concoction..basically, there was no air. We stayed at the prized French Quarter at a friends "summer house" which was a euphemism for a gaudy moldy love shack with its centerpiece of a high and DAMP bed drowned in red velvet pillows. Scented candles galore round the bed, bath and freaking beyond. The windows were painted shut..No air there either. We'd wonder the city in a midday haze hoping the festive mood of countless drunken others would rub off on us, to no avail. We were sober, sick, poor, and looking for fun in all the wrong places..The highlight of that day was an afternoon siesta in our repugnant retreat when after we finished making love (we had to pass the time somehow..) the street erupted in cheers and, as I stuck my head out, a full blown parade marched by -- horses, big band, beads, silly hats and.. dead serious faces. It looked like they're off to sacrifice the drag queen perched atop a cakey float. I scooped up the beads and wished I could down a hurricane or two..
Next day after a breakfast of buttered grits and fried eggs and bacon we decided to venture out of touristy Quarters and explore the famous old cemeteries. Must have been all the cholesterol plaguing our brains. We got there all right, gleefully chatting each other up, completely oblivious to a change of scenery as we went..My husband's quite a history buff, it's pure pleasure to explore museums and anything of historic interest with him, such as a cemetery full of nobles, so we took our time and the sun was out when we left, alone, on foot, an hour walk away from Quarters. And then it hit us. Broken glass everywhere, abandoned houses, cars, filth, creepy looks from the project windows..it was a war zone, a ghetto so blood chilling spooky we almost marched back into the cemetery. A police car cruised by. The window rolled down and a big black cop took a long look at us, idiots. "Tourists ?.." And as we frantically nodded, went "Good. Now get the fuck out of here, FAST". And at that point we ran. We ran as fast as two white people (one pregnant !) can run. Later found a note in a local tour book than one should never visit that part of town unless on a guided tour..
Day three was full of indigestible food and a few surprises. Thus, my husband bumped into a charming acquaintance of his -- a punk girl that studied art with him back in Chicago and now lived here in one of the abandoned buildings. Imagine a very dirty Barney in leather skirt, dreadlocks and Doc Martens, she was a joy, smart as a whip and certainly one of a kind..The local market with its alligator-on-a-stick, turtle jerky and souvenir voodoo shrunken heads proved too much for my pregnant metabolism, as did a sight of big fat flies circling a heaping plate of famous beignets at an equally famous and crowded local coffee joint.
Then there were the museums, with their provincial art, recreated parlors and trinkets and sad tallies of many many many deaths..too many for such tiny a city. There were blown up period photos of flooded grave yards, dead and dying children, quarantined hospital wards, typhoid, yellow fever --that, mixed with the occult, voodoo, slavery. And it dawned on me then just WHY New Orleans with all its garish glory just wasn't getting through to me. Its aura was still that of death and disease, it was everywhere -- stifling, suffocating, oppressive. All that jazz..and "I see dead people".. :) No wonder the "ghost tours" sold out like hot cakes, those were real ghosts, I bet, they're on payroll there :)) But seriously..I was mystified at how uneasy I felt in Big Easy. And then there was the River. The River I'll carry in me, always, grateful, and at a loss of words to do it justice. It is truly amazing for a foreigner to catch a glimpse of this Mark Twain's Great America. The city's long dead, but the River is still larger than life, in all its might and splendor. Can't put this in a museum. Can't contain it (obviously..). Slow and steady as its undying blues, it will be there long after the last Mardi Gras.
Interesting after-thought-- my beloved St. Petersburg is too built on swamps and mass graves and saw more blood shed than a small country, and it too used to make me anxious and physically sick, I had the worst asthma which resolved itself completely when I moved here. St. Petersburg, with its ghostly pallor, its dark labyrinths, and its Dostoevsky, and New Orleans, all flushed with fever, with a sacred River running through its decomposing flesh..

