guerreira in london

Little blog holiday

2008-09-24T08:32:00.000-07:00

Dears and darlings...the blog is going on a little holiday as I am off to Brazil for 7 weeks! Yaaaai! Will come back with loads of stories and, hopefully, the much awaited (at least by me) blog's new look...

Me not liking

2008-09-07T08:07:00.000-07:00

Talking to friends the other day I realized I have an irrational hatred of certain fashion things...They have been with me for a long time, and although I don’t mind them on other people, I can’t bear to wear them myself…Freud (that’s Sigmund, no Bella) might explain…

* Linen – since I was a child I just hate it. Plus, is there a more easily creasing material?
* Contrast stitching – it always makes me think “why did they have to ruin this item for me”
* Lipstick – maybe it comes from the times where I use to wear braces and have horrible zits (I know, not a good look), but although I happily wear other make-up, I just can’t wear lipstick.
* Polo necks – again it’s a long hate relationship…as a kid I used to hate anything “hanging” me and I still do. I am not one of those people who wear a scarf beautifully.

Am I the only one with a list of irrational hates?

Uncomfortable outfit day

2008-08-26T09:29:00.000-07:00

*** DISCLAIMER – This is a highly unglamorous post… but sometimes you need to keep it real!

I’ve posted here in the past about the “bad outfit day”, when as soon as you leave the house you know you hate what you are wearing…

Today I am having a slightly different day, the “uncomfortable outfit day”.

It happens when you actually look ok, but then:

- Your shoes are killing your feet, even though you are wearing them with socks;
- Your jeans are quite low, and so is your underwear, so the cars and other cyclists following you on your way to work have a nice little surprise view;

- Your bangle hurt your arm when you type;
- And it looked cold in the morning, but it’s actually quite muggy so you have…(oh god, am I ready to confess this?)... a tinny underarm pizza. More like a mini-pizza, almost imperceptible to the naked eye, but you know it’s there.

So, there, I said it. I might look ok, but ok I ain’t feeling. Uncomfortable outfit day, please be over soon!

Of love and pronunciation

2008-08-18T08:46:00.000-07:00

So the opening of the Shoreditch Festival was great, it didn't rain, the music was nice and I bought a great pair of earrings.

All was great until I got home and realized there had been a huge misunderstanding.

xxx

In the middle of the day I went in search of some festival food and came back all happy with a sausage sandwich I found at the POLISH stall.

ME - "Look guys, I got a POLISH meat sandwich. I am going back to my roots" (as I am ¼ Polish)

HUSBAND - "Really, you are eating that? Ok, whatever rocks your boat."

I thought it was a slightly weird response from him, since as far as I know he doesn't have anything against the Polish or any other nationalities.

Later on, at home, as we are talking about the great day we had, and I am saying how one of the highlights was my incredibly yummy sandwich, the husband says:

HUSBAND - "I actually cannot believe you ate PONY meat".

ME - "Excuse me? PONY as in cute little horses that every young girl dreams of having? (not me though, as I have always been scared of horses, even the cute little ones)

HUSBAND – “Yes, that’s what you ate, no?”

ME (HORRIFIED) – “Noooo, you crazy man. POLISH meat, not PONY meat”.

xxx

So there you have it…my man thinks I am capable of not only eating pony meat, but also bragging about it. Love is weird. And, it seems, my pronunciation is even weirder.

(Fancy some pony on the grill?)

In colour

2008-08-12T09:06:00.000-07:00

I am the queen of muted but it hasn't always been like this. Before my love affair with black, white, grey and cream, I had a very colourful phase. In fact, just before coming to London, a whopping seven years ago, I was planning to dye my hair blue. And then bright pink. I was also a clubber and sometimes wore glitter make-up, but let's not dig that deep!

Sometimes I miss the more day-glo version of myself. Maybe that's why I recently bought neon-pink jelly shoes (that and the fact they were 1 pound!).

So it was very inspiring to stumble across Gala's blog, with her bright hair colours, beautiful tattoos, cute style and happy outtake on life. On days like today, when I feel a little blue (no pun intended, believe me!), it's nice to dive into someone else's pink world.

(Gala and her many colours...)

Cooooooooooooooooo

2008-08-07T06:35:00.001-07:00

Regular readers and friends in general will know that I am not the biggest fan of pigeons, what with the hideous feathery things invading my balcony, having unprotected sex behind the chair and putting eggs on our flower bed (true stories and they happened twice, my friends, twice!).

But I couldn’t help but cooing (hihihi) when I saw the programme for the Shoreditch Festival, which happens every summer in our crazy, pigeon-filled but ultimately lovely neighbourhood.

The festival is actually pretty cool and last year we even watched a dog show! How Charlotte and Elizabeth Taylor!

(Click here for the full cuteness)

The kindness of strangers

2008-08-05T10:01:00.000-07:00

Normally, nothing really fun comes out of my local grocery shop (besides yummy croissants for 35p). But yesterday I stopped by to get some plums and the cashier had half an arm full of beautiful black & silver Indian bracelets.

“Lovely bracelets”, I said.

“Do you want some?” she replied.

I ended up not having the courage to take some of her bracelets as they looked so nice together, but thought that her offering me was one of the sweetest things ever!

Afterwards, I remembered seeing a shop in Whitechapel, a traditional Bangladeshi area in east London, selling these kinds of bangles from every single colour under the sun, and for very little prices. I don’t remember the name of the shop, but there are several ones on Mile End Road, if anyone is interested. I am definitely going there soon so I can get an arm full of bracelets just so that I can start offering them to strangers!

Not-so-fair-y-tale

2008-07-31T09:10:00.000-07:00

Last year there was no summer over in Londonland. Besides a sunny week in May.

Not wanting to add insult (a wardrobe full of new pieces she couldn’t wear) to injury (the gray and clouds and a bit of rain just to be irritating) the girl refrained from buying too many summer clothes.

2008 came and with it the perspective of another non-summer-summer. With sorrow in her heart, she bypassed the pretty and flowery summer collections and spent her hard-earned cash on another pair of boots and a kick-ass 60s hippie suede jacket.

She was resigned to lounging around in jeans waiting for the temperature to drop so she could wear her new purchases when, surprise surprise, summer decided it was about time to make an appearance.

And so a happy girl went around to get some little (but not too little for work) dresses and skirts, and maybe a few vests and who knows, perhaps even a pair of sandals.

What she forgot was that the shops were already full of autumn pieces and the last few remains of the summer sales (orange shiny dress on a size 4, anyone?).

And so she was back to wearing her jeans. Of course, being able to combine them with flip flops and a sleeveless top is enough to cheer up any tropical girl.

But still, Mr. Summer, have you ever heard of timing???

(Illustration by Abi Goy)

Inspiration

2008-07-30T03:44:00.000-07:00

Sometimes an image just stops me in my tracks…this girl, captured by The Sartorialist, looks so strong and beautiful. I love that her style is classic, not necessarily trendy. And the way she rocks the super short hair…inspiring!

(PS: Thanks for the input on the blog changes...the makeover is on its way but it might take a bit of a while with my limited HTML knowledge and a little help from a friend!)

Middle age crisis

2008-07-28T07:27:00.002-07:00

I have been thinking lately about this little pink blog of mine...
And the fact that, besides changing servers once and language also once, it hasn't changed much in other departments.
So I think it is time for a style makeover...I have a few ideas...and if my dear readers would like to contribute with their ideas, I will be a happy, happy bunny...

Here are my thoughts:

** It's time for the Barbie-pink to go. And maybe the little Barbie-girl illustration. Don't get me wrong, I still have a little Barbie-girl inside me, but she has always been more Nicole Ritchie than Paris Hilton.
** I am also thinking of making the blog bilingual. I used to write in Portuguese only, then switched to English, but now I think I could combine both languages. So, Brazilians, what do you think?
** The outfit posts issue...one of my favourite things in other blogs is when the girls have "what I wore today" kind of pictures...now, I don't think that's the direction I will end up going, but I was thinking of sharing some of my shopping finds here...problem is, my camera is pretty crap and I am pretty broke to get a new one right now...wondering if people mind if the quality of the pic is not that perfect...
** Wish lists and inspiration pictures...also wondering what you think of them...I have been mainly posting words in my blogger life, but maybe is time to be a bit more image-heavy?
Anyway, these are my ideas for the future...

(Time to go!!!)

Maaan

2008-07-10T09:36:00.001-07:00

I have nothing against indie boys (for the uninitiated, those skinny 18 year old guys squeezed inside a pair of skinny jeans who are in an indie band with other skinny boys). I think they are sweet and stylish and I normally like the sounds they make (with their bands people, with their bands).

But I've never wanted to date indie boys, a fact that seems to be mutual.

For a start, I believe it is a power imbalance when you cannot fit in your man’s jeans, but he can happily borrow yours to wear as a baggy style. That is one evil twist on the whole boyfriend jeans thing…

Besides, I do like a man to look like a man, or at least like an older teenager. That’s why I was so pleased to see a fashion editorial featuring a man, not a boy, in the pages of the Telegraph magazine.

(Mind you, I would probably still not be able to squeeze into his trousers! But one can’t have everything…)

Freud explains

2008-07-09T08:53:00.000-07:00

The other day my friend was showing me some stuff she bought her 1 year old daughter and I realized that not only I wanted every single piece for myself (on a slightly bigger size, of course!), but I would actually wear them outside my house…and it’s not that they were those freaky mini-me clothes, they were completely age appropriate for a 1 year old. Is there anything wrong with me?

(In my defence, one of the pieces was a purple and pink polka-dot rain jacket…or does this fact make it even worse?)

Holiday wisdom

2008-07-02T08:35:00.000-07:00

Sorry for the disappearance…I was busy having a lovely holiday with great friends on board of an awesome boat on the beautiful Turkish coast (oh, I so miss it already)…which leads me effortlessly to the topic of this post: things I have learnt from the last time I spent time on board of an awesome boat on the beautiful Turkish coast (yes, I did the same trip 3 years ago and it is so insanely amazing that I will do it again as soon as possible).

** One bikini is not enough for a week, 3 or 4 for is perfect, more than that it just looks like you are trying way to hard, which doesn’t go with such a relaxed atmosphere.
** Intricate bikinis are a crappy idea and won’t see the light of sun. Who wants to have a tanning line running across the middle of your chest?
** It’s always good to have more than one flip-flop. If you loose yours, you won’t have to wear your Converses to avoid the scorching floor or sand.
** It’s also worth packing a pair of good walking sandals for those long hikes. Not that I really hike, mind you. But someone else always does and I am happy to lend my shoes to more active souls.
** Somehow really short things don’t look so tacky on the beach, so it’s a good opportunity to wear all those little dresses you bought forgetting you are 1.76 cm.
** I know the colour of the water is amazing and worth loads of shots, but people somehow look better in bikinis on black-and-white photos (or is it just me?)...

(I wanna go back to paradise...
can someone take me?)

Lol forever

2008-06-19T08:43:00.000-07:00

It’s great that Karl is doing his bit to help avoid more accidents on the French roads by encouraging drivers to use the yellow vest if their cars break down…but I can’t help but think this is one of the funniest pictures I have ever seen!

"It’s yellow, it’s ugly and it doesn’t go with anything, but it can save your life", says the poster.

Dream job

2008-06-13T14:24:00.000-07:00

What is the coolest thing someone can ask a girl like me? (Besides “would you marry me”, which I have already been asked, and “would you like 3 million dollars”, which I am still waiting for).

That is “would you help me find my wedding dress?”

And that is exactly what my beautiful friend D. asked me to do.

Now you can imagine my excitement!

The day after she popped the question I had already gone browsing mad and sent her a list of dozens of little dresses that could work (no meringue-like stuff for my friends).

And although this is a major challenge for someone that is only used to styling herself to varied degrees of success, it is made much easier by the fact that D. is gorgeous, has an amazing petit body and a honey colour that will look like a dream with white, ivory, cream or gold.

I shall keep you posted on the progress of my assignment.

