Category Archives: FOOD FOR THOUGHT

What have I done?

For a reason I cannot put my finger on, I said Yes. Yes, I can.

Attend a Christmas party of a client’s. Next month.

Now I can’t believe I actually said yes.

The thing is, I am very happy in my moosing cave and don’t really want to leave it for other people. On the other hand, I really want to get to know the people I am in daily e-mail contact with. It cannot hurt.

So before an endless inner war broke out, I said yes.

Now I have nothing to wear.

And what am I going to talk about – work?

And what about my hair?

And how do I get there?

How do I get home?

Why did I say yes?!?



OOTD9: Party Time!

I must admit I don’t find the fact that we occasionally organize our own parties, just for the two of us, strange in any way. After all, it is nice to have a relaxed talk or a relaxing silence with someone you know while eating well, drinking merrily and wearing party clothes noone will comment upon because they get worn only for this purpose. Like really high heels: Continue reading

Heute: Darjeeling mit Fettaugen.


Pointen zum Abwinken

“Guck mal, hier schreibt ein Forist über den Andreas, duweißtschon, Andreas Kümmert, der nicht am ESC teilnehmen will: “Wenigstens hat er Rückrad!”

😆 … 😆

“Ob das eine Art Rollator für feige Sänger ist?”

😆 …

“… und alle, die’s werden wollen!”

So früh am Morgen und schon so gut gelaunt. Passiert recht häufig; Das unverschämte Sprücheklopfen nach der Art “Mir-ist-Nix-heilig” haben wir in all diesen Jahren ganz gut vorangetrieben.

Und wir sind passionierte Titanicleser.

Mein lieber mitgackernder Mann kann die Lebensversüßungssprüche sogar im Büro erzählen.

Ich gebe mir meistens Mühe, das nicht zu tun. Nicht, weil ich allein im Büro bin.

Als Ausländerin muss ich zwar laufend Beweise erbringen, integriert zu sein, darf jedoch häufig genug nicht zeigen, dass ich zufällig mal bisschen mehr Integration drauf habe. Manchmal ist es viel nützlicher, dem eigens beauftragten Fachmann nicht mitzuteilen, welche Rechtschreibfehler er begangen hat, und auch nicht davon auszugehen, Muttersprachler seien bereit, mitzulachen oder zu diskutieren.

Dazu müsste man mich ja als eine der Ihresgleichen akzeptieren und das ist nicht dasselbe wie voll integriert, das weiß schließlich jeder.

Sei’s drum: Hauptsache nicht noch einmal ESC gewinnen.

OOTDs 6 & 7: Posh Moose, right?

It was cold outside, and quite grey, when I realized I wasn’t going to pass the economy exam: I didn’t understand anything we were supposed to learn during our Saturday seminar. At the same time, I felt unnaturally well. How come?

That day I found out I am a sucker for organic materials and non-poisonous clothes: it was my shirt that made me feel so well, a feeling I have been able to recreate and prove ever since. While “genetics” might be a strong word to use and probably not correct, I can still say I am a “natural born clothes snob” aka Posh Moose, right?

Anyway, I have been expanding my organic clothes treasure trove since that day and loving every piece of it. It’s a slow process because I don’t believe in organic cotton tees sold for 5 euro – what about the workers who made them? Did they survive? Can they eat? Breathe? This lack of belief in the necessity of textile workers torture for my own well-being (aka chock-full wardrobe) has lead to my cutting down on quantities purchased but also to some new, much beloved pieces of clothing  sharing my living space.

Like today’s OOTD 6 and OOTD 7: a pair of laser-designed jeans (noone died in the process of distressing them), combined with a cardigan (made of organic wool) my husband wanted to send back because of size issues. My favourite blouse (organic cotton) and a pair of trousers (not organic, but nice) my husband wanted to send back because of size issues.

After the jump. SFW.

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Let me count the ways

You know the story about a frog in a pot with water that is being heated up gradually? How the poor animal cannot feel it’s boiling, according to the famous legend?

True or not, I think the story describes some things in life quite well.

Like … getting old?


I’m a busy girl and so I haven’t noticed some of the less obvious signs telling me that, yes, I am 40 already. There’s cellulite and wrinkles and an occasional gray hair and my muscles are as flabby as always (despite working out), but these are the signs we all tend to check from time to time. I also tend to forget them. In front of a mirror is not my favourite place to dally, it has never been. Which explains some of my sartorial choices and the inability to distinguish between cheveux and chevaux to this day, really 😈

But what about other things? Any other signs I am in fact getting old and have been all this time, inevitably? Well, yes:

– After the last Paris trip I have sworn to myself never to book the cheapest hotel possible. Ever. It’s not romantic and after having tried to visit as many museums as possible, you need a good sleep which won’t be interrupted by people hitting each other and yelling.

– Our bed has become the … lap of luxury: only organic cotton is ever allowed and this year, we decided to skip Xmas presents to buy new blankets. Filled with camel hair. Yes. The stuff camels shed when the weather turns from freezing to warm is the best ever to cover your tired, old body with at night.

– I have never owned so many cardigans as I do now. I think I am officially in love with the concept: you can zip/button up the thing or not, you can take it off when it’s too hot and put it in a small bag you’ve sewn for that purpose (to carry tiny cashmere cardigans in a handbag) and you can feel well warmed up by your ersatz blanket whenever the need arises. Which happens more often, as you grow- exactly. 🙂 Old.

– It seems my collection of arm warmers (a pair of yak ones only, right now) will see the same fate: I adore all that knitted stuff covering a half of my hands. And I have always hated sleeves that are too short – meaning just about reaching my wrists – even as a young person. Believe me, at my height and clothes size, sleeves are usually dimensioned to offend.

