New Dork and the Today Show

What is happening to me? I thought NY would mean the final launch of this blog world wide. Invitations to events, discounts in shops and tables in all the fashionable clubs. And free stuff.

That is what bloggers get everywhere right?

But no, that is not the case. Things get so busy in this city, even if all you do is simply walk about, look for inspiration and watch Netflix all the time, your life seems to go at a faster pace, and blogging is not in your list of priorities.

But again, that is not what I wanted to tell you about today. Today is time for the Today Show.

The Today Show is a morning talk show that is broadcasted all over the US live every day from the Rockefeller Center. Have I said it is nationwide? Yeah that too.

Among the guests that visit the show daily Sir Ian McKellen and Orlando Bloom were a couple of days ago (just when I was home in Spain...) to talk about the upcoming Hobbit sequel.

The set is in 49th street between 6th and 5th Aves and it is all made of glass so people can take a look at what's going on in the show on their way to work. I do too.

And so I was on my way to work on a average day right behind the glass windows of the Today Show when... a sparrow bumped directly into my forehead.

Thank God it was just with a wing and not the beak or I might not be typing this today.

I froze. My first thought was "this did not just happen"... come on Mr. Sparrow, how can you bump into a human?

Then I thought the bird might be on some drug, and then...

OMG.

The f****** Today Show.

You see, we all have our 5 seconds of glory sometime in life, or so they say. I thought I had already had mine, but I was wrong.

That day in July 2007 people stopped me on the way from Wall St. home saying they had seen me on TV (for real). Fortunately that did not happen after that day's Today Show. phew.

Bird shock over and 5 seconds later... came the utter disgust. Birds are like rats with wings!!! It may have transferred all of its fleas and viruses directly to me. Ugh.

I arrived at work and rubbed my forehead with Hand Sanitizer. Twice.

My skin did not come off so I may declare now I am out of danger. But still disgusted.

After that a humongous bug bumped into the window of my (superawesome) 35th floor office (yeah I am that cool) and left a huge dirt mark on it.

I may have been a little scared that Hitchcock's story might be real.

And that's it for today.

Such is Life

New Dork

 

dork

dôrk/

noun

noun: dork; plural noun: dorks

1. informal

   a dull, slow-witted, or socially inept person.

 

 

I was waiting for the right story to happen, for the right super cool amazing moment to write my first post from the Big Apple, but three weeks have passed and that moment did not seem to hit me right in the middle of my chest and leave me completely NY-baffled - instead I got a sparrow hit me in the forehead. Literally.

 

I truly thought I might be able to actually post cool stuff about places to eat and things to do in NYC but that will have to wait. The city is still coming to terms with me being here as I am coming to terms with being in the city, so before we embrace each other - really hoping that happens - I am back to my daily life catastrophes and other stories.

 

Three weeks in New York and I have finally come to terms with my current alien status: New Dork. This is just like being back in high school, only these time the rest of my classmates are 1.6 super cool and hip manhattanites and me I am just the dork that doesn't know how to queue in Whole Foods. True story.

Just picture yourself as an over-dramatic, self-conscious yet not so self-conscious as to hide her geek side, 28 year-old female and you may understand my feelings that first day...

After 7 and a half hours of flight where people looked at me in a very odd way - the fact that I watched 'Star Trek into the Darkness' while crying my eyes out may have helped - I landed in JFK with my three suitcases and not a freaking 5 dollar bill in my handbag to pay for the (I-hope-it-is-made-of-gold-to-cost-that) trolley and my credit card didn't work either. I could have walked to the customs queue three times with each suit case, and then just push one of them with my forehead while pulling the other two suitcases, but the mere thought of it made me cry, so I decided to trust in mankind's goodness to get my way out of the airport and into a cab to Manhattan.