Farewell, Maestro..

ala_ina (ala_ina) wrote,@ 2007-04-24 20:55:00

Начало было здесь, а вот еще один отрывок, жалко концовку придумывать лень
On the day in question, as McMillan was busy searching through folders covered by a thirty year supply of dust, the mime was lazily promenading down the street in the general direction of a Sunday newspaper and a cup of coffee. It was one of those early-spring mornings, with, as the streets were filling up with people rushing off to get an early jump on the day’s tasks. Jack and Jill went up the hill. The waifish barista from the coffee-shop down the block was chatting with the flower-shop owner, swapping the latest of the day’s gossip -- the two of them trying to out-banter each other in that underhanded reference-infused trivia-rich chitchat, accessible only to the town’s baristas, flower-shop owners, dog-walkers and waiters.
Walking slowly down a crowded street at this hour of the day, the mime was forced to eavesdrop on the conversations of passer-bys. He tried his best to block them out, but words were swarming in the air, attacking him from all directions. A couple to his right- A big black bug bit a big black bear; a family on his left - made the big black bear bleed blood; a group of kids up ahead - Betty Botter had some butter. These words, constantly chewed up and regurgitated by others, have been dumbfounding him for as quite a while by now and possibly were even somehow responsible for his choice of an occupation. As far back as he remembered he could never understand why for instance one was supposed to say “hello” before “good-bye”. “Could I thank you get some change?” and “Oh, no thank you, do not please me” made as much of a sense as the other way around. “Goodness” never felt all that pleasant, “darkness” brought to mind ducks, drinks, and various other trinkets. This absence of unity between the predicates and their objects has eventually forced him to take a stand against engaging conversations beyond when it was absolutely unavoidable. In his everyday life he easily got by on two-three non-essential phrases and at parties his verbal contribution rarely went beyond “It’s a nice day, isn’t it?” and “Nice to see you again”, -- most of his acquaintances so used to this that they had no problems carrying on the conversation on their own. And yet, despite his seeming disinterest in communicating he nevertheless felt an urge to speak, to feel the words in is mouth, to taste them on the tip of the tongue, to finally find the perfect one. Sometimes he’d wake up in the middle of the night, almost able to touch it, only to have it slip away at the very last moment.

My sweet little baby girl..hugs and kisses my cheeks, methodically, left, right, left, right, turning my head with her little hands while she murmurs something that sounds a lot like Tagalog with a few "mamas" and "kakas" sprinkled in :)..This Is Happiness.

everyday Chicago, gotta get back there..

blogospher's getting a little fierce lately..god help the sick and twisted left to their own devices.. and the rest of you good folk out there :)..I'm off to read an book.

Must be full moon. Are there any NORMAL people out there ?..I guess not. Not at 2:30 am.

I know what would make me happy. Besides winning the Powerball. To learn to love things in transition, not just once in a while, always. My husband does, and I believe he's happy. And I'm happy when I see things his way, for a few minutes. I crave instant gratification and fight messes like plaque. My baby'd never know because I let her get "down and dirty" all she wants but my heart sinks watching spagetty slide down the walls. I keep on smiling, and they keep on sliding, and I CAN"T STAND IT !!!! Ok, I'm off to clean up..

beware the wolves in sheep's clothing..the article on BBC.com sites a gun store owner who sold the Virginia freak his guns saying that he was "a clean cut college guy" and they'd never sell guns to anyone "suspicious". What an imbecile, what a fucked up reasoning for an adult..Why, he looked nice ! And why would he need guns then ?..I remember walking in the "Mall of America" and spotting a sign "no smoking, no firearms", made me very uncomfortable. The Mall itself is a tasteless monstrosity..but never mind that..Why not sell nuclear heads to an average folk then, and throw in a bazooka if they wear a nice tie ?..Unbefreakinleavable.

angels, miscelaneous :)

It's been ages since I shopped for clothes other than onesies, I got a closetfull of crap I'll never wear, no time to put on makeup and do my hair or even care to look in the mirror..How do women juggle work and more than one kid and still look nice is beyond me. I guess making good money helps, as do live-in grandparents or babysitters. But for me its a vicious circle, I could make more money if I worked more hours but than I'd need a full time babysitter, and I hate the idea of hiring strangers to raise my kid while I'm out making money to afford them in a first place, so I manage with grandparents that also work, husband that's got even more commitments than I do, and an occasional escape into my rich and glamorous virtual life :)..ps what's a girl to do ?..

