Some Really Like It Hot

So what comes to mind when you see this picture? Silly? Funny? Faux artsy? Pink? Well yes, exactly. My dear friend, sex columnist and book nerd offered herself up to be my model on which I was try out the new gadget, the purchase which has been described as "my part to prop up the US economy". We had a fabulous Saturday that resulted in some awesome shots and some favorites on my part. This however, is not one of them.

Yet this is such the hit with the foot fetish people, the general fetish people, the opaque tights people, the leg fashion people, the crazy tights lovers, the crotch and pants lovers, the group for let me show you mine if you show me yours, the patterned tights clique, the hot legs, the three legged cats (?) and the big feet dirty socks (ehm, hello) project that I am amazed, revolted and seriously considering launching my photography career catering to those people. There is a real need out there.

Also, if you are one of them, I promise I will block you. Yay flickr.

British Museum London-Obligatory

British Museum London
Originally uploaded by Christiane B

Bored out of their minds

Seeing that was enough to make newly acquired husband and I take that one obligatory shot of the British Museum and bust out.

Bowling Recap

By popular request, I will give you the long awaited insight into our January holiday party, just too late for Eid-Christma-ka and just too early for Chinese New Year.

I was the shining star, yes I was. I was eloquent, I was funny, I was witty, I was risque, I was pretty. I was all of the above after only a few glasses of sweet sweet wine, which for so long I had taken a leave of absence from. Before that I was also a sucky bowler. I know I have no skill but sometimes I do have luck to hide the lack of skill. This time no luck and no skill coupled with high pity absorption due to crippled status made for a bowling score of 115 for TWO games combined. I hear that's pretty bad even for the elementary pupil (as they say) birthday party standard.

It started with the wife of the non-scary boss drawing up teams. In her husband's favor. I got to be super lucky and ended on on her team. At least the one sporty man in our company didn't show up until dinner so it was truly a battle of the walruses. Triple Christian economist scared me and his calf muscles by sitting on the ground trying to reach for his toes in an attempt to warm up Jane Fonda style. Wasn't it in the early 90s that they realized a stretch must be held and bouncing is bad for you? He must have missed that info while in engineering class back in various elite outback Australian schools and bounced away at his toes. Non-scary boss really got in the swing of things fast with a quaint little gallop leading to a good left-leaning chuck that in all his elegance seemed a bit like a double back flip before diving ass first into the kiddie pool.

Zimbabwe economist's wife, this year in a subdued non-African outfit (she be's ivory in complexion) pulled me aside to inquire about newly acquired husband. Why was he not there. She misses him. Ehm lady I am thinking, the boy is en long route back from tango land to pick up my gadgets from USA where I single handedly hold up the economy. So instead she befriends me and tells me all about her in laws may they rest in peace and the suckyness of trying to get a visa to anywhere if you have a Zimbabwean passport with only 10 blank pages left to last you a lifetime. Apparently due to her ivory whiteness and despite being third generation Zimbabwean the good old Mugabe doesn't seem to be appreciate this whole multi racial citizen idea all too much and isn't so generous with new passports. So she is 10 pages away from being stateless. I like her a lot and I want to go to dinner with her and Zimbabwean economist to hear all about how it was growing up in Africa being African but also, well not being African.

But back to bowling. Zimbabwean economist seems to have the game in his blood. A novice to the sport he beat triple Christian economist and makes up for my losses and despite ancient secretaries tries to get back to her former girlish form, the team of little me, wife of non-scary boss and Zimbabwean economist take the lead and hold on tightly to a well deserved victory.

Then comes dinner and as I already pointed out here I am the shining star. I can't think of anything exactly that I regret saying or doing, so maybe I was entertaining in every one's mind, not just my own. Here triple Christian economist gets the hick ups but you see, he doesn't think anyone else can hear that, so he just keeps talking over them which distracts me and I bob my head every time he hick ups to help him so to speak. Non-bowling economist makes fun of our low bowling scores and as it is good tradition every 10 minutes non-scary boss makes either the boys or the girls move two chairs along the table to 'mix things up'. I however stay seated to see if anyone notices why the game is not working out. Nobody notices and so I stay close to the strategically placed plates of moussaka and lamp skewers and sweet sweet wine and have the economists shuffling around me. Almost royal, certainly regal.