It took me begging to four different people to get a ten dollar bill in exchange for 10 euros that I might trade for two 5 dollar bills with some other heaven-sent saint until, in my desperation, I asked to the guy that was putting more trolleys in the machine if he could help me get change. He simply took my 10 dollar bill, put it in the machine, gave me my trolley, gave me 5 dollar coins as change and sincerely told me not to feel bad when my eyes filled with tears as I murmured, thank you, I feel like a total idiot (I so wasn't exaggerating with the over-dramatic part).

The ride to my soon to be home was not so pitiful. In fact I couldn't help but playing the first cords of the world wide known classic and topic... chan, chan, chan chan chan, chan, chan, chan chan chan...

[at this point I will, as soon as I can, post a video clip of Mr. Sinatra's eternal hit, but alas I have no access to YouTube from this computer]

After that, things went quite smooth on my first few hours in town, doorman, concierge, suitcases taken upstairs by the same doorman, unpacking, teary phone call to family and boyfriend, and then the inevitable trip to the supermarket...

 

The Boss took me up 7th Ave. from there to Central Park South and then to Columbus Circle [yes, here you will be able to play Wrecking Ball].

Whole Foods photograph by Kate Appleton.

There it was... salvation in the form of organic madness. Whole Foods is known for a very posh supermarket, but I have to confess, when you are new in town you go to the places you know, and that was the only place I knew around that could serve my purpose. I have actually stuck to it for the last three weeks despite the Hufftinton Post, I think it is addictive once you make it through the first day.

 

Still highly emotional, I walked up and down several aisles several times trying to find the usual brands I buy home. None of them exist here, all are substituted by organic-little-farm-very-very-local-we-assure-you stuff. I'm still trying to figure out how they know which type of the gazillion types of apples they sell you are purchasing, but maybe in time I will solve that mystery.

I finished my shopping in that same hazy state and proceeded to queue at the eternal queue that seems to be Whole Foods checkout. Once I was first in my line I saw a number being called and walked to the cashier, only to be stopped by a very angry man telling me that the number was green and not yellow. What?

And then he went back to the lines, pointed at my queue, pointed at the huge yellow arrow at the beginning of the line, then to the three-color screen were a number appeared over one of the three color bands (blue-yellow-green), and then to the light on top of each cashier... I would have rather he just called me dork, because after that embarrassing moment I had to suffer the humiliation of going back in line, and then, when my number was finally called, at least three different hands tapped my shoulder and nicely indicated now it's your turn (I swear in my head that still sounds like a hysterical scream).

 

And then it was over. pwew. There is a lot more to come where this came from. Unfortunatelly.

 

Such is life.

 

 

 

The dark visitor - murder at 155

I took a life the other day.

Man, I hate to confess my crimes, but my heroism protecting my property deserves it.

I killed a cockroach...



...but I so much wish it was a very large beetle. When you see a roach at home it means that you are no longer allowed to sleep well, when you see a beetle it means it got in from the garden below and that's the end of the story.

So there I am, happy, getting home on Friday after a bad day and a bad week at work. I turn around to turn the lights on and then, just as Doctor Who says, i see it back in the corner of my eye. A dark and ugly shadow, crossing the living room on its way to... please please please don't get in the bedroom or I'll never be able to sleep again... the bathroom.

Good, bathroom is safe, I have to clean it tomorrow anyway so bathroom is the least bad place were the monster could hide.

I followed it with my eyes, disgusted, terrified and... rebellious. How dare you get in to my sanctuary? all the living forms that enter here enter by invitation, you have not been invited in! oh how I hope you were a vampire roach, that way you would have stayed out waiting patiently for me to invite you in. Vampire roaches are totally acceptable, common ones are a curse.

Me being the tiny thingy on the ground and the roach the big white one.

If you ask me, it was as large as my fist. So, how should I get rid of it?

I need a murder weapon.

Why don't we have a 2nd amendment (for roaches only, please do not misunderstand me)??? hummm. All the stuff I keep at home is so pretty I cannot risk to squeeze the freaking gigantic bug with any of them. So sandals are sacrificed. I take one off. I feel empowered with my sandal in my hand, and then, then I realise I have to walk in the bathroom sandal in hand and one bare foot, and I chicken.

