(Loads of) Beer + (Very) Dim light = (Fairly) Sexy People

I never liked Clubs or Bars in general, the main reason is that I never got male attention through my looks, if I've ever gotten some was because of the amount of insanity I have always been able to come up with. But one day I had a Machiavellian plan and a Bar would be the perfect mean to my sexual end.

I fancied a guy so much that I thought I was going to die if I didn't find a way to drag him to my bed. It was Xmas time and our group of friends arranged a night out in a Brazilian Club. We all went there and I managed to get him (and myself) so very drunk we couldn't find the bus stop when we left the place together. We cleverly enough realised we needed a cab and after fighting with my memory for a while I luckily remembered my address, so I could say to the cab driver where we were going.

When we got to my flat he spread himself in my bed, seeing that made feel so happy I could cry of joy and the sense of accomplishment overwhelmed me, I was a winner! I was a predator! I know I was actually a desperate loser, but how cares? He was there and we were going to have sex!

From the moment I got close to him to the goodbye kiss I have no idea what happened at all. When we met in the following morning I put a very tender smile on my face and I looked at him as if I had had the most beautiful night of my life. Throughout the day I kept trying to fill up all the gaps I had from our assumed intercourse however unfortunately all the booze I had had erased my memory.

Fours years have passed and I still try to remember something from that (maybe great) night, but to be honest what really matters is the lesson I've learnt, that getting someone shit-faced to take advantage of them is awful, wrong and can really work.

x B

Another Ordinary Year - Version 2

Life as everything else can be approached in thousands of different ways, and what really matters is how these universe of possibilities can affect you. The film 'Another Year' (by Mike Leigh) shows life, aging, friendship in a very honest and lovely way that has the power to reach you in whichever age you are. There's a chance it's going to bring you down a bit, but ignoring the uncomfortable bits that are part of our existence won't make them cease to exist. Some people told me the film is quite sloooow, but to be honest what I most liked about it was its pace, that suits the life I want to live.

We all feel some sort of social pressure to be busy, to do things and even to have fun. Your pictures on facebook show how active your social life is or is not, so does our mobile ringing constantly. A life full of commitments and virtual connections grant you the image of being friendly and fun to others and also to yourself.

Where others see buzz and excitement I see the fear of the quietness that brings reflexion and maybe questions. But as my friend said in one of our long conversations "If I just realise that I don't want to live the life I've chosen, what am going to do with my shoes?"

x B

It Happened Inside My Mind in Black and White

"You can't be hungry and scared both at the same time... If you're scared, it scares the hunger out of ya." This line is one of my favourites from all the conversations I've witnessed on the big screen, it was said by Peter Warne (Clark Gable) - the sweetest piggy backer one could possibly find - in the film 'It Happend One Night' (1934). The wit, sharpness and quite often dry humour always give me the feeling I would be happier without Technicolor.

This is one of the films I've learned to love through my brother's adoration for B&W cinema, I grew up sharing my late at night hours in the living room with him and that is a period of my life I very much miss. 'It's a Wonderful Life', 'Casablanca', Maltese Falcon', 'City Lights','Some Like it Hot' and other titles evoke in me a beautiful sense of nostalgia that I treasure. They depict a period when the daily routine was different, or seemed to me to be different, a period where life was apparently less virtual and urgent.

My life feel's like Newton's irritating first Law of Motion... Inertia. Do I dream of a life that walks in a different pace just because I don't feel like doing much? Am I just a lethargic person that is trying to decorate her laziness with wallpapers of philosophy? Do I romanticize about the past just because it's easier to place yourself in a period you reinvented in your mind? So many questions to ask, so many revealing answers to ignore.

Films, books and music built up a fantasie world that often overshadows my reality. My mind is full of scenes and sounds and my hability to question is fruitfull, I just keep wondering until when I'll be able to keep Clark Gable, my sanity, and my mind in the same room.

x B

100 Lives in 100 Weeks

From the 1st of December 2010 I'll start reading one biography (autobiography, memoir or diary) from inspiring, shameless or just interesting people every week and I'll do it for 100 weeks. But I need your help to find the must-read books I'm going to devour.

Please feel free to text, email or facebook me with your suggestion and it would be really nice if you could tell me what in the book makes it special for you.

I'll write about them here and I'm sure this little personal project is just going to work if I have my friends support, otherwise it's just going to be quite boring.

I bought my first 4 books today and they are:

Anne Frank - The Diary of a Young Girl
The Diving-Bell and the Butterfly by Jean-Dominique Bauby
Charles Chaplin - My Autobiography
Running With Scissors - Memoir by Augusten Burroughs

Tks for your attention and lots of love! =)

x B

Touched by Fryderyk

'Should I go to Paris?... Should I come back (home)? Should I stay here? Should I kill myself? Should I stop writing letters to you? You tell me what to do!' This passage was extracted from the book 'Chopin - Prince of the Romantics (by Adam Zamoyski), it is one of the letter's that the twenty-year-old Chopin sent to his friend Matuszynki.

He was meant to be one of the greatest masters of Romantic music, people like him make our mundanity glow in pitch black endless dark and just like (maybe you and quite like) me he was lost. The words of the young composer just gave me the free hand I needed to feel less pathetic. And my relationship with him has now changed forever.

That's what I like about biographies, they give you the chance to see yourself in others people's lives. Isn't it an overwhelming feeling the idea of holding in your hands the syntheses of someone's whole life? You can see the highlights of their existence, a hand full of their thoughts, a list of their affairs and their inevitable end. It makes me think what would be the highlights of my own life and all the things that are yet to happen. And it is such a great feeling! That's the excitement that only the unknown could bring.

