quite a handful

Last night I went to see Irina Palm, the much-discussed film about a suburban granny who gives men "manual pleasure" (my middle name is Euphemism...) at a seedy sex club in Soho in order to pay for her grandson's operation in Australia, or rather for his parents' flights and accommodation there.

Quite predictably, there are no graphic images whatsoever and all the grossness involved is expressed in Maggie's/Irina's/Marianne Faithful's initial disgust. In spite of the grim subject matter there are actually some funny elements as well. I couldn't quite decide, though, if the paucity of long dialogue was a sign of an uninspired script-writer or a deliberate measure to put more emphasis on the protagonist's expressive face.

Know those plywood backdrops at fairgrounds which show people in fancy dress and all you have to do is poke your head through and have your picture taken? I'll probably never again be able to look at them without imagining the hole to be somewhat smaller and more, erm south...

pars pro toto

Despite the fact that my lunch-breaks these days are usually devoted to food-intake rather than to retail therapy, I do manage to pick up the odd purchase on the way, such as the pair of sunglasses above which I bought while waiting for my colleague to have the earpieces of his specs adjusted.

On the whole, I've become even more, erm, efficient in condensing high-voltage shopping into a minimum of time. Take yesterday. The plan was just to pop down to my (hideous) local shopping mall to buy groceries for the Book Club and a lucky charm necklace for the baptism of Frida's youngest. Yours truly has been chosen as godmother and is accordingly proud.

The jeweller's happened to have a special redecorating sale with up to 50% off on selected items. Magic words! Guess who treated herself to a pair of gold earings for herself... On the way to the supermarket I got waylaid into H&M where magically, a t-shirt, a bra and at last (I'd been looking for months) a pair of black cotton 3/4 length leggings (tip: try the kids dept) sprung themselves on me. As did a pair of shoes in another store, 10 minutes later.

And I haven't even checked out the ZARA summer sale which started on Friday.

better safe than sorry

Recently seen in my neighbourhood:Introducing Lock deLuxe: the new approach to bike (and car) theft-prevention.

interruption

When you want to lure customers to your merchandise with videos it makes sense to choose your software wisely or they might end up looking at not-so-sexy system messages.

close shave

Yesterday at about 7 p.m. I was on my way back from my relatives', sweating away in my non-airconditioned car on the not-quite-congested motorway, brooding about some things that were bugging me when suddenly the car in front of me, one of those nondescript family vans, skidded towards the emergency lane with screeching tyres. Raising quite an impressive cloud of dust when it hit the hard shoulder, the van bounced back to the motorway and slithered across all 4 lanes until it grazed the guard rail on the left and bounced back once more like a pinball to the second lane from the left, the very one where I was driving at normal motorway speed, i.e. 130 km/h. It all happened so quickly and yet I more or less anticipated each "step", making a quick calculation if what they'd taught me in Physics was right after all, that angle of incidence=angle of reflection. Indeed, that equation is pretty accurate I must say after having seen it put to practice.

I managed to swerve out of the lane of the out-of-control car, check my rearview-mirror to see whether those cars behind me would be able to brake on time and hit the brake myself all in one swift process.

Crisis averted and having seen that the driver (Had he fallen asleep for a second?Had one of his kids distracted him or the family dog licked his ear? Who knows.) had regained control over his car, I continued the journey, surprisingly un-shaken.

I was this close to being the first domino in a massive motorway pile-up, most likely fatal. And yet, I had almost forgotten it by the time I arrived home half an hour later. None of the horror and weak knees I experienced when I whitnessed a dead body being pulled out of the Danube or saw a man being hit by a tram, then running off in what must have been shock.

Strange, this.

spiky

Haven't been in the chirpiest of moods lately so I'll just post a photo I recently took and which will probably make it into next year's calendar project. More soon.

while I was at it...

After I'd brushed up the blue of the base of the kitchen wall with a colour that turned out to be somewhat brighter than the original, I decided to go a bit wild and paint the wall above my worktop as well.

How did you guess that I wish I had a swimming pool...

