You’re an optimist when…

…you have been so sick all week that you had to cancel your trip to Mexico for your friends wedding.

You wake up at 7.26 am, wondering why you did, then turn around again and sleep a little longer. Because it’s saturday.

When you eventually wake up, you’re craving coffee and taking all the time in the world to get ready because you’re feeling better  and maybe you’ll even buy a couple of christmas presents – because it’s saturday.

Oh shit it’s saturday, and you realize why your subconscious woke you up so early: Christmas Market on your street.

Your car: also on your street.

Towed: probably.

So you speed up the process of getting dressed and  casually run down the stairs, thinking that there is no way on earth this can be good for your  health and that this alternative christmas thingie is all sorts of wrong – and, looking fab with your Ray-Bans on, you take a quick look to the left, where there is no car…especially not your own.

Instead there is a booth where a greasy-haired Prenzlauer Berg mama is selling hideous self-knitted beanies no one would ever want to wear, partly because of an imminent danger of catching fleas.

You turn right, under the suspicious eyes of the eco-friendly chistmas people, and walk towards the coffee shop.

You stand in line for at least ten minutes until you get your latte.

Meanwhile you ponder whether it’s a shit day and you should just go back to bed and where on earth you’re gonna get the money to bail your car out. You realize that this is where the refund for your flight is gonna go. Fuck that cute little dress you wanted to buy for christmas.

But then you get your coffee and figure that this is typical and actually quite funny.

You have been towed the second time in a couple of months.It’s your fault, despite the fact that they should have to get your personal permission to block the entire street.

You think about the meaning of  the word ‘towing’ in German and realize that you ‘towed’ someone two months ago and  have been the happiest girl in the world ever since.

Give and take.

When life gives you lemons, get out your shot glass and pour a tequila.

Smile!

The spell is broken.

I have finished the vampires. All 2000something pages of them. I basically broke my own reading record, finishing Breaking Dawn within 30 hours, interrupted only by going to class and the need to sleep at some point. That is just completely insane. But now I am done, Edward has been kinda boring ever since he became a babydaddy, and it’s snap back to reality.

With that distraction gone I am reminded to study again and also I’m slowly realizing that there is someone very far away who I like much better than the bloodsucker.

So. World, you have me back, no need to worry. It’s been a long day and I am mildly sleep-deprived, so I guess I’ll grab a less addictive book and snuggle up on the couch.

 

 

 

A little rant.

I can’t stand people who don’t read books. No, actually I have to rephrase. I hate people who don’t read books but pretend they do.

There are certain signs someone is a non-reader who can’t own up to the fact he prefers watching TV… one of them is that, once the subject comes up, they will answer the question of their favorite book with: Paulo Coelho, Warrior of Light.

That’s the moment when I start puking. Effing A, if you had read anything else after your mom bought you a copy of  Dr. Seuss or “Where the wild things are”  this crap wouldn’t be your favorite book. Actually ‘Where the wild things are’ is pretty awesome. Stick to that, if anything.

You know you haven’t read anything else in years and the person at the airport bookstore told you Paulho Coelho was fantastic, so you bought it and read it at the beach between margaritas. I SEE THROUGH YOUR B***S***!

People say it’s important literature – but really.

Believe a major bookworm when I say: Read a murder mystery if you, on your next vacation, decide to pick up a book because there is no TV on the beach. I will give you more credit for that. And it will be more fun that new-age philosophy.

I’m not saying it’s horrible, I hold respect for anyone who can write and finish a book and sell it , even if it’s a paperback novel or a soap opera script– but this is a pretty makeover of a self-help book. I just think it’s cheezy and pathetic – and the fact that a German Z-List singer has ‘Warrior of Light’  tattooed on he stomach and another soft-rock-with-a-female-singer band just released a song under the same name proves my point. ARGH.

Or maybe I’m just sarcastic.

home.

I am lounging on my little island, the world famous green couch, between a hundred pillows waiting for me to rest my head on them.

My thoughts circle around the feeling I’ve  been allowed to have these past couple of days: being exactly where I should be, on this little island, surrounded by people I love.

It was warm and cozy and an overall feeling of trust and comfort and accepting each other with all our flaws and nerves and whatnot…exactly the way home should feel.

I don’t have all that much family or at least not family ties and that’s why it means so much to me -

I am blessed to have you, darlings, and all the happier now that you made friends with my other friends.

Thank you for a fantastic weekend full of tea and food and fun!