I am then spoon fed baklava for dessert because everyone seems to have heard about my infamous 'sweet tooth' as wife of not yet mentioned economist tells me. They must have some enlightening dinner conversations if that is a topic that has been discussed. I mean thanks, but go easy people, girl's got a buzz to hold.

And then they leave. Punctual to get the last tube. That was that until Monday morning ancient secretary appears crying and moaning about how she is still knackered from Saturday. Maybe I wasn't the only one drinking sweet sweet wine?

Rogue Economist Dishes Out Advice

Who knew? People seem to think that I know things about why the economy appears to be recessing. I don't. I am not short of advice though.

Stop reading the business part of the news and start reading about Maddie again. I suspect none of you own any stocks, so no action needed on that part. If you wanna buy a condo in Miami I believe two months from now might be a good time. If you want to buy anything in the US, they already offer "cheap be's the dollar, to USA we fly" shopping trips (P.S. they have a roller coaster in the Mall of Americas...totally worth it). If you have a retirement fund, just don't retire. If you have a job, great, if you don't have a job - get one.

But all you really need to do is go to the mall and blow your hard earned cash on gadgets, ideally made in China so it makes those guys feel better about that rumor of us not wanting to buy their junk anymore and in turn they will chill out, stop starting this stupid recession and we can keep buying their junk. It will help everyone. If only every man, woman and child in America focused on buying stuff like they were taught to, this little panic could be averted and we could just continue to focus on buying cheap nice gadgets forever and happily ride into the sunset. Do it!

I already did my part. And she is one pretty gadget.

A Picture Says More Than a Thousand Worlds

18/365 This is what we do
Originally uploaded by Christiane B

This is what we do on Sundays. Dorking away on the laptop or studying the A-Z to figure out how to get anywhere with all but two tube lines shut down. The conclusion of course you are looking at: Sitting on the couch dorking away on the laptop.

Today being Monday I really do wish I could do it all over.

Hussain After Brunch

Along with a Swede and a Brit and amongst much chatter that may have sounded to some like something out of Dawson't Creek, we finished a girly brunch with a nice glass of semi-dry chardonnay. It was four in the afternoon and all of a sudden I found myself in a hurry to get ready, both mentally and physically, for the economists bowling extravaganza.

I love London on a good brunch day and love it even more when its pretty face shows itself such as it did this instance. As I was descending out of the place where I had wasted away almost all daylight hours of a decent enough day, I found myself in the middle of a huge bunch of shouting boys and girls, mostly, and some bigger boys and girls and mom's of girls. All in black, marching along, singing, veils as far as the eye could see, they took up the Victorian streets of Notthing Hill. Why do I say pretty face of London? Well, everyone was really nice, really nice, none of the usual tension that ensues when thousands of people trudge along with something to demonstrate for or against and also no bottle throwing drunks in sight.

It so happened to have been the day commemorating the death of Hussain, the grandson of the Prophet of Islam, who as far as I have been informed seems to be burred in a beautiful mosque I sat next to in Cairo one evening when sipping tea after having hustled for many a turquoise necklace in the bazaar next door. I found out about the meaning of the day via a bunch of veiled girls and all in black boys who gave me a leaflet about the deceased along with some general debate on women and head scarfs. The girls chatted me up for as long as I was walking along with them en route to the economists. What a contrast, eh? Surely economizing, even if it's a bowling event does not quite ooze the same fervor as marching for prophets.

I personally really like dressing the way I do, I really like not wearing a veil, I would certainly hate to be told what to wear and have been that way since I was four years old. Sometimes I like but sometimes I dislike the attention I get being a girl, walking around, showing my face, shaking my ass.

Along Queensway we went and our conversation was about how the veil all these women and girls were wearing, was supposed to be a liberation from being lusted after, from being sex symbols and from being judged by men's standards of attractiveness. Hmpf, a part of me wants to snort, but honestly, I do get that and I can't say hmpf to the idea. I think there is something positive about creating a world where a woman is being looked at for her intellectual capacities and her virtuous. Not always, but sometimes it would be nice to be invisible and maybe wear a bikini and over that a long black hijab and giggle to yourself how hot your were and how the construction workers not cat calling you had no idea what they are missing.