Deep breath, deep breath, and there I go, I walk in, look around and find the intruder under the door, moving its antennae. I want to think the bug felt its end was near... and hell it was. Hope it suffered for tresspassing private property.

First strike with the sandal, the bug escapes, I scream. I keep screaming. Strike two, bug lying helpless on its back, tiny legs moving. I scream again, close my eyes and... strike three. The bug is out. A huge mass of legs and white soft stuff all over the floor.

Yes, I am still screaming by then.

I got rid of the corpse as discreetly as I could manage given the huge amounts of organic juices oozing from the dead bug.

Dirty work done, I call mom.

I have not been able to look under my bed yet for fear of finding another uninvited guest.

Such is Life.

After Christmas resolutions II: Life in a bag

Anyone wonders what a girl hides in her bag?

No?

Not long ago in a Sunday magazine they used to have this section that showed the content of the famous people's bags. Everything looked so neat and organised... like made on purpose for the article (duh!)

If magazines looked at real people's bags they would never find neat organised pockets, I am sure, but I made that test with myself today and was alarmed by the amount of totally useless stuff I carry around all day long.

In my case, apart from the bag I always carry my iPad in a plastic case in which I also put my iPod and most times all the lunch and shopping tickets of the last few days or weeks.

As I got home today from a long family lunch I realised my bag was way too heavy for a normal person to carry all day around. Indeed.

If I carry on this way I may end up with terrible back problems for sure, therefore, I have decided to expose the contents of my bag so that the feeling of shame makes me rethink what I'm doing with my pathologic need to carry absolutely everything around.

In my bag today I found:

- My tiny purse,
- A pair of gloves,
- A pair of fingerless gloves,
- A woolen headband,
- A sunglasses box (without sunglasses),
- Two blackberries,
- A blackberry charger,
- A 500Gb hard drive,
- two sets of keys (one with five keyrings),
- A make-up bag (filled with tickets),
- Make-up,
- Dental floss,
- Magi Mags Tape (next best sticky tape after washi tape!)
- Washi Tape,
- A pen,
- A marker,
- An iPad pen,
- Tissues,
- The office's access card, and
-  My Star Wars Moleskine (R)

Until this morning I carried around the first season of Broadwalk Empire for the whole week. Worst of all is that on weekdays I also carry a lunchbox full of fruit in my bag.

Of all this stuff I have realised I could live with only:

- My tiny purse,
- Two blackberries,
- two sets of keys,
- A pen,
- Tissues,- The office's access card, and
-  My Star Wars Moleskine (R).

So here comes another additional New Year's resolution (I think this has to stop before January ends, but I still feel the New Year's momentum):

Such is Life!

After-Christmas resolutions...

Provided that I started to work on Jan. 2nd, I have an excuse not to have posted lately. So I feel quite happy with my purpose to post more anyway.

The new year is here, resolutions are on its way (I paid the gym subscription for another year...) and as time passes by I realize that I left many resolutions out of the list, and those resolutions are as important as the rest, only not so self centered (which makes them more difficult to meet).

I hope to make justice to this resolution, I really do!

Hope the return from the holidays is not too hard. Loooove

Such is Life

Postcards to Stockhom: The importance of... opposable thumbs

Dear Sis,

Yay! for blog posts categorised under "Daily life catastrophes and other stories" yay!

Second weekend spent at my place and second catastrophe. I don't want to but can't help thinking that my own apartment hates me to pieces.

First weekend there cost me four days of physiotherapy. Second weekend almost cost me that distinctive human feature not valued enough: Opposable thumbs.

I sliced half my left thumb's phalanx and it was like being part of a Tarantino movie.

It was all going nice and smooth on Sunday morning and I was about to try my new toaster when it all happened. A false movement and I had enough blood on the counter to feed the whole cast of  Twilight.