Pressing questions about life’s most challenging task: buying a bikini (unless you are Gisele)

2008-06-11T14:46:00.000-07:00

- You know those amazing mirrors that, combined with good lighting, make you look pretty and glowing and even a bit skinnier? If those exist, why furnish your fitting room with the exact opposite (those horrible enlarging mirrors that, combined with the brightest light available to mankind, make you look ugly and white and even a bit “oh my god I am pregnant with quintuplets”-like)?

- Are you going to shopping-hell if you get the size 14 bottom and mix it up with the size 12 top from a bikini set and hope the cashier won’t notice?

- And, please, how do you tell if a light coloured bikini (fully lined), is really not see-through? Do you have to wait until you are standing in front of 10 people on a boat? (Sadly, true story)

Talent, time and patience

2008-06-04T09:54:00.000-07:00

If I could choose to have any talent in the world, I would like to be a painter. By far. I have this romantic idea of myself spending hours and hours among a few brushes, great colours and a blank canvas, while listening to loud music in my dirty overall (I think I saw this image in some film when I was little).

Unfortunately, even though I can draw a bit more than house + sun + clouds, my skills are still very limited and painting is a very frustrating activity for me.

So I just marvel at the talent of others.

My friend C. has just sent me a link to this amazing animation, made by graffiti artist Blu entirely on public walls. It must have taken him ages. And it is insanely good.

(One of Blu's amazing walls)

Sex and the City, the morning after

2008-05-31T04:12:00.000-07:00

Last night was Sex and The City night! As planned, seven crazy ladies and I made our way to the movies. I will leave the film itself alone as to not spoil anybody’s fun, and will instead recall some funny moments of the night.

**** So somehow I was under the impression that the Barbican (a cool cultural centre here in London where we saw the film) was offering free Cosmopolitans before the film. I read the email they sent, and somehow mentally included the word “free” in there. The barman was not amused when I showed him the email asking for my free drink.

**** Talking about Cosmopolitans, imagine a cinema full of slightly drunk, over excited women…let’s just say they (well…we) applauded a lot, from when the trailers ended to the when signature tune of the series started playing.

**** Oh, and someone shouted “Nice bum Steeeve”. Truth be told, he does have a nice bum which should have been explored in more details during the series.

**** When we got to the bar I have previously researched (near the Barbican and supposed to close at 2AM, which is pretty late for London), it was empty and about to close. “But it said on your website that you closed at 2”, I cried to the manager. “So sorry love, only on Saturdays. I am actually really sorry as you girls are the cutest costumers I had all day”, said the bar manager.

And with that, eight girls cruised to the next bar with a little spring in their steps. The rest, my friends, is history.

Bellow: HOT, HOT, HOT. Carrie & Mr. Big on the pages of Vogue.

Sex and the city

2008-05-27T05:50:00.000-07:00

Tickets bought for watching the film on Friday, me and another 7 crazy ladies, and hoping nobody spills the beans on the plot before I hit the cinema.

The plan is to watch the film, have lots of Cosmopolitans and, in my case, come to work the next day with a very un-Carrie-like hangover.

I do confess I am excited and unashamed of it. But then again, I can bore dinner party guests to death by talking about the merits of the series, with the help of my converted man.

So, in preparation for the film, here are my all-time favourite SATC quotes.

“My hair hurts”, Charlotte, the morning after the night before, with a very un-Charlotte-like hangover.

“I will wear whatever and blow whomever I want as long as I can breathe and kneel”, Samantha, being Samantha.

Detective: You Irish? Miranda: No, why? Detective: Coz you have beautiful red hair. Miranda: Well I guess anybody can be Irish with the right colourist. (Hot detective, does anyone remember??)

Carrie: So are you saying there's no way you'd go out with a guy who lived with his family? Samantha: Well... maybe Prince William.

Carrie: But... this is an outfit! When being asked to take off her shoes at a party (Oooh, I so empathize…skinny jeans with socks is not a good look)

(And how could we forget...Smith, we miss you!)

Shoe art

2008-05-20T10:10:00.000-07:00

And you thought your shoes were crazy, Miuccia!

Brought to my attention by my lovely friend DD, the mad and amazing creations of Marloes ten Bhömer.

Love is...

2008-05-13T03:46:00.000-07:00

On the sunniest and hottest Sunday in London...
And with a hangover that made even my hair hurt...
Spend 3 hours inside a dark pub watching not one, but two simultaneous football games...
Just because it is the final and your man is a crazy Chelsea fan.

The team could at least have had the decency of winning the match.

When I grow up, I wouldn't mind being Daphne

2008-04-30T04:05:00.000-07:00

Many of you probably heard that Daphne Guinness - one of the most stylish women in the world and one of those very few consumers of Couture - was auctioning part of her wardrobe.

Now, things have to be put in perspective. I am normally shocked by the amount of stuff I end up with on my Spring cleanings (which, truth has to be said, only happens every five Springs...).

But oh, the sheer amount of stuff that came out of Daphne's closet (250 lots to be more precise). And the quality of it (a who is who in the top of the fashion food chain.)

I decided to go have a cheeky look at the auction on my lunch break yesterday. As a precaution, I didn't register to bid, especially as most of everything wouldn't fit anyway. But oh, the temptation! I initially thought that everything would go for at least 5 times the estimated price, and most of it did...

But while I was there some shoe lots went for much smaller fortunes, like 120, 150 pounds. They still would not fit, but it could be the beginning of my becoming a millionaire on Ebay career...

Oh well, next time...

(Sorry for the amount of "ohs"...they are necessary when talking about this kind of wardrobe...)

In the family...

2008-04-25T13:46:00.000-07:00

I have recently discovered that my cousin Márcia has a blog. I knew she was an amazing photographer, but was blown away by her stuff. Her wedding pictures make me want to get married all over again and in Brazil. Maybe...baby? Huh, new wedding? By the beach?

(Pictures Márcia Charnizon)

Dark circles?

2008-04-19T08:40:00.000-07:00

+

+

=

From Belarus with love

2008-04-19T08:19:00.000-07:00

I have to confess I don't know much about Belarusian fashion. And that the name of its capital, Minsk, only rings a bell because that's where Phoebe Buffay's boyfriend went to in one very old episode of Friends.
So I was pleasantly surprised to see some very cute looks from the Belarusian Fashion Week on fellow blog Slacker Chic. Loving the dusty colours on the first look bellow and proportions (ok ok, also the balloons) on the second. And wondering about the exchange rate…

Open letter to the British weather

2008-04-18T08:24:00.000-07:00

(Un) Dear Weather,

Let me start by reminding you what a good girl I have been in the past few years.

I learnt how to wear scarves and woolly tights and polo necks even though they itch;
I made sure to talk about you every time I found myself in an elevator with a stranger;
I even got myself a hot pink umbrella and a trench coat and cute Topshop wellies.

So I was a bit disappointed when you decided to take our long lost friend the sun to the Bahamas last year and leave us here with that joke of a summer.
2007 came and went and I still didn’t wear half the cute sundresses I so lovingly and impulsively bought.

But hey, I thought, everyone is entitled to mess up once in a while and maybe you had more important things on your mind, like global warming and greenhouse gases and maybe even girlfriend problems as well.

So imagine my utter and complete shock when I found out today that you might not be sending us the sun this year again.I am trying very very hard to remain calm and not threaten our beautiful friendship.

But, helooo? Is it personal? What has Britain done to you to deserve this?
Did we call your mum a whore? Did we beat your team at cricket? Don’t you like Queen Elizabeth? What about Queen Westwood, for God’s sake?

Sincerely yours,

Guerreira

(P.S. This letter was edited after being posted as, on a second look, the original version did not make much sense. Blame it on the anger. Or the wine)

Help...anyone?

2008-04-16T04:43:00.000-07:00

First there were my knitting attempts. On my defence, I have to say that I learnt by myself, with the help of the brilliant book Stitch and Bitch. And that, although I am left handed, I learnt how to knit as a right handed person (even though that was because I couldn’t figure out how adapt the instructions of the book and do everything the other way around, but don’t tell anyone so I can look all cool and skilled!).
So, anyways, knitting was fun, but I never quite managed to increase and decrease stitches and for that reason could only knit scarves.
After the 5th scarf, I got pretty bored.

For a while now I have been toying with the idea of getting a sewing machine to do a bit of customizing and, if my lack of coordination allows, even some clothes from scratch. Thing is, after researching the market, I realize that it all sounds like Greek to me…drop-in bobbins, free-arm, 1094857 stitches…heeeeelp!

If anyone out there has any recommendation, please! I don’t want to spend too much, was thinking around £100. But not sure of which brands are best and which features I should look for.

Any old advice will be much appreciated and paid back with my first-born (wonky skirt, that is).

The cabbie made Prada

2008-04-14T06:26:00.001-07:00

Saturday night, we hop on a cab to go home after a great dinner party at our friend S’s house. With his great ability of getting into deep conversations with just about everyone, Gringowlindow-the-hubby starts chatting to the cab driver who, turns out, used to own a clothes factory on my street which made pieces for brands such as Jaeger and Nicole Farhi.
He told us that he had to close his factory when more and more of his clients moved their manufacturing elsewhere, more specifically the Far East.
It was surreal and funny to talk about the quality of garments and the beauty of a well-made coat with the cab driver.
But it was also interesting and sad to see the real impact of all the stuff we see on the news on someone’s life, especially as I had an enormous bag from Primark between my feet which I tried very hard to hide!
I guess moving production to cheaper countries is an inevitable step in this day and age for some brands to remain competitive, and I am guilty of enjoying the benefits of affordable clothes that fit the unequal equation of my love of style X my payslip.
Still, it broke my heart a little that a man who seemed to have such a love for clothes is now behind the wheel and not the sewing machine.

Fringe benefits

2008-04-09T10:18:00.000-07:00

I love shopping (duh). But I rarely feel the need to brave crowds or run to shops to get me hands on so called “must-have items”.
So it was a total accident that I managed to buy a pink fringed dress from H&M which I later found out is pretty sought after. To be honest, I had seen the dress once and didn’t even buy. I initially thought they were a bit meagre on the fringe quantity, but later realized it was just enough, fringe-wise and went back for it. Now that I have it, though, I feel pretty smug, especially as I have been lusting over a dress like that since a D&G version a few years back (does anyone remember? I think Naomi wore in on the catwalk).

So I wore the dress at my birthday and it was a hit! Thing is, now it unleashed the I-want-all-things-with-fringes monster. Aren’t they fun? And they remind me of my mum's main airplane outfit, a fringed blue suede trouser suit (it was the 80s people...and she has the most amazing blue eyes and great figure so it looked pretty good...i swear!)

My incredibly stylish fellow bloggers seem to have jumped on the fringe wagon a while ago…here are some pieces I have been lusting over!

(Beautiful Agathe's boots)

(Rumi's darling bag)

(Miss Woo's great Tokyo find)

Crazy world...

2008-03-30T11:01:00.001-07:00

I don’t know if it’s my coming birthday, or the fact that a Brazilian cousin, which I remember as an 8-year-old boy, is coming to visit London on his first European backpacking tour, but I have been slightly freaked out about the speed of time. And it was exactly about this that I was thinking on my way to the shop to buy milk when a boy, which could not have been more than 10, screamed to me: “Nice butt”. Ok, I was wearing velour pants, which do make my butt look cute. Buuuuut, a 10-year-old boy should not have noticed it! What do you do in a situation like that? Give him a lecture or ask for his number and keep it safe until he is of legal age and you are officially old? I ended up just ignoring him and feeling puzzled all day…

On a different note, there is definitely something wrong with your pulling power when the last two times you were blatantly chatted up were by a 10-year-old boy and by the Tesco’s cashier (who told me I smelt nice). I suspect I am not really reaching my potential target audience.

Random angry questions about the endless winter

2008-03-25T12:39:00.000-07:00

When is it going to end? After spring?

