Mike. The one and only

Somehow I don’t really have girl-friends. I’m more the kind of person to whom guys come and pour their soul. I’m not sure if they do it because it’s written across my face “free shrink” or simply because they honestly believe, in their innocence, that if you are a girl, you can read all the other girls’ minds.

So here is Mike. He’s about 2 years older than me, huge as a mountain, smart, has decent hobbies like wrestling, reading and being caught in the rain. The last bit I just said it not because it’s true, but because he does have a softish side. He does. Mike also likes refined food like chips with wasabi and snail with bernaise sauce. He has a strong idea about justice, and even beat once a guy who didn’t show up for our 4th date. Said he cannot stand the “imbeciles who take advantage of a girl”. I quite minded that, since I dumped the guy and Mike didn’t believe me. Now that i’m thinking about it, I don’t even know why we are friends because honestly, we don’t really have anything in common.

So Mike rings my door bell yesterday. It was a lazy sunday, I didn’t expect anyone. Naturally, my legs are unshaven and this is the only thing I am ashamed of in front of my guy-friends. I grab some long pants, put them on, and answer the door.

- Hi!
- Hi..
- Look, I’ve got some beer. If you are with someone, I wouldn’t mind sharing it, if he’s cool.
- Ok...I’m actually alone, browsing some magazines. What’s up?
- I’m decided, everything is set.
- What?
- Remember when we saw “The painted veil”? I told you then I want to go to Asia and help the orphans. And single mothers. And the sick. But mostly the orphans. Poor kids, not knowing their mom or dad. Or even worse, not knowing any of the two. I’ve got it all set with my brother. We’ll spend the summer there with a NGO. We put some money aside, and anyways we’ll use that for sweets and toys for kids, since the NGO will provide the shelter and bowl of soup for us. Besides, this is going to be a really good practice for later on when I open an orphanage.
- I didn’t know you were planning all this.
- It’s great, because for the first time in my life I feel I have a purpose. I can fight for something.
- Congrats, you are one of the few lucky ones!
- Well, I came over to tell you I’m leaving next week. And to ask you if I can leave my dog with you.
- Sure.
- There’s just one thing that bothers me still. You remember Melanie, the cute brunette from the art school? I’ve been dating her a couple of months nows.
- Yes.
- Could you keep an eye on her? She’s a little bit pregnant. I think it’s nice if someone could call her from time to time, so she won’t feel alone. I’ll be very busy, and besides there’s the time difference also. Would you do that for me?

And there he was. Mike, the fighter for a better world.

Maddox and me

I met Maddox exactly a week ago. We haven’t seen each other for the past 15 years, since we both graduated from highschool. He used to be the kind of guy that all girls liked, and he liked all and none of them. His special treat was that he would always find a hurt puppy, or cat, or bird, or whatever crawling, flying or walking breathing thing, that had between 0 and 10 legs. We would hang out a lot, because he would always want to fix the hurt creature, and my mom was a vet. Of course at that time I thought that he would find the poor animals on purpose, because he liked my brown eyes and he wanted to hang out more.

The moment when I discovered the truth was very much like this phonecall of his from last week: he called at 11pm, asking in a sugary voice if I liked the fruits he brought me that afternoon. The thing was that we hadn’t seen that afternoon, he just dialled a wrong number. He apologized, I made a small scene, and that was the true beginning of our pragmatical friendship: my mom would cure the animals with no charge, he would do my math homework, and together we would spend a lot of time talking about nonsense. With the first real girlfriend, we lost track of each other and I had no clue what had happened to him until last week.

His voice was shaky. From what I’ve seen in the movies, I could have sworn that he was drunk. We agreed to meet at a coffee shop in the design district. It took me 30 minutes to find it, so naturally I was late, and I was afraid I would not recognize him. What made me meet him after so much time? I guess the fact that I was alone again, piling up the socks of my last boyfriend, getting them ready for the bin. I saw it as a sign somehow - maybe I was high from the humongous amount of chocolate I had ingurgitated. I put my coat on, and I headed to the door, thinking that my brown eyes were a bit more wrinkled now.