I kept calm for enough time to get some ice on my finger, put my coat on and go straight to my mom's in my PJs. Once there... I cried, almost lost consciousness and let mom take care of me like a baby. Living within a five minute walk from your mom can save your life.

My thumb has been rendered useless for a while it seems... so now, completely normal and effortless actions become a trial and I require assistance for simple stuff like:

1 - Washing my hair.
2 - Opening a packet of M&Ms...
3 - Squeezing the toothpaste.
4 - Zipping my jeans.
5 - Collecting the parking ticket from the machine while driving (most painful so far).
6 - Adding sugar to my coffe.
7 - Combing my hair (is if had hair to be combed actually).
8 - Typing on my Bb.
9 - Snapping my fingers (don't really want to imagine that right now).
10 - Piloting the Tardis, the Millenuim Falcon and the Enteprise.

So here I am, dirty hair, dirty teeth, uncombed hair (not unzipped jeans, not that) loving all this complaining.

I am not uploading pictures this time for your own sake. No need to thank me.

Love,

M

My dear dear friends...

... PLEASE DON'T DESTROY MY BRAND NEW PLACE (pretty please)

I have hopes that you will find it mighty uncomfortable and may choose not to stay long ;P but in the meantime, please follow these simple rules:

- Do not bring water or paint balloons.
- Do not step on dog poop before coming in.

I have decided to officially launch my new apartment and future home amongst my closest friends, and I am having second thoughts, cold feet and even bloody ears.

Not that I don't love my friends and trust they will behave as they should, but no one can guarantee any of them will turn up with an african elephant to the dinner or with the whole cirque du soleil who will use my bed as platform and my walls as canvas.

I may be going way too far with this, but one can never be too sure. I hope this dinner does not end in a ten worst things post, but if that is the case, you will all hear about it.

Enough of this!

My dear girls and boy, welcome to my humble and emptyish place, come in and make yourselves comfortable in the only sofa, sit cozily on the floor, squeeze the non-existent cushions and of course, feel at home.

Invitation details for those involved will come shortly via Facebook.

Such is Life

Postcards to Stockholm: Diet

Dear Sis,

I am back at the office for good, hump! Summer is over and now I have to go back to normal (solita sin ti). I got on the lift today alone, just my bag and I, a lift prepared for 13 passengers and 1000 kg weight, and guess what... it politely said: "Overload, could one person please get off?".

I am on a severe diet as of now.

Love,
M

P.S.: Quality of picture severely reduced by the fact that I didn't want anyone to see me taking a picture with my bb at work. I have a reputation to maintain.

Minor differences invisible to the human eye

Thursday night, back home from work before midnight! That deserves a celebration, doesn't it? What to do? What to do? Bake!!

Of course baking is easy, it has to be, specially when you follow a recipe that is meant to help those who, like me, are a step beyond helpless in the kitchen.

There I was, reading the recipe eagerly, telling my mom it was really simple and the results yummy... How could I say otherwise when it was published in one of my favourite blogs which only publishes lovely stuff?


If Mr. Wonderful's results were impecable, mine would too. No doubt of that.

So there I was, nearly midnight, baking while having dinner, stir stir stir, pour pour pour, microwave and...

The difference is so teeeny tiny that the human eye can't see it:

Difficult to decide huh?

if these cakes were people the BBC would have to study them in their documentary about identical twins (very very interesting, btw).

For lots of nice stuff visit muymolon.com Mr.wonderful's blog. If you also stop by their online shop and get mi something for my birthday I really won't mind...

Such is Life (the cooking genius)



of course mine is the one in the left side of the screen... I just felt I needed to say it.

Tweenagers, inbetweeners and twenty somethings

Yay! I am back from the posting desert! I've been unable to find inspiration lately, maybe because all I do is talk about lighting, plumbing, painting, decorating, paying bills ugh, I feel old. Even though according to this blog I have been a pre-adolescent for the last three years. Great.

I have been mistaken for the last three years and no-one has been kind enough to tell me!
Actually that's not true, a few weeks ago a friend told me but I thought he was wrong and not me. I am never wrong. Except this once maybe.