Why does the wind sound so loud on the 16th floor (seriously, I am constantly woken up by a uuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuu, uuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuu sound which does not, I assure you, come from anything human)

Is it ok to wear a variation on the same themes (skinny jeans-boots-hoodie for day; black tights-little skirt-black sweater for night)? Every single miserable winter day?

Am I the only one thinking that snow in March in London is an enormous lack of respect?

Does mulled wine taste the same after Christmas? Or should we all start hitting the Pimms as an act of civil disobedience?

street art and a dress

2008-03-20T12:10:00.000-07:00

in between eating, drinking, and eating some more we did loads of walking around in barcelona and these are a few things that caught my attention...

back...or as they say...de vuelta

2008-03-19T12:08:00.000-07:00

So Barcelona was great...sun, Gaudí and yummi foods did not disappoint. Shopping, on the other hand, was a bit on the lame side of things...after crossing the city in search of the Mango outlet (a sort of Disneyland for gals like me), I had the sad experience of finding out it was closed for refurbishment until the end of the month. My disappointed expression was probably very funny, thinking about it now. At the time, not funny at all!

Apart from that it was very romantic; especially considering it was my 6 year anniversary. Even when Gringowlindow had to hold my hair in the middle of a stomach bug attack (and yes, I did get married at 15...)

(soon uploading some cool Barcelona pics...)

Arriiiiiibaaaaaaaaaaaa

2008-03-11T10:10:00.000-07:00

Off to Barcelona for a few days of…

Sun (seriously, the weather in London has been a joke even by London standards);
Gaudí;
Sangria, tapas and other jeans-tightening delicacies;
Well deserved holidays.

(and a sale at Zara also wouldn’t be bad)

About fashion...

2008-03-07T05:10:00.000-08:00

I will have to reproduce some of Minette Marrin’s words from a Sunday Times Style article entitled “Why Fashion Matters”. She summarized so well what I feel…

“A woman who says she is tired of fashion is pretending, or else she is deceiving herself. A woman who really is tired of fashion is a woman who is tired of life. The way we look is an essential part of who we are and how we feel”

“However you look, you cannot help but give out powerful messages about yourself – some of them voluntary, some involuntary. Fashion is, quite literally, what you make of yourself, how you fashion yourself (including how you don’t bother to).”

And, my favourite part…

“But what the puritanical critics seem to miss is the joy of fashion. It is fun to try finding your way through all the wonderful and silly ideas when you feel like it – and when you have the money. It is okay to ignore it, too. But it is amusing to experiment with new ways of looking; it is entertaining to gaze at the most beautiful materials and colours and the zaniest or most classic shapes. There is something wonderful, if slightly guilt-inducing, about searching for just the right shoes, then buying a highly impractical pair that are too expensive but irresistible. There is something positively erotic about the whisper of tissue paper when you take those drop-dead gorgeous Vivienne Westwood ankle boots out of the box at home. Those are shoes you will remember, along with all the times you wore them.”

(Illustration from the Fashion Illustration Big Book, could not find the name of the artist, but hope you don’t mind me using it…you rock!)

Buses are gonna be so last season

2008-03-03T06:46:00.001-08:00

Guess who will become a London cyclist??? Well, after she finds the perfect bike with the perfect price and get 1 or 10 chains and locks?
Once I find it and get it, I will conquer my fear of honking buses, mean drivers and couriers-that-wear-lycra-and-cycle-with-the-speed-of-sound and become one of those annoying people who just don’t do buses! Unless it is to go partying. Or to the airport. Or somewhere far far away. Anyways, you get the idea.

For my future life as a biker, I pledge to:

* Never ever wear lycra shorts, no matter how comfortable or aerodynamic they might be.
* Ditto with bum bags.
* Always wear a helmet, even if it makes me look like a rooster.
* Never talk on the mobile while cycling even if Brad Pitt calls wanting to make babies. Or Anna Wintour offering me a job.
* Never hit pedestrians, unless they are wearing something so hideous that I can’t control myself.

Hahahahahahahahahahahahahaha

2008-02-27T06:32:00.000-08:00

This is the most brilliant idea I heard in a long time.

Take:

1 really, really bad film
+
2 comedians making live commentaries about it…

…and you have the Barbican Bad Film Club Screening of the Month.

This month’s film will be Glitter, with Mariah Carey.

Now, amazing voice aside, I find Mariah hilarious without even trying. Now, in a film? With live comedians? Starting now, I will probably laugh forever.

For those in London, the screening is on March 4th and I will be the crazy one laughing in the last row.

(hahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahaha)

Black is the new black

2008-02-25T04:03:00.001-08:00

Yesterday I was torn between staying awake to watch the Red Carpet coverage of the Oscar (which would mean sleeping incredibly late because of the time difference) and going to bed early (which would mean waking up rested with great glowing skin...or maybe just rested with ok skin, which in any case is much better than tired with horrible skin).
Going to bed won and boy am I glad!
Looking at the pictures this morning, I think the Red Carpet should be renamed the “Black Carpet”. Nothing against a great black dress, especially coming from someone who thinks cream makes a splash of colour…
But come on Red Carpet People, you didn’t even have the Golden Globes to dress up for, so I was hoping for a little bit more creativity.
Oh well, here are some dresses I loved for being colourful and breaking the rule. And, below, the Black Sea on the Red Carpet.

(PS, I did realize, after posting this, that some of the dresses are not black, but navy, like Penelope's, or brown. But it was early in the morning and I was suffering from temporary colour-blindness. Blame it on the Red Carpet People)

Burberry dreams

2008-02-21T05:22:00.001-08:00

Ok, so back to a certain level of pinkness…

I have this wedding to go to in Austria (also known as Gringowlindowland) and of course I am already thinking about my dress. Even though the wedding is only in the end of August. And even though I haven’t even received the invitation. Call me crazy (although I have a nagging feeling that my craziness won’t seem crazy at all to my fellow inhabitants of the female species).

The thing is, I am scarred for life because of this wedding I went a few years back in Madrid. It was a pretty fancy affair but my budget was not stretching very far. So I had the idea of wearing a dress I already owned, a long sleeveless black piece, and jazz it up with a fringed shale. Very Spanish, I thought. Of course it was 150 million degrees and the reception was outdoors. Black in the Spanish summer, what was I thinking? Plus, a friend, not realizing I was wearing black, remarked how “it was a faux pas to wear black at a wedding in Spain”.

To summarize, I spent the whole day hot and very self-conscious (at least until the champagne kicked in and I forgot I even had a dress on).

So since then I take great care to plan my (other people’s) wedding outfits.

I have already found the first contestant. Never mind is from Burberry Prorsum and therefore out of by budget by about 3 thousand pounds. A girl can always dream…

(the dress)

...

2008-02-20T03:19:00.001-08:00

I know this blog is normally fluffy and cheerful and pink
But sometimes it’s hard not to feel just blue.

Cashmere in need

2008-02-18T06:11:00.000-08:00

I have always wanted to have a cashmere jumper. But they used to be quite expensive. And I used to be quite skint. Then they became cheaper and I bought myself one. Simple and black. From Uniqlo. I have been in love with it ever since and use it all the time, with everything. I even fought my huge aversion to hand-washing and hand-washed the baby as instructed by the label. Oh, my cashmere jumper. It is soft and snugly and comfortable. And now it is also full of little balls.

If anyone has a good tactic for getting rid of them, please email cashmereinneed.co.uk. Or just leave a comment...

End of the week

2008-02-15T06:12:00.001-08:00

A few considerations about my week at the fashion week:

* Vivienne Westwood rocks rocks rocks and I wanna be like her when I grow-up.

* Even though I walked the length of Fidel Castro’s speeches going from one show to the other (normally located on opposite sides of town), and even though I existed on a diet of coffee, red bulls and wasabi peas (what did I do before them?), my jeans are not even one little inch looser. On the contrary. Isn’t there any justice in the world?

* Without a good little camera it is pointless trying to photograph a show. I have a collection of lovely pictures of models backs. And another collection of lovely images of the backs of the heads of the people sitting in front of me. From which I will spare you.

*Some ideas to copy. Or can I be sued by anyone for saying that?!. Rephrasing:
Some ideas to pay homage to:

Transparent sandals with pompom socks, as seen on Ashish. By the way, anyone knows where to find pompom socks? Haven’t seen them since it was really appropriate for me to wear things with pompoms…

And arm bands and cut-out socks over shoes, as seen on Steve P and Yoni J.

Panties and fish net tights as my next party outfit, as seen on Vivienne Westwood.

Hahaha, just kidding.

Wanna trade a front-row ticket on a cool show for a standing ticket on a crappy one?

2008-02-11T12:33:00.001-08:00

Or

Why a blog is the wonderful device that makes sure the annoying things that happen to you are not completely for nothing…

Second day of London Fashion Week…never too early for shenanigans.

So I thought I could go to show A at 16h15 (the crappy one) and still make it to show B at 17hs (the good one). Even though they were on opposite sides of town. And I don’t have a driver (obviously).

So of course show A was super late and when I left, at 17h15, I decided it was silly to go all the way to show B as I would not make it on time (ok, Gringowlindow’s text mentioning something about mashed potatoes for dinner also played its part).

So I am on the bus going home and decide to take another look at show B’s invitation. Hours earlier, I had been intrigued by the seating code on it: “Block C Row FIS”. I kept trying to understand what kind of row that was. Row F Standing…But what did the letter I stand for?

Back on the bus, all of a sudden it dawns on me: FIS = FIRST.

That’s what four seasons of standing or seating on row Z do to a poor soul.

So to summarize I went to crappy standing show A and didn’t make it to cool front-row show B. Which probably had a yummi goody bag, but now I am just torturing myself.

PS: I know I could have told the story above in half the space and double the clarity…but please bare with me…too much chiffon makes the brain go fuzzy. Or maybe it is the champagne.

Westwoodholics Anonymous

2008-02-09T04:53:00.000-08:00

Forget the Chinese year of the rat…this is the definitely the year of the Vivienne. Ok, I know I am becoming a bit repetitive with my Westwood-related posts, but what can I do if the woman keeps giving?

So first it was the collaboration with Melissa that got me all excited. Then, yesterday, I am minding my own humble business when the post arrives with an invitation to her show at London Fashion Week. Of course it wasn’t out of the blue, like they one day woke up and thought: “Hummmm, let’s give an invitation to the needy”. I asked for it. But being sort of at the bottom of the fashion food chain as I am, I wasn’t expecting them to actually send me one. But they did. And as much as I want to be all blasé about it for the sake of looking really cool, the hell with it. YAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAI!

So I will have to do one more Westwood-related post after the show, it would be a crime not to. After that I promise I will go on a detox and talk about other things. At least until the sale…

Hat-hair

2008-02-06T08:39:00.001-08:00

I am a big fan of beanies and other woolly hats. And it seems that the designers showing in NY at the moment will also be keen on protecting our ears from the freezing cold come next winter.

The only problem is how to avoid the famous hat-hair. I believe different girls get different types of hat-hair. Mine is the classical shape: all flat and nasty on the top of the head, with the rest flaring out uncontrollably. Kind of like a bell-bottom hair. Or "skinny-flared", as Topshop likes calling them now.
In any case, I digress. If anyone has a good recipe for avoiding hat-hair, please share with the rest of us! The only solution I have found so far is to tuck all the hair inside the hat, thus avoiding the flaring effect. But then I don't get that pretty hat+flowing hair thing going on. And I end up looking more like a giant condom. Oh boy, is there a solution to the hat-hair problem? And more important, don't I have anything more pressing things to do than worrying about this?

(Pictures: Narciso Rodriguez, Alexander Wang, DKNY, DKNY again, Doo.ri, Karen Walker)

I want you!

2008-02-04T09:34:00.000-08:00

I raved a while ago about the happy collaboration between Melissa (my favourite Brazilian shoe brand) and Vivienne Westwood (my favourite lots of things). But I was a little bit scared that the final product would be a bit disappointing, like if Shiloh Jolie Pitt would grow up to be, well, challenged in the aesthetic department.