I honestly find Life in the pages I touch and I believe that sometimes I'm so into it that people around me definitely think I should date someone or go to the psychologist. Nevertheless you know that when we are in love we feel things nobody can really understand and we can just feel sorry for them.

I, without a drop of shame, fall in love with books. And you can think that the trouble with that is that they don't love me back, but neither people do, so I'm quite used to it. And anyway is a not corresponded love less important than one that is? I honestly don't think so.

Tks for reading,

x B

A Streetcar Named Shortbus... A Tube Carriage Named Desire or... Whatever

As most single people on Earth I have a hand full of affairs that never really have begun and consequently are not really going to end. Even though I never take it seriously, sometimes when I'm getting dressed to be undressed I have the uncomfortable feeling I am an humanitarian prostitute that shags not for money, but for the 'Cause'.

What is ironic about my dates is that when I'm asked out for some talk, to watch a film or to have some dinner I always end up in someone's bed, but when invited for some action I always end up talking, watching a film or having a snack with someone that has a very big mouth but has no idea whatsoever what to do with it.

Sex and silly romantic interactions had become far me more interesting to be watched than lived. If Edgar Wallace was right and 'an intellectual is someone who has found something more interesting than sex', I'm screwed, that's official I am an intellectual. This epiphany doesn't discourage me to keep being around people that give me orgasms, but honestly sometimes the District Line tend to weaken my sexual desire.

After two beautiful hours of a miserable tube drama I arrived at one of my friends' flat, we watched 'Shortbus' (a great film that - pretty much like everything that is meaningful and brilliant - is not for everyone), we kissed, caressed each others face and for a couple of seconds I thought of telling him 'I like you', but this thought was rapidly vanished by the fear of how it would be interpreted, maybe he would think of staying with me or maybe he would think of going away. And I wanted neither of the options, I want the gray area, that's what I crave for, relationship-wise I am colorblind.

After we did what God designed us to do we fell asleep, but my thoughts kept waking me up. I felt like a person that has a blueprint of a heart replacing the organ that once existed and I sadly asked myself what had I done to the old me. Hearing just silence I turned around naked and got back to sleep.

x B

The Constant Constable

"Fashion always had and will have its day - but Truth (in all things) only will last.", this is a sentence taken from one of John Constable's letters to his friend John Dunthorne. Constable is one of the most respected landscape painters in England and I didn't have the slightest idea he had exited at all until the day Mr. Ray (a customer from my coffee shop) talked to me about him.

I went to a couple of museums to see his works and one of his portraits that can be found at the National Portrait Gallery, there you'll find him close to William Blake and J. M. W. Turner (a terrible portrait by the way, I'm not sure if he really looked like an angry eagle or if the painter did the job with his left foot). John look so attractive that when you see his wife's portrait at the Tate you just go like 'love is a funny thing', and she wasn't just not attractive, she was very annoying and took her almost a decade to accept to marry him just because he was penny less and his best friend was the local plumber.

When I finished reading 'Constable In Love' (by Martin Gayford) I felt jealousy running in my veins mixing with my blood, this man wasn't a believer he was a knower, he was cocksure that his love was worth fighting for and that his art was meant to last forever. There are a massive amount of people that have delusions of grandeur, but he wasn't delusional he was right.

If you are up to reading a non-fictional Jane Austin like book go for that one, the author tells you not just Constable's story he puts everything in its context giving you a bigger picture of the society this charming man lived in, and that's what makes this book so enjoyable.

The only downside is that reading about someone like him made me realize that I haven't been sure about anything for far more then a while, for me sureness is something I only know now in theory and it made me wonder if I will ever be blessed again with this form of lunacy.

B x

The Wanting, the Waiting and the Weighing Room

My feet ache from walking around the only three rooms that I still can be bothered to explore in my visibly damaged mind. By far the Wanting Room is the most beautifully decorated one, getting inside it gives you an almost evil sensation, it is the feeling of having every bit of your body being driven towards something seemingly essencial that a second ago you didn't have the slightest idea existed at all, it has Rosso Corsa red velvet curtains, Sangria hypnotizing arabesque wallpapers, stylish chandeliers hanging from the ceiling like a graceful pair of golden dressed trapezists, a bunch of candles with their sexy flames dancing around and every piece of furniture exhales lust and moans in pleasure, I wish my visits to that piece of hellish heaven happened more often.

The Waiting Room is where you go to perish, suffer, cry, choke and feel you don't worth a penny. The walls are covered in clocks, some of them are big, others tiny, some of them are melting away when others are just staring at you. The walls are pale and it has in its essence a very perceptible limbo's touch. It's a room that makes you hate yourself for having chosen to became a slave of the tics and tacs that sometimes would make you so confuse you wouldn't even know what a hell you were waiting for.

And the beloved Weighting Room is where you racionalize if the velvet euphoria matchs the grey and plain concrete, that's the place where you weigh up every sensation, touch and taste you have savoured. I have a theory that most of the time, in this room we realise that it doesn't matter how amazing an experience is, comparing to the world we built in our minds all that surrond us is no more interesting than a Playboy from the 80s compared to a pole dance by Liz Hurley followed by a blow job.

I know I'm sounding a little bit too weird but making no sense was always one of my strengths and I'm effortlessly getting better every day.

Tip for a very confusing week, watch 'Waking Life' after reading 'A Theory of Everything' by Ken Wilber. You'll feel your world being turned inside out, then upside down and you'll have a very authentic epiphany that only a Blog could save you.

Good night you bunch of nice friends,

B x