Wallflowers

Time to show you something comfortably disturbing again.
Something terribly beautiful.

For much more visist: www.raycaesar.com

EAT

I eat everything that gets in my way, so be careful:

Do not smell good or look appetizing when I am near.

You will be wise to do so.

Back to civilization

It is the 28th of December today and I welcome the fact that tomorrow morning I will be able to trot down to Mr and Mr Vegetable man and buy some peppers or tomatoes or whatever I please.
My corner shop, my corner shop, my beautiful corner shop.
Mea maxima culpa, I know, because the baby Jesus and all that, but honestly, when I tuned on the TV and Miklos Fenyo was doing a Christmas Special cinningly entitled:
Roll up the Carpet!
And there were dancers with visible underware, some big cotton and white, some thongs shiny fake-silk, and the 36.th murderous cover of let it snow, let it snow, let it snow...
Why sing in English when you dont understand the words?
I know you might ask me: Why write in English when you can't spell?
Just becouse.
This is my virtual playground.
Nobody visits it anyway.
I am all alone in cyberspace.
The lonelyness of strats...

Christmas 2008

Samuel Beckett sat down every December and has given the detailed account of all twelve months of the year gone. This precise documentation has helped him to summarize and analyze the events and move on to a new exiting chapter.

I sit down every December and eat. Fried meat, fried mushrooms and fried potatoes. I munch - even though I hate the bloody word - on gherkins. Pickles. They are the best.

And we watch things on TV. Baby Jesus is being born. Pass the ketchup will you? Mary is all happy and virginal. Is there more fries? The three shepherds arrive. Endless commercials come on, cars, toothpaste, shopping centers. The three kings give their presents. We are on to dessert.

It is all golden.

Actually I am named after the event. FYI - even though I bloody hate shortenings - my name is Natalia.

Natalia is derived from Deos Natales (well, from something really similar anyways) which means
'The birth of God'.

- Isn't it the birth of Goddess? - people joke sometimes.

I pretend to blush by sending an extra shot of my divine blood to cruise around my cheeks.

As if God would have to decide what sex God is.

Silly.

The Drunk I Am

The drunk I am only drinks Martini Bianco.

The drunk I am barely drinks, therefor the thirst of my inner-drunk is great.

Once my inner drunk gets to drink some Martini Bianco she does not hesitate to down the glass like a peasant.

The drunk I am does not enjoy the taste of alcohol it just wants to get smashed.

Not tipsy, piss on that. Smashed. Wasted.

It never happens. when is was a teenager I would happily sip my way to alcohol poisoning and back. As every healthy fifteen year old on the block I would down alcohols galore. And not get a black-out. I never did that. Don't really believe in it either.

Neither do I believe in having one drink with dinner. Why have one glass of wine with food?

So you don't get drunk?
So you can pay twice as much as you would have for a soft drink?
So you can pretend to be a wine expert? Oh, is that white wine you drinking there with fish madam? Is it really? Let me congratulate you. The choice of choices you have made.
Or is it to properly dehydrate yourself?
Or is it so that your mouth smells foul and you don't have to snog your dinner date?
Just stop dating the ugly bastards, will you?
Or is it so you can spiel red wine all over your white shirt because you are in a washing-powder commercial?
Or would you be one of those obsessive-compulsive full wine glass lifters? How interesting.

The drunk I am never drinks just one glass of anything.

Burn the Bejgli

Burn the Bejgli is what comes before the Smack my Bitch Up in December.

Bejgli is a must eat item, as displayed on the Hungarian Christmas table by our mothers.

You consume it 67 bites after the first urge to throw up in the festive season.

And you like it.

You like it more when it is filled with poppy-seeds.
You like it less when it has fucking raisins in it.

Because we hate fucking raisins.
Idiots' food really.

But bejgli is great. A real hungaricum.

I give you an other visual:



You are welcome.

For example

http://ajourneyroundmyskull.blogspot.com

I was reading this blog for example and I liked it very much.

4 days

Today we got a tree.
It is small.
It is green.
It will be our Christmas tree.

The Wooden Spoon****

One of my lifestyle fantasies is to be a restaurant critique.

So my job description would read: to be wined and dined, to be served and smiled at, to be fed 3-5 courses of meals, never having to pay.