Anyhow, I think maybe it's a bit easy to dump the responsibility for creating that "aura of respect" upon women entirely. A bit of that moral police that is used to ensure that women are all up to code could be employed to ensure that men are, I don't know, keeping their gems in their pants. On the other hand, boys will be boys, so given reality, I guess if a girl came up with this idea of fooling those silly boys by hiding behind unflattering drapes, that's cool with me. I just like some choice.

Before we parted ways, I could not help myself and had to blurt out that intentions might be one thing but unfortunately facts are another. And the unfortunately fact is that so many women are being subjugated, isolated and oppressed and the beautiful, if not necessarily perfect, idea of creating a protective cocoon around the precious girls had turned into an ugly battle for basic rights that women are loosing because the world that is supposed to protect them has turned against them. Obviously it's not the veil that is making them loose but the bottom line is that someone is not playing by the rules. Those who are meant to protect and respect them, those that were supposed to be interested in character, intelligence have started to use and abuse instead of respect. Maybe to please me, but my girls seemed to agree, but said things were like that in some places but also that there are plenty of boys around who are playing by the rules.

So this is when I love London - I do hope that for them that the boys keep up their part of the bargain like they said they would.

And one more thing I learned in Egypt in that bazaar next to Hussain's burial ground: There exist some awesome scarfs in this world. I am talking glitter and silk and embroidery. I would not mind donning one of those along with some equally hot yet restrained long skirt & see through yet long sleeved shirt. I mean for all the protecting and dignifying it's supposed to do, it looks mighty good to me and actually I have to say, it is quite my style.

Murphy's Law

I might try to go all out this weekend and either have some interesting thoughts or activities to write about and fondly think about (yay economist bowling time), but until then, let me call this the official "poor me" week and onwards we go to Murphy's Law.

Today as I lept out of the house, a spring in my step, just dying to work that one last day of the week, but my enthusiasm was put through a test. I waited for the bus and I waited some more, I waited for a time span that allowed me to read the metro thoroughly, allowing me to gain insights into today's relevant issues such as Maddy's Mom bonding with Mom is disappeared Spanish girl, Heathrow crash landing pilot deserving a metal the size of a frying pan and sure enough, housing prices crashing towards a long awaited equilibrium. I also had time to admire every other bus going nowhere close to where I was bound, going by on average every four minutes. I waited long enough that I was hoping to see someone go by twice. Furthermore, I got my heart beat up a few times when I saw my very own bus tease on by, say every ten minutes (it's a crappy line to begin with), but every time, it was one bound for the wrong direction or the right direction because I was getting ever more ready to accept my fate and spend the day on the couch re-watching the entire first season of House.

Just to clarify, I am not really directionally challenged, it's just that where I wait is a cule de sac roundabout situation where one can't tell what direction a vehicle is bound unless one reads the announcement window apparatus on the front bus window which sometimes one does not read too well and then one ends up going straight back to where one came from. Anyhow, one was reading well today, extra points, and so one was waiting and waiting and angering and drawing shapes with one's umbrella, angering more, creating a voodoo doll in one's mind, calling it bus dispatcher 316, stabbing it with knitting needles, feeling better, then forgiving, then angering and then finally getting on a bus.

I mean do I have my own Murphy? Is someone, call him God or Allah or Karma, sitting around waiting to poke me just to see if I will chew my own arm off?

You may say, isn't that assigning myself a bit too much importance? Not so. Because you see, yesterday, as I was rushing on homeward towards wine (!) and meat sauce I also waited and waited. Maybe not forty-five minutes but I waited long enough to see one man get a nice shave and haircut in the barber shop next door and I also had time once again to duly take notice of three buses belonging to my line going the other direction, i.e. the direction I was so cheerfully awaiting to go this morning.

I am starting to get the feeling that the world is turning one way but poor poor me is turning some other way and somehow we don't meet all that often.

MEAT

I make fun of newly acquired husband a lot for his protein intake obsession. I make fun of a lot of obsessions of his which is a post that may never get posted. In any case let it be known that according to him, steak & eggs is what it's all about. They do not need to occur together but they need to occur frequently for reasons he can explain to you.