Someone should have told me that a "tweenager" is not the equivalent of "teenager" to refer someone in their twenties (which actually makes some sense, doesn't it?).

Someone should have told me (sooner) that according to the Urban Dictionary a Tweenager is this:

My "favourite" no doubt is meaning number 2. 

So this blog has been displaying my ignorance for the last three years, and that means either:


1) people consider me rather stupid and therefore likely to say I am a tweenager myself, even if I double the age of a tweenager.

2) people think I really am a tweenager (maybe the only tweenager in the world who has a mortgage). Maybe they even think I dress like a little ***** because I like pop tarts (for a second I thought it referred to

(Yes, I chose this Darth Vader Pop Tarts on purpose)

and not the other "pop tarts"

(I had to dig in google images to find this, the rest were either fat Britney, shaved-head Britney, or I-am-kissing-Madonna Britney...). Or

3) people read my blog and think: "ya think that u are cool, but ya arent."

Either way I didn't like it, so I have declared myself a twenty-something instead and have thus changed the line that appears below the Blog title.

Soon enough I'll have to change it again, let's hope that this Blog is still active by then.


Thanks Jon.

Such is Life

Till EURIBOR do us part.

"I will" he said, and my head started spinning.

"He said yes?" I had to ask to make sure I was not dreaming. I still couldn't believe my fortune, my future hapiness depended greatly on those words, and he had accepted my proposal!!!

Tears of joy filled my eyes, I started calling friends and family to make the anouncement.

"When?" was the most common question.

"In approximately a month" was my reply.

"So soon? You will have very little time to make all the arrangements. All the paperwork it requires... Are you sure you will be ready by then?"

I hope so... And then the spiral phonecalls, emails, documents, more documents, numbers and more numbers started.

It's been a very short engagement, only three weeks approximately, and now I am more than happy to anounce to all of you that next Wednesday 21st of March 2012 I am marrying...

MY BANK.

Happy mortgage to me.

I don't remember my life b.i (before iPad)

iPads are a dangerous thing... Yes they are. First thing people ask you when you drop the idea of buying one is: what do you need an iPad for?

And so, for a little while you wonder what use can you give to the device, and come up with nothing. N O T H I N G. Nothing. Crisis ensues, you don't need it, you can live a perfect happy life with it. You may even live better without it (I dread the day my iPad starts malfunctioning, and so should you). You get it anyways thinking: "I'll discover what to do with it when I have it, but it is so awesome I need it."

And hell you do.

So much, you can no longer live without it. Without your iPad...

1.- how are you supposed to watch TV while you shower? (essential)

2.- how do you cook?

3.- how can you look for a flat?

4.- how do you sketch and draw?

5.- how do you survive a bus ride?

6.- how do you know which movie was number one in the US box office the week you were born?

7.- how are you supposed to watch your favourite MTV shows?

8.- how are you supposed to (let's face it) save? (App store very dangerous)

9.- how are you supposed to watch a non-HD screen?

and last but not least

10.- how do you wish happy birthday to a friend? (also works for picking someone up at the airport)

One hundred apps downloaded in less than a month. I may have used about 30% of them, but in my mind... oh so essential.

Such is Life!

Dear France (Post-athon day 3)

(WARNING: This is one of those angry posts only very few will understand. If you wonder, yes, it is totally ironic)

Dear France,

Oh, how I appreciate that you treat us so fairly.

It is admirable how you respect our public holidays and keep us away from our laptops, emails, blackberries and offices, and allow us time to relax and forget the trials of our proffesional lives. We are so thankful that you kept us from a boring and tedious Wednesday with our insupportable friends and families. We know you do it in our best interest. In this economy, we need to be more productive, and if you don't make us lazy Spanish work in our public holidays, trust me, we are not going to do it.

How cheerfully you informed us that Friday is a public holiday in France, and that none of you would be working. How admirably you encourage us all to work non-stop from Monday to Thursday so that you can get your well deserved rest. How complete a person feels when your job is well done.

