Monthly Archives: October 2015

I got it from my mama

Stop worrying so much! Why do you question everything? Everything is going to be alright.

A couple of weeks ago a friend of mine shared a thought with me that pretty much coincides with an observation that I have made especially often now that I have a male somebody to share my thoughts with 24/7: while men can’t be bothered most of the time, women just can’t stop worrying about everything. Everything. Am I going to succeed? What if I’m not smart enough? Am I pretty enough? Does he really love me? Is this going to last forever? What did he mean with ‘ok’? Is it me or does my tushy look huge in these jeans? Now is this a good or a bad thing? What am I going to eat for lunch? Am I ever going to get rid of that extra piece of cake? I don’t know about you but that’s what I got from my mama.

My friend told me to write a post about it so I started thinking – great concept. Thinking of the situations where I worry about something and comparing it to the rare situations I can recollect of my boyfriend or other men worrying brought me to another conclusion: men do worry – they just don’t worry about the same type of things as women do.

Besides worrying about love and their weight 24/7, women worry a lot about their loved ones and how everything will work out for them. Women can’t just let their men leave the house without worrying about their well-being. Maybe you should put on a jacket, it will be cold in the evening. Promise you won’t drive too fast. Are you sure you won’t be hungry? Men are like puppies, too jaunty to care for their health, they need to be chaperoned.

Neither can women just let their friend’s lives unattended. What did he say? Are you happy? Please don’t whatsapp while you drive. A good friend is somebody who questions everything before you can say it out loud, a good friend will think of things that you might have forgotten, a good friend is your conscience and your confidence when you can’t hear anything over the sound of life.

To women, happiness is a fleeting construct. They can never just be content with what they have – How long will it last? Is it really what we think it is? What if something happens to it? I believe that this is where jealousy comes from with women – panic of losing what makes us happy. In contrast I think what men think of when feeling jealousy is Who is better than me? Why is he better than me? I don’t like this. Maybe that is also the reason why they seem to be more indifferent to hurting other people – they can’t emphasize as much as women do. They can’t think of you when they are too busy with something else.

See what I’m aiming at? Men do worry, but do you know what they worry about? Themselves. And that is nothing they want to share with the world. Am I successful enough? Do I look bulky enough? Do people respect me? Did I satisfy her? Is my manhood big enough? Why talk about worries when you can talk about success, why communicate weakness and sorrows when you need to be the toughest? These are the things you only learn when things get uneasy, when life takes an unexpected turn, when they feel like they are broken or on rare occasions when even men enjoy the relieving sensation of sharing.

Maybe you don’t like this. Maybe this is too black or white for you. Maybe I’m wrong. Maybe this is just a brief thought. Maybe women should cut a slice off of men. But maybe we’re on the right track.

Questioning things can be good for you, sometimes.



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Let’s lose control

You know how you’re always looking for a meaning in life, the purpose of you being around? A couple of days ago a short conversation with a former fellow student of mine, let’s call him Berti, finally led me to my true vocation: maybe this blog should be for guys rather than girls and answer all of the questions that arise in connection to the other sex. Believe it or not, the questions that I’ve heard, the things that I have seen over the years clearly indicate that there might be a need for this. ‘Why do women go to the restroom together?’ ‘Why can women pee with a tampon inside?’ No, you should not rub your little friend at her in a club before saying ‘hi’. No, your hips should not perform circular movements during intercourse. And no, you most certainly did not make every girl before me come. Trust me.

So the conversation Berti and I had concerned the topic of dating. He showed me this article here and asked me what I thought. ‘How we buy vs how we date’. Interesting. As a marketing student, this should speak to me, after all there is little I find as interesting as the influence of manipulation on people. In my academic career, I’ve had several lectures on brands and how they need to build an intense relationship with their targeted audience in order to create a feeling of desire and dependence and blablabla so yes, I can see how you could make a connection to dating. There’s just one problem: I’m a romantic. Somehow.

As a consequence to this article, Berti drew the conclusion that, because of ‘small selection – bad outcome vs big selection – good outcome’, he should rely on his friends to hook him up with as many suitable girls as possible, all preselected based on their judgement. Meh. Some time ago, a good friend of mine wanted to hook me up with a guy I still get the chills from when I see him – so not my type (or anybody else’s, for that matter) but she insisted we’d be perfect together. Only one example of many I can think of where she went totally wrong and why I’m not convinced that friends are a good starting point. Also, comparing my time as a single to what I have now I would even say that looking outside of your bubble is the better way to go. But yes, it might be a good advice to put yourself out there for others to see in any way possible – the more the better, I can agree.