With my crippled status dominating my little life, (an unfortunate fact, but one that I will milk for all it's worth, yes, thank you very much for asking), I am learning to tune the google-verse to cater to my new interests and sure enough she told me that I can speed up the healing process by falling in line with newly acquired husband's opinions because, don't you know, a diet rich in protein will fuse muscles and things around bones. Maybe not, but who knows. Having the google-verse side with newly acquired husband even though newly acquired husband probably had no idea about this, is a bit upsetting and while it could be convenient in theory, it is not because he is in Argentina, where beef is a vegetable and I am, last I checked, not there at all, but instead stranded on mad cow island. Besides obviously oozing of unfairness, it also means that I am carnevoiring it out all by myself and on a daily basis I dutifully trek to my local halal butcher. The man loves me. He must think he single handedly converted me to cow eating because I appeared one day out of nowhere and now just can't get enough. Won't he be sad when I am back to wine and cheese, which is pretty much all I normally eat.

Given that I have nothing else to do, I am observing something strange happening the past couple of weeks. Other than meat eating, I make sure to do as little as humanly possible. I also stay clear of the sweet sweet wine due to that little rumor about liver or kidney or some sort of damage that booze and pain killers together apparently bring about. No wine, no cheese, no exercise and large chunks of bloody meat and I am feeling skinnier than ever. Not that I have access to a scale cause the closest one is tucked away in the gym, which obviously is dangerous ground that must be avoided at all costs, but yes, turns out eating meat and lots of it makes you feel skinny, that must be what Mr. Atkins found out many decades before me.

Necessity IS the mother of invention or did I just re-invent the wheel?

Anxiously awaiting Anxiety

I don't know WHY I get all anxious about things I am not actually that anxious about. It's a weird self-fulfilling prophecy. I think I will get nervous, because it's something really really important, and then I get all nervous about getting nervous and which point when the really really important thing happens I am all nervous.

And all for nothing. Had this looming chat with the not at all scary boss on the horizon in which I wanted to flag a few thing that are very important to me, such as my dissatisfaction about my current location and wanted to finagle a thin line between a bunch of other things on the wish list. I got a maybe, which is fabulous, except now I have to wait more and I just want to know cause nothing makes me more anxious than not knowing. Like if the maybe is more like a maybe not I want to be writing application letters to Asian fetish store owners about being a salesgirl/photographer asap and if the maybe is something like a maybe in one year, I am getting all anxious again about having to have another conversation which is really important which is what maybe I should have talked about in the first place today, which would just put an end to the whole waiting bit and worse yet, just in case the maybe turns into a yes, I am getting all anxious already about having to do some hard-ass negotiating of several not all too popular requests (is a sabbatical after one year on the job really that outrageous?).

More on Economizers

Our holiday party is nearing and the economists have decided on bowling and dinner. The manuals are being dusted off, someone is calculating angles and velocity vectors while someone else is suggesting we go to dinner first and then bowling (want to save on the booze, eh?).

I have not yet decided on a strategy. Do I play it cool or do I really work up my competitive side? Will I play up the hobble/wave the injured hand or will I save it up for when I loose? I am very excited to see everyone awkwardly having to put on bowling shoes that don't fit but that do smell bad. I also have high expectations of what sort of jokes may occur to diffuse the awkwardness. In short, I just can't wait.

Only Decades Away from a Dachshund and a Push Cart

Damn the man - I am still crippled. Less crippled than before, but more than I'd like to be.

But it's not all bad. I enjoy feeling like a victim and I imagine pity right and left.

Once I hobble off the bus, out of the store or up some stairs, with a nicely mustered pained yet very brave and enduring look, people follow me with their eyes. You know how you feel when you accidentally let a door fall shut behind you and it turns out there was a little old lady following close behind you, who got smacked in the head? Maybe you don't know, which is a good sign for humanity. In any case, I like to think that this is how people feel about me. Bad. Bad they didn't let me sit down, bad they made me wait, bad they didn't offer to carry me up the stairs. Yep, that's right. I am just full of confidence that the world is in mourning until I can once again impatiently brush by little old wobbly couples taking up the whole damn sidewalk with their staggered walk, push by ladies with four-row deep baby strollers and obviously make all those people on crutches feel like slow moving chunks of badness impeding the progress of good, healthy individuals on their way to the pub. I can't wait to be her again!