But than I also think, that I am capable of so much more than deciding if the spoon was clean and the salmon was pink enough.
And than to actually write about food.
It is like talking about sex.
Like reading about adventures.

But as a self appointed Budapest guide, I know I haven't done much of that - but it is my blog, OK? Do you have a problem with that punk?- I feel the need to share one special place with you:

The Fakanal. The Wooden Spoon.

The food is cheap and tasty, there are no toilets, service is cheerful and prompt, and the place is visited by university professors and homeless people alike.

It is right next to the Szabo Ervin library, brown iron shutters, in the basement, you cant miss it, down you go.

Letters, Words, Sentences

Ok, so I have been overdoing the pictures bit.
Have some letters, please enjoy the words, dwell on the sentences.
Am I writing about nothing again?
Saying nothing?
Shut up my inner critique, and let me play on my virtual playground.

Exciting times dear Blog, new jobs, lots to write, it is all about Shakespeare, marketing, theatre history, media, and I just do not know where to benign.

So I start by writing this blog.

To make sure that my theater project is stagnating.
To minimize my chances of passing any of my exams.
To risk my shiny new job on the very first week.

Sounds like a plan. Good idea. A new post. As long as one gets the priorities right. Blog it is.

My Margit Sziget

This was where I took my very first steps.
Come and walk there with the old Danube to your left and right?
Are you in Buda?
Are you in Pest?
The sun.
The sun.
The sun.

My Pest - Varosliget

My Pest - Benczur street

G.L.D.

I have found the Gold Leather Diary for 2009 and i bought it.
I am happy.
It is hand made and inside it has the finest paper with watermarks and golden lining.
I will scan it for you, and also next time I will write about something more interesting.
Promise.

Sunday in the City

I enjoy a good 7th day of the week Sunday.
It is quite.

One gets up, drinks 3-4 coffees, reads all papers she didn't have time to read during the week.
Showers for on our instead of going to church, eats pizza instead of cooking a real Sunday roast.

Than there is WAMP - the Sunday artist market twice every month, where you can find everything and more.

www.wamp.hu


This week I will go there and hunt down a gold-leather diary for 2009.
It will come from Pecs.
Keep fingers crossed.

The green armchair with grandchild

This was taken on my nameday by my grandfather.
I was one of those little girls who kick the ball and climb the trees.
Family bought me dolls.
I held them and smiled into the camera.
I didn't care for dolls much but I was very happy.
My grandparents lived on the hill.
12th district of Buda.
Their balcony overlooked the city.
I loved being there with them very much.
I loved them very much.
Most repul a kismadar...

Day of my Name

Today is Natalia day.
My nameday.
The 9th of December.
Very special.
I hope nice things will happen to me the whole day long.
Today I start a new job.
Today I got to the book party of my favorite author.
Today I go to a Christmas-dinner-thing hosted by British Council.
Eventful day.
Happy day.
I hope.

Addict

I need to get off the web.
I need to get away from the computer.
I need to face the real world.

Now.
Now.
Now.

Go and read a book for goodness sake.
Ok, i am going I am going.

Now.
Yes, now.
Now.

Addict exits her cyber-queendom.
Abandons her toys in her virtual playground.

Now. on three:

1. I am
2. not
3. here

Riddle

I am soft.
I can kiss and cook.
My ovary belongs to me.
I am a woman.
What am I?

Curtains Up

Close them curtains and let the show begin.

If you have been at my humble Pest residence, you may well know that I have no curtains.
And no lampshades.
And no proper furniture?

Yes, yes, they sell all those things in Hungary, and I am sure at some point I had the money too, and one can always find time to shop and buy stuff, but no, no, no there were no curtains up until now.

That gave the people in the house opposite plenty of opportunity to stand and stare, to see and to behold my naked truth, my whole truth and nothing but my truth.

I was a one-woman gratis peepshow for the select few who lived in the right building on the right floors.

I was an instant hit. People in my immediate neighborhood

- witnessed their property increase in value
- inhaled more wholesome Pest oxygen due to open-window observation
- had an accelerated libido and very noisy sex to follow
- planned house parties around my bath-time
- Bla, bla, bla...

I also became naturally not only a conversation-piece, but also a selling point. Estate agents kept on pointing me out to potential buyers.

But now my curtains went up, all red, Persian and velvety.

