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Saturday, 6 June 2015

How to become famous

I never wanted to be famous, never dreamt to be on the cover of every magazine or social media network. Never wanted to be talked and gossiped about, nor to be easily recognised when I do my grocery shoppings. Let's be honest. I am not a celebrity just because my wish was God's command. The truth is that I am just average...and that's fine. But in my ordinary existence I still tend to reach for the stars, my shinny ones, to achieve excellence if not perfection and to do my best for me and my peeps. And just because this is normality in my reality, I kind of have the desire that other average people, just like me, to understand their status and get the fact that celebrity is not for everybody. It used to be for genius minds, the ones that were able to wake up in the middle of the night with a complicated mathematical formula that changed the whole science. It also used to be for unreal voices, unbelievable talented artists, people with developed  sixth sense, for warriors and worriers. Those were the people everybody wanted to know everything about. Not anymore. These days mediocrity defines celebrity. Let me just justify myself. 

On Saturdays I usually have the "privilege" of watching TV. There are all sorts of famous people there...at least that's what the broadcasters push us to believe. Let's see what's on entertainment channels. I applaud courage and I am thrilled when one decides to change  look and gender if this is what it makes him happy. I really am. But from there to hearing every minute why that person has done it, how he decided what name to adopt, when he had the first sign of wanting a new look is a whole new story. On top of that who cares what every member of the family declares on every single social media network? I am not judgemental, I have a really open mind, but I believe that one doesn't deserve so much attention if he comes from a socialite family. I am the first to stand up for minorities, all sorts of, and I believe in human equality, but again I strongly disagree with making people famous for what they are not. 

But again....if I don't ant to hear more, I can change the TV channel. And I usually do. The History channel.....Hitler...morning to evening. I even call it Hitler channel now because the war is the only subject there. Then there is the Top Gear channel, the one that broadcasts the same shows all over again. And then the cooking one, where I can find out more about what famous chef what caught taking a little bit of illegals or who goes and dines with others than to learn real cooking. On the music channel....buddies, bigger and bigger with every day. Did I mentioned that they are less and less covered? All those beautiful people miming songs that have been perfectly polished in music studios. Most of them cannot sing, but they can dance...kind of and they all have legs up to their fake boobs. I sometimes wonder how and what exactly they got so famous. They are noting like Aretha Franklin, nor like Robert Plant....and they have no chance of. 

But I can switch again. On the Living one there is nothing about living really...except how other famous people sell houses to their famous buyers....who can afford Spain as well as New York. And then there is the Arts channel. I love it, I really do....not so much when so called famous artists show off their not so famous pieces. Let's be honest. These are not masterpieces. No Van Gogh or Degas between them. They are just spots of colors on a canvas or pieces of clay put together without any meaning. And if there is no antonym for masterpiece, I am willing to make one: minorpiece. This is all it is. Then they are those concerts of all sorts of who knows who they are. Just average people like me who became starts because of their belongings to five star families..... or maybe because dating a producer. Again people who cannot ever dream to be as good as the Beatles were, but who were given the opportunity to be more famous than them....if something like this exists!

And then there are our national programs, 4 or 5. I love some of the reporters and talk shows hosts, really talented professionals, who know their jobs very well. But who on earth dresses these amazingly beautiful ladies? I am no designer, but I still know that it is a no no for a  blonde statuesque TV host, with a beautiful white skin, to wear a yellow top and lots of heavy gold costume jewerly. Is like somebody decided to make her look like an egg ... on purpose. Who is the mediocre person who dresses these beautiful ladies and how did she get that job? Cos I am pretty much sure that if one has no clue how to enhance these ladies' beauties, (and believe me when I'm saying they are beautiful!), there are so many fashion designer graduates who can take her/ his job. In a second. Again, I don't judge because I have the taste of Versace...cos I don't. But I believe that the person who decides who wears what on our TV channels is trained more in fashion fiascos than in good taste. And it is a shame because once again we have so many beautiful reporters and they deserve justice.

I am not sure what is a recipe for becoming famous, but I know that it has nothing to do with talent, geniality, skills or knowledge. Not these days. One just have to get somehow on TV. No matter how. Through a reality show for example. Once there,  mime a song, use a stunt for a complicated dance, scribble something or saw a cotton sac... all depends on what are one wants to be famous in. Leave the rest on the TV broad shoulders! :)



Monday, 1 June 2015

The Devil wears....Hendrix

I listen to music all the time. All sorts of songs, different genres depending on my mood. I wake up early in the morning and my IPod starts doing what it does best: entertain me. But it's not just that I surround myself with music. It's more than that. I know music and I love music. I really do. You wouldn't expect that from a blondie, would you? I know so much music that I make my own playlists...in my head. Every day a new one, depending on my mood, my work or just my pinkness. Weekends are different though because I am off and I can really enjoy the playlists my blonde brain develops. Let me just explain myself. 

Last Saturday was a kind of free day. I just had to get to the local market to help a little bit with my organic products sale. So I woke up early in an exceptional mood....and my playlist started "I'm in the mood" (John Lee Hooker). But my great state of happiness didn't last too much because my dear puppy Hendrix woke up too. "Black Dog" (Led Zeppelin). He started the day with a tantrum...as he usually does. I already knew the remedy: stretching his ass for a half an hour would do it. "Big balls" (AC/DC). Relaxed and happy, Hendrix played on the deck....for a second or two, then started bothering my 14 years old senior dog, Max. Nothing major, justbiting his ears, pushing him down the deck stairs, pulling his tail. "TNT" (AC/DC...again). Poor Max tried really hard to make me aware, but with age he lost his voice and hearing too. I somehow got between Hendrix and his victim and yelled on Hendrix.....but couldn't hear myself because my puppy's voice was always louder than mine....and everybody else's. "Voices" (Ozzy Osbourne). I looked at the clock and realised that, in order to get in time to the market, I needed to quickly feed the dogs...those two and Neo, another one that stayed nicely in the kennel...not that he chose to...a chain stopped him reach me. But nothing was ever able to stop him barking. Anyway, I somehow fed the dogs, except Hendrix of course. He needed to be breastfed...kind of. Hendrix doesn't know how to eat, but he would gladly take food from my hand. "Naughty Boy" (Sam Smith). Once everybody happy, I ran to the shower, then quickly buttered some bread. Then I turned for a second....and turned back just in time to catch Hendrix swallowing my sandwiches. "Hungry Like The Wolf" (Duran Duran). So I made myself other sandwiches and hide them in the pantry. 