– I have never in my life spent so much time cleaning as recently. Mind you, ours is still not the cleanest place because we both work too much and sleep too long to keep everything tidy and spotless, but it’s better now than it has ever been. Plus, I love cleaning, I always have. I wonder what’s to become of this … 😯

– I tend to buy clothes made of organic or recycled materials, mostly they are simple basics I can combine to get exciting styles 🙂

– Last week I said to my husband I am going to spend my retirement working out, making out, reading and sewing new things from old ones. 😳

– I don’t seem to remember the third meaning of the word “party”: there’s “political party” and there’s “contract party” and then there’s … errr … ? 😈


Ena o volitvah in referendumih

Pa tako lepo sem se pripravila …

Najprej slabo urco športa v dnevni sobi, potem pod tuš in pozna večerja.

Vsebino za današnji zapis sem imela prištimano že vse od vikenda, samo obliko bi še morala izbrati.

No, potem pa ugotovim, da tega zapisa enostavno ne morem napisati … Ne morem se vendar hvaliti z zeleno-rdečo deželno vlado, ki je istočasno ZA (rdeči) in PROTI (zeleni) gradnji nove železniške postaje v Stuttgartu in ki nas na referendum vabi z brošuro, v kateri piše, da naj ja gremo volit, ker si deželna vlada želi več neposredne demokracije, čemur sledijo, v eni in isti brošuri, argumenti PROTI (zeleni) in ZA (rdeči) gradnjo podzemne železniške postaje, mi pa si jih naj preberemo in gremo volit, glavno, da pridemo.

Ne morem pisati o tej vzorni demokraciji, medtem ko pametni blogerji v Sloveniji ugotavljajo, da nimajo koga voliti. Pa ne jim hodit s tistim pavšalnim stavkom, da si je sam kriv, kdor ne gre na volitve … Raje jim naklonite razumevanje.

Kleingeschwätzeltes am Freitag / Petkove čvečkarije

Es tut mir echt leid, dass ich es nicht hinbekommen habe, als begeisterte IT-Benutzerin irgendein besonderes Verhältnis zu angebissenen Äpfeln aufzubauen. Oder zu Steve. Ein iPod ist für mich ein Musikbegleitgerät beim Sport und andere angebissene Produkte habe ich nicht.

Es tut mir aber auch wirklich leid, dass so jemand so früh sterben musste.

Und seine älteste Tochter hat früher mal super Beiträge auf ihrem Blog veröffentlicht. Fand ich.

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Ponedeljkovo finskovanje

Ena od stvari, ki tudi tokrat ni igrala pomembne vloge v najinem načrtu za dober dopust, je bila hrana za dol past. Kot po navadi sva namreč s sabo vzela tudi sestavine za vsaj en topel obrok na dan in kup drugih zadev, ki so nama olajšale gibanje v naravi.

Kar pa nikakor ne pomeni, da na Finskem in v Estoniji nisva dobro jedla.

O Talinu sem že pisala, o Fincih pa sva najprej ugotovila, da imajo resnično zelo radi klobase. Zgleda pa, da imajo radi tudi medvedje in jelenje meso:

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Nedolžnost, ki je ne dam!

(Ta zapis sem prvič objavila 26.11.2007 in si ga dovolim objaviti še enkrat)

Da sem bila čudna že kot otrok, najbrž ni bil čist slučaj: nedolžnost sem poskušala ohranjati na različne, lokalno nesprejemljive načine, in pri tem ves čas delala vtis, da si štrikam svetniški sij. Za pretvorbo v angelčka sta mi na koncu najbrž umanjkala dva pogoja: blond laski in velike modre učke. Tako pa so vsi bili mnenja, da to malo temnolaso in temnooko ciganjšče teži in hoče v neka nebesa, ki so vsem drugim lokalnim očesom nevidna.

Ja, pa saj sem si res kar dovolila pridigati: nehajte to, nehajte ono. Alkohol, cigareti, ubijanje zajčkov, kužkov, pujskov in kravic. V tovrstnih ritualih pridobivanja hrane sem seveda sodelovala, navkljub vsemu smiljenju do živali – tako je pač bilo, če si imel staro mamo s kmetije in je na splošno vladal dolgcajt. Včasih nam ni bilo lahko.

Kot študentka sem hitro ugotovila, da posiljevanje moje tisočkrat z doma in ne-doma zaklanimi mesninami raztrgane deviške kožice nekako ni v smislu mojega organizma, ker energijo rabim za mislit, ne pa za prebavljat. Obojega hkrati pač ne znam. Sem namreč ženska, nesposobna presnovnega multitaskinga. Svetniški sij je bil takrat že pozabljen, vse skupaj se je izkazalo za resnično potrebo.

V Prekmurju nehati jesti meso je isto, kot da celi pokrajini napoveš vojno, odcepitev. Vseeno sem kar vztrajala in tudi odgovor na vprašanje, kaj naredim pri mesu, ki mi slučajno zaide v usta (pogoltnem ali izpljunem), sem zdrdrala na pamet (pa ne povem). Takšni pač so, prekmurski strici.

Sveta kožica mi je zrasla nazaj, vztrajna in močna, in ko je v Ljubljano prišla prva fast food restavracija, pač nisem poskusila nobenega hamburgerja ali česa podobnega. Zakaj bi, če so pa pri Katrci stregli solato na bone?

Skratka, kar se hamburgerjev tiče, sem še nedolžna. Slabokrvne žemljice z okusom lepenke in potresene z nečim, kar tako, pleskavice iz nedolžnih kravic, plastičen sir in zelenjava brez kakršnih koli vitaminov niso in ne bodo zdrseli po mojem deviškem grlu. Nikoli. Izguba nedolžnosti ni vse.