Or just maybe I will end up being nicer. I can't promise, but I do feel like it might blow being a little old lady with one of those pull-behind shopping carts (complete with a dachshund peaking out of it) that you need to use both for balance and in order to transport anything larger than a few sticks of celery or a bottle of milk. Worst of all I can almost see myself heading there, still a good bunch of decades away, but since when am I not able to get up from a fall, hand or foot twisted or gaping hole in head, and just get on with life? It's the beginning of the end my friends. Better score some karma points while I still can.

McCanns Plan on Making Maddie Movie

It's in the Metro, in the Evening Standard, it's everywhere. I will need to pour myself a G&T in order to deal with this. If you have not caught on yet, Maddie is a UK version of JonBenet Ramsey set in 2007, with the added feature of foreign actors, hot co-stars and, so far, no body to prove or disprove a thing. As you might know I have tried to deal with Maddie before back when I began this little diary and I thought we had reached a place where I felt comfortable letting her go. I had agreed to stop the obsessive metro reading (I started biking to work just for this purpose!) and the Sky News rankings and I was doing so well, honest, but there is no way I could have foreseen this one. Or could I have? A multi-million dollar film deal! Opportunistic? Indeed. In it's purest form. Not that that's a bad thing. And I was going to write on Obama and New Hampshire. Puhleease.

On Facebook and it's Friends

I am so annoyed at my annoyance of facebook. I am annoyed that I even have an opinion and more annoyed that I spend enough time on that site to be annoyed by the annoying people who clog up my feeds by adding, then removing, then changing, then re-spelling their favorite book, joining the facebook please respect my privacy group (my what?), throwing hamburgers and finagling their religous views from hopeless to black beans. But God do I love the personality tests, I mean I AM Carrie Bradshaw. Is that bad?

Last night newly acquired husband played with dopplr, I mean why just stick to giving the world y0ur address, your status as 'out of town' and maybe some party invite that give directions how to best get to your house along with pics of that new computer that your second to last status update advertised you just got for X-mas and that photo album you posted that shows that your balcony door is made of plywood? Why not document all your past and future trips in one perfect stalking package and make sure to put down a link to your blog and address book and write a review of your hotel with a specific recommendation of your room number?

This morning I got an email from Dopplr on behalf of newly acquired husband talking about being a fabulous jet setter who believes in serendipity and a re-invite to hi5 (they just don't give up) while WAYN informed me that I have contacts in town, which freaks me out because I am still paranoid that I accidentally hit that 'search my address book for contacts already on WAYN' and inadvertently send all my old college profs an invite. Of course before having my morning coffee even I already checked flickr and removed some porn from my myspace comments page although I do not seem to be important enough to be invited to 'small world' and I have not heard from anyone in Linked in a while either.

I just can't decide what I think about all this. The first time I posted a picture on the wide wide interweb I was a bit freaked out about how it could be used, the first time I wrote a sentence here I was worried about masses of people commenting (don't I wish) and the first time I wrote on someone's 'wall', I still checked my spelling. No longer. I love being able to see what my friends are up to, stalk ex friends from times long past (did they get fat? married? still stuck in my little town?), try to make myself just transparent enough to be found by people I want to find me and not by the ones I don't, I love looking at people's vacation pics, browse their contacts to find people I lost touch with, I love that my friends can know with what's going on with me without me having to write about every mundane thing that happens. All these sites are essentially the equivalent of chain emails about mundane things that are in turn the equivalent of sitting-by-the-well-village gossip that is not really worth writing about in an email or, grasp, letter. Not that I do the latter.

Nothing has happened and I have just about forgotten, only temporarily reminded by some friend's hacked myspace account posting that above mentioned porn, that all that info IS available to EVERYONE who wants to see it. I just counted up at least five social networking sites that know enough about me to ruin my career as a senator. I am fine with this, but honestly I have a lot of faith in our youth and there is no way that some nifty kid has not figured out a way to get all my useless personal information and I am only to find out in the future what havoc can be done with it. Until then, happy networking.