Just about to leave the house when I realised that I haven't fed the chickens...6 of them. So I ran to their area, threw some grains, came back in the house and changed my shoes because the grass was wet...and too long. "Changes" (Tupac). Oops, the birds had no water, so back in the garden and another shoes change. In the meantime, Hendrix decided to get intellectual and write an essay on only God knows what....but he got bored.....after destroying my special pen...and another one. "Pieces" (Ella Henderson). I sent Hendrix outside and just about to leave (again) when I remembered that I haven't fed my 16 years old blind cat, Mr King. I somehow found him, fed him, and put him together with my other cat, the wild Miss Lily. "In Good Company" (Kiss). Then I tried very hard to remember where I hidden my sandwiches. I finally found them.  "Mad Wold" (Gary Jules). I put my hat on...and took it off because Hendrix got to it earlier and made some crafty holes in it. Changed it for a red beret and with my keys in my hand left the house. Or wanted to, because Hendrix was faster than me and jumped over his fence....three times in  row. "Trouble" (Ray Lamontagne). I checked the fence. It was broken, so the only thing to do was to take Hendrix with me....which he knew it would happen if he tried really hard to make my morning hell. I found his leash and with Hendrix pulling me hard I got to my car. I pushed his ass in it and started the engine....while Hendrix tried very hard to get into the driver's seat. I mean mine. Maybe he wanted to drive...for a change. "Drive My Car" (Beatles). 

Anyway, the rest of my Saturday was just great. With Hendrix trying to make it ever greater....his style. So my playlist went on and on with "Redemption Song" (Bob Marley) ....  in my head. That and "Cry" (Janis Joplin). Did I mention "Chain of Fools" (Aretha Franklin)? But let me say it loud: Hendrix colors my days and I love him....just because I have "Sympathy For The Devil" (Rolling Stones). :)

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Friday, 16 January 2015

Years back I decided to worship Janus, the two faced God...at least for a few days at the beginning of every year. Nothing fancy, nor spectacular, no mantras or tantras, no big dramas. Nothing else than dedicating a day or two to write down my New Year's resolutions. I wasn't interested in that face of Janus who looked backwards to the year that just passed. No way... I am not that blonde! I just wanted, always did by the way, to look forward to hopes and dreams of a better year....but every January in that day when I was just about to put some wishes down on a piece of paper something happened. Like today...

Friday is the most amazing day of every week. I'm sure you agree. So this Friday, full of excitement I thought I would finish my chores and decide over some resolutions. I am a modern girlie, so I keep a secret diary on my laptop. No hard copy. I even left a blank page in my electronic diary for my 2015 wishes. I so looked forward to those silly sentences I knew everybody writes. Like how amazingly good I would be this year, how my positive thinking would make negative thoughts go away..... before they even became thoughts, how many charities would benefit from my involvement, how I would focus on the universal law of attraction as an effect of me meditating more about the eternal soul I am. These and other bollocks.  Nah, that's not me. All I wanted was a list of how would I make 2015 a year of fun...like me. 

All sorts of thoughts bumped into each other in my head, all about my desired resolutions while I was painting the fence. Have I not told you about my fence? I guess not. When we moved to our fab home, just earlier in 2014, we fenced the property all around...except a small area that was already fenced...with an ugly black fence. I didn't like it, Hendrix, my beloved puppy didn't like, and even the other two dogs we owned agreed with us. So I decided that it was the right time to paint it ....in white. I put myself into the painting mood while listening to Motown and started my chores. I almost finished the first coat when I heard a voice from over the fence. I looked there and seen the head of my neighbour. I don't know him, cos he decided to ignore me, so I kind of guessed it was him....and I was right...again. "What are you doing there?" my neighbour asked like it wan't obvious that I was painting. Now, I wasn't in the mood of chatting because Aretha was singing about her Doctor Feelgood...and when Aretha sings nothing else matters...like very graceful Metallica said.  I answered anyway because I always been a polite blondie. "Just painting my fence", I said hoping that the convo would stop here. But it didn't...because my neighbour said that I had no right to paint without permision his fence, I mean the fence he put up a while back, nobody knows when. So in other words, I wasn't allowed to paint my side of the fence on my property. Really? I don't recall reading on the LIM report that the fence belongs to him. But I already told you how polite I am. Gold star girl, so I whispered some words of excuse...or something like that. I didn't even know what I've said but I knew that my neighbour expressed his hopes that there wouldn't be a second coat...I think that's what he said cos I ran in the house to wipe a tear or two. The truth was that I ran to my neighbour. No, not that one. The other one, the nice guy I really liked. I told him the story and asked for his advise. I value his opinion because he is the nicest person I have ever met. I am not gonna tell you what he said, but you can guess that if I just say that I went back to my chores and continued painting my side of the fence, on my property...the one that doesn't belong to my neighbour! And while I was doing that I realised that some people have to learn to let things go. Like the guy who thinks that my side of the fence belongs to him. Mister, let go the fact that right after we moved my little Hendrix ran to your property to say hi. That's the reason we fenced our whole property....and we paid the fines...and I enrolled Hendrix to obedience classes, even if neither Hendrix nor I were interested in them...and left some flowers and chocolates and treats for my neighbour's dog on his doorsteps in the hope that he would let things go. Apparently he didn't....