Maddox was wearing a white pullover, and green gloves. He almost looked like an eco version of Santa Claus. He greeted me politely. I was expecting hugs, sobs and kisses, but I guess we are too old for that. Maddox sat across from me, ordered a glass of wine and looked me straight in the eye. “Great to see you”, he told me. I tried to echo his words, but just  a squeaky sound came out of my mouth. I was ashamed. Maddox put his left gloved hand on top of my hand and said he wants to tell me something. I wanted to ask him why he called me, after so many years, and why on earth we met in the design district. Also, I would have liked him to tell me I looked great. That was the least he could do to compensate all my unanswered questions.

- For the past 6 months, I have been building a house. For my fiancée and me.
- Great, congratulations!
- Actually not me myself. I’m only the architect. It’s quite beautiful. Spacious, huge windows, a small fireplace and a back garden for future kids to play in. There’s a grilling place also, a swing and a hammock. Next to it there’s a small kiosk with books. It’s the kind of house that you see in these latest magazines, that the celebrities have.
- Oh, wonderful!
- Everything is built already. The only thing left now is the outside painting. We couldn’t really agree on the colour from the beginning. I’m the architect, I should know better, but she’s the future wife, and she needs to like it better. Last week we decided to paint it ivory. It was such a beautiful day when we decided to paint it, that I didn’t feel like sitting on the side. I took a ladder, propped it next to the entrance door, and started painting. I could feel the wood taking rapid gulps from the paint in my brush. I wanted to put the paint all over my body, then hug the house and transfer the colour from my clothes to its walls. I wanted to reach to all the small corners, all the hidden pieces of wood that were hoping to get the paint. So I reached. Further and further. Until my ladder slipped and I felt suspended in the air. My hands were grabbing around, for anything that was solid. I don’t know how, my right hand found a rope. For the smallest moment, I was a huge and heavy fly suspended by a tiny spider thread. The next second I was landed on my back, and my right hand was burning. When I looked at it, my fingers were gone. The rope had cut through it, like a plastic knife cuts through butter.  Then they took me to the hospital.
- I’m sorry, I don’t know what to say...
- You don’t need to say anything. Do you want to hear something funny?
- Always.
- Last night, when I called you, I actually dialled the wrong number. I realized it too late, just now when I saw you. But since we met, do you know, by any chance, if your mother can get me some of those painkillers?

Sweets for my sweet..prietena

Partea cea mai frumoasa la a sta in strainatate e faptul ca poti cunoaste multi oameni din diverse culturi, si cum nu e nici tara ta, nici tara lor, puteti sa interactionati in pace si sa va plangeti impreuna la un pahar de vin cat de nedreapta e tara cu strainii. Partea cea mai putin frumoasa e ca, in general, in momentul in care cunosti straini intr-o tara straina, ei tind sa plece. Te intalnesti cu ei in diverse momente ale vietii tale, mergi acasa cu bucuria ca ai gasit pe cineva cu care te intelegi, si speri ca ai sa te mai intalnesti cu persoana respectiva.

Sa-ti faci prieteni in strainatate, in momentul in care nu mergi la scoala, e destul de interesant. Daca esti genul de persoana care merge doar la munca, ar fi bine sa iti schimbi un pic unghiul prin care vezi lucrurile. Dupa o varsta, colegii de servici nu mai pot fi comparati cu cei de scoala. Au familiile lor si au o ora fixa la care trebuie sa mearga sa ridice princhindeii de la gradinita. In plus, au prietenii lor deja. Asa ca daca tu personal ai nevoie de prieteni, ar fi bine sa te inscrii in niste grupuri de hobbyuri, sa iesi prin oras, sa mergi la diverse evenimente aranjate de organizatii pentru straini. Dar incearca sa nu pleci spre locurile respective cu singurul scop de a te intoarce de acolo cu o prietenie proaspat pecetluita. Poti intalni oameni cu care sa nu te intelegi deloc, sau oameni fata de care ai nevoie de mult timp sa te deschizi. Sau pur si simplu poti intalni oameni pe care parca ii cunosti de o vesnicie si v-ati jucat impreuna in papaleasca atunci cand erati mici.