Speaking of narcissists..I clearly am one -- Nina's list of symptoms has once again confirmed my own diagnosis :) Is it so bad to be one ?..The worst that can happen is you get carried away, become a bit ridiculous, a bit antisocial, annoying, opinionated, but ultimately, you bear the brunt of your own eccentricities. The joke's on you. Unless there's other issues (not only you're a narcissist, you're also an out of control manic-depressive paranoid schizophrenic on crack..for example), they're harmless to people with healthy egos. The only person a narcissist can really hurt is another narcissist. Think about it. A narcissist always has to have a last word. So there'll be no end till the END. Death by vanity. What a way to go :)))

HAPPY EASTER

http://images.google.com/imgres?imgurl=http://www.enlight.ru/camera/iv/1a1.jpg&imgrefurl=http://www.enlight.ru/camera/iv/index.html&h=337&w=450&sz=35&hl=en&start=11&tbnid=cL_WI7sbVrNINM:&tbnh=95&tbnw=127&prev=/images%3Fq%3D%25D1%2581%25D1%2582%25D0%25B0%25D0%25BD%25D1%2586%25D0%25B8%25D1%258F%2B%25D0%25BC%25D0%25B5%25D1%2582%25D1%2580%25D0%25BE%2B%25D0%259F%25D0%25BB%25D0%25BE%25D1%2589%25D0%25B0%25D0%25B4%25D1%258C%2B%25D0%2592%25D0%25BE%25D1%2581%25D1%2581%25D1%2582%25D0%25B0%25D0%25BD%25D0%25B8%25D1%258F%2B%25D0%259F%25D0%25B5%25D1%2582%25D0%25B5%25D1%2580%25D0%25B1%25D1%2583%25D1%2580%25D0%25B3%26gbv%3D2%26svnum%3D10%26hl%3Den%26sa%3DG

Yes, you're looking at the train station..Communists had a thing for absurdly grand industrial opulence :)) Metro felt like a museum, while real museums slowly crumbled..Though I must say I loved commuting, it was always jam-packed on central stations, I loved blending into crowds streaming down its labyrinths, parts of it looking like palaces, others like space stations, it was fun.

had coffee there 5 years back
6 euros buys you an espresso on a patio and the best people watching spot :)

THE CHICKENS ARE ORGANIZING !!!

I'm restless.. I want changes and more changes while I don't even own my time.. This isn't my tempo, I can't wait to live my life and that's just what I'm doing. I KNOW the "live-in-the-moment" drill, it works for about a day, and it works a whole lot better when money's no object. I anticipate too much, I need to anticipate, to aspire to something..something other than cleaning up puke and punching the clock day after day after day..I love the baby. I like work enough. But I feel imprisoned in this mind-numbing routine. I have NOTHING ELSE at the moment. Blogging is an easy escape, a sublimated cartoonish life, it thrives on voyeurism, vanity, vulnerability.. A blog is not a diary. Diaries aren't for display, much less debate..
To be continued.

Freaky Friday

fallen angels

posted by Maja

On death and sprinkles

There's something called "courtesy cart" at the hospital I work in. Whenever someone's determined to be dying and not to be resuscitated (terminally ill, hospice patients that opted for hopefully more peaceful, dignified end), a cart appears outside their room, draped in white linen and stocked with coffee, muffins and cookies..for the family and visitors of that patient. As sweet as this gesture is, its eery to see this "messenger" pop up in a hallway. Something rather cynical about it. Hey, we know your mom's dying, have a muffin, on us. I don't know..We're sitting at the station charting, cracking jokes, and its right there, this death tray, with its almost celebratory birthday buffet feel, Mylar balloons missing. That's just crazy.

yammm...

ANATOLE UPART

My husband's art..

http://www.uturn.org/Upart/

http://www.artsmuggler.com/gallery1/pages/

OLEG LEDNEV
http://finerworks.com/gallery.asp?U_ID=lednev1
My dad's amazing works..