Anyway, because of the incident, I forgot about my New Year's resolutions...again. But if I think very hard, I have to admit that I have everything I ever wished for. I have two wonderful children I love dearly, the property of my dreams in a very healing area, a job I love, I am loved and respected, I have loads of fun...and then I have Hendrix, my Labrador Ridgeback cross, personality plus boy...and my drums I adore,,,,I have it all. What more can I wish for? But even so, I aim for next year's resolutions...not that I need any, but I don't want to miss out on something...also I told you that I am a modern girlie and I want to keep up with other blondes around the world. On a second thought, maybe my grumpy neighbour needs some resolutions more than I do. Those silly sentences I was telling you about would do just fine in his case. :)

Thursday, 20 November 2014

Me, me, me

When I said I was blonde, that's exactly what I meant. And as a perfect girlie stereotype, I always had some time on my sleeve to think. I know that this may sound quite weird, but believe me when I'm saying that even us, blondies, think...sometimes. So lately I involved myself in finding the key of happiness. What makes us happy and why are the questions I struggled finding answers to for quite a long time. Actually my whole life. I am far from being a scholar dedicated to the big umbrella of the Philosophy of happiness. Too lazy, I guess, or maybe too bored with new trends. Anyway, after some serious thinking I realised that I would never get to a general answer...but I can try. And I did it...my way! 

I knew from the beginning that to find a recipe for happiness I had to relate somehow to the happiest people alive: celebrities. They seem happy. At least that's what they show us, humble creatures without glory and fame. So let's just try doing what they do in the hope of getting even happier than them. 

A simple and very cheap (we don't want to spend money....not now before Christmas!) way of attending the highest state of mind would be to rip off your clothes and infect the world with images of your body. As many as better. That would make you happy without spending a dime for amusing yourself and others maybe glad, maybe not. But what do others count? Just think to yourself that  not everyone has to like you because not everyone counts. To be very honest, nobody in this case. But wait just a sec cos it's not so easy. Beforehand you have to attend a gym for quite a while. No, not to shape your body. That's Photoshop's job. Just to be able to make that nice buddy out curve, which in my opinion is impossible. And believe me on this one. I worked with toning bodies for a lifetime. Anyway, you can try. All you need is a nice champagne glass, one that you would have to buy from a trendy shop. And if you're on budget, you can eventually make a stop at one of the $2 shops. You don't have to search too much: they are everywhere. So if the glass is sorted, the struggle begins now, but, as a good chick, I can guide you through the right procedure. Do as you're told and you would be a step away from being happy. This is what you have to do. Turn just about 90 degrees, enough to see your full profile in the mirror. Suck your tummy in, push your buddy out as much as possible, then nicely position the glass on the curve made by your meaty, round ass. If you don't have one, that's a problem, so back to the gym for about another month or so. Now, if the glass stays nice and firm on your sciatica means that you are a star. But it wouldn't. So keep trying. Anyway, once the position is achieved, grab a bottle of bubbly, pop it loud and look in the mirror. If you're lucky the golden liquid would nicely fill in the glass that stays on your buddy. 

Now your assistant, cos you need one, would have to step in and help. She or he would take photos. Remember please that it's not important how beautiful your naked profile is, nor how big mama's ass you have. Is the assistant who does the big job. Because once the photos are uploaded, your assistant has to spend hours and hours photoshoping them, beginning with cutting some bits of fats of your waist, making your cellulite disappear, working on some wrinkles here and there and pushing the bubbly jet from the bottle in your hands to the glass on your ass. But a good computer wizard can do that, so don't worry too much especially if you've chosen the right assistant....one who can make your photos go viral!

Now, I kind of guess your question. How does this whole experience would help you achieve happiness? Very simple. It's all about yourself and the attention you would get, also the comments, positive and negative, your photos would initiate. You will be in the centre of attention of everybody...and that's quite something. Fame and attention would make you happy. It worked for others, it would work for you. And once happy, you would pass your excitement to others. Cos remember that happiness spreads faster than an STD!

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Thursday, 9 October 2014

Atributes of a perfect woman

If I'd have to put my whole existence in a sentence that would definitely be "knowing myself". I have  borrowed "knothi seauton" from Socrates...who forgot to perform a Google plagiat check before he attributed to himself something that was already on the frontispiece of the ApolloTemple in Delphi. It was simple for him, I guess, because not many people were able to read those days. So I am in a process of understanding who I am, what makes me happy and how individual my dreams, goals, desires and feelings are. And because this can be quite a boring process, my mind constantly goes places, as it usually does. Apparently a person thinks around 60,000 thoughts a day. Imagine what an amalgam of energies, positive and negative, my blonde brain is able to release! So, forgetting about myself for about 30,000 thoughts, I decide to use the rest in defining any difference between women and men. To be honest, I was interested only in the way I could think like a man while acting like a woman. That would make me the perfect woman, one desired by every male on this planet. 

Taking into consideration my life experiences, I realised that I was more successful, loved and adored even, when I was acting silly. So my first conclusion is that being blonde and acting dumb are very strong weapons in a woman's existence. She may get what ever she wants if she plays dumb. A man's achievements though are effects of him acting smart. I also realised that "lovely" is still a strong word used to define women. Just remember the last party you have attended. No matter how loud the music was, once a man started talking, people turned to him and listened. Like he had something exciting and life changing to say after a few drinks... Bollocks really...but people listened and looked at the man who got up to speak. A minute later, she, the girlie, had something to say. People turned to her of corse without getting a word of what she said. But they looked and, if they liked what they seen, they listened. If not...bad luck. Attractive or not, women like words and the way they resonate. To be perfectly honest, women would do everything for the right words. Isn't it true that men like to be loved and women like to be told? 

I don't want to change your mood, ladies, but look still counts...a lot. And even better iif the pretty little face goes along with a blonde little brain.  But that's not all. If you really want to be a perfect woman, learn from men. They are the best teachers! Don't be defensive though, because only liars are defensive and you're not a man. Don't stare at their certain body parts, cos this is men' fundamental right and duty too. You just, as I've said, act surprised (little heart lips would help) and dumb. Men love to be in control, so don't take that feeling away from them. And talking about men, remember that they are creatures of extremes. They would want you to be Mother Theresa during the day and sluts when the night comes; supermodels when accompanying them to an event and humble underdressed when accompany others; female versions of Gordon Ramsey when cooking their dinner and geishas while they have it; pedantic when hanging their clothes in the wardrobe and furious when you throw yours on the floor;  perfect party organisers for their work mates and bosses and naive drunks when attending other parties. 

