Did that jumping-around, fuzzy, talking Cocolino bear give you nightmares, too?

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OK, am fost putin dezamagita cand am aflat ca balsamul pentru rufe contine…seu. Da, seu as in….grasime animala.

Avand in vedere ca mananc cu placere carne, problema mea cu seul ar putea fi o surpriza. Adica…mananc chestia asta, deci ce probleme as putea avea daca ajunge si pe haine?

Problema este ca imi place sa am tot timpul hainele curate, sa le arunc pe toate pe pat, sa-mi bag nasul in ele si sa trag aer in piept. Este ceva foarte inviorator in mirosul rufelor curate (even though that Cocolino Bear always scared the $&#% out of me).

Si in timp ce as putea foarte bine sa asociez mirosul unui gratar cu verile petrecute la marginea padurii si sa fiu fericita cu asta, totusi nu-mi place ideea de a asocia mirosul hainelor mele curate cu seul de oaie. Call me crazy.

Asa ca in ultima vreme am folosit un balsam de rufe diferit, care inlocuieste seul cu uleiuri vegetale. Perfect pentru a mirosi cearsafurile curate, gandindu-ma la campuri de flori, in loc de grajduri.

Just thought you should know. That’s all

Green topic of the day:

Is it OK to eat frog legs as long as you kiss the frog first?

One Mississippi, two Mississippi, three Mississippi…

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They say it’s a woman’s job to prove men wrong. But I’m afraid I have failed. I can not spend less than an hour in the bathroom getting ready. It doesn’t matter that I have to be somewhere in 10 minutes, I don’t care that you’re dressed ready, the taxi outside horn blaring doesn’t seem to get my attention…if my hair doesn’t look perfect, I am not going out!

So I feel like I should appologize to all men on behalf of all women who spend half of their lifes (and a quarter of their men’s life) in front of the mirror. We do not intend to start getting ready 3 hours before you and actually finish 2 hours after you’re ready. It just happens. Yes, every time. Or, as you often express it… “every fucking time!!!”.

And yes, when we’re finally ready and we arrive at that club, we do have to go straight to the ladies room to fix those finishing touches. No, we have no idea why it takes so long and no, we don’t mind if you trick us, by telling us the start times for things are an hour earlier than they really are. However, it will never work, fate is a strange thing.

Don’t get smart with me. You don’t have the equipment.

Toata nebunia asta cu romantismul trebuie sa dispara. Aviz celor care nu ma cunosc si totusi au impresia ca stiu totul despre mine: Stiti cum ma numesc? Nu. Ce fel de muzica ascult? Nu. Am iesit in oras? Ne-am distrat? Do you get my sense of humor? Nu. Nu ma cunosti, deci orice lucru romantic pe care-l faci este ridicol si fals. Sunt sigura ca esti un ciumpalac si sansele de a ma intalni cu tine nu sunt slabe, sunt inexistente.

E ca si cum ai administra unui om un placebo: “Nu te iubesc papusa, dar poftim niste romantism care sa te faca sa crezi ca sunt un tip dragut si sensibil si ca te iubesc.”

De asemenea nu vreau sa-ti fiu mama sau terapeut. Daca ai probleme…sunt problemele tale. De ce ai vrea sa amesteci pe cineva pe care abia l-ai intalnit in problemele tale? Rezolva-le ca un adult si nu te plange. Am si eu probleme, unele din ele chiar serioase si totusi nu folosesc timpul nostru impreuna pentru terapie psihologica.

Daca accept sa ma intalnesc cu tine nu inseamna ca vreau sa tin locul fostei tale mari iubiri. Nu o adu in discutie. Nu vreau sa-mi arati o poza cu ea si nu vreau sa aud cat e de minunata in mintea ta.

Nu-ti scuza momentele de tacere stanjenitoare cu banala scuza “nu sunt foarte vorbaret/sociabil”. Nu ma intalnesc cu persoane care nu sunt capabile sa reziste unei conversatii de nivel mediu…unde as putea iesi cu tine ca sa ma distrez sau cum te-as putea prezenta prietenilor?