But I am very pleased to announce that the shoes look great and are already on the number 1 position in my “I-want-it-so-bad-and-I-want-it-now” list…

(the objects of my desire)

The shoe comes out in the middle of the year…so dear Brazilian friends-that-became-readers (you know who you are), get ready to cue, kick and slap in order to buy me one (of a few) pair. Seriously, it is in times of need that friendships get tested and I know you won’t disappoint.

Alternatively, if anyone from Melissa happens to stumble upon this blog, and want to compensate my years and years of loyalty to jelly shoes, I am a size 39/40 and prefer basic colours such as black and cream.

(It’s always worth a try, me thinks)

You what???

2008-02-01T00:53:00.000-08:00

Disclaimer: This story is 100% true, and it happened to me yesterday, 5pm, at the Royal Academy of Arts.
...

So there I was enjoying this great exhibition called “From Russia”, which shows amazing pieces from Russian museums and collections, from artists such as Matisse, Picasso and Gauguin.

It was then that I overheard a conversation between two very English, very proper, middle-aged gentlemen.

GENTLEMAN 1 – Oh my god, I have never seen such a massive bonner. (A bonner is a slang for what happens to a man’s…mmmm…manhood when he is happy to see you).

ME (thinking) – Oh my god, I can’t believe I just heard that.

ME (thinking again and never one to miss the action) – Mmmmm, I wonder in which of the paintings the bonner is. Those naughty Russians! Let’s investigate.

GENTLEMAN 2 – True, if I didn’t know it was a bonner I would not have recognized it.

ME (thinking, alarmed) – Oh my god! Where is this huuuuuuuuge bonner??

And it was then that I saw a very large painting. Lots of beautiful, strong colours. No bonner. Then I saw the name of the artist. Pierre. BONNARD.

(A Bonnard. Hihihi)

Philosophy

2008-01-29T07:48:00.000-08:00

So I was talking to my friend Lady L. the other day and realized that one of my drunken reminiscences had actually helped her come to terms with some truths within herself. It had helped in her soul-searching, to reach the depths of human existence. So I thought maybe it could help other lost souls that read this blog.

Next time you are buying the 45867 pair of earrings or the 4857483 bangle, instead of feeling guilty, repeat the mantra:

"I collect jewellery"

Like people collect stamps or match boxes or one night stands. We collect jewellery. So not only we never ever have to feel guilty about the ridiculous amount of metal and beads accumulated over the years, we can also use the mantra to silence our other halves in the few occasions they dare criticize our shopping habits.

PS: The mantra doesn't apply only to jewellery. Here are a few ideas of alternative uses:

"I collect shoes"
"I collect bags"
"I collect clothes"

And for the real shopaholics among us (...may Mastercard have mercy on their souls...):

"I collect anything made of fabric, metal, plastic or skin"

Little balls in funny places...

2008-01-24T09:23:00.000-08:00

Few things trigger my fancy to the extent that I seriously start doing imaginary bank-robbery plans. Ok, maybe a bit more than just a few things. But I still get all flustered and excited as if I was a 13 year old shoe-virgin when I see such beauties as these Dior shoes, brought to my attention by fellow blog Glam & Tonic.

The colours are delicious. They have studs and little balls in funny places. They have platforms and are amazingly high. What’s not to love?

My inner Drag Queen (who has been asleep lately, knocked-out by my current preference for little dresses in muted colours) has awakened with a jump singing “It’s Raining Men” to the top of her feather-covered lungs.

my so called life...

2008-01-22T08:37:00.001-08:00

So being a girl ain't easy. Let's go through some basic maths:

7 days a month - PMS
7 days a month - Cramps and general period shenanigans

That leaves only 2 weeks a month of relative sanity and pain-free existence.

From those:

4 days you feel fat or ugly or have a huge spot in the middle of your forehead or hair that resembles a broom
3 days you have nothing to wear
2 days you are in generic bad mood because of the weather or your payslip or some other external force
3 days you are hungover

That leaves just 2 days of pretty, cheerful, pain-free, glamorous, well-dressed, sober you.

And you can bet you will be working on those days.

PS: A virtual drink for whoever finds out which one of the lovely above days I am having!

Love is...

2008-01-18T05:51:00.000-08:00

So the other day I got home and Gringowlindow, the man, was all happy on the couch.

“Look”, he said. “I opened the sides of my sweatpants so they won’t be tapered anymore”.

Needless to say I almost cried with joy. To find out after almost six years of my blabbing that he actually has been listening!

Of course he ruined the pants as they will probably dissolve in the washing machine. But I don’t mind. “Baby I cut up my pants so they won’t be tapered anymore” must be the best thing a gal like me can hear after “I love you” and “Do you want to come on a £1000 shopping spree?”

Topman

2008-01-16T10:42:00.001-08:00

And the winner was…

Yes, I have returned to the fabulous world of the brunettes.

Unfortunately I still don't look like her. But the hair turned out pretty ok. I spared my new hairdresser of the mad requests, but did change my mind when he was just about to squeeze the highlighting bleach into the pot. After deciding on a different hair colour every five minutes. So I guess I am not the best client in the world. But my hairdresser - who is a friend of my friend J -has just been crowned the best one in the entire Milky Way and neighbouring galaxies because:

* He picked me up from the tube station by car. On a specially rainy and windy day, that is the equivalent of giving you a foot massage while telling you how much you resemble Liv Tyler.

* He lives in an impossibly stylish house with the coolest coffee machine. And he made me so many coffees that I spent the next few hours speaking like a football narrator. On speed. On a final. Of the World Cup. (Ok, enough)

* He has a cute dog who gave me high-five. I know that’s probably standard dog behaviour, but I am someone who never had a dog and for me that dog is Einstein.

The Wardrobes of Others

2008-01-13T06:31:00.000-08:00

Is it really shallow that, in between crying and biting my nails while watching "The Lives of Others", I managed have long mental considerations about Maria-Christa's wardrobe?
Well, at least I managed not to bug Gringowlindow mid-film with my thoughts (I am trying to keep these to myself and myblog after he politely told me recently that he cannot get as excited as me about my quest for the perfect flat boots).
Back to Maria-Christa. So after starting the film thinking her clothes were pretty bland in a pre-fall-of-the-Berlin-wall kind of way, towards the end I was enamoured of the combination of dusty pale blue and brown, the tweedy librarian skirts and her cute Russian fury hat.

I was considering trying to recreate the vibe, but got a bit scared of looking more Martha Steward than Maria-Christa. Never, I repeat, never a good look!
While on the subject, I am also digging the foxy-writer’s style. Maybe I can convince Gringowlindow to use his fancy mother tongue to write down a few lines while wearing brown blazer jackets and crumpled shirts…

Back for good

2008-01-12T07:12:00.000-08:00

I know have disappeared for a while. Ok, I also know that 2 months would qualify as a whole lot more than a while. But after completing my MA with its write 10574823910103784 characters, I admit I was a bit lost for words. Something that is not very usual, given that in true Seinfield fashion I can have an incredibly long conversation about nothing. With a lamppost. And a sore throat.
But it happened.
That, however, was 2007 and I hear now is 2008. So out with the silent old, in with the blabbing new. If there is anyone still out there, I am back and intend to remain this way. Lampposts, here I come!

Starting off with a fresh hair-related beauty dilemma. Finally after a long time and disastrous experimentations of the home-kind, I am going to get my hair coloured by someone who knows what they are doing. At the moment, it is bicolour and not in a chic Chanel-shoe-kind-of-way. The question is: should I remain on the blond-highlights territory? Or try to see if going back to being a proper brunette won’t make me disappear to that faraway land which is also home to socks lost in the wash and shames lost in the beer?

So...

(I know that there is no hair colouring in the world that will make me look anything like these darlings, but that won’t stop me from scaring my brand new hairdresser into thinking that this is exactly what I expect. God, life is fun!)

Happy bunny

2007-11-13T08:24:00.000-08:00

Once upon a time there was a Brazilian shoe brand called Melissa. They made the best ever jelly shoes, with the most amazingly comfortable heel. So comfortable that I made a whole on it. (Took it to my superhero shoe guy, who found out the heel was hollow and put a wood stick inside it in a very MacGyver sort of way. But now I digress.)

Back to Melissa. They like to do partnerships with cool designers such as Alexandre Herchcovitch and Marcelo Sommer. All very cool, all very nice. But nothing can ever be as nice as their next partnership. A little bird told me Vivienne Westwood will be designing a little collection. Now, for a Vivienne adorer and Melissa lover like myself, this is big, it is huge. Even bigger than a Chanel sample sale. And this time it's not even a dream.

+ = ONE HAPPY ME.

Better than Disney

2007-10-29T04:24:00.000-07:00

Does anybody out there have shopping dreams or is it just me?

When I was a kid, I use to dream I was in Disneyworld, only to wake up disappointed that the only ride I was going on was the bus to school.

Now that Disney kind of lost its appeal, it seems it's becoming Chanel.

Only that in my dream, they were having a sample sale (kind of like Disney really). But I was not invited. Bad?

So somehow I manage to get it at the end of the day. I go straight to the sunglasses, which are reduced to £10 (!!). As I am browsing, a sad mean little man comes and starts collecting them all, saying the sale is almost over and he needs to clean up the displays. Even worse?

I manage to convince him to give me one minute, and just get around 10 pairs of sunglasses to choose from later. When I start trying them on, I discover all of them are men's models, as I was looking in the wrong section. Now that is the worst thing that could happen.

And no, I am not superficial. I am sure this dream has deep psychological hidden meanings and it is not simply about my lust for all things Chanel. It is my story and I am sticking to it!

funny pics / unfunny post

2007-10-04T04:38:00.000-07:00

Ok, I know it's silly. And I know we don't really care about celebrities and what they look like. But I couldn't help but laugh my unphotoshoped ass off at these pictures from fellow blogger Planet Hiltron.

(Amy Winehouse, Nicole Kidman and Beckhams)

Basically, they did photomontages about how some famous people would look like if their life had taken a different turn and they didn't count on an army of stylists, hairdressers and make-up artists.

Kind of like an inverse make-over. Which would be a make-under (sorry...it was much funnier in my head).

Anyways, me knows it's silly but me liked. Me thinks me might be a bit silly. Me is gonna stop right now before me ruins me writing reputation.

It's Thursday and me is tired. (Oh my God, me can't stop. HELP!)

Glamorous me

2007-09-20T03:20:00.000-07:00

As one more London Fashion Week draws to a close, I catch myself thinking about the weird world of the beautiful clothes. Don't get me wrong, I love the whole buzz of it as much as the next consumerist lady. But it is a week based on image, and everybody (me on top of ridiculous heels included) tries to put their best one forward. Like when everyone is dying to see what is inside the goody bag, but has to pretend they don't really care. Even if 10 minutes later they are elbowing a fellow show-goer in the eye to get an extra bag forgotten on the front row.

Soooo, instead of talking about the catwalks, the models and how fabulous we all were, I decided to get real and reveal: MY BIGGEST FASHION WEEK FAUX-PAUS.

1) End of show, having a beer at the after party when one of the designers approaches. He gives me his card. I decide to show off just a little and thank him in my only Japanese. "Arigatô Gozaimassssss", I say. "You are welcome, but I am Chinese", he replies.

2) End of another show, general buzz, people leaving the venue in a symphony of chunky heels, many abandoning their yummy cosmetic-brand-sponsored goody bags. Never the one to miss an opportunity, I get a little carried away and end up with three bags in my hands. Not, I repeat, NOT a good look.

3) Waiting for the doors to open at a third event, I spot my favourite fashion blogger coming down the stairs. Having had more than my fair share of free beer, I yell her name, tell her I "loooooooooove" her blog, and proceed to introduce her to my two friends who probably decided to end the friendship then and there. Not only I manage to embarrass the poor blogger, but I make my friends want to hide in their stilettos. Nice one darling.