Now, you would want to know why I am not the only perfect chick if I figured out how would I be able to become one. So simple really. I don't follow all the blonde- confused thoughts that cross my mind. I am smarter that that. I know by now that there is no such thing as a perfect woman.  I also know that all the make up  and all the designer dresses in the world worth nothing without style and class. And that's not for sale. It is transmitted in a girlie's genes...or not. I am also guilty of loving to think and judging for myself what's good and what's not. And talking about guilt, I am aware that a woman is guilty only of the things she did not do....so I have some catching up to do! :)
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Friday, 3 October 2014

Focus on the present

There was a time when I used to cross chats with other bloggers. I don't anymore. It's not that I got lazier. It's just the fact that I spread my wings and enjoy exploring. However, Miriam's blog "The wise stranger" inspired me. She talks about people who imprint our existence without even knowing it. There were a few in my life. Now let's clarify something from the beginning. I don't live in the past, nor in the future. I m a kind of "now" chick. Our past is always  full of guilt and regrets. Even the nice memories are symbiosis of memorable and regrets. 
What if" Is a question that popes out anytime one remembers a great memory. On the other hand, our future is a synergy of hopes and ambitions. In a word, selfishness. So, as I've said, I am not a regretefull selfish human. Not that I wouldn't like to be one sometimes. It's just too complicated for my blondness. Therefore, I choose to live in the present...the one that is less surprising than yesterday and more secure than tomorrow. This may sound complicated for you, I know, but it's crystal clear for me.

I can ignore as much as I want the past and the future and keep tight on the present, but I have to agree with  Heidegger that there is another stage to our humanity, the spiritual level. "True time is four dimensional", well said Heidegger. And no...he is not related to any MTV stars. So, in my "now" existence I tend to be as spiritual as I can, not denying things I don't understand because my imagination is too narrow sometimes. Because "reality is merely an illusion, albeit a very persistent one". No, I didn't made this up. Einstein did and don't try to debate it because he was much smarter than us all....together. So I let illusions follow me around and create what they are supposed to: a bundle of more illusions. Interpreting them belongs to my spiritual present and has nothing to do with my past. "There are no facts, only interpretations", said Nietzsche. Right again. Therefore, I totally adore the fact that "here and now" is something I decide on, because I create my own reality. I surround myself with people I can learn from, I can lean on and I can care about. I do actions that can influence my loved ones and can be a stepping stone for people who know me or are willing to take the time of knowing me. I love my present because is virtualy real and surreally virtual. I love the fact I can model it according to my wishes and my dreams.  How can I not agree with Democritus who said"nothing exists except atoms and empty space; everything else is opinion". I would even take my hat off to that...if I would wear one. But I don't.

I also know what I don't want to know in my "now" existence.  Surprises, good or bad, and the way they "surprise" me. Another complicated one, isn't it? And I utterly don't want that moment before a surprise would enter in my life...and yours too. But if you are not sure what I mean, I would just remind you the truth about the jack-in-the-box confessions. When everything goes smooth and no waves seem to disturb our oceans, somebody has to confess something that turns our lives upside down. I had some jack-in-the box events in my past...but once again I am true to myself and tend to ignore them whilst focusing on my present. I am also decided to don't accept lies, white or black, and the complicated web-cobs they could  create....and violence...and discrimination... and intolerance. I still believe that we are gods in our way, who are perfectly able to stand up to be counted.

Monday, 15 September 2014

How to become a socialite

There are blondes, super blonde ones and...there is me. The blondest of all. I may not be Alice, but I still believe in Wonderland. My style of it! As every blonde, I can swear that I know nothing less than...everything. I have answers for all sorts and, if I don't, I am able to find some. .. on the spot. I don't need to watch too much telly to be fashionable. And trendy! And I definitely don't get my answers from the socialites en vogue advertised for free by the small and big screen. Back in time, talk shows got appreciation if real celebrities accepted to be invited. Scientists, artists, elite athletes were haunted by well known talk shows. Things changed lately and starlets, socialites and socialistas replaced the real celebrities. So, after a few seconds of deep thinking, I decided that, instead of going to work, I could become a socialite. I am blonde enough to be a good one! And because I believe that I quite suit a cute/ blonde socialite, I feel the urge to become one. So I came up with my own "Guide of becoming a real socialite in just 7 easy steps". Don't envy me, please! Course I'd share it with you! 

Step 1. Be informed with what your socialite- sisters are doing
Knowledge means power. Somebody really famous said that....but not so famous as your socialite sisterhood is! Anyway, sometimes you need to look at life from a different perspective, I thought one of those lazy days last week when I turned on my telly....only to detect how can one become famous without deserving it.  First "I kept up with..", then I've been following the other folks, part of the same clan in LA. And "the Ex-s". I haven't stopped there though because I didn't want to forget the "classics". You know which, girls with names on some more notorious hotels. YouTube helped me out with some nice little "Real life" episodes. After a few hours, I still haven't learnt too much, but what I was sure about was how fashion changed in the last few years. Sometimes because of the adventures ideas of well known designers; other times because of the requirements dictated by enhancements of some desired body parts. Let's admitted. Buddylicious is sexylicous!

 Step 2. Promote yourself
"Just be yourself" is not trendy anymore! I am sure you all know that  It is not important who one is and what one knows or does. The only  relevant thing is how many "likes" and "followers" one has. As many as better. And by the way, everything over 1,000 proves that the one is on the edge of getting famous. Even a blonde like me knows that there are only two ways to get to thousands of followers: paid advertisement and charity....which is free by the way.... So start with the ice challenge and get through all sorts of other challenges, famous on your fab social media channel. I've done the all. It is true that I have donated the money as well, cos I am good, honest girl, but still done them! But please if you really aspire to socialite status...design a website. I have one! Also, write all sorts of silly blogs. I do that! And for God sake, take selfies. I heard that some even took 365 in 365 a year! Follow the greats!