My city of angels

I need a good book and some quiet contemplation..I need something..a break from mindless blogging, for sure :)..more money, more time, more space..ok, good book it is..though I can't help but feel that one day I will strike gold and live in comfort and luxury I so desperately crave. I'm hopeless :)

Speaking of oddly touching..

Cheers ! I miss these folks..they're all over now, lost touch..

stolen from NWO.

its mesmerizing..isn't it ?..:)

I'm coming home..sometime this summer

10 things most people don't know about me, in no paricular order of lunacy..

1. I can't be beat at ping pong
2. I'm happy (really, I am )
3. I'm a huge Sheryl Craw fan
4. I have no tail bone
5. I was in a threesome
6. I love everything Martha
7. I worship my skin
8. I had a bizzare crush on my nursing school teacher, a large, middle-aged angry woman
9. I once ate 2 pounds of beluga caviar in one sitting
10. I am deadly allergic to mustard

A fortune cookie promised me an unexpected encounter today. It turned out to be this horrid looking racoon-eyed alcoholic patient with lice and infectious diarrhea. Confused and unsteady, he kept getting out of bed and each time the bed alarm would go off with a "take me out to the ball game". Fuckin cookie.

THIS is the one thing I look forward to on a day like this. So simple, yet completely unattainable for god know how much longer..

posted by Sabsilma.
too cute..
btw I got tulips on my table shade of pale dusty blue..never saw those before. I usually like'em pure white..

A sure way to suck the life out of life is to analyze every fart to death. Sometimes a cigar is just a cigar. To hold on to pent up anger, too. Reflect without regressing, love without possessing, give without second-guessing :) )) ..and you shell be blessed. Today I'm blessed :)

Географический кретинизм, образное мышление, или ох уж эти сказочки.

Мои пробелы в географии и неспособность ориентироваться в пространстве непостижимы уму. И нет, нельзя всю жизнь винить в этом пневмонию в 3-ем классе и сучку географиню невзлюбившую меня с первого дня. Это болезнь. Ментальный блок. Обладая общим кругозором городского европейца, я понимаю в целом, но не врубаюсь в частности. На карты смотрю как на картины -- красиво, рельефно, живописно и хорошая цветовая гамма. Могу повесить на стенку как декор и изучать перед сном какой-нибудь Буркина Фасо. Та же карта в машине вызывает временный столбняк. Компас люблю как ворона блестящую пуговицу -- завораживает, блестит стрелочками. Пошлите меня куда-нибудь на юго-восток и я никогда не вернусь. С северо-запада. Посылы к озеру понятные каждому жителю Чикаго приравниваю к посылам нах и очень обижаюсь. Как я так дожила до своих 39 лет и не исчезла бесследно в том месте где кончился бензин -- загадка..Это с детства. С того самого момента когда в мою неокрепшую психику проникли загадочные сообщения и мифические ориентиры оставленные повсюду Великими Совковыми Богами. Где-то там, между "Пока мы едины-- мы непобедимы" и "Руки прочь от Анголы !", география перестала быть таковой и плавно перешла в эпос всех времен и народов, реальных и фольклорно-сказочных. Монотонное бурчание диктора про конфликт с Мальвинскими и Фолклендскими островами транслировался в моей голове в поруганных мальвин и злых артемонов, республика Чад в дымящуюся коммунальную кухню, сектор Газа -- во что-то из Беляевских ужасов про жидкий воздух..Больше всего будоражила "гонка ядерных вооружений" (ядра -чистый изумруд..это еще как сюда попало..). В этом чувствовался порыв и олимпийский дух, как в метании ядер на олимпе голыми греками. Добавить к этому мою любовь к чтению всех подряд вывесок по ходу автобуса/троллеибуса/трамвая.."пиво-воды-бакалея-галантерея-детский мир"..ГОЛЫХ но вооруженных буденовцев на подступах к Октябрьскому Залу.. страшных, косматых каменных баб с серпами/венками/мертвыми младенцами..идолища языческие, языческим же огнем освященые..Культ Войны. Культ Смерти. Мой зародившийся где-то там фетишизм -- белые гольфики, синие юбочки, прямые коленки, вынос флага под барабан, равнение на знамя..Физрук кончал в пол, я точно знаю. Kакая география/топография с такими ориентирами. Транспаранты. Неизвестные солдаты. Мемориальные доски, пентограммы. Номера домов от балды придуманы, С ДРОБЯМИ. Налево пойдешь -- не дойдешь, направо пойдешь - пропадешь, позади -- Москва, впереди -- трава, на траве дрова..Дворы темные, все по кругу, кольцами, над головой смыкаются..тупик. Тут и послышится из грязных подъездов, шепотом: "Вы и убили-с..". Тут и не такое послышится. География -- это банально, нужен элемент неожиданности, адреналин знакомых знаков в незнакомых местах. Заблудишься -- тыщу раз, соскучишься -- никогда. Я вот скоро домой пойду, надеюсь доеду :)