Wood life

2007-09-19T04:23:00.000-07:00

Camping is supposed to be a chilled time away from the tribulations of city life, right?

Well, of course it's not exactly what happens when certain people set up on their voyage...

So there we are, Saturday afternoon, enjoying the peace and quiet in the middle of the woods. All very relaxing. The fire is going, I am reading about crazy Chinese torture, Gringowlindow is listening to the football on headphones and scaring the deer with every almost-goal, our friends are taking a nap in the tent. Until...

Big guy and old farmer appear from nowhere.

Old farmer - What is this?
Me (puzzled by the obvious question) - Well, we are camping
Old farmer - Mmmmmmm, camping, huh?
Me (defiant) - Yes, camping, this is public land.
Old farmer - Well, not really. This is my land.
Me (not feeling so hot anymore) - Gulp. But isn't this the Kings Wood?
Old farmer - Not really. Kings Wood ends before that field. These are my woods.

At that time, Big guy was having a look around our campsite, and I was preparing to get up and leave when Gringowlindow goes...

Gringowlindow - Errrrrr, do you mind if we stay until tomorrow?

Surprisingly, Old farmer decided that we could stay. I think he realized we were not exactly Hooligans after having a look around and seeing:

- Scrabble
- A backgammon board
- A few books
- Our many empty bottles of wine set aside for recycling.

And so we stayed. But I suspect our friends (who had never camped before) were not so convinced anymore by our claims that we were pro campers (considering I also forgot to bring the pots and pans).

(...is great, especially with pots and pans...God save Sansbury's!)

Rélou

2007-09-12T11:36:00.000-07:00

Ok folks and flowers.

So here I am. Back and in English!

Thank you for all the comments, I will definitely take the advice of writing in whatever language makes more sense. After all, as someone pointed out, certain life-changing expressions such as "cara de palmito" are indeed hard to translate. But, for the sake of those not familiar with the language of Gisele, caipirinha and crazy-waxing-in-private-places, I promise I will try my best.

I am going camping this weekend, so soon I return with tales of glamour X mud and how to convince Gringowlindow to come pee with me in the woods at 3am because I have been afraid of going on my own since watching The Blair Witch project.

Anyways, as Wonderbra once said "HELLO BOYS"!

(Little dictionary of silly expressions:
Gringowlindow - English word for Gringolindo, which is my beloved hubby and eternal gringo.
Gringo - A non-Brazilian.)

Pesquisa de opinião

2007-08-29T11:43:00.000-07:00

Folgada eu...não apareço durante séculos e quando venho é para pedir coisas...

Mas é que estava pensando numa idéia e queria saber o que meus leitores, se é que me sobrou algum após tanto desaparecimento, acham...

Vocês me achariam péssima, ridícula e tá-se-achando-a-maior-gostosa-do-planeta se eu começasse a escrever o blog em inglês???

É que tenho vários amiguinhos(as) que não falam português e com quem eu também gostaria de dividir minhas idéias de jerico...mas escrever dois blogues seria uma idéia mais de jerico ainda dada a falta de tempo crônica do resto de ser humano que vos escreve...

Bom, me digam o que acham...mas sejam fofos mesmo que acharem que essa é a pior idéia do mundo porque estou em momento frágil, tá?

Palhaça

2007-07-25T05:47:00.000-07:00

Final de semana em Brighton (praia de pedrinhas a duas horas de Londres, com uma vibe meio hippie e lojinhas fofas).

Domingão, festival de música na praia, tempo meio cá meio lá. Lá pelas 5 da tarde, olho para o Gringolindo e para Gringoamigo...os dois, criaturas pálidas do norte do Equador, estavam competindo para ver quem chegava ao tom mais exótico de vermelho. O solzinho bobo, no fim das contas, estava queimando.

Me achando a mulata brasileira da cor do pecado, dou uma bronca nos dois, faço um longo discurso sobre os perigos do sol e digo ao Gringolindo que se ele virar uma uva passa aos 40 fujo com o adolescente do Tesco que acha que cheiro bem.

Um segundo depois, olho para os meus braços e noto horrorizada que também estou com uma tonalidade rosa fosforescente. Os dois também reparam e passam o resto do dia rindo de mim. Com razão.

Palhaçaaaaaaaaa.

Motel de passarinho dá frutos

2007-07-06T06:49:00.000-07:00

Rápido update sobre o pombo-gate.

Semana passada descobri que o amor deu frutos. Encontrei um ovo de pombo na minha varanda. Para quem nunca viu ovo de pombo, o que era meu caso, parece ovo de codorna.

Fiquei dividida. Deixo o ovo vingar e arrisco ser anfitriã de uma família de pombos felizes, com direito a ninho, comida e penas lavadas? Ou jogo o ovo fora e arrisco ser vítima de um casal de pombos irados?

Decidi jogar o ovo fora. Meio malvado, eu sei, mas pombo é rato com asa e na minha grama sintética não!

Até agora não fui atacada por nenhum psico-pombo, mas se fizerem cocô na minha cabeça não vou estranhar.

Motel de passarinho

2007-06-26T12:00:00.000-07:00

Fatos interessantes sobre pombos:

Fato 1: Eles são pudicos. Apesar de serem uma espécie de sem-tetos do mundo aviário, não gostam de fazer suas pombíces carnais em público.

Fato 2: Apesar do fato 1, eles não têm a menor vergonha de usar a varanda alheia como motel.

Fato 3: Mesmo assim, quando são pegos no flagra no local mencionado no fato 2, fazem cara de paisagem e saem assobiando como se ficar se amassando na varanda alheia fosse a coisa mais normal do mundo.

Descobri esse lado paradoxal do pombo ao flagrar um casal de ditos cujos em pleno ato pombográfico, escondidinho atrás de um vaso na minha varanda. A descoberta foi feita quando resolvi investigar de onde vinha o incessante "coooooooooooooooooo, cooooooooooooooooooooooooo" que ouvia há longos e irritantes minutos.

Apesar de ser uma moça liberada nesses assuntos, acho meio que o fim da picada que a minha varanda, tão pequenina e mimosa, seja transformada em motel de passarinho. Fala sério. Alguém conhece alguma tática para espantar pombo?

Bobagens geniais

2007-06-21T05:20:00.000-07:00

Estou lendo um livro divertidíssimo e extremamente fútil chamado Bergdorf Blondes.

É um antídoto ao livro anterior que levei cinco meses para ler, uma obra japonesa pesadíssima que incluia, na mesma estória, suicídio, paranormalidade, coma e perda de memória. Eu sei, credo! Mas a capa era azul-bebê-pega-trouxa, toda meiga, e me deixei levar.

Por isso antes de embarcar em mais alguma aventura tétrica nipônica (meu fraco, confesso), resolvi ler o livro mais mulherzinha que consegui achar (outro de meus fracos, mas isso vocês provavelmente já imaginavam pelo teor desse blog).

Ainda estou na página 25, mas já encontrei frases impagáveis! A minha preferida até agora é:

"Esse dia foi tão ruim...um absoluto desperdício de maquiagem".

Genial!

Resfriado...

2007-06-05T11:48:00.000-07:00

Homem é um bicho deveras estranho.

Eis que outro dia eu chego ao supermercado, depois de pegar ônibus lotado e ficar pra lá e pra cá o dia todo num calor senegalês.

Meio mal humorada, reclamo pro caixa que não tinha mais cestinhas para as compras.

O rapaz, naquela idade de pico hormonal que ignora rabugice em rabo de saia, se sai com essa:

Rapazote - Posso comentar uma coisa?
Eu - Claro.
Rapazote - Deixa pra lá.
Eu - OK.
Rapazote - Você cheira muito bem.
Eu - Aha??? Obrigada.
Rapazote - É um elogio.
Eu - Percebi!

Obviamente cheguei em casa toda prosa dizendo pro gringo-lindo que se ele não se comportar fujo com o adolescente sem olfato do Tesco.

Gislinda no mundo das tesouras

2007-05-09T10:49:00.000-07:00

Se for verdade, você leu primeiro aqui!

Se não for...leu o que?

Bem, à fofoca que é o que interessa. Sempre.

Parece que Gislinda Bündchen vai criar uma coleção de lingerie para a rede de lojas H&M.

Será que vão ser calcinhas estilo brasileiro (que eu sou a única brasileira que não gosta) ou calçolas estilo europeu (que eu sou a única brasileira que gosta)?

Se a informação proceder mesmo, Gislinda vai seguir os passinhos de gente como Madonna, Stella McCartney e Karl Lagerfeld.

Nada mal.

Barbie Face

2007-05-04T10:02:00.000-07:00

Como se não me faltasse coisas nas quais gastar dinheiro, agora eu também gosto de brincar de passar maquiagem. Eu que era uma defensora da cara lavada, me rendi uma pincelada aqui e ali. Como diria minha avó, dá uma cara de saúde!
Já os cínicos diriam que é a idade. A eles eu digo que...bem, é a idade mesmo (só não faço buá snif buá porque meu rímel não é à prova d'água!).
Voltando ao que importa. O problema é que eu era muito tosca no mundo dos cosméticos. E acabei comprando dezenas de bases do tom errado, blushs cor-de-palhaço e rímels tão resistentes que no dia seguinte acordava com olhos de panda. Mas, alguns tostões e desastres estéticos depois, encontrei o kit perfeito! Aquela coisa maquiagem sem cara de maquiagem. Aqui vão então meus produtos preferidos para brincar de Barbie Face.

Base Chanel Teint Innocence
É leve e ilumina. Mas cara de inocente, aqui, nem com cirurgia plástica!

Corretivo
Esconde até olheiras dos choros mensais ninguém-me-ama-quero-um-chocolate-tô-gorda-não-tenho-o-que-vestir.

Benetint
Não é bem um blush. É um "cheek and lip stain" (algo como tintura para bochechas e lábios). Eu só uso na bochecha porque não gosto de batom. É sensacional, dá um rosado natural acabei-de-me-pegar-com-um-rapazote-atrás-da-moita.

Rimmel Magnifying Eyes Mascara
Alonga os cílios (mas sempre com o uso do curvex, aquele instrumento que faz o gringo-lindo achar que tenho tendências sadomasoquistas), não faz bolinhas e sai fácil.

Piscadinha

2007-04-10T03:06:00.000-07:00

Às vezes acontecem coisas que parecem filme. Seria lindo se fosse uma comédia romântica, mas no meu caso geralmente é comédia pastelão mesmo.

Outro dia cheguei ao bar toda serelepe para comemorar meu aniversário. Depois de um dia de aniversário de extremo mau humor e rabugisse, estava pronta para uma longa e colorida sucessão de coquetéis. Mas já no táxi percebi algo errado com meu olho direito. Um cisco, talvez?

Procurei o maledeto sem sucesso, o que fez meu amigo Rinorino concluir que o cisco já tinha saído, mas tinha irritado meu pobre olhinho.

A história teria ficado por aí mesmo, já que após o terceiro coquetél eu nem lembrava que tinha olho.

Mas quando fui comprar meu primeiro drink, ainda naquela piscação pós-cisco, o barman achou que eu estava paquerando e piscou de volta. E sério. E ainda demorei uns bons minutos para entender que ele não estava reagindo ao meu irresistível charme, mas à minha irresistível piscada.

Daí pra frente, todas as (muitas) vezes que fui ao bar, recebi sorrisinhos cúmplices do rapaz. Pra ser sincera, preferia minha parte em birita grátis!

Dúvidas

2007-03-26T07:51:00.000-07:00

Algumas rápidas dúvidas recentes:

Porque quando você está triste é o fato de ter esquecido de pegar canudo pro seu café gelado que te leva às lágrimas?

Como dois canais de TV diferentes têm a maldade de passar Ugly Betty e American Idol na mesma hora? E qual você escolhe?

Porque depois que o Blogger foi comprado pelo Google eu não consigo mais postar fotos?

Comprar uma argola dourada significa que eu virei patricinha? Ainda se fala patricinha?

A moda...