Whitewashed

I feel like an old granny today, aching in places where I didn't even know I had muscles. The reason? I painted my kitchen yesterday (holiday in Austria). My kitchen is tiny, as in less-than-10 m²-tiny, which was the reason for my very wrong reasoning that I'd be done in no time. Hah, farking hah!. Due to the fact that there is almost no floor space I had to more or less move the ladder after every brush-stroke and shove the fridge around every ten minutes. Plus I obviously didn't take the kitchen cupboards off the wall, hence had to reach over them, standing on tip-toe on the last rungs of my ladder. Which sort of explains why the muscles in my calves are sore. Oh, and my ceilings are 3,20 m high.

Can you please remind me to NEVER AGAIN paint a room? Back in January, a friend painted my spare bedroom and all I did back then was clean after him. It was when I posed for the photo above. Yesterday it was a good 20° warmer outside and yours truly was clad in a ribbed vest and very unflattering (=cellulite bumps on full display) pair of shorts which would not have been fit for a photo had there been any paparazzi on site. I had several chivalric offers to assist me which I (stupidly!) declined, saying that there was no space to swing a cat in my kitchen and two would be one painter to many. I should have seized the opportunity to try and negotiate "help" into "doing the job single-handedly". Duh!

Today I took the day off and visited my ex-colleagues in Coma HQ who were all eager to hear about my new job. They won't get a replacement for me so there seems to be work all of a sudden which obviously is quite a novel sensation. M. jokingly asked if they could have me back. I laughed. For a moment, I thought back to the predictable office-hours when everyone would leave at 5:30 on the dot, the unthreatening atmosphere with no need to prove yourself and your abilities every day (or ever) and most of all, the daily chat with the girls.

Much as I like the daily challenges in my new job, I often feel like an impostor among people who seem to have sucked up business-speak in their mother's milk. I haven't quite decided if I want to imitate them out of sincere interest or just in order to blend in with a crowd. I'm afraid, it's the latter.

the Ikea Phenomenon

a.k.a. I-just-wanted-to-have-a-look-you-know-but-somehow-I-always-end-up-with-at-least-two-bags-full-of-napkins-and-tealights.

If you're a woman, my guess is that you're not completely unaware of the IKEA Pheonomenon yourself. Yesterday morning, the PP's sister called.

PPS: So, what's the plans for today?
RT: Well, I was thinking of going to IKEA. I need new roller blinds for the kitchen, you know.

PPS: What a coincidence - I'm practically on my way there myself and believe it or not, I need new blinds myself. Hey, want to come with me?

When she dropped me off a good 4 hours later, several other items had mysterioulsy found their way into my 2 huge paper bag besides the roller blinds. Such as new bedside table lamps (one of the old ones was broken and they'd discontinued the line so I couldn't get a replacement, see), a cushion that perfectly fits the armchair I'd inherited from the Mermaid and re-upholstered myself some years ago, 2 bowls, the inevitable napkins, etc, etc...

***

Hen night update: Thanks to a bridal pep-talk with Party Planner a couple of days before, last night was very enjoyable indeed with no silly game in sight. After dinner at Indochine 21, where I'd always wanted to go, btw, we ended up at Vienna's bar with the most spectacular view. I got home at half 3 and was up at 09:15 already to resume preparing the kitchen for next week's paint job. No case of senile insomnia alas as I'm feeling pretty knackered right now. Speaking of senile... a lunch-time nap seems like a pretty reasonable good all of a sudden. Yawn.

hen pecking

Tomorrow night, the Vienna quarter of the bookclub posse will be joining B2's hen party. There seems to be a bit of a, let's call it culture-clash (Vienna crowd vs. Villach crowd) regarding what to do on such a night out. Whether it's our advanced age or an inborn spoilsport-gene I don't know, but when we heard of what the self-appointed party-planner had in mind, we were somewhat alarmed and, having been explicitly instructed by B2 to veto potentially embarrassing "games", threw more than subtle hints to that effect to party-planner. Cue: bitchy e-mail, party-planner being obviously fond of bullet-points and itemised lists. Followed by more bitchy e-mails by the bookclubbers with certain people not cc-ed. Oh, the joy of having a common enemy. Party-planner's latest debriefing mail included a dress-code and other detailed suggestions instructions.

The things you do for your friends...