THANK GOD FOR BARNEY

unbelievable. googled my old address in Russia and voila..

a long lost friend. lost to petty passive-aggressive assaults that only women do to each other..too bad

just found a pic of myself at a party in Boston while googling a long lost friend

Hate to be cornered :)

recollection

More crap from the bogus captain.
Found this, a diary entry from 3 years ago..

"Funny how things are..I'm loosing sleep over a phone call. A casual message left on my mashine and, just like that, you're back..uninvited, unsurpassed, and larger than life. It isn't new, and I accept this intrusion like I accept a scar on my wrist, I take it in knowing this will soon pass and, like a virus, lay dormant in me..untill you call again.
You know I'll never say this to you. As long as we don't name it, I am one of your worlds and you're one of mine. What are we, anyway ? Friends ? Friends don't give me chills..
Your calls don't leave me guessing anymore, I expect nothing. It's your voice that still gets me, bringing back restlessness and daydreams. It cuts deep into my mind with images of us, of the past we never saw quite the same way..the one that haunts me and makes you feel uneasy. I won't say it..I will live out my wildest dreams without you. Without you. I really miss you now..At times I wonder if I haven't dreamt it all, but then you call me. ."

Time

On my trip to St. Petersburg, Russia in 2003











TIME
"It's been ten years. They say one can't enter the same river twice, yet tonight I find myself going back in time, to the world where time had no meaning, where voices carried long over hot tin roof tops and sweet brier filled the air on a sheer summer night. The sites and sounds of city that eludes me to this day.
I open the gates and walk into an old school yard. Graffiti-covered walls, rubbish, hopscotch chalked into asphalt..no one here but stray cats. I sit on cold steps and light a cigarette. Whatever possessed me to come here so late..An old song runs through my feverish mind, over and over, I say the words out loud and the door slams in the wind. Time's got nothing on me..I'm home.
My old house -- ghostly and surreal in the night, back windows broken, stairwell lit up by a lonely light bulb. Going upstairs, my footsteps echo and I pause, overcome by visions and tears. Time. I feel it now. It's in these very shapes, shadows, scents. Time is a dusty oak tree peeking in, a name carved in the banister. Ten years gone by. Time is staring at me through a shattered window..
My door at last but I won't ring the bell. I won't disturb this great slumber, for I am sure now that one can't enter the same river twice. I run out and don't look back. These crumbling walls will no longer keep me safe. I leave behind a lost world, a time capsule never meant to be opened. No pain, no scars, but a mark left..and then I'm back, knowing life will never be the same again."

Here's another blast from the past..A few years ago I was really into belly dancing, or you might say really bored and looking for some cheap thrills..and thrills I got :) Again, no escapism here, all true, all me, all the time :))) The picture is of another dancer though -- mine were all destroyed in a fury by my ex..
"...A long-haired woman in her 40s shows me dance moves in the basement of her house. Just the two of us, the floor's cold..I pay her by the hour. She's gypsy-like, feminine. She danced in Cairo. I watch her hips thrust in rhythmic circles, her face lit up , gold bangles flying up her arms..A Goddess, powerful and elusive, a glimpse into divine Womanhood that shatters my fragile androgynous ego..What sweet pain this is..She puts her hands on me and I melt..Our bodies move in sync, music gives way to steady drumbeat, steady, then slow, then up again..Possessed by an unknown pleasure, I submit to her voice, her knowledge, the sheer ecstasy of our dance..
I go home past ten, trembling, elated, and aching all over. Tomorrow I'll go to my Chinese masseur and he'll put me back together with his chanting, candles, and warm oils..I'll lay there face down...exhausted, exasperated, thinking what might all this passion bring me next..."