The forbidden book

It’s the last day of a way too short 12 1/2 week summer break ending in winter and finally my mind has calmed down enough to read again…

well…not really. I started Thomas Mann again and I couldn’t take it. I started Stieg Larsson and I am not as impressed as I hoped I would be.

But then, deep down in my treasure chest a.k.a. the bookshelf I spotted the forbidden book. Yes, forbidden. And I shall now share with you the story of the forbidden book.

Once upon a time I went to Dana, the keeper and seller of anything worth reading, and requested the book.

Shock showed in her face as tears started welling up in her eyes and she shook her head no. With a low voice, she told me what happened to her friend who read the forbidden book.

‘She was a literature maniac, I mean, a girl who would read Tolstoi for fun! Anything on the bestseller list she wouldn’t touch – until one day… one day…”. Her voice was breaking up now. “One day she started reading this…and…how can I put it…she got hooked. She knew it was wrong, but she couldn’t stop! It ruined her. Anna, I cannot give you this book, I cannot order it for you, if you want to start, do it, but I want nothing to do with it. And I beg you: please don’t read it!”

Anyone who knows me will confirm that despite my looks I am not a rebel. I do as I am told, I follow the rules, I stop at a red light even if there’s no traffic whatsoever.

But I couldn’t help it. On my school trip I passed by a bookstore and eventhough my bag was more than heavy enough, I had to go in.

I saw the book in all it’s paperback glory and I couldn’t resist any longer.

When I left the store I felt guilty. I wrapped it up in its plastic bag and hid it as best as I could underneath all my literature theory books, brought it home and put in in my shelf, untouched.

Until today.

With great guilt and shame I have to admit to you, my dear reader, that I have started reading Twilight today.

There is nothing you can do for me at this point. Let me go. Do not 12-step me. I will check myself into rehab when I’m done.

Bloggy blog

The weekend is a-coming and I am looking forward to getting brackets glued to my teeth right before it starts…a real geek needs braces and you know it!

Here’s my theory on uglifying oneself (developed over the couple of days): if you have the balls to go out to dinner with a huge cold sore across your face (that’s what you get for kissing which kinda looks like I got badly punched in the nose), guys tend to think you must be ridiculously hot without it and go nuts.

Curious to see whether the same thing applies for a moustache braces.

But actually that wasn’t even the point of this post.

I am excited about two new blogs from across the pond – 100 days of legs and Valentina’s Thoughts – written by my girls Charmaine and Valentina. These two ladies are stepping up their geek game one post at a time, writing about the important stuff in life: shoes, love, NYC, friends and mild alcohol abuse and all the shit that comes with them. Well. The shit only comes with love, but that’s enough to compensate for a lack of side effects when buying shoes.

Check them out, links are in my blogroll. Woot woot.

Off to get my braces now. Woot woot again.

I want more kisses

That is all I can think at the moment.

I kissed a boy…

…and I liked it!

Don’t you agree it’s the funniest thing in the world when you have no control over your brain anymore whatsoever because the butterflies are temporarily taking over?

It’s only chemistry. I think that is insane. Which is also just chemistry.

That said, I have to go back and stare at my phone, check if it’s broken, type about 50 messages just to erase them again and do all the other things I tell everybody not to do.

FYI

I know this is clear to most of you, but after a couple of strange e-mails I feel the need to say it again.

My blog is a mix of diary / short stories / videos / blurbs.

The author (ME!) is NOT identical with the narrator of my stories. They are fiction, although of course, I incorporate elements of reality in there.

So please, please, please: do not ask me if that is me, who the boy was, why I sold my body for money or when exactly I killed the dragon.

I did not.

Now, go on, read, enjoy and think about the story, not whether it may be you I’m talking about.

Without her.

Die Welt machte weiter. So unglaublich es mir schien, sie machte einfach weiter.

Mein ganzes Leben lang hatte der Wunsch, sie möge gehen, vage in mir existiert.

Als sie weg war, trat die Erleichterung nicht ein. Nicht sofort und auch nicht später.

Stattdessen breitete sich ein taubes, schwarzes Loch aus, über jeden Satz und jeden Gedanken, den ich in mir trug.

Es fühlte sich an wie ein gräulicher Nebel, der mich einhüllte.

Ich erinnere mich, dass ich damals dachte: wenn ich nur noch einen einzigen unbeschwerten Tag leben dürfte, würde ich glücklich sterben.

