Why do women compete? Why do I compete with women?
To be honest, I would always say I am not that kind of person, that kind of woman. The kind that is jealous, the kind that always envies everything from other ladies. Who is better? Better-looking? Who is more successful? Who is the one with the most romantic husband?  But I am that kind. The type that tries to outrace the other.

When in competition, in sports (which I rarely do), jobs, or telling jokes in bars, I’d rather be up against men than women. How silly is that? 

We women rather sit down and chat about the deeper meaning of life and nail-polish, than we allow the other to shine…. Maybe it is nature versus nurture, but can’t we beat this prehistoric friendship/survivor deal? I will make it my goal for this week: my fellow females can rely on me from now on! Are you with me?

Lucy

(high heel race)

With the sun shining its vitamin Z all over Western Europe, white women like me are outside with skirts, dresses and without sleeves. All over town my friends are  trying their utmost to look like they have been to Costa Rica for the past month. And so do I.

(Kim Kardashian sunburned)

While siting on terraces and barbecuing in gardens and on tiny balconies, we try to tan all sides: the left side of our faces, the right, front arms, back, you know the drill. But we don’t tan. We turn red.

Although we all compliment each other with the beautiful orange-reddish colours on our forearms and feet, we know and feel like idiots. Maybe it is the combination of cool white wine and the promise of summer that makes us forget about all the bad consequences of sunbathing, but who does not want to look like - and thus feel like - just coming back from the best holiday ever?

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Most of the men (and women, come to think of it) in my surroundings praise women for having the skills to multi-task. “You can cook, clean, discuss, host, network, look beautiful and smile, all at the same time…”
Well, unfortunately, I do not possess any of such skills. I am not even very good at all of those things when performing them separately. But trying to do it all simultaneously is simply waiting for a disaster to happen. The food will be overcooked, over easy or burned, I am distracted from the discussion when I am trying to do anything else at the same time. And I do not smile when I am cleaning. The only multitasking I am capable of is enjoying the sun while working. But that only works when there are clouds, if not my screen looks like a mirror, and to be honest, how much work can be done while worrying if my front and back will get an even amount of UV radiation.

Is multitasking a talent, something you’re born with, or could it be trained? I am convinced that it should be the latter. Just to feel part of the female population in this world I should train. Today I will start by the combination of two simple things. But what? Just thinking about it all makes me pause all other activities. It should be more simple. I know something! Having lunch, outside, while enjoying spring, having the first meeting of the week. A professional meeting that is -at the same time- also personal. ;)

Lucy

What a joy! Sun! Blue skies! Happiness here I come! I don’t think it is possible to write anything without an exclamation mark! It is time to start celebrating, let’s celebrate the end of winter, the beginning of new times! We can even start longing for summer!

Actually, it is a pity the old-fashioned spring-cleaning spree is no longer a tradition, when I was a child (not so extremely long ago), my mother still used the beginning of spring as an excuse for a couple of days hardcore cleaning. Which seems awful, but was not. A new fresh breeze came to our house, we shook of the dust of the cold and were inspired to start new adventures. I still have the exact same feeling of restlessness in me when the ice in the air is slowly disappearing and a sense of softness has come to town.

So, I am setting up my own spring moment. My jacket made of sheep wool will be stuffed in the back of my closet – I swear: that jacket was sexy as hell, but now I bring out the real stuff. Open shoes, dresses, tops, hmm come to think of it, my dress code is not that much different in spring, skirts, high heels, I mean, what else can a woman wear when out in town? But still, I won’t be freezing anymore…
Back to my own personal rite-de-passage, how to do a spring –cleaning without the cleaning? How to start all these new adventures waiting ahead? Maybe, unlike my mother, I won’t start dusting, I will simply throw out the old, and make room for something new. I am not talking about my house now. Goodbye winter lovers, hello world! At the end, what is better then a real fresh start?

dan-eemariee:

First 100 to follow these rules will be promoted to my THOUSANDS of followers.

1. Must be following dan-eemariee.  [I follow back always]

2. Reblog. [likes don’t count.]

I will be doing 4 sets of 25, with the first 5 tumblr links in each list in bold, right when I see that it has reached 100 reblogs.

Hope you gets lots of followers!

:-)

emotionalknapsack:

Pretty women wonder where my secret lies.
I’m not cute or built to suit a fashion model’s size
But when I start to tell them,
They think I’m telling lies.
I say,
It’s in the reach of my arms,
The span of my hips,
The stride of my step,
The curl of my lips.
I’m a woman
Phenomenally.
Phenomenal woman,
That’s me.

Whoever thinks the love life of a single woman in her thirties is a walk in the park, must come from Pluto.
It’s complicated, true. 
And goddamned, at the same time, the dirty thirty love jungle can be so much fun!
Never a dull moment, extreme joy and pleasure go hand in hand with loneliness and tears… Or am I becoming a bipolar maniac?

No bone in my body is longing for a serious long term relationship. I think. Okay, maybe that’s an exaggeration, but for now, I am totally happy with my three lovers and free of any responsibility.

The first lover, let’s call him Dean, is a man who knows how to feel, how to dance. He comforts me without actual words, but with a deep deep understanding of me and my needs…
The second lover, my tall handsome Carl, is intelligent and a romantic in the purest sense of the word. His written words alone already make me want to undress for him.
The third one, the newest, is Nicolas, funny and fresh (read young), and he knows how to play the game.

So to complete my Samantha Jones act, I need to feel sexy. Although I am not blond, tall, and skinny like my idol, but dark haired, short and voluptuous, I realised my body is my partner in crime, my instrument even.

It’s not so much about how it looks like, but more how I feel in it. This ‘wisdom’ I did not read in a magazine nor was given by some kind of lifestyle guru. No, I spent a couple of weeks at a Brazilian beach. Being stuck between zillions of trillions divine Brazilian bodies, I realised something. I was watching and feeling humble with my pale skinned, European office sculpted body. But the more I watched, the more I saw they were not so gorgeous as they seemed. They pretended to be gorgeous and adored every inch of every part of their body. They were parading on the beach thinking they were swimsuit models…
And the funny thing is, they became swimsuit models. And yes yes, I know it’s such a cliché, but really… try it!

Walk around like your  God’s gift to man , and see what happens…

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