Why you so dramatic?

You guys know those days when you swan through the city to get to work like you just own it? I know, for me this also constitutes the exception. It is a bit like you find yourself thinking “did Susan put some MDMA in my drink, whynehell am I so motivated?”. Here I was today, cherishing my Motivation Wednesday. Struting through the hallway, totally feeling my fancy-all-black-I-am-so-Berlin-so-cool-so-fucking-cool look, feeling like an extra special scientist, giving off my usual “Come to mother dust, I will tell you how to solve all your problems”. Even singing “Rockabye”. So I enter my office and first thing I do is put the kettle on and prepare myself a big mug of coffee, then check emails and all this shindig.

To make coffee, we use this AeroPress machine. The one that has a little metal sieve on the bottom (here you put the ground coffee) and then you have to sort of press the boiling water through. So I am standing there, fidgeting like I do, and since the office door is closed, doing a little Mariah Carey turn (you guys know, the one when she just turns the chest and shoulders while having the hips still facing the opposite direction?). In that one second, my hand makes the wrong move.

Everything, I mean everything – the floor, the desk, the window, the fridge, the cupboard, the trash cans, my trousers on the spot gets covered in coffee (and milk, because I was cunning enough to pour it already in advance). Here I am, standing in the big puddle of double shot espresso, extra syrup, no foam (unavailable with AeroPress), Colombian grind, with liquid dripping from the window pane on my head, thinking which karma just came back at me. There goes my Motivation Wednesday.

I knew something was shady.

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Venus Spring Blowout

The online dating is a thang now, you know. One of my best friends, Latina Rodriguez chats to me about it on a daily basis and I live for her stories! Especially now that I am back to single life (and not yet ready to mingle, but I am very slowly getting there).  Feels a bit like recovering from a long marathon that you didn’t really prepare your fat body and fossilized joints for. But enough of the cheesecake!
The dating app is – without beating around the bush – full of fucking weirdos. Seriously, there is a market for everything. I don’t want to turn into some kind of freegan poetry slam, but if you think you can’t make money of your used underwear, well let me prove you wrong right there! When you finally get to write with someone that is – a- normal (doesn’t want to feed you with Taco Bell nor wants to smell your hairy armpits while clamping their nipples) and – b- not ugly, it is like a Kinder Surprise. You’re happy to get one, still a mystery what is inside.
The other day I finally got to write with a really cute actor from Deutsches Theater. Very exciting, as he didn’t want to buy me and had a beard (equals superhot, yes). Suddenly he goes ‘Lust auf Kaffee morgen‘ and here I go squirting a long ass Mateusz style answer in his face, needy, desperate, pathetic. You know those moments when someone suggest something you really wanted and you answer ‘Yes‘ too quickly? Well multiply it by ten. Totally lost it. Explaining how long and why I work and proposing alternative time, naturally also including my telephone number, height, weight, number of fingers, colors of my bedroom walls and almost social security number. Not until the dude writes back ‘Luft noch‘ half an hour later (no need to be fluent in German to realize this means ‘Calm your faggoty ass down‘ ) did I slap myself with an imaginary frying pan and promised, again, to keep it together. Jesus Almighty. I will die alone eaten by my fifteen cats and it is going to be my fault. I feel like Bridget Jones, although my Daniel Cleaver seems to have given up already!