Free your mind

People discriminate. That's a fact. It is not just some sort of lack of tolerance or being judgemental. It mostly is the way they percieve  differences between themselves and others. To be honest, we are all so similar, despite colour, race, gender, age, sexuality. We all have the same desire: to be happy.  

I am not the one who found the reason behind discrimination. Unfortunately! There are others more skilled and more than likely smarter than me. Or maybe not. Because I haven't heard about anybody who came to a  conclusion yet and, until somebody does,  people  still discriminate. 

However, as blonde as I may seem, I believe that parents could be partially blamed. I gloriously came to this conclusion today! Let me explain myself.  love social  media. Let's be honest. Face to face socialising becomes more difficult and at the end of the day nothing is official until is not on Facebook....or Twitter. Everybody knows that! I am part of all sorts of groups, some having to do with my passions or  my work interests....but mostly my hobbies.  Some groups are women only and, as silly as it may sound, it is fab helping out sisters, But today I decided that I needed a loving hand and a clear brain from my girlies. 

You see, I am a girlie girl with some really "manly" passions. I drum and drums took over my whole existance. What  has that have to do with Facebook groups, you may ask. Nothing really, but have some faith in me. There is more to be said. So I love my drums so very much that, getting better and better, I decided to take over an other instrument, one that I  always wanted to learn: bass guitar. So I started recently splitting my time between my drums and my bass. It's just that with drums I have no problem, but on bass I kind of got stuck....and I suck!  So I reached out to my fellow ladies in a few Facebook groups and asked if there was anybody out there who played an instrument. I knew  that my issues would be  sorted once at least a hundred out of around 1,600 girlies active in all those groups would reply. Everybody did actually,  but.....only three ladies posted that they played piano or acoustic guitar. The rest (make the math, 1,597) wished they were encouraged by their parents or partners to get involved in music. It's true that some said they can sing and a  few that they bought instruments in the past, but sold them right after their partners disagreed with their new hobby. The majority  of those ladies only Facebook groups thought I was extremely lucky playing instruments mostly designed for men. Really? Honestly, who decided what's for us and what's for them? 

The whole day I was trying to figure out why women my generation are less involved in music than men.  It may be, as my Facebook sisters said, because their parents didn't encouraged them. So I asked if they had brothers who played music. Some had. Are parents more likely to buy drums for example to their sons rather than their daughters and, if yes, why? Do parents believe that their daughters' grace is forever lost whilst playing drums or bass on Led Zeppelin? I believe that this is not their concern. I kind of think that parents implement the first seed of discrimination in their kids' way of thinking when they decide what is proper for a girl and what is it for a boy. When parents start dressing their daughters mostly in pink and their sons in blue, they, the children understand that colour is important. From there on to skin color discrimination is just a step. Then Santa brings a drum kit to a boy and a set of plastic pots, cups and plates to a girl. They both learn who is the master here....and who feeds the leader. 
So without going any further, I would just ask parents to think before having actions that may encourage their children to discriminate... Just think....and think again. Encourage your children to dream huge, do things that nobody dreamed doing, conquer the world! It's 21st century and all this lamentation about skin colour, gender, sexuality is pathetic....and disgusting. And to prove I am right, I dare to say: "Hi. I am Brigitte. I am a girlie girl and I beat the hell out of my drums". 

Always yours, :)​Brigitte

The truth about Masterchef

I love cooking! The whole alchemy behind boiling, frying and rosting has always fascinated me. Just think about it. Raw, unpleaseant stuff becomes an explosion of smells and flavors... that could create lifetime addictions more than the finest cocaine would!

I started cooking, I mean really cooking, long time ago and, during the years, I added a little bit of style and class to my final products and developed in that five stars gourmet cook.  And this because, as we all know it, us Virgos cannot exist outside excellence and perfection. 

For several years now, I watched many cooking TV shows...too many I guess, but again, without putting me in a box, remember my three highlights: Virgo, blondie, girlie!  

I am still mesmerised by those amazing chefs creating culinary masterpieces, so I watch their shows with loyalty and passion. I also watch Masterchef.....and I still don't get it! So let me explain myself. 