Es stimmt. Verglichen zu der Taubheit ist es unbeschwert, sich um eine depressive Frau zu kümmern, die sich jeden Moment das Leben nehmen könnte.

Soweit ich es beurteilen konnte, ging das Leben ausserhalb meiner Wolke normal weiter.

Außer, dass mich niemand sehen konnte.

All die verdrängten Ängste der Menschen sättigten die Luft wie Feuchtigkeit an einem Julitag in Manhattan und machten die Sicht frei für andere Dinge. Kleine Hunde und große Träume, Kaffee in orangefarbenen Pappbechern.

Einsame Individuen, die versuchen, die schwarzen Löcher mit Arbeit und Gesellschaft zu stopfen.

Der Himmel über Manhattan schien mir übernatürlich blau und die Luft trotz des Smog fast unerträglich klar.

Das rostige, fünfmal gestrichene Eisen der Feuerleiter war genauso wunderschön wie die überquellenden schwarzen Müllsäcke am Strassenrand.

Alles fühlte sich an, als wäre es allein durch die Stadt multipliziert.

Ich sah. Mit Haut und Haaren spürte ich alles, was mir passierte.

Ich liebte die verkratzten Bohlen meiner winzigen Wohnung, aus denen krumme Nägel ragten.

Ich liebte die abgewetzte Emaillebadewanne in der täglich an der selben Stelle die Kakerlaken eine Party feierten.

Ich liebte die klirrende Kälte der Januarmorgen, ich wollte sie so sehr, dass ich ohne Strümpfe aus dem Haus ging.

Wollen war ein großer Bestandteil des Lebens in New York, der jeweils kurzfristig befriedigt werden konnte.

Ich spürte es bei jeder Audition, jedem Mal warten auf einen Tisch im Restaurant – das Wollen schwebte im Raum, gebündelt, wartend.

Bis die Absage kam.

Ich spürte es im Unterricht, wenn zwanzig Stimmen alte Musicalsongs sangen, als hinge ihr Leben davon ab. Es hing davon ab.

Proberäume. Clubs. Parties. Die unerfüllten Träume von Generationen sammelten sich in jeder Pore der Stadt und fütterten neue, genauso unerreichbare.

Niemand bemerkte es.

Ein ständiges Gefühl, dass alle ans Ziel strebten, während man selber verloren war.

Die Wahrheit war, dass alle verloren waren.

Mein Hunger trieb mich vor die Tür. Ich verliebte mich in einen Magnolienbaum, auf den die Sonne schien.

Wir sprachen nie miteinander und ich wusste, dass ich nicht seine einzige war.

Nachts suchte ich mir etwas, um mein Wollen zu stillen. Jeder wollte etwas sein und wenn er dass nicht konnte, dann wollte er etwas tun. Alte Gewohnheiten ablegen. Neu sein.

Er hieß Stu. Seine Arme waren muskulös und er sah abstoßend aus. Er wollte ein cooles Mädchen. Ich wollte, dass ich es war, was jemand wollte.

Ich nahm Stu mit zu mir. Wir saßen in der Küche und tranken Tee, als ich merkte, dass ich das Wollen nicht mehr wollte.

Stu drängte mich in mein Schlafzimmer. Ich musste es doch wollen. Ich überlegte, die Polizei zu rufen.

Sein Penis war riesig und obwohl ich ausser Schlaf gar nichts mehr wollte, fickte er mich.

Er hatte kein Gummi benutzt. Ich war wütend und doch zu erschöpft um irgendetwas zu unternehmen.

Nach einer Pizza wollte ich ihn nie wieder sehen und ging zur Free Clinic. Die schwarze Frau, die mir Blut abnahm schimpfte mit mir, als sei ich eine Cracknutte.

Für eine Weile war das Wollen verschwunden und ich spürte nichts mehr.

Jemand schenkte mir einen Keks. Der Keks fraß mich auf. Er war der liebenswerteste Keks den ich je gegessen hatte und er machte mich glücklich.

Ich bekam noch mehr Kekse. Viele, viele Kekse und Kaffee mit Schokosirup.

Das schwarze Loch schien gestopft, denn der Kaffee hatte die Erinnerungen weggespült und der Junge, der mir den Keks gab, streichelte mir über den Kopf.

Die Welt ging einfach weiter. Ich ging mit. Solange er mir den Kopf streichelte, wollte ich nichts. Ich konnte einfach sein. Ich vergaß, dass die Welt hätte stillstehen müssen.