Sirens and Trains

IMGP2979
Originally uploaded by Christiane B

Back in the days, in small town Germany, I used to love to fall asleep to sirens, trains or some other distant commotion. It reminded me that there was an unexplored world out there, a world beyond the grasp of a kid that was just coming to grips with the idea that the universe did not revolve around its little life. I used to wonder about those souls on those trains, in those ambulances or laughing at those parties, walking along our road. It was all so intriguing because I was forbidden and plain unable to part take. My imagination gave my town a lot more credit than it deserved. Only a few years later I was able to answer my own question regarding what goes on in those night hours to which the answer is a resounding: nothing.

Of course in German there is a word for everything including the longing or curiosity to take of in the middle of the night just to know what goes on in the world. The word is Fernweh, meaning the opposite of homesickness (Heimweh); I guess loosely translated it means, farawaysickness. The English word according to the interweb is wanderlust, wait a second, I thought that was another German word? Whatever.

So last night I was trying to fall asleep to a bunch of ambulance sirens dashing by our house, your odd night bus coming to a screeching halt, people throwing bottles around in our neighbors front yard. A typical Friday night. Nevertheless I was building it way up in my mind, making the lives of those people a lot more interesting than they probably are, itching to know what goes on, what happened, where are they from, where are they going. Strictly speaking the answer is easy, they are going to St. Mary's hospital by Paddington or to shag their catch at their house. But maybe they are going somewhere really cool and interesting I have not been! Imagine that!

I have been feeling the onset for a while, but I am pretty certain now that I am developing a nasty case of wanderlusting. Not the Ryanair to Prague for a weekend sort of wanderlusting, but a real big get away. I want to be totally lost, weirded out, I want to be a babbling idiot lost in the back country of India/a dazed and confused tourist in Tokyo or a safari guide or guided in Kenya. I only have a few requirements: I don't want to have a schedule, I don't want to know where I will be tomorrow and I don't want to understand what's going on. And I do want someone to pay me while I do that. How hard can it be? Am I too old to be that irresponsible?

Bonefishing in England

Understanding the English is so long and complex a subject I have stayed away from it until now. After watching "Jeeves and Wooster" (Yeah, turns out Dr. House, aka Hugh Laurie is famous for that stuff) last night and not being able to muster more than a half-assed grin, I have been reminded that my cultural assimilation is not going so well.

After a year of residency on this windy island, a nice little book came my way: "Watching the English" by Kate Fox, an English anthropologist who admits that she hates the damp tropics and prefers looking at her own culture. Very English if you ask me. The English sure like watching themselves and are pretty damn obsessed with how genius yet tricky their behavior is. And rightfully so. Nothing makes that more obvious than a good natured question regarding social class. People fall over themselves trying to explain that there there is no real class structure left and then inevitably every English person involved ends up speaking about themselves, their family, their college, ultimately about their class, comparing notes and strangely enough, all knowing exactly where they fall in that class structure that no longer exists and even more strangely, no matter if identifying with upper class or working class, each loving and embracing theirs.

Sometimes I get the idea. I have been learning the obvious key words in order to identify who I am dealing with. I mean, do you go to the loo or the toilet, do you eat pudding, dessert or afters? Is your fave local pub named "The something or the other Arms" or does it serve steak bites in red wine sauce? Also I learned that some pubs better be bypassed by someone as clueless as myself, not because I will get my ass pinched and I have to say I adore being called "love" by big husky guys, but because someone will try to get in a fight with newly acquired husband, just because. And I don't adore watching that (although of course he'd kick everyone's ass).

Unfortunately for me, I also don't seem to get what is sanctioned behavior and what is not. People get so trashed they fall down a full flight of stairs in the underground, city boys pass out on the sidewalk, Armani suit and tie dipped in Guinness; girls dress like sluts with an endurance and dedication that amazes me (and I have lived in Miami mind you), but yet I always manage to say or do something even to those sluts and drunks when I figure nothing could be insulting now, that does not go over kosher. Because thinking that anything goes is an illusion; I just don't seem to understand the fine nuances of what goes.

As Salman Rushdie said and I am paraphrasing: Learning to understand the English is like eating a bony, spiky fish. There is a right way to do it and everyone knows it, but nobody will tell you, instead everyone will watch you choke and figure it out yourself. A great exercise, that bony fish eating.

Shreds of Modesty

Are you comfortable doing a handstand in the candy isle? Holding your hair up in an elaborate bun while pretending to put on make up next to a rusty car on a main street? Sulking picturesquely next to some antique mirrors in front of your local coffee shop?