How awesome to have produced more than one hundred emails in a day making us feel needed and appreciated, and our work and time so incredibly valued.

I was moved by your capacity to keep calm and try not to panic with the smallest downturns. We Spanish should learn from your organised and efficient working methods.

Thank you so much France. You are a dear.

Kind regards

The Social Network Trap (Post-athon day 2!)

Damn me and my need to report any little thing that ever happens to me on Facebook.

I fell (not for the first time though) in the Social Network Trap.

The Social Network Tarp is the mix of: (a) the pathological need to tell the world any and everything you do real time (i.e. "I am eating an ice cream cone, awesome") and (b) the realization that you may have made a mistake in reporting what really happened to you, which always leads to (c) your friends realising you are somewhat ridiculous.

Of course, as always, based in a true story:

As usual, this is what happened to me one sad wednesday afternoon.

A few weeks ago I decided to start going to the gym with a friend. The idea of exercising regularly is still alien to my convictions, but week after week, we kept going to that horrible little hole full of muscles and sweat.

That wednesday, as I got ready to exercise, with very little will to actually exercise, I realised I could not find my runners. Old plain runners. I desperately seek them in the changing room, and frantically type this on my FB status: "someone stole my runners at the gym". Immediate reply, my sister laughs at me and  I keep frantically looking for the runners.

I go to the reception desk asking for a pair of old Adidas but no one has seen an old pair of Adidas. Thieves! Filthy little thieves! I keep looking and looking, and when I have surrendered to the idea that, I am not going to exercise that day (that was painful, yeah (ha)) and I would have to buy a new pair of runner (that was painful indeed), I realise that I have not had a pair of Adidas since 2003.

"Excuse me Miss, you may not have found a pair of Nike runners by any chance?"

"You said Adidas before"

"I know, I am that stupid and cannot tell the difference between three stripes and a swoosh"

"We do have an old pair of plain Nikes"

"Those will be mine, thank you".

My next FB status: "is a clear example why you should not publish anything and everything that happens to you on FB in real time".

My theft status generated 18 comments, none of them praised my descretion, trust me. I even felt bad and had to publicly apoligise to the people at the gym (again by publishing it on my FB :P).

Lesson learned, after that I have only updated my status twice. One referred to my late raccooning, which I may explain, or may not, depending on how fast I run out of stories for my Post-athon, and the second to send RIM to hell for the revival of the general server faillure which took place yesterday for a short while.

Oh well, I made it!

Such is Life post-athon day 2 and another post successfully published!

Such is Life.

Melon. Yet another "Such is Life" story

Remember me?

The laziest blogger ever? Well I am finally on holidays and ready to provide you with yet another typical "Such is Life" story. Enjoy!


MELON:

What if your mom cared so much about you eating well at work that every morning she would cut a nice slice of melon cut it in pieces, put it in a lunch box and leave it in your bag for you to take to work? wouldn't that be nice? Sure! Awesome, thanks mom, it is lovely.

Or not.

What if you forgot to eat half your melon and realized just on the elevator that takes you home. What would you do? You don't want to dispappoint your mom (let alone let her repeatedly tell you how unhealthy you eat and how dreadful it is that you forgot your melon).

So back to the elevator, there you are, 11pm, back from a long's day work and you panic: S**** there is melon in my lunch box! Think M, think! You live in a very high floor, the elevator is going to take at least a minute and a half to get there. Eat! Now! go! So you start to eat your melon at "12 campanadas" speed (will explain what "12 campanadas" is later), and by the time you reach your floor, chocking and still trying to swallow the last two pieces, guess what?

Your sister and father are waiting for the elevator.

You try to greet them casually, trying to hide the fact that your hand is dripping with sticky melon and that your mouth is full of melon, and that the lunch box is opened in your hand. Oh! i da', sis'er wha' ar' you do (*cough*) ere?