Fa in asa fel incat sa ne distram la prima intalnire. Distractia e buna, fa o impresie pozitiva, daca tot iesim in oras pe banii tai. (Apropo de prima intalnire, nu du niciodata o fata la film la prima intalnire, ar trebui sa-ti fie evident de ce: n-ai cum sa-i vorbesti).

Nu ma compara cu alte fete. Si nu te abtine sa-mi faci complimente sincere doar pentru ca ai auzit ca daca faci asta imi voi da seama ca ma placi. That’s lame.

Spune-mi pe nume, nu folosi diminutive de genul “papushe”,”iubitzica”,”scumpa”, “zuzica” etc.

Nu-mi spune ca de obicei nu ai succes la fete sau ca fostele tale te acuzau ca le tratezi urat. Imediat dupa ce voi auzi aceste cuvinte un beculet rosu de alarma se va aprinde in creierul meu de femeie si nu-mi voi mai pierde timpul cu tine. De obicei am incredere in gusturile altor femei; daca nu au vrut o a doua sau a treia intalnire cu tine, stiu ele de ce.

Nu intreba “cat de mult ma iubesti?”. Voi rade in hohote, ma voi intoarce si voi pleca rapid, nu inainte de a intreba: “ne cunoastem?”. Adica…ce-ai vrea sa auzi? Te iubesc cam de 30 de lei noi? Sau cam de 20 de kg? Sau cam de 6000 de kilometri? Pentru ca “I like you a lot” spus cu vocea lui Jim Carey in “Dumb and Dumber” clar NU este raspunsul corect. In primul rand ce fel de tip ar pune o astfel de intrebare? Acelasi tip care m-ar intreba “la ce te gandesti?”. Ma gandesc ca daca-mi mai pui o singura intrebare de pussy-head, I’m going to cut your nuts off, so that you can fit the profile. Ce zici de “te iubesc atat de mult incat o sa incerc din rasputeri sa nu fiu a total bitch cand imi pui intrebarile astea si o sa-mi pastrez pentru mine (si pt toti cititorii blogului) parerea proasta despre tine?

My aura is angry-cherry-red today

So today is the 8th of March. All day long. Until the clock strikes 12. Which means I still have time to be congratulated by normal people, unlike my mother. Who has evil powers. I mean, all mothers have evil powers, but my mom takes the cake. And her scariest evil power is the ability to know when I’m dating someone. And now I’m not. Which is ALSO a problem for her.

Because, apparently by now, I was supposed to have a serious relationship. Which should become an engagement at the age of 23. And a marriage by the time I turn 24. And my mother’s evil plan ends with me providing her grandchildren by the time I turn 26. And for that plan to work and her grandchildren to be cute AND smart, the future father has to fit a very strict profile.

The first “must be”, which should be answered in the affirmative before I can pass go and collect the $200: Is he Romanian? (’cause what good providing grandchildren if he gets them out of the country anyway?). Check.

I can then move to:

Educated. Check.

-if he uses the causative correctly and knows how to use the fish tableware: secret bonus check

Doctor or lawyer. Check

- medical or law student: possible future check once they pass the boards or the bar.

Engineer, police officer or future priest: half a check.

Writer, artist, or teacher: you lose a previously awarded check.

-writer with published books, artist with paintings in galleries, college teacher who happens to be under 30: check reinstated.

Comes from a good family. Check.

-comes from a ridiculously wealthy family: secret bonus check-check.

Is a good boy (translation - you’ll be having sex in the missionary position for the rest of your life…May God have mercy on you). Check.

Usually, my mom doesn’t understand why I don’t just get along, fall madly in love and get married with a guy that goes through this interview process (a.k.a. dating) and gets all the checks and bonus cheks.

You would think that now that I finally decided not to date men who don’t fit my mom’s profile, she will be happy. But she’s not. She called to say “Happy woman’s day and don’t you dare be alone today, get a men, damnit, or I swear this time I WILL disinherit you!”.