Step 3. Adopt a proper socialite language
We all know that English is an international language...but it's not the bees knees when it comes to being famous. There is an unwritten slang you need to know by heart. Watch reality shows if you don't believe me. So, start with the simple things. Like OMG. This is a must. If you don't know the basics, you would never get to a perfect language. Then, remember to "chillax", when you're tired of doing nothing.  Never ask or request your girlfriends anything.  Always "requestion" them. Never leave a party. Always "bounce". Once you handle very well all these you can jump to more complicated expressions. Like "OMG, BFF, don't get to salty on me. Your shoes are ill. My bad I felt jaunty and could't get some. The ones I bought are ballin too". It takes time to learn the whole slang, but if you want to be a socialite, you will!

Step 4. Choose your friends...carefully
Their name is more important  than the level of famousness. So keep your ears wide open when new people are introduces to you...and grab the Rockefellers. Also those who wear names of any chain of motels, hotels, restaurants. I haven't decided in regards to backpackers, but I will keep you informed...as I usually do. Don't forget the names on every lips...Visa and Master. Nobody would know if their ancestors invented the distinguished credit cards, but it is still good to be associated to a Visa and Master friend. No, Dinners card does't sound right! 

Step 5. Watch what you eat
Everybody knows that cockroaches and socialites are the only things that can stay up all night and eat anything.  It's common knowledge really. So eat, cos socialites eat too and remember that you are just about to be part of the sisterhood. You can for example eat the hole in the pretzel ... if it has one... Again, I haven't decided on the hole in the macaroni, so up to you. But you can eat one leaf of lettuce, no dressing or seasoning. Leave the rest to cockroaches! You can drink as much as you want ... I mean, water in the natural clear or pink versions!

Step 6. Fashion is the new common sense
Your wardrobe is very important. You don't want to look like the poor sister in the socialite's clan. This year, the trend is not far from last one's one....but I am sure you cannot afford that. I cannot either. I mean real designer garments, accessorised with Tiffanys and completed with Jimmy Choo. No, simple is not an option. Leave that to classy people! 

Step 7. Your own reality show is a must
...while a sex tape is just an option. But if you want badly to be a desired starlet, both are even better. No, less is more doesn't work here! If you opt for a reality show, keep in mind that the tape works 24/7, so you have to wake up with full make-up on, including a French labourer red lippy. Now, to achieve that, I would suggest a really simple sleeping position....sitting. It is so easy, I tried it, it works. 

Now, I have to admit that as easy as it it to become a socialite (in just 7 steps as I proved), I decided to take the shortcut and go back to work. It's less difficult for me! So, clients, please keep booking me! I'll be a socialite in my holiday...if any! :)

Wednesday, 20 August 2014

Anti-smacking trends

I don't watch often TV, but when I do, I always get the best. Like yesterday when I realised for the first time that a way of eradicating family violence is through rewarding the fighter if he stops smacking. Contemporary times, trendy methods... In my opinion, the difference between a weak person and a strong one is a thought...the one that makes the coward believe that he could become stronger through violence. I don't like fights, so I am more likely to find mentors in people with a straight spinal cord. It's maybe because I don't like bending to others either. However, I do understand that there may be reasons for weak people to act as they do....like assholes.  Therefore, I wouldn't raise them to the virtue of mentors. So, on one side the visionaries, on the other one the cowards. How did they get to these extremes is a question that can be answered only by God...perhaps. However, I'll try my best to come up with my own explanation...blonde style. 

 My life was and still is simple.Three of my idols knew everything about it. The first one defined my childhood, when I learnt that the social nucleus we call family has no definition because "some families have one mommy, some have one daddy or two families. And some children live with their uncle or aunt. Some live with their grandparents and some children live with foster parents". Thank you Robin Williams (Mrs. Doubtfire). The second one taught me, in my young age,  that it is more than fine to dream for the sake of dreaming. In other words, to live my own life without taking any responsibility for people who don't believe in the power of dreams because "our time is limited so don't waste it living someone else's life". Thank you Steve Jobs. Finally, the third one looked to my future. "I want to live 'til I die, no more, no less". Thanks Eddie Izzard. Three special visionaries for three stages in my life. 

On the other hand, there may have been some losers here and there...the ones I referred to as weak people. I have to be honest and admit that, if my three idols taught me a lot, the cowards in my life taught me even more. Infinite more! I learnt from them that violence is the last refuge of people who are nothing else than incompetents. The weird thing is that sometimes (please read "in most cases") society celebrates mediocrity more than excellence. Nothing wrong with being average. I am one of the most ordinary women ever. But I do believe in the power of that language spoken only by hearts. From and to other hearts! And I totally hate violence. Also hate the fact that aggressive people, the ones who find pleasure in  smacking their halves get certificates of good behaviour after attending a short anger management course. It's not the fact that they cannot change their lives. Everybody is entitle to try, but why on earth would one be rewarded for not doing evil things? In my world, excellence is rewarded. And by the way, I am wondering what's written on those certificates of "good behaviour". Congratulations on not beating up your family...during module 1, 2 and 3 of the course? 

Anyway, the gap between strong and weak people is huge and with every moment it gets even bigger. So what makes the strong stronger? In my opinion the fact that a strong man focuses on emotions. Not his though. A strong man knows that human emotions are a special language in this world of quantum possibilities. The same man doesn't tend to rely on validation and definitely doesn't live his life "as if". And even if he's not rewarded with a certificate of good behaviour (which he doesn't need anyway!), the same strong man believes in affirmations spoken in the language of our hearts. And if  a strong man looks up to a weak one, believing in the power of change, the coward looks down to the hero. Why wouldn't he? He has no certificate of good behaviour for not smacking anyone...during his anger management course. With or without the piece of paper, which side would you prefer to be? Because if it's on the strong side, I may make you my hero! :)

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Sunday, 3 August 2014

Detox your thoughts!