O astfel de persoana am cunoscut in urma cu vreo 4 ani, si mi-a devenit prietena draga. Nu am sa o elogiez, pentru ca stie foarte bine ce calitati are. Am sa ii spun doar ca usile mele, si ale casei, si ale sufletului, ii sunt mereu deschise. Si chiar daca i-am promis ca nu ii dau cadou, ii trimit totusi ceva ce am reusit sa fac aseara pe la 11pm:

Sa ne revedem cu bine!

Vuosaari in 0 cuvinte si 4 poze

Cum in ultima vreme nu prea mai scriu pe blog, incerc sa ma bucur de ultimele zbateri ale verii in Helsinki. Azi m-am plimbat prin Vuosaari, in estul Helsinki-ului, si cam asta am vazut:

A murit Luchi

Se zice ca sunt 3 momente cruciale in viata unui om: nasterea, casatoria si moartea. Un fel de expozitiune, punct culminant si sfarsit. Nu se mentioneaza criza de la 25 de ani - intriga adica, criza de la 40 de ani - a doua intriga si criza de pe la 70 (banuiesc ca e si atunci) - a 3a intriga. Nu e interesant ca 2 din cele 3 momente cruciale sunt lucruri pe care de regula, persoana in cauza nu le poate influenta? Si nu ma refer la japonezi sau indieni, unde nu pot sa isi influenteze nasterea si casatoria. Mie mi se pare interesant. Singurul eveniment din viata, pe care il poti influenta pe deplin, ar fi casatoria.

Daca e sa consideram ca fiecare vrea sa aiba o viata frumoasa, si in principiu nu te mai casatoresti silit, inseamna ca momentul maritisului ar trebui sa fie o clipa de maxima bucurie. Ai atins al doilea "milestone" al vietii, esti stapan pe situatie si cel  mai probabil ai scapat in sfarsit de cosuri. Ai cheltuit cam la 1000 de euro pe o rochie pe care iti doresti sa o porti o singura data, ai adaugat la CV ca ai experienta de project management intr-un proiect complex si cu multe aspecte, ai dansat toata noaptea pana ti s-au rupt tocurile, ai baut un pic cam multa sampanie ca doar ai ciocnit cu toata lumea care a venit acolo pentru tine.

Si apoi te retragi in cochilia ta de femeie maritata, cu baticul peste ochi, si atunci te loveste ca fulgerul: tu nu mai esti ..Casian Alexandra. Persoana care ai fost 20+ de ani nu mai exista. Esti altcineva, cineva nou si totusi vechi, cineva pe care o cunosti, dar nu ai recunoaste-o pe o lista de nume. Esti Teodorescu Alexandra. Cine e fiinta asta? Esti doamna Teodorescu. Clar imposibil, pentru ca singura doamna Teodorescu e mama tanarului Teodorescu, pentru ca ai purtat o fusta in carouri si bluza apretata, sa o impresionezi in timp ce i-ai inmanat un buchet de flori cand ai fost in vizita sa fii prezentata. Cine e doamna Teodorescu care e chemata la telefon? Tu te semnezi in continuare drept Casian Alexandra, si cumva te simti agent sub acoperire, spion dublu intr-o poveste careia parca i-ai pierdut fraiele. Deodata, mama ta, tatal tau, sora ta, fratele tau, nu mai au acelasi nume ca tine. Nu mai sunteti familia Casian, ci familia Casian si doamna Teodorescu. Ai devenit ceva aparte, ceva deosebit, ca o pata de ulei care se separa intr-un pahar cu multe picaturi de apa.

Da, avem 3 momente cruciale in viata unui om: despartirea de mama, despartirea de familie si despartirea de toti cunoscutii si necunoscutii. Si ca orice despartire, fiecare aduce cu ea un nou inceput, sub o alta forma. "Dar Luchi nu mai este nicaieri."