Spent my lunch break doing self-portraits, which manifested itself in a very shameful display of cowardice. Focus, meter, set camera down on a more or less suitable object (ahhhh, saved camera with crippled wrist from landing in slime and motor oil), finding that window when no pedestrians face me, but damn, people walk fast or slow, whichever is the one I don't need. Then trying to keep that seriously sexy face while they walk, stall, get the kid out of the buggy, the cigarette out of the pack or the phone into the bag, point and laugh. The latter only in my mind or maybe not. It's very difficult to be vain and even more difficult to find a purpose for the vanity. I need a hypothetical explanation to those curious minds as to why I am face down on a park bench in the freezing cold, waving blue mittens into the directions of the lens like a lame duck, while holding my head still and stiff in that previously focused-on spot on the arm rest, hair hopefully nicely disheveled, a great clump of mud on my boots just in the frame and the self timer beeping with increasing frequency.

I think I need a crew to give me more credibility, someone to fan me, someone to hold the reflector and most importantly that critical mass of people that makes it look like something creative and purposeful is going on that Joe Schmoe is just not able to grasp upon passing by.

2007 in Reverse Order

Quick summary. We moved to London, spent as little time there as possible, re-found some great old friends, bitched and moaned about the weather, the food and NHS. Began to love our neighborhood even in the rain, Thai pubs and herbal medicine, eloped more effectively than we could ever have hoped for, honeymooned, returned and there we are.

Merry Christmas to you

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Originally uploaded by Christiane B

Much more gay and happy in Miami

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Originally uploaded by Christiane B

London is getting a tad depressing

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Originally uploaded by Christiane B

And onto the honeymoon exploring A's roots

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Originally uploaded by pirateofcake

We ferry in our guests

A's taxi services
Originally uploaded by piratewedding

...via flooded roads

We get caught up in tropical storm Noel

waiting for the storm to end
Originally uploaded by Christiane B

We elope

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Originally uploaded by piratewedding

And now it's fall again

foggy day in the park
Originally uploaded by Christiane B

We stick around london and really start to like living here

St Basil

st basil
Originally uploaded by Christiane B

...and finally get to see the sugar coated towers myself

Red Square

Red Square
Originally uploaded by Christiane B

...I tag along to Russia.

Time well spent in Germany

Originally uploaded by pirateofcake

Summer escapes to the homeland

We move house

Originally uploaded by Christiane B

...from East to West. Loving Portobello Rd.

My first big work trip...

Cairo Traffic
Originally uploaded by Christiane B

Managed to go to Egypt and not see the Pyramids. Work is schmerk

Escaping does not end...

Mural - Christiania
Originally uploaded by pirateofcake

We do a North Europe tour, Denmark and Holland later in the spring

More escaping....my birthday is celebrated in Turkey

Cappadocia
Originally uploaded by Christiane B

We escape into the county side

Pony
Originally uploaded by pirateofcake

Formerly called fancy, now newly acquired husband gets into wild life photography

Gordon's Wine Bar

Gordon's Wine Bar
Originally uploaded by Christiane B

We learn to live underground to survive the cold months of early 2007

Settling in...meeting the local drunks

Christiane Meets Drunk on Tube
Originally uploaded by pirateofcake

New Year's Eve 2006/2007 at Kajsa's Derelict Party in London

New Year's - Kajsa Cooks Dinner
Originally uploaded by pirateofcake

A fabulous start

We leave our country home in Boston

A in Boston apartment
Originally uploaded by Christiane B

Liquid Gold

New Year's was saved by the lovely Cha-Si team, who celebrated their eastern European heritage with Caribbean food and a bon fire. I was introduced to Arnica and other herbal remedies, my favorite being gold oil. How fancy is is to smear liquid oil all over one's broken extremities. To take matters further into the cultish realm, we lit lanterns fueled with their own fire source and send them into the sky and neighbor's trees, after adorning them with wishes for the new year. A few fire balls were seen in the distance after take off, but no major fires reported in the local newspapers this morning. Due to that crippled wrist, let's trust some pictures to say a million words here. Photocredit goes to the newly acquired husband, who is now legally mine, meaning that all his material possessions are mine too. I guess that makes it unnecessary to give him any credit at all.