I tried all the detoxes in the world. Curiosity is my name...or it should be anyway! Do you want to know my conclusion regarding detox diets? Some work, some don't...mostly don't to be perfectly honest. Just lately I realised that there is nothing wrong with my body. I don't need to neutralise any toxins in my body cos there are none. If there is something I need to detoxify that would be my thoughts Let me just tell you how I realised that. 

Weekends can be boring when is pouring rain. I know that the weather man on the telly said that there would be some sporadic showers this weekend, but he got it wrong...as per usual! Raining cats and dogs has nothing to do with showers. Anyway, raining kept me inside...bored and tired of doing absolutely nothing. So I thought that downloading a new game would keep me occupied. I turned on my dear Apple and the first game that came up in the Apps store was...no, you won't guess this. "Kim Kardashian: Hollywood". Seriously? Since when children (no, not like me!) would enjoy a game like that?  And what's that game about anyway? You tell me if you find it out because I feel no urge to download it!

YouTube may save me I though. Bing picked just for me the latest "miracle", a very useful video about "How to talk like a Kardashian". I know that you may have some doubts, but have a go and find out for yourselves if I'm right or not. I can assure you I am. Anyway, I had no desire to lean a new language, not even a kardashian one, so, I said what I had to say (you don't want to hear what!) and jumped to another thing that may have battle with my boredom. 

It's called Facebook of course. Now with Facebook there is a story to be told. I have many friends...hundreds of them and I follow their activity on my News Feed...where in between my friends' posts there are some random announcements made through and by some unknown pages. I never liked them, I don't know who created them and still don't understand who gave them permission to bother me! They have legit names and their posts are tempting. Some about Ellen and her face (nothing wrong with her face by the way!), others about JLo and her weight gain (nothing to be worried about: she is still a hot latino!) or just about a poor Aussie girl who had no money to spend on losing around 50kg (just to be clear here: the photo is super stretched). Maybe you have them on your News Feeds too...don' open them if you do! They would all take you to a miraculous pill that promises to help you lose 10kgs in 10 days. I would lose my job if that would be true! However, I opened the videos, one by one today, just because I was bored and then I said...what I had to say...again!  Still on Facebook, I check what's that deal about the wrinkle free face of a 52 years old woman. Wait a sec! Same face, different post, this time the woman is 62. And then another post of another scammer I guess, with the same photo of the same woman who is now 72. At least the person behind the page, cos I assume there is only one, kept the number "2" running. Decent, nice guy I guess. If you get them on your pages, accompanied by "you won't believe that", don't open. Same detox  pill that doesn't work. How do I know that? I tried it....I told you I tried them all!

The cherry on the top of my weekend was that call from IRD. Don't jump to conclusions just yet! The guy, who had nothing to do with the tax department, may have been  threatened me with court cases, but, even if I am a blondie,  I still can recognise a scammer! By the way, the real IRD was happy when I reported the phone call and the details the scammer gave me over the phone. 

So, now at the end of the weekend,  with a more colourful language, I realised that some people may have to detox their brains....cos they are quite sluggish. I may have a blonde brain, but I would never create a Kardashian game for children, a new  nasal affected language or believe that a pill can help one drop weight overnight. And I wouldn't definitely  believe what a guy with a strong Indian accent pretends to be. Blonde or not, my brain is perfectly fine. I don' have to detox it as well as I don't have to detox my body. But I really have to detox my thoughts about some people somehow. Help! Any meditation groups around? :)

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Wednesday, 16 July 2014

Jonah from Tonga

Everybody knows Hendrix. He is even more famous than the one he borrowed his name from. You guessed right...Jimi. I blogged so many times about him...and if I'd keep doing that, he may be more popular than Paris. No, not the town! So if you never heard about Hendrix is just because you didn't want to. Otherwise he is everywhere. Just google him. He has more hits than the Pope! However, let me just remind you that Hendrix is my 15 months old puppy, black like the darkest night, stubborn, demanding and naughty. Hendrix is everything to me even if, back in my Auckland home, he chewed everything he was able to, starting with cables, couches, chairs, carpets, trees and even....a metal lamp. I told you he was stubborn. He escaped my property as many times as he felt like it and the neighbourhood's biggest task was to catch him and bring him back home. Nobody got upset because everybody knew how playful and lovely Hendrix can be. Plus I rewarded the lucky ones with free Personal Training sessions. But this is confidential! Things changed though when I moved to a small area in Coromandel peninsula. Even if he is just a puppy, Hendrix is huge and some neighbours thought that his soul may be as black as his fur. But this is not the case at all. He is a lovely, naughty puppy...and he is mine. And because he is, also because I am more stubborn than he can be, I decided to enrol him in a school....doggy school. 

So here I was, at 7pm in the Placemakers carpark....hoping that a miracle would happen and the course would be canceled. But it was not! So I hopped off my car with Hendrix beside me. Not before I checked I had everything the dog whisperer required me to bring. Not a lot though: a soft collar (brand new, blue and very smart by the way!), poo bags and treats. I looked at other dog owners entering the warehouse with small bags of doggy treats and I thought to myself "no, that was nothing for a dog like mine!". So I filled in all my pockets with all sorts of tasty treats for my dear Hendrix baby, up to the point where I felt like too heavy to walk. And I entered...and that's when the show started. Nothing like my son's or my daughter's first day at school. There were a few tears back then....but nothing major. Third time at school, I knew how to handle this, I thought. But I didn't. Firstly, very excited of seeing so many dogs around, Hendrix started pulling, yelling and barking. Just one of Hendrix' normal tantrums. Anyway, the smart leash broke, but at least it lasted while we made the big entrance!

The trainer already met my puppy at the private session I paid her for. She also knew that this one was a worry! So, after she pet the trouble maker on the back,  she tried to speak to other dog owners. Tried is correct, because nothing and nobody can cover Hendrix' voice. They may understood her, but I doubted. Anyway they all stood in a circle with their well behaved dogs at their left. At some point, I wondered why were they attending the obedience school. Their dogs were obedient alright. Their problem how they spent their money! So back to the circle. Not us tough! We, Hendrix and I, had to walk through the isles...to calm the beast down. It's a tactical move, the trainer told me. "Just walk", the dog whisperer said, "he will calm down"....but he didn't. So we walked and from time to time I tried to pull him closer to the circle. Just to hear what the trainer told others. But I didn't...Hendrix barked continously!