Esti ce mananci..parca

In vara a venit mama in vizita. Si ca o mama responsabila, a adus in bagaj, pe langa 2 bluze, foi de sarmale, carnaciori, jumate de porc, 30 de gaini si 5 tavi de placinta. Din aia cu branza, de care primeste comenzi :)

Si a ajuns mama la fiica risipitoare. S-a apucat, a invartit o oala de sarmale, si in 2 zile s-a terminat. Cum succesul a fost fulminant, a mai facut o oala, si i-a lasat odraslei, in congelator, sa manance cand i-o fi dor de casa.

Au trecut cateva saptamani, si intr-o seara am scos frumusel punga cu sarmale sa o pun la dezghetat. A doua zi dimineata am imbarcat cateva in caserola. Am ajuns la munca, le-am pus constiincios in frigider si am asteptat cu fluturi in stomac sa se faca 12.30. Am fugit repede la frigider, am inhatat o furculita, si m-am napustit asupra sarmalutelor. Prima a zburat aproape nemestecata, iar pe la a doua am inceput sa simt niste nisip in timp ce mestecam. Niste nisip mai cu pietris asa, si ma intrebam daca incep sa mi se macine dintii. Dar apoi mi-a picat fisa, si am sunat-o pe mama. Mi-a confirmat ca sarmalele....nu erau fierte. Adicatelea erau crude.

Probabil ca undeva, candva, intr-o viata anterioara, am fost si eu blonda.

Bujori in obrajori

Avem tot felul de reguli dupa care ne ghidam viata. Sunt tot felul de "fa asa, nu asa", "vezi ca nu-i frumos", "vezi ca nu ai voie", de ma intreb cum de am descoperit de-a lungul istoriei si alte cai nebatute, pentru ca probabil sa o iei pe alte cai "nu se face".

Ne pitulam prin spatele sefului sa verificam ce ne-a mai scris Ghitulica, stam la cafea macar 5 minute mai mult, sa ascultam povestea savuroasa a Lenutei de la contabilitate (dupa ce i-am aratat pozele din vacanta), ne rugam in secret sa primim portia cea mai mare de prajitura la cafenea, ne bucuram daca gasim pe jos vreo bancnota, mai bagam degetul in nas cand nu se uita nimeni. Si toate astea cu constiinta impacata ca nu am incalcat nici o regula, si nu ne-a vazut nimeni.

Daca nu ne-a vazut nimeni, chiar nu am facut nimic urat? Daca nu ne vede nimeni, putem sa facem ce vrem noi? Cum stim ca lucrul pe care vrem sa il facem e OK?

Am aflat azi despre conceptul "bujori in obrajori" (adica mai pe englezeste, "red face test"). E cel mai usor mod prin care poti afla daca e ok sa faci ce te gandesti sa faci. Daca ar aparea pe prima pagina a ziarelor ca ai facut ceea ce te gandesti sa faci, ti-ar fi rusine? Cum te-ai simti in pielea ta? Ai rosi? Daca da, atunci mai bine nu faci lucrul ala, probabil ca nu e tocmai in conformitate cu regulile tale interioare. Si-atunci, daca tot nu te reprezinta, de ce ai face?

ps. Metoda asta se adreseaza doar persoanelor cu bun simt.

Incetul cu incetul se fabrica otetul

Toti stim ce inseamna sa te intorci din concediu: kilometri de emailuri, dor de duca, rasfoit fotografiile din concediu puse pe FB sau picasa, pauzele lungi si dese in speranta ca ele chiar sunt cheia marilor succese, rasfoit iar fotografiile in timp ce i le arati lu' Lenuta de la contabilitate, uitat la ceas din 15 in 15 minute si intrebat, inevitabil: cum pisici o sa rezist eu pana la 5, 8 ore in continuu?!