2007-02-22T01:35:00.000-08:00

Acabou a London Fashion Week. Faz tempo, mas eu estou feito ver jogo de futebol na TV e ouvir no rádio: com um atrasinho irritante. Vocês perdoam, né?
Mas enfim, o saldo foi positivo. Algumas goodie bags, muita cerveja de graça e fotos interessantes (que coloco por aqui assim que o novo blogger+google resolver permitir).
Mas a moda cansa e tudo o que consegui produzir depois de correr pra lá e pra cá foi esse singelo poeminha…que está em inglês porque foi originalmente escrito para as pobres orelhas das minhas colegas de classe. Traduzir poema é difícil, então vai em inglês mesmo. Vocês perdoam, né?
(E não vale dizer que voltei americanizada…inglesada até vai, já que ando pedindo desculpas feito uma british lady).

There were the shows
There were the cues
There were the clothes
There were the tunes

It all kicked off
With an awful Ben de Lisi
The eighties are over, my friend
Being a designer is not easy

Manish Arora however
What an inspiration
It was cyber and embellished
From a different constellation

Basso & Brooke also rocked
And this is not cause I'm brazilian
Such hot prints and crazy shapes
Those are two boys in a million

I saw Menkes and Alexander
What a couple would they make!
Throw in Isabella Blow
And they would keep the block awake!

And the models, all so pretty
But a tinny bit too skinny
They look great in crazy clothes
But would be iuc in a bikini

I was seated I was standing
Got a few nice goodie bags
Drinks with Andrew and the girls
And quick breaks for cheeky fags

Now I am all fashioned out
Sometimes I thought: I want my mom!
Looking cool is such hard work
But boy the week was loads of fun!

Dama (?) de Ferro

2007-02-15T01:04:00.000-08:00

De Tóquio para a London Fashion Week…não sei o que é mais difícil de entender, japonês ou fashionês…logo logo: "The besti and the worsti da fashion weeki".

Por enquanto, uma citação que encontrei num livro legal num banheiro bacana de uma festa chata…

"Being powerful is like being a lady. If you have to say you are, it is because you are not at all".

Margaret Thatcher (que era powerful, já lady...há controvérsias).

Filosofando...

2007-01-15T05:10:00.000-08:00

Como nem so de compras vive uma samurai na Arigatolandia, ando pensando sobre a dualidade das coisas…o yin e o yang, saca? (eu sei que essa eh uma filosofia chinesa, mas com tantas lojinhas divertidas, sushis e neons – e trabalho nas horas vagas – ainda nao tive tempo de investigar as filosofias japonesas).
Mas enfim, ando pensando nisso…entao aqui vai uma listinha das coisas boas e nao tao boas ate agora.

Parte boa...Parte ruim

Os japoneses sao o povo mais doce do mundo...Mas isso me faz ficar ainda mais culpada por nao conseguir decorar como fala “por favor”…

Em vez de darem panfletos na rua, eles dao pacotinhos de lencinhos de papel com as propagandas..Mas assoar o nariz em publico eh considerado extrema falta de educacao, entao nem uso meus lencinhos e virei um ser que funga…

Esta tudo em liquidacao e a libra eh uma moeda forte...Mas quero comprar tudo e nao ha libra forte que chegue…

Toquio tem os sapatos mais fofos do mundo… Mas as japonesas tem pes Gulliver e eu de gigante…o maior tamanho disponivel eh dois numeros menor do que meu pe…

O sushi eh otimo e light… Mas o shoyu da vontade de comer doce e eu descobri o Haaggen Daaz de biscoito e cha verde. E tem um AM/PM 24 horas do lado do meu hotel….

Esse lugar eh o paraiso da Hello Kitty...Mas eu nao tenho mais 7 anos de idade...

Quanto mais descontrol melhor!

2007-01-10T08:21:00.000-08:00

A liquidacao…

Imaginem:

1 shopping center estreito e vertical, com uns 7 andares, em que as lojas sao grudadas umas nas outras e meio abertas…
Umas 20 lojas por andar…
Mais ou menos 150 milhoes de japonesas enlouquecidas…

Agora, a cereja do bolo…

Em cada loja, uma vendedora fica em cima de um banquinho, com um megafone na mao, gritando as ofertas e tentando atrair a freguesia.

Entao…

1 Japonesa + 1 Megafone X 20 = a liquidacao mais descontrol do mundo.
Nao disse? Espero que tenha dado para ter uma ideia…palavras nao sao suficientes para descrever…eu amo esse pais!

(eu tinha esquecido de levar a camera no dia
em que vi a liquidacao...eu sei, imperdoavel...
mas vai uma outro fotinho divertida)

Konnichiwa

2007-01-07T00:50:00.000-08:00

Eu sei, eu sei...a ultima vez que apareci por aqui foi no ano passado. Feliz ano novo, alias.

Mas se me sobrou algum leitor, vou me redimir com a serie "Samurai em Tokyo". Sim, estou no Japao!!!! Vim mezzo a trabalho e mezzo a passeio (sim, porque vir ate o Japao so pra trabalhar nem mesmo japones)...

Mas vamos ao que interessa...

EPISODIO 1
Check-in da Virgin Atlantic, eu e gringo-lindo (que foi me levar ao aeroporto). Eu faco cara de meiga e peco um lugar na janela da saida de emergencia, onde tem um monte de espaco pra mexer os dedinhos. A moca responde que tem uma taxa pra sentar na saida de emergencia, a bagatela de £75. Gringo-lindo, querendo dar um jeitinho nada gringo, solta "mas moca, ela tem medo de voar" (o que eh mentirinha, so tenho medo das filas do check-in).
Ao que a moca responde "aaaah, entao ela nao pode de jeito nenhum sentar na saida de emergencia, porque se o aviao cair, ela precisaria abrir a porta e nao pode entrar em panico".
Hahaha. Tiro saiu pela culatra forevis. A nossa cara de palmito foi impagavel.

EPISODIO 2
No aviao, sento ao lado de uma japonesita. Imaginem a cena: ela toda delicada e mingnon e eu, bem, o oposto disso.
Pra comecar bem, sento em cima do cobertor da rapariga. Em seguida, gripada feito uma cabra, traco um pacotinho de kleenex antes mesmo de o aviao decolar e fico so esperando ela sair correndo de medo dos meus germes.
Ja no ceu, abro minha agua e, por causa da diferenca de pressao, sai um esguicho, adivinhem em quem?
Alem disso, preciso ir ao banheiro 375 vezes (eu estava na janela, ela, no corredor).
Mas, meiga como sao as japitas, ela sempre sorria e dizia "it is ok, it is ok".
Pobrecitos dos japonitos. Depois de 3 semanas eles nao vao mais ter essa paciencia toda comigo!

No proximo capitulo: a liquidacao mais descontrol do mundo. Eh serio...

Monica and I

2006-12-19T07:21:00.000-08:00

Estava eu em um bar sexta passada. Baladinha de formatura da minha amiga LadyLaura. De repente, minha outra amiga diz "olha, aquela menina parece a Monica Lewinsky".
No que eu me lembrei que a Monica tinha feito o mesmo mestrado que LadyLaura. "É a Monica Lewinsky", disse eu.

Hihihi. Manhêeeee! Olha eu na festa com a Mônica Lewinsky!

Infelizmente, ela foi embora cedo. Ou felizmente, já que eu estava tentando convencer o gringo-lindo a ir comprar um charuto para ser autografado. E, já que, mais adiante, depois do quarto Cosmopolitan, eu comecei a lamentar “puuuuxa, hic, a Monica foi embora e a gente nem dançou. Hic. Queria que ela autografasse meus ... hic". Sábia Monica!

(Minha nova melhor amiga de infância)

Guerreira mole em tiazinha dura...

2006-12-12T06:45:00.000-08:00

Voltei.

Para contar conquistei a tiazinha do café.

Ela não era muito amigável comigo. Principalmente depois que comecei a pedir meu café com leite de soja. Dia desses, pedi meu "soya latte" e um "skinny latte" (com leite desnatado) para minha colega. Achei que fosse apanhar.

Sempre fui doce, meiga e simpática, apesar dos meus pedidos destrambelhados e pouco razoáveis. Mas recebia apenas latidos de volta.

Até que tudo mudou. Ela perguntou como eu estava e como havia sido meu final de semana. Olhei para trás, mas era comigo mesmo. No dia seguinte, ela me agradeceu por ter lhe lembrado que meu leite era de soja, antes que ela fizesse o café errado. "Algumas pessoas malvadas", disse ela, "esperariam até o fim para então recusar o café". Do que concluí que não sou uma pessoa malvada. Eba. Hoje, ela me pediu mais um minuto porque queria ter certeza de que meu café estava realmente quente.

Posso dizer até que ela está sendo fofa, apesar de isso ser um pouco de exagero em meio à minha felicidade.

Afinal, não é todo dia que se conquista o coração da tiazinha do café!

Jingle bells

2006-11-21T03:25:00.000-08:00

Considerações sobre o Natal. Sim, sei que ainda falta um século. Mas aqui na Gringolândia as propagandas e decorações natalinas começam em novembro com força total. E, ademais (agora que virei estudante fiquei besta), o tempo anda voando feito condoooooooooor.

Consideração 1 - Porque todas as revistas e as lojas trazem vestidos e mais vestidos de festa? Sou só eu que não tenho nenhuma festa chique para ir na época do Natal? Alguém aí vai dar uma festa chique? Quer me convidar? Prometo comprar um vestido novo.

Consideração 2 - Se a árvore de Natal for de verdade, os enfeites de bom gosto e se você deixá-la em um vaso e replantá-la depois no parque, pode? Tenho um trauma de infância que aparece a cada 2 ou 3 anos: a síndrome da criança judia que não tinha Natal. Em determinado momento do meu passado fiz minha mãe me comprar uma árvore de Natal de plástico. Nunca esqueço, era branca e veio numa caixa. Meu pai deve ter tido uma síncope interna. Hi-hi-hi.

Consideração 3 - É razoável pedir para o gringo-lindo, gringa-mãe e gringa-irmã (que vem passar o Natal por aqui) se juntarem em uma vaquinha para me comprar a bolsa que venho namorando (em vez de vários presentes que talvez não me agradem)? Mesmo se a bolsa terminar em dois zeros?

PS: Para os que perguntaram, estou fazendo masters em Jornalismo de Moda. Cheguei a um ponto na minha vida onde senti um desejo mais forte de falar sobre coisas que realmente importam para o destino da humanidade. Como bolsas e sapatos.

Coisa boa e coisa ruim...

2006-11-09T11:02:00.001-08:00

Começando pela COISA RUIM...

Ouvi a seguinte barbaridade de um colega de trabalho inglês e que, provavelmente, faltou na escola quando ensinaram "o que não falar para uma mulher a não ser que você queira tomar uma bifa". A conversa aconteceu enquanto esperava meu espetinho toda serelepe na cafeteria...

COLEGA - Como está conciliar trabalho e faculdade?
EU - Correria, mas ok...
COLEGA - Você está com cara de cansada. Mas até aí, às vezes você tem mesmo cara de cansada. Você fica com essas olheiras aí (apontando).
EU - Haaaaam??? Cuma? Helloooo?

(Nem acho que tenho tanta olheira. Mas nem preciso dizer que desde então passo corretivo religiosamente todos os dias.)

Mas, nem só de experiências sem noção vive uma pessoa QUE NÃO TEM OLHEIRAS PROFUDAS! Então, a COISA BOA.

Passei tarde dessas sentada no meu sofá, ao lado do meu gringo-lindo, observando dois encanadores supermodels passearem pela casa com seus metros e 90 e seus cintos de utilidades. Um loiro, um moreno. Uma cena assim começo de filme pornô dirigido por mulher. Eles vieram consertar o aquecimento e, meninos e meninas, a temperatura subiu. Pelo menos na minha cabeça cheia de idéias. Porque imaginação não precisa se comportar. Hihihi. Se alguma solteira estiver com problemas de encanamento é só me avisar que eu passo o número!