Sister laughs, you finally swallow. Hey dad, I was just eating a forgotten piece of melon. I'll go home now. Bye!

Your sister whatapp's you countless laughs, you finally laugh at yourself, and even more when your sister tells you what your father said: Does she really think I'm going to buy that "one melon piece" thing?

Why not dad? It is perfectly normal to eat melon as fast as you can in an elevator at 11pm on a Tuesday night, right?

Lesson learned, never forget to eat your melon, and if you do, don't lie kids. You'll get caught.

THE END

Such is Life!



12 campanadas: In Spain, we receive the new year eating one grape for each time the bell rings at midnight on December 31st. Chocking is quite common, starting the year spitting grapes to the face of the ones you love too. So. Much. Fun. You have to eat the damn grapes so fast to make it twelve before January 1st that you can barely breathe.

My life is trash

They say we are what we eat, I say you live what your trash says you live. And I'm living hell.

I have undertaken a sociological experiment with myself and have come to that conclusion.

So please pay attention to the following findings if you are trying to decide whether you would be happy in my shoes (i.e. being a total loser).

Here's how it goes:

You live what you trash. Episode I

Day 1: The Big One

There is a day in the life of a jr lawyer when you f*** up big time, it can't be avoided. Sooner or later the Big One comes, and you enter into a spiral of stupid and avoidable mistakes which is very hard to come over.

So, you eat lunch and have dinner in front of your deask while trying to cope with disappointment on yourself, at times you can't stop tears (i.e. the bunch of tissues).

Day 2: You've got growing up to do

And you've got to rise from you own ashes and start climbing the mountain again. Losing confidence in yourself leads to more stupid mistakes, and you suddenly start questioning all your actions inside and outside work. First you try your luck with the lottery, wishing that you will become a millionaire and send many many people to ... (there is no translation for esparragar). But you are not lucky enough to win the lottery, losers don´t win the lottery for God's sake! There has to be another way, a professional way out of your missery... You look around your desk and decide it looks too personal and are determined to redecorate your life in a very proffesional way, and thus get rid of all those things that make your workplace less of a rat hole and more of a human desk.

Bye bye Wacky Woolies... Truth is, I really don't think it was necessary get rid of all my cute stuff, but I had to do something, and nothing better came up (resigning is not an option (yet)).

Day 3: Sheds and pieces

So you wake up, it is wednesday still, and you have to go to work. You plaster a smile to your face and try to confront the fact that you have to keep doing what you do, even if all of a sudden you feel your work is trash, your knowledge is trash and of course, your life is trash. All you can do now is start the climb to a better situation, right? WRONG.

Very very very wrong.

Day 4: The accident

There comes a time when you realise you may not be as sane as you thought, and you decide that holding a red hot metal bar cannot burn your fingers, cause, why would it? Physics don't exist, Walmart invented them, just like Christmas or Valentine's Day. Burnt fingers lead to sticky fingers, lots of plaster and freaking burning pain. Yet you have to load yourself with caffeine and keep rowing in your own personal galley.

Thank goodness, it is not so bad, and by the end of the day you are back to full health conditions, or are you?

Day 5: In sickness and in health

As Murphy once said, anything that can go wrong will go wrong. How very true, so, to add pain to the aggravation you get sick, very sick, as in thousands of tissues a day + old man's cough + teary eyes. And yet you have to go to the office again... and keep trying to fix your loss of grace despite the fact that all you want to do is go home and stay in bed all day long.

Worst of all, it that prior experience tells you this may last days, weeks, even months.

Day 6: Happy Birthday

And you turn 26 sitting in front of that desk, blowing your nose at a rate of 10 tissues and hour and being unable to celebrate as you feel you deserve. You sing happy birthday to yourself and receive greetings from family, friends and colleagues while still typing in front of your computer. It is then you realise your life is trash, you are caught up in a vicious circle of work, your ass is growing the size of your chair and your skin is ashy pale and sunlight hurts your eyes.