Vestea buna e ca nu trebuie sa rezisti 8 ore asa dintr-un foc. Vineri am inceput sa aplic o tactica interesanta care a dat rezultate. Probabil e veche de cand lumea, dar pe mine nu m-a dus capul pana acum. Mi-am scris frumusel task-urile "pe curat", le-am prioretizat si am purces la treaba. Daca pana acum incercam sa le rezolv pe toate pe nerasuflate, acum mi-am propus sa lucrez in reprize de o ora.

Nu-i asa ca e mai usor sa te gandesti ca trebuie sa te concentrezi pentru 1(una) ora si nu 8 (opt) ore? O ora e doar 4x15 minute, o nimica toata. Inchide tot timp de o ora: nu mai verifica email-ul, nu mai verifica FB-ul, lasa notificarile de Skype sa blinkaie, pune-ti niste casti cu o muzica despre care stii ca te ajuta sa te concentrezi, si fa-ti primul task. Blocheaza tot inafara ta, si concentreaza-te pe taskul tau. Cand ai terminat cu ora respectiva, ia-ti 5 minute si fa ce vrei tu in ele. Apoi ia iar o ora de "pustnic" si mai rezolva-ti o problema.

Pe principiul asta, vineri a fost cea mai productiva zi pe care am avut-o saptamana trecuta. Si ca sa sarbatoresc, am mers hiking in weekend cu cativa prieteni. A plouat sambata de ne-a udat pana la piele, dar macar am adormit in fata focului ;) Iar duminica ne-am imbuibat cu afine.

Imi lipseste marul..discordiei

In ultimii 1.5 ani, am folosit doar macuri. Mac la servici, mac acasa. Evident, la inceput am avut o perioada de frustrare, cand ma intrebam pentru ce papucii ei de treaba mi-am luat un calculator de 2 ori mai scump decat un calculator "normal", si ma mai si enerveaza. Ca sa nu mai spun ca pana acum, tot nu sunt capabila sa folosesc iPages asa cum folosesc batranul Word..

De ieri, timp de 8 ore pe zi, am trecut iar pe Windows. S-a mai glamorizat de cand nu l-am vazut eu: de la inceputul erei Vista. E frumusel, merge bine, tot respectul.

Si totusi, pot spune ca mi-e dor de merisorul meu. Cel mai mult imi lipseste gestul de scroll: pe mac, dai cu 2 degete in jos pe trackpad, si ai luat-o cu scroll-ul la vale. Dai in sus, paginile urca-urca, sa vezi tu ce e in capul paginii. Nu mi-am dat seama cat de utila e functionalitatea asta, pana nu mi-am dat seama ca tot dadeam cu 2 degete la vale si la deal pe trackpad-ul compului meu cu Windows, si nimic nu se intampla. Voi stiti ce aiurea se intrerupe flow-ul sa mergi cu mouse-ul pana in partea din dreapta, sa te joci cu mouse-ul pe acolo, apoi sa te intorci in pagina unde ai treaba?

Alta chestie de care mi-e dor cand merg la munca e sleep-ul (pun intended :) ). Da, si in windows poti pune pe sleep, dar nu e acelasi lucru. Daca am asteptat dimineata cateva minute bune sa imi functioneze calculatorul cum trebuie, la mac doar deschid frumusel "capacul" si calculatorul merge, e deja conectat la internet, si toate ferestrele si programele pe care le-am avut deschise inainte, ma asteapta sa ma apuc de treaba. Salveaza o groaza de timp, si ai mereu proaspat in minte unde ai ramas ultima oara cand l-ai inchis.

Da, mac-ul e enervant la inceput, pentru ca trebuie sa te obisnuiesti cu alte paradigme, e ciudat, butoanele nu sunt unde te astepti sa fie, setarile sunt numite cu totul altfel, nu poti gasi chiar toate programele cu care erai obisnuit, ce mai, debandada mare. Dar odata ce ai trecut peste procesul de invatare, totul merge snur. Nu vreau sa ma dau snoaba, dar sa folosesc windows-ul dupa ce am folosit mac exclusiv atata timp e ca si cum as incerca sa pun ata in ac cu manusi groase in maini.