Krakow. Foto by D. Abezgauz

Why is that I look at any random pic of old Europe and think "home" ?..after I've lived in Chicago for over a decade. "Home" is where I'm most comfortable, after all..and that's Chicago. But who wants to wander Michigan Avenue unless they're on a shopping spree with soon to be ex-husbands credit card ?..:)

I can find comfort in convinience, glitzy industrial charms of American megapolis, its chain book stores and starbucks and SUVs..Its a living :) But its hardly home. Home needs ROOTS. Roots take time, history, layers of life and death to sustain new growth..Home is a Family Mansion, century-old oaks, gorgoiles and ghosts and all :))), not a shiny new penthouse..but that is highly debatable..:)

There's this huge chunk of life I store in my "saved" file..one hell of an affair to remember. Its just there along with all kinds of odds and ends -- I was writing "posts" before I knew there where blogs :)..I guess I will start putting them out here, where they really belong.
This was lived and written on this very day 3 years ago..

"I am spellbound. An unexpected glimpse into the world of beautiful visions and profound thoughts.. you exploded in my mind in a myriad of gilded shards and I am bleeding now, humble and quiet before you. I am taken over by our fleeting moments together and sheer poetry of our letters. I am free-falling.. "

and then 6 months later..
"the sketches...wish I could rewind back to a quiet afternoon when I first set in front of you.. and there was music and light and peace.. with your eyes on me, darkest and deepest I ever saw, I never wanted it to end...For the first time ever I felt complete.. then I took a big chunk of my life and blew it up to pieces. Watched it die.. and something in me died with it, and something else came back to life.. but through all this I remain spellbound ... "

I now know why I blog. Last night I was desperate to confide in a friend and realized there's no one I know disent enough to keep a secret and not make my life into a gossip fest for the next party..Ironically, I'm better off venting in cyberspace.
I'm just so fucking lonely

Happy International Woman's Day !

Started by feminists last century, this is still a big deal in most Eastern-European Block :)...On March 8th, you get flowers, gifts, compliments and a break from chores..for the rest of the year -- you're screwed..

So far I got roses, chocolates (from a Polish patient..), a few calls and text-messages, and lots of red apples shaped into a big heart on my kitchen table..:)

Here's to Woman's Day every day of the year !

My superstitions actually do work. I have this silly notion that whenever I hear Sade on the radio -- its my good luck charm and a sign that whatever I'm about to embark on will go well. Sure enough, as I neared the hospital today anticipating my performance review and a likely reprimand for my tardiness and blowing off meetings, there she was .."this is no ordinary love..." I smiled my best smile, marched into that office and came out with an outstanding review and a raise. I'm getting me an amulette with her pic on it, the woman's my guardian angel :)))

Andy Goldsworthy

Andy Goldsworthy.
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Andy_Goldsworthy
Since I first saw "Rivers and tides" I am forever hooked on his work, himself, his increadible nowadays gift of looking and SEEING. Pure, magestic, raw. LIFE. IS. BEAUTIFUL.

Chocolate will always love you back. Just discovered dark-chocolate covered almonds. Its a good thing :)

its snowing and windy out, baby just fell asleep..I got tonns of housework and my mind wanders..endless daydreaming and chores -- why, I'm a regular Cinderella these days :)..If only I'd make up my mind as to what it is I want out of life ..I seem to have it all but not at once :) Thus, between all the men I've dated I could have made a perfect one -- smart, funny, tall, rich, easy going, sexy, crazy about me. I had time and money but no real family, I have family now but no more time or money, and with the grass always greener on the other side I'm never really satisfied.. Is it so unreasonable to want it ALL ??..