Time to shake up and make a slight change of scene and society. Well maybe not society, cause the good thing is, even if your life is trash, you share it with the best colleagues you could imagine.

And those colleagues may not be colleagues but good friends, who provide efficient and quality solutions to your trashy existance:

Ha ha ha, not too bad for a loser right?

Suck it! Such is life

This proccess may take up to 30 minutes

So I'm back home from Budapest, transfering my pictures to my laptop and I have a brilliant idea: "Let's update my blackberry software and see if I mess the whole device up"... Hadn't updated the thing in months so there was a lot of stuff to update, and 12 steps to complete.

Step 1 to 7 seem to go on easily, 8 to 10 are a bit slower than I am comfortable with, and then I got to 11, and for the last 37 minutes there is a screen on my computer which reads: "This proccess may take up to 30 minutes"...

Why do I bring doom to myself so easily?

Humpf.

Such is Life

Dear passenger, we are going to make your holiday total crap

I really wanted to get out of Madrid for a couple of days. Really really wanted to, but I guess someone has a different plan for me, cause here I am, three hours after the departure time of my flight and still here.

Not only did I wake up at 5:15, but I had to put up with more crap than desired on a four day holiday.

Flight delayed, three hours and counting, and it doesn't look like we'll take off any time soon. Worst of all, I'm stuck in the plane, with some very annoying passengers wishing to stuck the seatbelt down their throats.

Of course, the crew's help in a scale from 1 to 10 is something between minus 12 and zero. No explanations, no information and no kindness either. Damn you Malev. Crappy airline...

Being my sister's assistant to help her with her broken arm doesn't improve my humor. I may have to dedicate a whole post to this issue.

Patience is a Jedi virtue I do not posses... Such is Life.
--

The short second life of...

Life is hard... and then you graduate.

In the case of a junior lawyer, life is hard... and then they suck your blood completely, make you believe you owe your life to the firm, squeeze all your strength, push you to the limit, make you wish you had studied something else, make you wish you hadn't studied (at all), take your money, your time, family and friends, make you look for (and find) a blue donkey fluent in chinese directly arrived from the magic land of Narnia, and then at the end of the day, they don't even thank you for the effort (and right now, a blue narnian donkey fluent in chinese doesn't seem so hard to find...).

Why?

Cause they are making you a favour so that you can become like them and suck someone else's blood come the right moment.

And so you cling to that hope, the hope that some day you won't work as much, won't have to sacrifice your holidays, your personal life, and your feet (cause you make yourself believe high heels are going to make you a better lawyer, of course!) and enjoy an average evening in which you leave the office before 11pm...

Oh, and then you die young.

If anyone asks, I'm officially on holidays, unless of course, you need a blue narnian donkey fluent in chinese, in which case... just leave me a comment.

Such is Life.

When the bosses talk...

...no matter how loud, children have to listen and...take notes.

Just a quick post, specially considering this late hour, to relate my hell of an afternoon/evening.

I had a seven hour meeting today, and I consider myself a survivour, only comparable to Bear Grylls. I was more of a spectator watching a dramedy (It got so tense sometimes I had to supress a laugh), listening and taking notes as the bosses talked (at all different volumes audible by human ears). Very instructive, promise!

I thank myself and Starbucks for the tall Capuccino I had right before the meeting, I was smart there, the other junior in the room was not that smart, and I watched him suffer for seven hours the slow attack of boredom and sleep.

He yawned, I rock.

And now I'm the one yawning, so, good night and enjoy the coming weekend (if you have nothing better to do, you could actually leave a comment during the weekend or read this strip by the Oatmeal, wich made me laugh at the realisation that is has all happened to me at some point in my life: http://theoatmeal.com/comics/printers, actually this is me right before my meeting:

As usual, picture is not mine, but his: http://theoatmeal.com

) <--- this bracket is totally intended and makes sense, so don't think it's a typo.

There you go, Such is Life!

P.S.: Denmark, I know you keep reading, so come on! Just say hi, pretty please... :)