For me, time management is important. A well done job, sorry, an excellent job, requires a certain amount of time, so I plan and strategically follow the procedures I created before starting the job. I call it the strategy of being always on time.  Last week for example I had 15 people for dinner. Simple menu, 2 curries, one veggie, one seafood, plus some rice and naan breads...enough to feed the crowd.  I had no more than 2 hours to complete the job, starting with picking all the goodies from my veggie garden and continuing with cooking the Indian feast, sipping my wine (a good chef always has a nice glass of wine handy....as seen on TV!), washing the dishes, making my home presentable and wellcoming for my guests.... and of course putting my face on with what ever that involves....Two hours not even a minute more. An hour before my proposed deadline, I was already all over the internet, facebooking, tweeting, instagraming and pinteresting. The smell of my curries was lingering in my home, which, by the way, looked clean and tiddy. What am I saying? It looked stunning, the home of an OCD girlie that I am. 

Since then a question keeps bothering me. If I, a person with no Michelin stars, can cook for 15 people and do the job in an hour, why a heck those skilled and trained aspiring chefs, competing for a Masterchef apron, need 90 minutes for producing a bloody toast sandwich or one so called a-la-carte poached egg. Maybe because it is served with 2 perfectly simetrical  sliced tomatoes on the side or maybe because that  invisible sauce apparently sprinkled on the plate needs time inventing it. 90 minutes that don't include cleaning up the storm they made whils cooking. That's probably the producers' or maybe the audience's dutty!  Ridiculous! So, I'm just thinking: am I a superwoman, which I am not, or are they, the aspiring chefs, just part of a setup steriotypical reallity show, one that we follow without thinking. Either way, my hypothesis (that meets my conclusion too) cannot be more than the fact that us, women...and sometimes men (not very often though) are kind of busy thiese days. We have a limited time to muck about in the kitchen and, in that short time we have, we cook. I mean cook! Prepare the food that feeds our families just by following the recipees our mothers, grandmothers and their female ancestors used. We do it in time and on time! The chefs we adore started the same way. Gordon, Jammie, Nigella never needed 90 minutes for a toastie! They've created masterpieces in less than that! So please just give me a break Masterchef! I love you but I chose to don't believe everything about you! I will though when you can proove that you invented the hole in the macaroni!

Always yours, :)
​Brigitte

Click here if you want to email me

When you lose your best friend

When a friend dies the world stops for a moment and nothing seems the same. In my case, the whole universe collapsed when my best friend crossed over. So many great memories came back...and so much guilt. 

Best friends accept you as you are. They wouldn't want you different. They are there in good times and in miserable ones. They listen to your problems and cuddle up with you when you're teary. They witness your kids growing up and are happy with as little time as they can give them. Best friends are great and if you ever had one you can consider yourself super fortunate. 

My best friend was all that and even more. He never asked for anything else than a smile...a walk on the beach....a word..... and it was still fine if I couldn't give him any of that.  He never lied to me, never judged me, never cheated on me, never hurt me. He made me feel special and coming back home to him was always ecstatic. He witnessed every bootcamp and fitness class I held back in Auckland and never complained of being tired. He knew all my clients and their children. He loved them all because they were part of my life. But most of all, he loved my children. He helped me raise them..... babysit them...... and entertain them in a way only a best friend can. Did I tell you how smart he was? He understood all sorts of foreigner languages I was able to speak to him....depending on my mood! He loved music and put up with my drumming even when my groove sucked! My best friend was a marvel! 

My best friend wasn't the most handsome being in the world. He was furry...and smelly and lately he became grumpy. Just old age and cancer I guess... But even then he lived for pleasing me. And now that he's gone, amazing memories are not enough to replace sadness and tears. 

​Rest in peace Max. The best dog a human being can dream for. Run free and fast in heaven! 

​Brigitte

RIP IPhone

The only thing I have always with me is my IPhone. I could live an hour at most without my high heels, my colourful headbands or my pink outfits. But never without my IPhone. My whole life is in it: my clients' appointments, my drumming lessons schedule, my blonde notes, everything really. And to be honest, my phone became an extension of my arm. On Friday, The Universe decided to disagree with my addiction to my mobile phone though. Let me tell you my story. 

Last Friday started gloriously. Everything went smooth, my clients were amazing, my coffee was exactly as I liked it and every little thing predicted a fab day....up to 9am when my IPhone's screen tuned blue...then red....and lastly green. Then it died. No worries, I thought. I opened ITunes and tried to update my phone or even restore it to the factory settings. One or the other! But my phone was stubborn, more than I would have expected my best friend to act. I still hopped, so I started google-ing the symptoms and the result was clear. My iPhone died.