A haft an hour later, tired of walks, Hendrix started spitting himself. That was something new, I thought. Full of all sorts of gluey, disgusting spit, the boy decided to get closer to the circle .... exactly at the moment when dogs where required to sit. Now, this was our moment to shine! Mum and baby boy together! Hendrix can be naughty and demanding, but he is smart and he knows all the tricks. He sits and shakes and lays down and even rolls on command. So, I have to proudly tell you that he was the only one doing what the trainer asked to. All eyes on me! Exactly like in Will I Am and Britney's song! Wait a sec. I forgot to tell you that we still had to walk away from the crowd in between all those "sit"and "down" commands....but at least we shined! Not so much, because a few minutes later, Hendrix discovered on the ceiling some invisible birds he started chasing. Then, under the racks, some invisible mice he chased too! In the meantime, 12 other dogs sat calm in the circle. With them, the trainer's own 3 dogs that looked only in their owner's eyes. I tried catching Hendrix' sight, but he was to preoccupied looking at other dogs. Maybe he didn't want to spit himself. Maybe he tried to spit them....as a statement of his mood!

Should I continue? Maybe not! All I have to say is that an hour later (the longest hour in my whole life!) we, humans, were handed files with homework to do. Lots of it! That I am decided to do with Hendrix...no matter what! Not because I have too much time on my sleeve. The reason is in the paperwork given by my doggy's trainer. It's written there that not all the dogs would graduate....and I really want my Hendrix to get that nice green with pure gold writing certificate. And if he wouldn't, it's just because he is not one of those geeky ones! Hendrix may not be obedient, but at least he has character....and he is not boring like others....And to be honest, I am sure I found Hendrix' twin. Jonah from Tonga, of course! :)

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Tuesday, 8 July 2014

Hollywood, here I come! :)

Sometimes I miss my girlies...the ones I left behind when I moved from the big city to the small, beachy town. Not just them, mostly the chit chats we  had about...what about actually? What do girls talk when they are getting wild? The big screen, who's on it and who's out for good! I still keep myself informed because I have no clue when one of my chicks would decide to visit...and I don't want to look dumb! So, after I've been internalising a very complicated situation in my head, I agreed that the last thing I wanted was Monique to say I was dumb! I don't like watching TV, but I have to! Therefore I installed, not one, but two teles, each connected to its own digital provider. I run Sky  and Freeview in the same time because I have to be informed! Mostly gossips....and reality shows! And to be above my girlie babes, I decided to start living the life the starlets do. The only difference is that they, the nobodies who play the role of somebodies, are getting paid big bucks for being nothing else than themselves. I can do that! Being me is a full time job anyway! So let me, the blondie, be the one who brings some huge shows to New Zealand!

So, yesterday morning I kind of wanted to be the undercovered boss. How nice "Undercover Boss New Zealand", proudly brought by me, the boss with no employees, sounds! So I left behind my pink outfits and stepped into my studio...where I had a deep convo, from boss to employee, with myself, of course. I got to the point where I had to congratulate myself for some decisions and penalise me for others. But them I realised that there was the moment to write some cheques and give away a holiday or a new car or something...to myself again, in the absence of any employees. I had a look to my boring bank account and....  I changed back to my pink and short outfits!

So, next step, "The Voice" New Zealand. I could sing, no doubt...but I need my drum kit...for a little bit of rhythm...or to cover my voice! And my drums have a spring missing, so I have to keep the silence for the next few days, just until my spring arrives via the Courier Post. Now, we all know how well this service works. Therefore, if I am lucky and I get the missing piece (which I doubt), I may have the pleasure to delight my neighbours. At this stage, The Voice NZ is still on cards. I just have to ask the neighbours before if they agree to be my judges. 

The Bachelorette New Zealand was my next thought, but I had to bring a twist that would make the show more attractive. Firstly I needed something more exciting than roses, something like.... dumbbells. What's wrong with that? I am a Personal Trainer and dumbbells are my best friends! My question to the possible bachelors would then be "So and so, would you accept this dumbbell? Very original by the way, but there was one small problem! I don't want a bachelor!

X Factor New Zealand would be the best for me! If I don't have the factor, I don't know who would! I could show the country pretty much everything. I could even compete with my puppy Hendrix, the only dog in the world that does nothing is told to! We could mess something out together. Comparing to him, Marley is a very well behaved quadruped! I also have other talents to show off. Like the slowest car tyre changer in the whole world. No, this won't do it, so back to Hendrix again. He can prove how many shoes he can destroy in a minute. You know which minute. The one when you just turn away to hang the washing out. Turn back to him....all the shoes pieces! If this is not a winner, then no other act is!

I could also bring Jersey Shore or Geordie Shore to New Zealand! Our original title would be Bro Shore NZ. Bear with me for a sec! I could play a main act in the show, yes I could! I could swear, just wend me across the script a little bit. To be perfectly honest, I still have problems with swearing, but I am a fast learner! But no, on a second thought. I have no intention of showing my bits off live! 

What about "Keeping up with the Abrahams"...New Zealand, of course? Sounds brilliant, isn't it? I just have to round my buddy a little bit and I will be good to go. I could do the duck lips pose, I could talk nonsense, I could even make a tragedy out of nothing and tell the whole world about it. The only problem is...the buddy. But working on it, no doubt!