Coisa boa e coisa ruim...

2006-11-09T11:02:00.000-08:00

Começando pela COISA RUIM...

Ouvi a seguinte barbaridade de um colega de trabalho inglês e que, provavelmente, faltou na escola quando ensinaram "o que não falar para uma mulher a não ser que você queira tomar uma bifa". A conversa aconteceu enquanto esperava meu espetinho toda serelepe na cafeteria...

COLEGA - Como está conciliar trabalho e faculdade?
EU - Correria, mas ok...
COLEGA - Você está com cara de cansada. Mas até aí, às vezes você tem mesmo cara de cansada. Você fica com essas olheiras aí (apontando).
EU - Haaaaam??? Cuma? Helloooo?

(Nem acho que tenho tanta olheira. Mas nem preciso dizer que desde então passo corretivo religiosamente todos os dias.)

Mas, nem só de experiências sem noção vive uma pessoa QUE NÃO TEM OLHEIRAS PROFUDAS! Então, a COISA BOA.

Passei tarde dessas sentada no meu sofá, ao lado do meu gringo-lindo, observando dois encanadores supermodels passearem pela casa com seus metros e 90 e seus cintos de utilidades. Um loiro, um moreno. Eles vieram consertar o aquecimento e, meninos e meninas, a temperatura subiu. Pelo menos na minha cabeça cheia de idéias. Porque imaginação não precisa ser bem comportada! Hihihi. Se alguma solteira estiver com problemas de encanamento é só me avisar que eu passo o número!

Show de horror

2006-10-31T06:58:00.000-08:00

Esta noite sonhei que o Geraldo Alckmin era casado com a Luiza Erundina. E que eu estava fazendo café com leite para os dois.

O que isso significa? Que além dos perrengues do dia-a-dia eu ainda tenho que agüentar piadinha de mau gosto do meu subconsciente?

(Uma história de amor??)

Quem não tem colírio...se dá mal.

2006-10-25T02:47:00.000-07:00

Vida nova, acúmulo de funções, versão Bombril trabalha-estuda-tenta manter a casa de cabeça para cima. Por isso o sumiço. Até tentei convencer gringo-lindo a assumir a minha metade das tarefas domésticas. Fiz beicinho e minha melhor cara de pobrecita. Mas infelizmente ele não é bobo e não colou...
Mas estou de volta! E com uma rápida reflexão...

Porque cargas de enxurrada não se vendem óculos escuros em lojas normais no inverno gringolandês? Por um acaso nunca faz sol (quase nunca não é nunca, vejam bem)!. Perdi os meus Chillybeans. Sim, meus Dior de pobre se foram. E agora estou criando ruguinhas ao redor dos olhos porque, passado o verão, óculos só em óticas especializadas ($$$).

Será pelo mesmo motivo que Melissinha no inverno (hahaha) brasileiro, só mesmo na loja da Melissa? E Havaianas desaparecem das prateleiras assim que os termômetros marcam 25 graus ao invés de 30???

O mundo não faz sentido.

Matusalém

2006-10-12T23:02:00.000-07:00

Veja bem. O diálogo abaixo aconteceu no meu primeiro dia de pós-aula. A conversa começou com o professor falando alguma coisa sobre entrega de trabalhos digitados.

EU (para a colega do lado): Nossa, olha que loucura, no meu primeiro ano de faculdade ainda usava máquina de escrever para os meus trabalhos.

COLEGA:

EU: Nossa, pela sua cara você deve estar me achando uma anciã. Quantos anos você tem?
COLEGA: 21.
EU: Bom, eu tenho só 30, então não sou tão anciã assim.
COLEGA: Aaaah, você nem parece ter 30.

EU:

E chega o outono...

2006-10-03T08:38:00.000-07:00

Os dias encurtam, é oficial.
Rola uma brisa fria, os parques esvaziam, e as meninas com algum senso de noção começam a pegar mais leve no bronzeamento artificial. Cenouras voltam a ser batatas. E já começo a ter saudades de reclamar do calor dentro do ônibus.
Ahhhh. O outono na Gringolândia. Este ano, no entanto, desenvolvi uma técnica para não ficar tristonha cabisbaixa amarela feito folha que cai da árvore. Quando o verão começou a arrumar a mala, eu comecei a comprar peças novas de inverno (incluindo o maxipull mencionado abaixo). Cada grau a menos no termômetro, uma coisinha quentinha no guarda-roupa (ou cada 3 graus a menos, já que os preços são em Fahrenheit e o salário em Centígrados!). Pode parecer exagero. Mas está proibida de atirar pedra quem mora abaixo do Equador!
O povo da moda também não deve estar nem aí com o inverno que chega. Nas passarelas, já é verão. Só que do ano que vem. Ai, que confuso.
Confuso mas lindoooooooooooooooooooooooo. Seguem alguns dos meus modelos preferidos. Para o verão de 2007. Até lá, força no gorro e coragem no cachecol!

Maxipull

2006-09-28T09:00:00.000-07:00

Dizem por aí que nada se cria, nada se perde, tudo se transforma. Eu às vezes crio caso, perco a paciência e me transformo em um monstro de garras afiadas mas mal feitas porque manicure aqui na Gringolândia é coisa de rico. Mas isso só acontece uma vez por mês, que fique bem claro.

A moda também é a rainha da transformação. Ou reciclagem, já que a palavra está na moda. Claro, tudo para que nós, mortais cheias de hormônios, necessidades e caprichos, compremos roupinhas novas a cada nova estação. Eu sei, eu sei. Mas não tô nem aí!

Mas outro dia estava fazendo compras com minha amiga L. Eu toda serelepe depois de achar o "sweater dress" (vestido suéter) que estava procurando. Sim, o “sweater dress” é o vestido do inverno 2006-2007. Infelizmente toda a mulherada vai usar, o que geralmente me faz abandonar o modelo. Mas é fofo. Então não tô nem aí.

Mas eis que L diz, ao avistar meu fofo vestido: "olha, um maxipull". Sim, lembram? Aquele dos anos 80. Foi transformado em “sweater dress”. Ganhou uns detalhes mimosos e nome moderno, mas no fundo da alma, continua sendo um maxipull (abreviação de maxipullover, lembram?).

E eu, caros amigos, que disse que nunca jamais usaria vestimentas recicladas dos anos 80, comprei não só um, mas dois maxipulls!

Na verdade, na verdade, agora que tenho 30 e sou uma mulher serena e equilibrada, não tô nem aí.

Mas, cá entre nós, maxipull é triste mesmo, né????!!!!! E viva a Cindy Lauper!

(Essa é a filha do Mick Jagger, Lizzie, modelando maxipull da Marks and Spencer!)

Agente somos inútiiiiiil

2006-09-26T03:40:00.000-07:00

A capacidade humana de inventar coisas ótimas e inúteis é infinita. Eu adoro coisas inúteis. Ou sem função definida. Ou com funções definidas mas bobas. Tipo antenas de joaninha piscantes. Ou um energético com um rótulo do Che Guevara que tenho pena de tomar mas não sei onde colocar. Ou ainda o porquinho cor-de-rosa que fica sentado no meu computador.

Por isso fiquei bem contente quando descobri esse presente inusitado. É um feijãozinho que vem numa latinha e você coloca água e ele cresce feito experiência da aula de ciências na 1ª série. A diferença é que quando nasce, o feijãozinho tem uma mensagem escrita de um lado (tipo Happy Birthday) e um desenho do outro (tipo um coração). Como eles fazem isso, para mim, é um mistério...se minha professora de ciências da 1ª série estiver lendo, explicações são bem vindas e juro que desta vez presto atenção!

Vende neste site...Mas só nos Estados Unidos...algum leitor em terras americanis com crise de generosidade?????

Assunto sério

2006-09-22T04:44:00.000-07:00

Respeito é bom, todo mundo gosta, é dando que se recebe e outros clichês mil. Eu sou uma moça muito respeitadora. Respeito a minha mãe, minha avó, o gerente do banco e a opinião alheia, mesmo quando é um palpite sobre cabelo vindo de alguém que acha que pochete foi inventada para ser usada. Aliás, falando em pochete, não respeito pochete. Acho que elas tinham todas que morrer afogadas na fonte da Disneyworld que é onde pertencem.

Mas voltando ao assunto...apesar de eu ser uma moça respeitadora, não venho recebendo o mesmo respeito de volta...por isso resolvi colocar a boca no trombone (uiaaaa!). Aqui vai a lista dos que vêm me faltando com o respeito:

- Minha franja - perdeu totalmente o respeito e já ganhou até uma poesia de desagravo.
- Meu contracheque - não só o respeito. Perdeu também a graça.
- Minha pia - Desde quando louças se multiplicam por métodos assexuados? Achei que deixar o garfo e a faca separados seria suficiente para garantir um mínimo de respeito.
- O tempo hoje na Gringolândia - dizem que cinza será a cor do inverno e o céu já está de roupa nova.

A todos os citados acima, buuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuu!

Robinhoooooooooooooooo!

2006-09-18T03:10:00.000-07:00

Aí eu fui ao jogo de futebol. Brasil X País de Gales. Com meus amigos brasileiros e gauleses. Os gauleses tinham certeza de que o Brasil ia ganhar. Os brasileiros, só vendo.
Eis que sentamos atrás de três brazucas. Os piores três brazucas de todo o estádio. Explico...

Um deles tinha uma bandeira gigante, que ele ficava chacoalhando. E eu, sentada bem atrás dele, não conseguia ver nada. Mas o pior foi na hora do hino, que filmaram o nosso lugar, o gringo-lindo apareceu todo sorridente e eu não, porque estava escondida pela bandeira. E minha mãe estava assistindo o jogo pela TV. Maldade.

O segundo problema foi quando três jogadores foram perto de onde estávamos fazer aquecimento, no meio do jogo. Incluindo o Robinho. E o rapaz da bandeira foi à loucura, uma coisa meio adolescente-no-show-do-Menudo. Passou 10 minutos gritando, berrando: "Robiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiinho! Robiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiinho. Olha para cá!"
E ficava indignado quando Robinho, lá embaixo no campo, não olhava. Isso durante 10, repito, 10 minutos.

Homem mala, em jogo de futebol, vira a coleção inteira da Sansonite.

(Robinhoooooooooooooooooooooooooooo!)

Googlelino

2006-09-06T10:23:00.000-07:00

Gente, eu preciso dividir com vocês!
Agora que o blog está de casa nova, eu coloquei um brinquedinho que mostra quantas pessoas acessam por dia e de onde elas vêm (tipo país, através de qual site chegaram e tal). Mas a coisa mais legal desse software é que ele mostra como as pessoas chegam ao blog através do google...tipo, quais palavras digitaram...aqui vão as melhores...

victoria beckham jeans london
layout calça cotton
sugarbabe 25
gostar de aranha
ver casa de stripper bahamas (essa é minha preferida).

E lanço aqui um apelo...pessoas que digitaram no google "gostar de aranha" e "ver casa de stripper bahamas"...se vocês ainda forem leitores, por favor, contem pra gente...o que exatamente vocês estavam procurando com essas palavras??? Sem timidez! Pode comentar como anônimo. Mas conta, conta, contaaaaaaa!

Maridos sensatos,mulheres desgovernadas

2006-09-01T12:14:00.000-07:00

O que é pior do que você ter vários dias para fazer uma inscrição, mandar tudo a tempo e descobrir faltando três dias para o prazo que ficou faltando escrever dois textos gigantes?

Pior que isso é descobrir que você poderia ter feito os textos com muito mais calma se tivesse ligado lá e perguntado o que precisava fazer, ao invés de tentar decifrar o que dizia no site.

E o que é pior do que isso tudo?

É descobrir que depois de toda essa correria, ufa, deu tempo, depois disso tudo...descobrir que você pulou uma outra parte das regras na hora que estava lendo o site e agora tem poucos dias para reunir uma centena de documentos e mandar pelo correio.

