Thoughts

Ninio is Gay!

A funny news today popped out on Yahoo site before I redirected to my email;
About a young male elephant who at the time prefers male comrades over ladies of his species. Michal Grzes is bubbling in anger over the price of approximately £7.6 mill (37 mill zlotys) which were paid for the male piece to create a herd to carry out some offspring. How unpleasant event took place in Poznan.
But, don’t cry, Poland, there’s still a hope – Ninio is 10 years old and his sexual maturity comes in next 4 future years, so you can still hope!
In the end, which 10 years old human boy prefers hanging out with girls over having a nice home racing with formula car models with his male comrades, indeed.
And if so happens, that Ninio stays as he is, I believe that the fumed Michal Grzes can reach in his own pocket and start a ‘politicians only’ money collection for a new, straight male elephant. Try some religious countries!

Honey, I Always Want to Order Out

Today I was roaming around the flat, randomly checking the freezer of our fridge, thinking what should I do for dinner. I suffer from this a lot, the I-can’t-really-decide-what’s-for-dinner syndrome; and I try to move the unbelievably hard and complicated decision on my husband, insanely insisting that he has to decide, not me, because I just wanna fulfill his mighty wish, of course. Sometimes I am successful, mostly not, as it seems that this illness is widely spreading in our family and affecting our everyday (dinner) life.
When I come with this inevitable question, “What do you want for dinner, love?”, my clever husband sees through my brain up to the neighbour’s window and replies without moving an inch of his calm face: “Do you want to order out?”
What can I say? Honey, I always want to order out. There’s no moment in my life when I will prefer spending hour and more of making a family dinner over sitting lazily on the sofa and waiting for other people to do my work.
But sometimes I am nice and I say, “No, I don’t really feel like ordering out,” although it’s most likely meaning: “Yes, I would love to do so, but I have to look as a nice housewife, hence I’m gonna cook.”
I don’t have any particular reason not to cook anyways, so I ran out of excuses right before I got any to use; I’m just incredibly appreciating any moment I don’t really need to move a muscle.

Gettin’ it done


Tired from long walk to City Council registrar office in the town center, Dori was extremely quiet and nice today. Funny fact is, that she didn’t walk at all, we took a carriage, just in case, and she didn’t move from it ever since.
The visit of civic center was finally a bit positive in our case, because we seem to come across a person who doesn’t request insane things (or unneeded, we were said we need an approval from immigration office, which costs 300£, not a really small amount for our budget nowadays, and than we were confirmed later on by embassy as well as officials of Britain that the person requesting that paper doesn’t have the proper right to perform with it anyways, so he shouldn’t have request that in a first place.), and who is helpful; eventually willing from his position help us get through the difficulties we are facing when it comes to realizing everything to be official. Inshallah it will finally all go through, because we both, me and Aboody, are getting really tired and bothered from all the countries acting up and throwing painful branches under our toes just because of a really simple act.
We, though, will have to pay another not-so-small amount of money for official ceremony, because the law of United Kingdom states that a ceremony is required and a simple notary act can be done only for registered couples, which we definitely aren’t. Lucky us.

Jaro, sulc v punčochách, Kuvajt a můj nenositelný kousek šatníku

První teplejší dny jara konečně dorazily do Newcastlu a lidé jako smyslů zbavení pobíhají po ulicích v tílkách, minisukních tak mini, že už to jde snad i do mínusu, co se délky týče; a vůbec jaro je ve vzduchu a všichni jsou najednou jako diví, svlečení z legračních zimníků (zbytek se nemění, minisukně či žádné sukně tu potkávám vcelku často; leč přiznávám, že dívka s velkým pozadím, jež joggovala v tangách a poloprůhledných punčochách bez sukně, kraťasů, trenýrek, čehokoliv pokrývajícího okolo mne mi způsobila dozajista chvilkovou zástavu rozumu, neboť kopa bílého, ťupkovaného masa sulcovitě se třesoucího v rytmu poskakujících boků byla po ránu opravdu příliš mnoho pro můj žaludek a smysl pro soudnost); a já se zase po pár měsících začínám cítit oblečená, protože délka teď zrovna není in, nemluvě o trvalé ‘outovosti’ šátku hlavového. Ale což, potrvá mi to tak tři dny, než si zvyknu na to, že lidé občas koukají. A lidem potrvá zhruba tři dny si uvědomit, že někteří se prostě neodhalují s postupujícím sluncem na nebi.

O jazykové integritě

Někde mezi 90ti procenty levelu 139 mé Force Bladerky v Cabalu (ano, jsem hráč, přiznávám) a odstraňováním dva dny starých špaget ze dna našich úžasně zelených talířů jsem si uvědomila, že veškeré mé pokusy o jazykovou celistvost mého internetového pseudozápisníčku jsou naprosto marné a tudíž bych se na to měla zvysoka … vydlábnout. Koneckonců, můj papírový deníček, tedy spíše příležitostníček, je také bilingvní a nikdo mi do toho nekecá. Jediným problémem je tedy ona nedvoujazyčnost některých mých přátel, kteří sem čas od času páchnou, ale čert s tím. Víc mi dělá problém po dvou letech psaní na anglicko-arabském notebooku najít správné české znaky (což vysvětluje moji lenost psát v češtině, kdo by se s tou intepunkcí pořád otravoval; a psát v češtině bez interpunkce do článků mi přijde barbarské.)
Po odstranění betonových špaget ve mne tedy uzrálo rozhodnutí, že na to kašlu, a budu si psát, jak mne zrovna napadne; vždyť koneckonců stránku jsem si vytvořila hlavně pro sebe, abych se po letech mohla zasmát našim postřehům i peripetiím v nové zemi… že to díky podělanému serveru u WordPressu nevyšlo, to už je věc jiná, doufám, že mne Drupal zachrání a je skutečně natolik spolehlivý, jak se povídá.
Budu holt muset naučit některé Čechy anglicky a pár dalších národností česky; oj, kéž by.

Skinny Stick or Chubby Muffin?

I always dreamt about being slim as a Jalapeno on a stick, and it was my goal, not a life aim, yet a nice goal to achieve. I managed to maintain size 34/36 (US chart 4) for the years of having no money, work, and no money and lotsa stress.
Now, as a satisfied housewife, I jumped to 38/40 (8), and my hair got much more better, skin doesn’t have pimples anymore, well, mostly; my moods are not swinging and I feel actually happy. My husband loves my body and I learnt to like myself too. I just so hate to throw away my old clothes, because my hips got twice as wide.
Now my question is, do men actually like skinny woman? Or do they prefer chubbiness? I like to persuade myself that men don’t go after those skinny ladies whose hip bones always go first and than enters the rest of theirs, breasts included; but am I right? Last days I gathered so many complimenting comments on pictures of ladies who have 40 to 50 kg, that I really don’t know anymore, where’s the average truth.
Naturally; skinny women shouldn’t be even attractive to a normal man as they are supposed by Mother Nature as the less fruitful, if I may write it in the fancy way; while normally fit or a bit chubby women have much more probabilities to carry successfully a baby, and not only one, but many, without problems; all from nature point of view, hence the instinct of an average man should lead to a woman, who has some curves, not many angles.