I have so many ideas about "fabulous" reality shows that New Zealand would benefit of...or not! The whole day yesterday I tried to figure out which one to start with. I tried harder today. Still no decision, so I decided to join a Garden Club in the meantime. At least I'd learn something that I could really use in the future. More than I could learn if I join a Tupperware party, because I already know how to put a lid on a plastic box! But, to be honest, I haven't told the other members about my intention of ravishing the producers with my tele talents. Not because I was shy...just because I didn't want to be kicked out before accepting me as a member! :)

Monday, 7 July 2014

Treats for the love of my life


I believe in miracles and in all sorts of spooky things others wouldn't bother  even considering. I believe that people have the power to change and the world could become a better place, which through my blondness eyes looks like Alice's wonderland. No, I'm not an incurable naive. I know by now that Easter bunny is a fake while unicorns are real...or the other way around? Anyway, the fact is that I still believe in miracles....and Hendrix is one of them. And just to prove that I am right, I decided to take him to training school. Not quite...just to doggy obedience course. But, once in my life, I wanted to make it right, so I even paid for a One-on-One session before the course starts. Here is the story.

As naughty as Hendrix is, I dearly love him. Some of my neighbours not so much though. The animal officer from the local Council turning up to my door proves that. My neighbours may be stubborn, but wait to see me. I am Miss Stubbornness herself. I could win the Nobel Prize for stubbornness if somebody would invent it! I may lost some battles here and there, but I always won the deciding war. Hendrix is the love of my life, a huge 15 months old Labrador- Ridgeback cross, black from head to toes, naughty and demanding.  And a little bit special. Just like me! With this thought in my mind I drove Hendrix to his private lesson with a real dog whisperer. Not because I thought she, the trainer, can do miracles in 60 minutes (I tried for 15 months and nothing happened!) or because I had too much money floating around. Just because the obedience course starts next week and I don't want Hendrix to be "Student of the day" on his first day at doggy school. Plus I hate people rolling their eyes when he does only what he wants. 

The lady was very friendly. And patient! She had bags of treats for Hendrix that proves that she read carefully the email I sent her about the Prince of Darkness and his very special behaviour. She certainly did that because she even brought some extra leashes.... in case Hendrix decided to take off. Which he didn't by the day because he loves his food and treats are his favourites. They work like this: Hendrix does what he wants and I reward him for...what for by the way? But the lady knew her job very well and, as I've said, she was patient...extremely patient. While she taught my puppy stuff that he knows anyway but he doesn't want to do, the whisperer's two gorgeous Border Collies sat nicely in her car...with all the doors opened. No running away, which made me jealous. Even Hendrix noticed their good behaviour and, just to prove it, he threw a tantrum...Hendrix style, with yelling and barking and rolling on the grass while pulling my shoulder out of the socket. Thank God, my dear baby got bored fast and, when he noticed that the treats stopped coming, had to give up. I told you that my baby Hendrix loves his food!

By the end of the session, Hendrix learnt a lot. He now knows that he can get lots and lots of treats, not for good behaviour,...just because he is mine! I am relieved and ready to start the 8 week obedience course. No fears anymore.  Hendrix will not be the worse dog enrolled in a good behaviour course. I will make sure of that. I have books and a special folder from my dog whisperer, a very fancy leash and....treats! Heaps of them! Plus there are 6 more days left until the course starts, so I can practice. No, not the training! Just how fast I would be able to deliver treats. As faster as better I guess, because, with his mouth full, my naughty puppy cannot make those funny sounds he usually does ... more like ultrasounds really! 

On a brighter note, the lady is the best dog trainer I have ever met. And I've seen a few! She is my hope in a miracle. Hendrix the miracle! And if I have no clue how much Hendrix will enjoy the course, I know for sure what I am going to wear during the sessions. That baggy jacket with enormous pockets! You don't imagine how many treats I can hide in them! :)

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Saturday, 28 June 2014

Who are the real sexy ones?

Courage is a word very used these days. All the famous people have the courage to do something...at least this is what media likes us to believe, while average people's only courage is to live. Politicians have the courage to tell us things understood only by them, starlets to unveil their average boring life in all sorts of reality shows, runaway models to starve themselves to death, some athletes to embrace cheating ways of winning by swallowing so called "supplements", others to push, pull or even bite their opponents in the same desire of getting a larger slice of fame. So lately I started wondering what is courage and who are  the real courageous peeps. It wasn't hard to find the answer by the way. I have to admit that for a few weeks I got  things all arsy-versy. But then a few days ago, suddenly I realised what courage means. 

Firstly, I remembered how dad used to tell me to always be courageous. What he meant, I guess, was to never be afraid of who or what I am. In other words to conquer the world...my way. And that made me remember Conchita Wurst, or Tom Neuwirth if you would like. Now, in my humble opinion Tom is courageous and Conchita is extremly beautiful... and, let's admit it...even sexy....in her way. Without being part of any minority, I got to the conclusion that sex appeal  is related somehow to courage. Courageous, confident people who are not afraid of being themselves are sexy. That confirms me at least why I am not attracted to any "glory of the day" somebody. Their so called beautiful image is mostly created by their agents, PRs and media of course. 

If courage would be based only on self confidence, everybody would want and get it. But it should be more than that, so I remembered....Conchita again. I am sure that my dad would have liked her and have had the answer in a sec, even if he never saw her, but unfortunately my dad is long time gone. However, my blonde brain needed more than a sec to reveal the truth....my kind of it. Courageous people are tolerant because one needs lots and lots of courage to chose to be tolerant nowadays. But some people do it and they are the absolute winners. A whole list of amazing beings, starting with Gandhi, can prove it. I am far of being like them and I still have lots of tolerance lessons to learn. However, I remember the day I left the country I was raised in for a different future in a land I knew nothing about. A buddy of my friend told me just a second before the take off that I was very courageous to leave behind what I was comfortable with for who knows what I was going to find ahead. That made me melancholic back then. Now, I realise that I wasn't the courageous one. My friend's buddy was. He had the courage to never change. He also had the courage to stay intolerant his whole life...but this is another story that I may share another time. 

Anyway, there may be many things that distinguish a courageous person from a coward one. For me though tolerance and confidence are more than enough. That doesn't mean that I got them both. Work in progress. I however got to the realisation that the only beautiful people I ever met are the ones who know who they are, are comfortable with themselves, admit differences and don't judge them. I hope I will get to that point myself...someday! And that day I will be smoking hot like a pistol! Good on you, Conchita for staying true to yourself! 

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