Husband's in Verona now with his son (his vacation, I went to Mexico in February..) I've been there 5 years ago and absolutely loved it, its medieval charms and flocks of nuns and pigeons and the best gelato I've ever had..

I love you, man..even if you're a cartoon character by now..I will always love you ..:)

a bit dated "before and after" of our living..what on earth posessed me to get rid of the shutters ??..I LOVE shutters, they were there and they fit, and we dumped them..my husband feels the same, so we're both puzzled..

NWO-inspired. Frozen pool ouutside my window..

I have a vision of my perfect home..it's a mix of large open spaces and cozy little nooks, with lots of sunlight coming through its many large windows and french doors, it has an attick, a veranda and a garden with fruit trees, a swing, and a tree house. The floors are warm worn wood, so is the furniture..A few comfy couches and chairs perfect for curling up with a book or laptop, linen draperies and honeycomb shades. Floor to ceiling bookshelves, wall space undescernable under my husbands paintings and prints and kids drawings. A nice kilim rug by the fireplace, lots of plants. Large sunny kitchen with warm terracota tile, lots of tea and coffee pots, and a breakfast nook overlooking the garden. A spacious bathroom with stone floors, big window, and a steam shower..A bedroom that's cool and quiet, with fresh starched white bedlinen on a bed thats never made..Kids rooms -- any way they like'em.
What I'll never have in my dream house -- anything black-and-glass-and-pleather bachelor pad style, anything "contemporary Italian", wall-to-wall carpeting, formica, empty white walls, fake flowers, doilies, fake fireplaces, glass clowns, bad art, wall-to-wall neighbours.
I've been to too many high budget houses that look and feel like dental offices..clearly, money can't buy you taste..Yet taste alone won't bring you money. Well, I'll keep on dreaming then :)

I got weird chemistry going on with a few people..There's one casual girlfriend that pretends to be my BFF while our lives barely cross, at times she's so patronizing and self-righteous I can barely stand her as, I'm sure, visa versa..and yet we keep up this song-and-dance..write in each other journals, make plans for girls nights out..I can't explain this whole love-hate thing, I trully wanted to be there for her when she had some man trouble yet the moment we met and I saw that smug face of hers I just shut down, and so did she, it was a waste of our time..yet we're willing to do that again. I caught myself wanting to hug her and strangle her at the same time, and that's just not me. She happens to write amazing poetry, btw. She's very much a plane Jane otherwise, too much so..vulnerable yet viscious at once. I'm stuck. Men are so much easier :)..

Rest in peace, dear Anna..for all its worth, it takes guts to live life as a Woman in a men's world, you were certainly one of a kind and I'll miss you

10 things I can't stand in a friend, as it turns out:

1. Those that act like they know me (not a clue)
2. Those that act like they know it all (likewise)
3. Unsolicited advice
4. Argumentative pretentious anyone other than me
5. Blatant disregard for my time and personal space
6. Talking down to people that have real jobs
7. Being cheap, loud and obnoxious
8. Pretending to be drunk when you're not
9. Being spoiled rotten and bored silly
10. Being absolutely oblivious to life outside your own sorry little world

Ahh..Nothing like the right book at the right time. "The Art of Travel" by Alain de Botton. I finally got around to reading yesterday while Veronika took a nap..parked myself in a big chair by the window with a splash of Blue Curacao as brilliant as the Carribean sky itself..and off to Barbados I was, recounting all the island trips I ever took, all in one big sun-drenched flash, but that wasn't the point..I read the essay in one breath marveling at how in tune it was with the way I feel when I travel or want to travel.. the intimate, intricate web of desires and worries and anticipation..this whole elusive "living in the moment" thing -- it can't be done for any sustainable lenght of time, it just can't, not in the real world, not by a living, thinking human being -- we're never there, but how we long for this precious standstill..Its too conditional, yes..and all it is really is playing catch with your own wondering mind...Love this book, highly recommend it..
http://www.amazon.com/gp/reader/0375420827/ref=sib_dp_pt/105-9815959-2553201#reader-line