So that's all folks.
Back to your miserable life.
Time to move.

Sunday Morning

Morning kiss. Coffee. Coffee. Coffee. Newspaper. Coffee. Talk. Coffee. Pee. Coffee. Coffee. Poo. Coffee. Kiss. Coffee. Blog. Coffee. Blog. Blog.

Ars Poetica no2

Do not have wisdom teeth.
Have wine.
Have outstanding moral fiber.
Have orgasms.

Ars Poetica

I deny my milk-sucking, ball-kicking, pants-pissing past and ignore my pebble-gray, winter-slow, grave-quite future.

Until the doorbell...

puts an abrupt end to it, I shall tell you that I have ladies on my mind.
Ladies, who snog, get married, loose their virginity, knock themselves out for days, than commit suicide, whereby there shall be peace in Verona.
And I am waiting for Sophie who is one of there women in my head.
And she should bring wine.
And she should be here already.

And the Christmas market is already up at Vorosmarty square.
The smell of bacon is really unexpected in the underground.
A lot of pretty little dust collectors, neatly displayed and somewhat overpriced.
Go and walk hand in hand with a dark Hungarian and his deep voice, drink mulled wine, and buy some festive crap.

Doorbell.

Jewelry and dried vegetables

Today was good thank you.
I have a big smile on my face.
I went to an interview and it was the professional equivalent of oral sex.
I had a pleasant walk from Kiraly to Raday utca.
I walked out of free will and personal desire, but I must say that walking seems a way easier option that finding any of those tram replacement buses.
They never come.
Even if they do come, you either ignore them because they have the wrong number or they ignore you because you are waiting at the wrong bus stop. Silly.
And if you manage to get on they will take you somewhere utterly unexpected and very inconvenient.
BKV.
Anyway. Walk people.
Than I have found my other Julia. We had a drink.
After that I came home and cooked some truly amazing mashed potatoes - try soured cream, rose peppers and boil the potatoes with "Rona" dried vegetables (szaritott leveszoldseg keverek)
2 spoonfuls. Wonderful.
Anyway.
And I have seen a piece of jewelry that I now desire.
In a shop where you simply must go - if you haven't been yet.
It is all Hungarian designers, Raday 31, www.sterling-galeria.hu, go-go-go.
You will love everything from their staff to their green bespoke display cabinets.


I have seen this ring there.
I can not forget it now.
It is 68.000 Ft.
It is not even for sale but I must have it.
It has a tree on it and it is timeless and flawless.
It even fits my tiny fingers.
I still suffer from parting-anxiety. Shock. Trauma.
Never me mind.
Here is a ring very similar from Krisztina Stomfai. My new favourite.
Object of desire indeed. And fish seems to be my theme today.

Object of desire?

Whoever has thousands of pounds to pay for this -

By the by do you know what this is?

Can you guess?

It is a functional object...

so whoever folks out my yearly salary to posses this thing should surely be forced to work in
McDonald's. A 25 hour one. In Romania. Yes, in suburban Bucharest.
No doubt in my mind:
16th century ornate seal my butt. Get me that quoter pounder and smile, rich person! - they will the him loudly in Romanian. It will be terrifying and very humiliating.

I feel it is safe to be mentally cruel to people I don't know.
I didn't say it was healthy, but it is safe.

Not just now

I wanted to write about something, but I am not going to, only later on, when it will be still outrageous, but a bit more allowed to be vulgar.
I am taking a save approach of only tenfinger-mumble about life in general, sparing you the painful details.

For now it goes like:

I have watched my Brigit Jones DVD today because:

1. It was just one of those days. Ok? And yes I did have chocolate.

2. I have still 6-7 years before I hit her age, and the moral of the story is that there is still hope there. In fact for this fictional character life seems to just begin when she is 33 and that is very comforting.

3. It is very funny.

4. She looses and gains weight as she pleases and that is also hopeful.

I guess us Hungarian woman are more the desperate housewives type than singletons cum spinsters in their London lofts covered in crazy wallpaper.

And when I say housewife in Hungary I don't mean somebody who lives in a house and is married to a man. Not as defined by HBO and pop culture, but as determined by everyday chores, duties and strict gender roles.

Bla, bla, bla...

Off to bed with foolish me, may my dreams tear me away from my computer.