E qual é a pior parte disso tudo?

O pior é que é tudo culpa sua e da sua cabeça de algodão doce e não dá pra botar a culpa em mais ninguém.

Mas tem uma parte boa.

Que é descobrir que você tem todos os documentos que precisa, mesmo os extratos bancários de 4 anos atrás.

E a parte ruim?

Morder a língua e admitir que o gringo-lindo é que está certo de arquivar todo e não jogar nada fora. E me convencer a fazer o mesmo. Isso tendo que aguentar muita, mas muita tiração de sarro da docura que vos fala, que dizia ser ridículo arquivar extratos por mais de três anos.

Siiim, eu errei! Siiim, viva os maridos sensatos.

O homem dos mil sapatos

2006-08-25T10:01:00.000-07:00

Razões pelas quais meu sapateiro é o sapateiro mais fofo do mundo:

1- Ele nunca me cobra para fazer furos extras nos meus cintos...só pede que eu coloque umas moedinhas no cofrinho pra caridade que ele tem...
2- Ele nasceu na rua de cima de onde rolou o Bloody Sunday (sundaaaaay bloody sundaaaaay, lembram?). Isso não faz muita diferença para os meus sapatos, mas é uma ótima história para blog e mesa de bar...
3- Ele contou que mesmo que chegue em casa muito cansado ou bêbado, sempre tira os sapatos e coloca aquelas coisinhas de madeira que se coloca dentro dos sapatos de homem e eu não sei o nome. Já eu jogo os sapatos para o alto eainda tropeço neles no dia seguinte...mas pelo menos concordamos sobre a importância de um belo par de sapatos!
4- Ele me contou também que tem muitos, muitos sapatos, que adora sapatos e que isso nem é por causa da sua profissão...e ele nem é gay...acho...
5- Da última vez que fui lá, ele me disse que "sua única função na vida era fazer as mulheres felizes"...e ele nem estava me cantando...acho.

Manifesto

2006-08-23T09:54:00.000-07:00

Outro dia estava pensando que, desde seu nascimento, o blog foi tomando forma meio que por si só, sem muito planejamento. Na verdade, ele começou (e ainda é) como um antídoto a todas as coisas sérias e pesadas sobre as quais tenho que falar no meu dia-a-dia profissional! Surgiu, também, para que eu parasse de discutir cremes, modelitos e depilações com o gringo-lindo. Quando ele começou a formar opinião sobre as questões acima, achei melhor mudar de audiência afinal, dizem que metrosexual está out e o negócio agora é ser retrosexual (um jeito assim Fred Flinstone de ser).
De qualquer forma, aqui vai um pequeno manifesto sobre o que entra - e o que não entra nem pensar de jeito nenhum - nesta página que vos fala!

POLÍTICA: Só a da boa vizinhança.
ECONOMIA: Quantos meses preciso passar comendo sanduíche para comprar um par de Manolos?
RELAÇÕES INTERNACIONAIS: Ora, meu casamento com gringo-lindo!
ANÁLISES APROFUNDADAS: A volta dos anos 80 à moda é um tema de suma importância.
CONFLITOS E GUERRAS: Contra a estática nos cabelos, a celulite nas coxas e as colegas nas liquidações.
TIGRES ASIÁTICOS: É de lá que vêm 90% das minhas roupas! Das suas também, a não ser que você seja rico (a). Neste caso, suas roupas vêm de Paris, o que me leva a...
UNIÃO EUROPÉIA: Já já (bem, em dois anos...) eu viro britânica e juro lealdade à Rainha. Mas, até lá, posso dizer que acho ela péssima!

Sugarbabes on Morrissey

2006-08-21T11:26:00.000-07:00

Todo ano assisto aos festivais de música pela TV. E fico louca para estar lá! E prometo que no ano seguinte, vou. Aí o ano seguinte chega e eu acho muito caro e fico com preguiça de velha de passar 3 dias em balada interminável. E não vou.

Esse ano não foi diferente. Então passei boa parte do final de semana assistindo ao V Festival pela TV. Porque o Morrissey ia tocar. E tocou. E foi ótimo. Mas melhor ainda foi a entrevista impagável das Sugarbabes (sim, a pessoa responsável pelo line up tomou ácido em excesso nos anos 60, nunca mais voltou e achou que era uma boa idéia convidar as Sugarblaghs para tocar no festival)...

A entrevista:

ENTREVISTADOR - Então, vocês estão animadas para ver o Morrissey tocar? Dizem que pode ser o último show dele.
SUGARBABE 1 - Então, eu não conheço muitas músicas do Morrissey...ele tinha uma banda legal, né?
SUGARBABE 2 - Não, Morrissey É uma banda.
SUGARBABE 1 - Ah, achei que Morrissey era um homem.

Hahahahahaha! Juro, em rede nacional de TV! Rolei no chão de tanto dar risada, bati com a cabeça na quina da mesa e virei uma Sugarbabe!

Cabelo ruim

2006-08-18T02:23:00.000-07:00

Tem dia que meu cabelo não tem compaixão
Cheio de estática, parece televisão

Malvado, maldito, coisa desleal
Ignora o dinheiro gasto em Loreal

Quando feliz e contente dormi
Sentia-me gêmea da Naomi

Apenas oito horas de soninho
E acordo parecendo Chitãozinho

(Eu acordando hoje - foto verdadeira)

Receita inventada há cinco noites...

2006-08-14T08:36:00.001-07:00

O gringo-lindo é vegetariano, mas anda comendo bacon. Eu sei que não faz muito sentido.
Mas quem sou eu para criticar?
Vejamos...
...sou morena convicta, mas ando meio loira desde a última visita ao Brasil...
...critico a ditadura da magreza, mas todas as manhãs fico olhando no espelho pra conferir se minha barriga cresceu...
...acho importantíssimo discutir os rumos do mundo, mas ultimamente me pego fazendo lista de tarefas mental durante conversas sobre política...

Sendo assim, respeito os paradoxos dos outros. E volto ao bacon...noite dessas, geladeira pobrinha + marido faminto + mulher de TPM se achando gorda = marido inventa receita ótima e com milhões de calorias + mulher que disse que só ia tomar um iogurte come metade do prato dele…

Receita inventada há cinco noites...

Bacon
Cream cheese (umas 3 colheres grandes)
Queijo (pode ser qualquer um amarelo e suave), ralado
Macaroni (ou outra massa qualquer)
Manteiga
1 cebola, ralada

Frita o bacon na manteiga, depois junta a cebola e frita mais um pouquinho.

Cozinha a massa. Aí mistura a massa, o bacon, a cebola, o queijo e o cream cheese. Coloca tudo numa forma e põe no forno por uns 20 minutos.

PS: GL, se você estiver lendo o blog, só comecei a fazer listas mentais lá pro final da conversa, tá? E como tenho um cabelo branco me dou ao direito de estar em uma fase cansada do meu próprio idealismo juvenil...hihihi

Dúvida cruel

2006-08-09T06:07:00.000-07:00

Usar ou não usar, eis a questão...
Drogas? Bronzeadores artificiais? Pílula anticoncepcional? A cabeça? Não, nada disso. A dúvida se refere à volta dos leggings. Sim, aqueles de cotton lycra que a gente usava combinando com a minissaia também de cotton e a camiseta com ombreiras. Sim, aquele dos anos 80. Sim, aquele que eu jurei nunca mais usar.

Acontece que vi várias meninas usando de jeitos bacanas. E minha amiga Carol, que é muito estilosa, disse que é bacana. Mas antes de vocês me acusarem de maria vai com as outras sem personalidade nem coração, explico a razão principal da minha dúvida. É que tenho vários vestidos fofos, mas muito curtos para usar no trabalho (na verdade são muito curtos para usar em qualquer lugar, mas apesar do meu cabelo-branco-na-sobrancelha, eu ainda uso para badalar). E já cansei de usá-los com jeans e preciso de um novo look. E o legging resolveria este problema e eu poderia usar meus vestidotes também das 9 às 5.

Como ainda estou dividida, lanço a pesquisa:

Os leggings são:

1 - Péssimos, horríveis e devem continuar morando nos anos 80 junto com o Menudo e as calças da OP.
2 - Ótimos, super bem reinventados e perfeitos para a moça moderna e descolada.
3 - Também estou em dúvida e não posso ajudar. Vou consultar a Constanza e volto já.

Heeeelp!

???????????????????????????

Ai ai ai...

2006-08-03T02:14:00.000-07:00

Nasceu. Meu primeiro cabelo branco. Não na cabeça. Mas na sobrancelha. Porque, eu pergunto, porque eu?

Guerra às aranhas

2006-07-31T06:23:00.000-07:00

Em geral eu sou pacifista. Mas declaro guerra! Às aranhas!

Eu costumava gostar de aranhas. Na minha ex-casa, tinha uma aranha de estimação que sempre aparecia no banheiro. Ela era toda magra e longilínea e por isso se chamava Gisele. O gringo-lindo às vezes tentava levar ela para fora, equilibrada em cima de uma Havaiana. Mas ela sempre fugia e reaparecia, dias depois, linda e loura embaixo da pia. Ficamos amigas e confidentes. Eu fazia xixi, ela fazia cara de aranha.

Maaaaaas, tudo mudou. De casa nova, um dia percebo uma picada no meu pé. Não dou muita bola, já já vai embora. Dois dias depois, meu pé vira uma bola de golfe. Coça tanto, mas tanto, que o coitado desenvolve uma relação obscena tipo cadela-no-cio com a grama da varanda.
Eu, que sempre tive uma relação cordial com aracnídeos, achei que tinha sido vítima de um pernilongo africano fazendo conexão na Gringolândia. Mas minha ex-vizinha, em visita à nova maison, olhou meu pé-elefante e cravou: isso é picada de aranha.

É por essas e (bem, só por essas, mas já é suficiente) que declarei guerra contra as aranhas.
Cessar-fogo, só se o Tobey Maguire vier me pedir desculpas, de quatro (ou oito) e vestido de lycra colante.

Aubrigada

2006-07-25T08:10:00.000-07:00

Quem é a designer mais fofa do mundo que fez o que era um blog de layout péssimo tipo calça semibaggy de lavagem manchada ficar um blog lindo como um pretinha nada básico que te faz parecer 20cm mais alta e 20kg mais magra? É ela, Dede!
Obrigada baby!

Lilylinda

2006-07-23T10:31:00.000-07:00

Mudança de casa = celular sem bateria por conta do desaparecimento de carregador + overdose de pizza delivery + som desmontado e aventuras pelo mundo maravilhoso do rádio de pilha.

E foi no mundo maravilhoso e assustador das estações de rádio que encontrei minha nova cantora preferida para sempre (ou pelo menos para esse verão).

Ouvi a musiquinha depois de horas e horas ouvindo as mesmas canções de Phil Collins, Lionel Richie, Elton John e Brian Adams. Nada contra os raparigos, inclusive sou super adepta ao recordar é viver e ao estilo mela cueca (gente, essa expressão é de uma tosquice sem igual). Mas não entendo porque as rádios escolhem uma música de cada artista e ficam repetindo, todo dia, a mesma faixa. Têm tantas outras músicas legais. Seria como representar o ilustre Gilliard apenas pelo clássico Festa dos Insetos (lembram? A pulga e o percevejo fizeram combinação, fizeram uma serenata debaixo do meu colchão...).

Enfim, no meio disso tudo ouvi a música Smile, da Lily Allen, que é fofa e parece que começou a ficar conhecida quando colocou suas composições no site MySpace (que é tipo o Orkut). Aí fui atrás e encontrei os vídeos dela. Além de ser bonitinha, também achar que Victoria Beckham é um robô anoréxico fabricado em Plutão e usar delineador verde fluorescente, ela ainda compôs uma música chamada LDN que fala da minha gringolândia como há tempos ninguém faz.

Recomendo!
Para assistir aos vídeos, procure a parte "about lilymusic" e aí "check out my new videos".
www.myspace.com/lilymusic