For a minute I was still in denial (a minute of silence in the memory of my IPhone really!), then I reached for my landline phone and rang Apple. They know everything....not. The guy who answered was really polite, I mean very, very. It was a shame I couldn't understand his accent. I thought I had a strong one, but wait to hear this dude. Somehow I got the fact that my IPhone had a hardware problem, unless there was some water in it. I tried explaining that I don't usually swim with my phone on me....just because I don't have a swimming pool. Also that it hasn't rained for a while and I kind of work long hours....indoor. But back to the options given at the end of the line. Two really. First, to get a new replacement phone until mine is fixed. Then ship it back. This comes with a charge, the guy said,....of $1,000. But apparently I would be reimbursed when I get mine back.....which, to be perfectly clear, I didn't rust...at all.  Second option was to send it to be repaired. Now wait cos it's not so simple. In the next 2 working days, Apple would post me out a box. Once I get that (in another 2 working days) I would have to pack my IPhone in it, phone the courier company they use and wait for another few day to be picked up.  After my phone gets to them, probably in another few days, I would have to wait for up to 10 working days, for my phone to be checked, then once all fine, they will ship it out to me, which would take another few days to get it. In total a minimum of 3 weeks...if I'm lucky. But wait. I won't get back my phone repaired. I will get another phone that has been "refurbished". Only God knows what that means. I think I do as well though. I would get an IPhone that somebody returned because it was broken....but not so screwed like mine so it has been fixed somehow and it would work great...... until the warranty runs out. After going through my brilliant options, I was left to think which out suits me best. Not before I was told the third option which was to drive to Auckland to a repair centre, then drive back home and back again in 3 weeks when I can pick it up. There are only 79km, the lad said. No there are not....more like 200km. No way, the guy argued, I checked it online, he said. I done it many times, I replied and I knew that there are 3 hours drive with a speed ticket and an extra half an hour without the ticket. 

Anyway, I started thinking what works for me and decided to go for the long 3 weeks option. No, I am not giving you my credit card details. And I am not driving to Auckland and back and again there and back. Two days work lost and lots of cash in petrol. So, I rang back. This time, another guy, same impossible accent.....but my ear already got used to the first one. I gave him my case number and I already felt kind of important because I was allocated one. He put me on hold...and cut me off. So I rang back. A lovely lady answered my call. She was from the same country as the other two before her. Case number again and 10 minutes later, all organised. Oops, I forgot to say that I needed a pen and a whole A4 paper to write down the details I have to give the courier company when they will (sorry: "if" they will) pick up my beloved IPhone. Something like case number followed by repair number, then Apple account number with them... I even forgot what else and I cannot find the piece of paper I wrote all these things down. But no problem, cos I received an email from Apple explaining that the courier company will pick up my phone....from an address that's not mine. So lucky me. Tomorrow is Monday and I will start again my calls to these lovely and polite people with weird accents and, if I am so lucky as I think I am, I will get another email with my correct details. 

Now in regards to my clients' appointments, no, I haven't lost them. Everything was stored on ICloud one would think. They were....some of them. I was even ecstatic that, according to ICloud, I have only 2 hours work a day the next few weeks. Only to reassure myself, I opened my calendar on my Mac laptop. Oppss. More appointments. Then my IPad...even more....and I am sure that there are more that got lost in ether between the cloud and my gadgets. But no worries. Life is good and in a few weeks time I, the one who always bought the latest Apple mobiles, all of them,  will get an old phone already used by somebody. To be honest again, whilst dealing with the nice call centre people, I started developing a backup plan. Just because, after all those phone calls, I don't believe that things would go as smooth as the nice customer service people assured me....but I would love to be surprised! :)

Click here to email Brigitte

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! :)

Click here to email Brigitte

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). :)

Click here to email Brigitte

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. :)

Click here to email Brigitte

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!

Click here to email Brigitte

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! :)
Click here if you want to email Brigitte

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.

So, guys, are you part of my present? Cos if you are, there is so much fun in my "now" stage. And remember that in my existence "everything you imagine is real" as my dear Picasso said. I am quite wise beyond my blondness and pinkness, am I not?   Now I really need a hat! :)

 Click here to email Brigitte

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! :)

Click here to email Brigitte

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! :)

Click here to email Brigitte

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? :)

Click here to email Brigitte