A big yes to the concept of cyber stalking though – I f*cking rock at this, all of my friends will confirm this. You want to know your crush’s most feared vegetable? I’ll scroll the f*ck out of his FB timeline to find a status update from around 2008, that time when we still thought this might be a relevant piece of information to share with all of our friends and their grandma. You did not know he was a local soccer superstar back in kindergarten? Well thankfully I took a closer look at the second page on Google. You live in the 21st century, you have the means to get any information you want, use them. You’re welcome.

Same goes with transparency: YES. If you’re really up for dating, this spares everybody involved a lot of time. How old are we? If you like somebody, let them know. If you’ve read the message, answer it right away – I promise you won’t be any more desirable if you let them wait for an hour. And if shagging the brains out of your counterpart is the only option for you at that moment, that’s also something that should be checked with them straight away. Time is money, you know, and she might even feel the same way about you, nobody’s that special.

We could go on comparing dating to other things, but you know what really bugs me? If people write articles like these and others really take them to heart, those people really miss out on the fun part. The talking, the laughing, the sharing. Being surprised, taking risk. Why stress when you can enjoy, why be cramped when you can be loose, why plan when you can play? In the end, as with every business, timing is an important factor for everything you do, if not the most important one – you never know when and where you’re going to meet someone that can have an impact on your future. Everything else is good fun and should be enjoyed, not planned, step by step.

Did you meet your special someone following rules and advice?

Losing control never hurt nobody, trust me.


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Sex sells

I am usually somebody to support other women in a lot of their decisions that might seem debatable to others. Just some simple examples: I don’t mind women using their female assets to get somewhere in life, as long as they do it in a smart way – I believe that there are women out there that can pull off a short skirt without looking cheap. While dressing like a downright slut is not a good thing, getting advantages out of a situation by using a smile or sneaky, female argumentation is a total go. I would also not call a woman easy for sleeping with a certain number of men, even if it was one per day –  as long as she clearly knows what she’s doing and not doing it out of desperate need for attention, as long as she’s in control and not somebody else’s doormat. We live in the 21st century and as long as you stay safe and your actions don’t affect others in a negative way, it is none of their business.

Now we know that the way that women present themselves in public is still a very sensitive topic leading to all sorts of discussions about sexism, feminism, blablaism that I have no appetite discussing in further detail today, I just wanted to make clear that I see myself as pretty insensitive to such things in comparison to the average judgmental woman – whatever that means, I know – before I start my rant about a fellow student of mine. I’m not here to call names, nor do I want to expose somebody behind their back, online. I just want to take one particular point that came to my attention and made me realize what I truly condemn in general: women that sell themselves short.

Making your tits the center of every profile picture you post is one thing. We get it: god blessed you with huge f*cking udders. Good for you. I’d probably do the same thing if I weren’t in a far more humble situation when it comes to this particular part of my body, who knows. What I really don’t get is the notion of making yourself look more stupid than you are. It’s not cute. It’s not attractive. I can’t think of a reason why this could be desirable to anyone except somebody with the balls of a hamster.

So why would you make a post about your graduation from a respectable institution, a milestone in your life, all about a cheap outfit, a disrespectful pose and hashtags that degrade yourself and other women? Now I know we shouldn’t take social media too seriously, but this was just one real-life example that made me realize how I get insulted by certain things in general: Acting stupid on purpose is never a good thing. Acting indifferent to an achievement, especially an academic one, ridiculing it, is never ever ever a good thing. Getting these sorts of vibes from another female makes me nothing but furious. It makes me want to grab your hair and slam some sense into that head of yours.

Some might say that modesty is the silver bullet, but if anything you should exaggerate, not downgrade. It is not only a pity that you feel like you need to sell yourself short to get more reception, it is an insult for every other woman out there, it really is. You’re fueling arguments that I believe would arise less often if we would not degrade ourselves at occasions where we could just as well be celebrating ourselves. You never see a man debase himself, so why do women see the need to do it?  The only way that I can explain this is with complete utter stupidity or a lack of something else. Whatever it is, you should work on it.

Sex sells, no question. I’m a marketing student – anything that promotes brains and other greater purpose, I’m all for that. You can be smart with your tits hanging out. I totally respect that.

Selling yourself short is not good for you, trust me.




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Dream a little dream

Peeeeps, I should be taking advantage of the fact that my boyfriend is out of town and that I have the time to write a super boring assignment about the internship that I did before I went back to uni this September, but I have so much blabla on my mind, so I thought I’d get rid of it while munching on spicy Christmas cookies. So let’s go:

Do you have a dream? A real one that consumes you each and every day of your life. A dream that you feel so passionate about that everything you do is directed towards the achievement of that goal? A dream you’d be willing to let your life for..? I don’t.

A couple of days ago the boy and I were watching a documentary about space tourism (Space Tourists, you can watch it here). It’s a really good documentary by one of my current lecturers Christian Frei (yes yes, perks of a fancy university) and I can only recommend his work to all of you. He has a sense of picking interesting topics and  turning them into an enjoyable, fascinating experience. ENOUGH WITH THE CRUSHING, what I was saying was – the plot of the story that Frei told us was revolving around Anousheh Ansari, the first ever space tourist. All throughout the documentary she was telling us how going to space had been her dream since she was a little girl, how she had always talked about it to her parents, how she even had made a back-up plan in case she didn’t make it to space (she had her husband promise her he’d send her ashes to space…), how she had been willing to do anything to make that dream come true – even die for it – and how it was now, after having travelled to space, her new dream to make space tourism available to everybody.

Now I’m sure you can imagine me, the annoying bunch of sarcasm that I am, sitting there and thinking to myself: what a crazy b*tch. What a crazy, delusional brat. Sure, you had 20 Million dollars to spend on a childhood dream and now you think anybody can and should do this, who cares about the environment, who cares about reality? You’d rather die than never in your life seeing earth from space? Good for you.

This lasted throughout the documentary and the day after. And then suddenly I started thinking: am I maybe the only one without a dream I’d be willing to die for, or let’s say, one of a few sad souls? Is this maybe that sense of life that everybody’s talking about and that I can’t seem to figure out for myself? Is it sad to not feel so immensely passionate about one thing? Should I be worried? Am I cold, am I boring? Should I go out there and find a dream that works for me ASAP? The only thing that I ever felt passionate about is to start a family one day, watch my kids grow and my husband thrive, making sure I make an impact on the lives of people I love*. I’m sure I’ll be passionate about that but naming this in a job interview would certainly not make you seem like an overachiever. But does that matter?

I’d be happy to hear more about your dreams, maybe there is something you feel really passionate about?

I guess dreams are good for you.


*I can already hear my boyfriend telling me ‘My friends have read your blog and they think you’re crazy.’ Yes, I might be crazy, but then again – I don’t wear Micheal Kors. I guess everything has its up- and downsides. And if this isn’t your humour, I’m sure you know the solution…

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Happy panic

Hi peeps, I’m back, ready to bitch around about the important things in life.

Today is a special day for me as my boyfriend is kinda moving in with me. After not having managed to scare the poor soul away in what has now been almost a year of being together, he is finally coming to Switzerland to put up with me on a more regular basis. Being in a long-distance relationship sucks, even if you manage to see your better half almost every week for a couple of days, so I’ve been looking forward to this day for a while now.

To be fair, this is just in time for an ultimatum that I had issued nit even one month into our relationship: moving in together after one year, latest. I’m Russian, remember? Guess what’s next – if a proposal doesn’t come my way in another years’ time, I will be writing a post about letting go… Time is money, commitment is beautiful and if we’re not on the same page then maybe it’s just not meant to be? #guyswithrussiangirlfriendswillknow

No pressure.

What I actually wanted to talk about is my feeling of panic that is slowly arising, the more real this step is becoming. Real, giggly, happy panic, with a pinch of horror.

It’s not like I’m afraid of being close to this creature 24 hours a day, 7 days a week. It’s not like I’m afraid we might not get along with each other and start hating one another. It’s not like I’m afraid of a good fight –  I think it can be healthy from time to time and it’s not like I haven’t gotten used to the fact that we’re both annoying and stubborn AF from time to time. It’s not like I can’t picture what to expect from living together with a man – the cleaning up, the nursing, the focusing of all attention there is on this one, whiney human being and his huge frenetic ego. I think I’m ready for all of this and I’m actually looking forward to having somebody to cater to. Again, I’m Russian.

What worries me is not him, not us – it’s me. It’s the triumph of reality, the irreversible loss of illusion that makes me nervous. How am I going to maintain all of the girly features that I had kept alive for almost a year now, neatly protected by the security of regular distance? Unimaginable. Hopeless. Imf*ckingpossible. I’m an animal. I’m a savage. I’m a tramp. I’m a weird blend of things that don’t fit together, that only show behind closed doors, when I’m sure that nobody’s watching, half girl half grown-ass man – you know what I mean?

The shaving, the epilating, the painting my nails, the creaming, the putting on make-up, the wearing pretty underwear, the cooking, the pretending I care about tidiness and discipline, the prepping, the powdering, the always horny, sweet little girl – that’s not who I am. That’s not what I think I can or want to be for more than a week. I’m lazy AF, I’m more of a man than he is, I just don’t care – I enjoy five hours of doing absolutely nothing more than I enjoy looking extra pretty. I’m in horror.

So what am I going to do? What do you do to keep your boy from knowing that girls are just short men with boobs? What do you do when you want to skip lunch and eat 300g of nuts instead? How big are chances he’ll think it’s cute for girls to have fluffy legs? Where do I go when I just want to look at half naked girls and scratch my balls, for f*ck’s sake? SOS.

Illusion is good for you, trust me.



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