a woman with passion

Ever since I was little I was told by my mum that I had a very bad sleeping habit, because I slept on my stomach, and she said I crashed my lungs, my heart, my stomach, my breasts and they would never function properly and that I would have small breasts all my life and that one day I could have an heart attack in my sleep. She also said that the best way to sleep is to sleep on one’s back, like her. I never followed her advice like every other advice she gave me about life, not only because I was rebellious but more importantly I just COULD NOT SLEEP on my back.

As time go by, I remember waking up in the morning in my teenage days, checking to see if my breasts got completely crushed and became airport runways. Luckily they grew bigger and bigger everyday, such growth stopped a few years back of course, and I continue to sleep on my stomach.

Recently, I learned a few things about sleeping positions and personalities: those who sleep on their back are confident and ready to confront the world; those who sleep on their stomach are shy and reserved. My position is not simply on my stomach, it is called “free fall”, that is when you sleep on your stomach, with arms around the pillow and head turned to one side. Only 7% of the population on earth sleep in this position.

Personality wise, it says:

You have a passion for everything - including sleeping. Yes I completely agree!!!!
Outgoing and brash, you tend to still shock those who know you well. Maybe!
You tend to be selfish. You are the most likely type to hog the covers. What? I guess I don’t like critics, :))
You gravitate toward comfort and don’t like extreme situations.
I am sleeping for god sake, of course I want comfort, do you want to sleep in extreme situations?


What position are you? and your personality?
http://www.dribbleglass.com/sleep/sleep1.htm

And when you are with your loved one?

http://www.wimp.com/sleepingstyles/

do you have kids?

http://www.babycenter.com/refcap/baby/babysleep/7586.html

I finally understood why I am still single, I take up too much space, I mean the whole bed, and even when there is someone else, I fill the whole bed in a “free fall” with “Passion” of course. At least I know I will not eventually die of heart attack because of my sleeping position, or 7% of world population will do so just like me.

I sleep with passion…because I have passion... I am a woman with passion...

...long lost love

« hello Ana … »
« yes ? »

A lazy afternoon lying on my couch, smoking a duty free cigarette from Finair, I got a call from him. Who? Him? Which who? which him? some guy from Dubai, someone I met 6 years ago on a flight from Paris to Shanghai.

I vaguely remember that due to overbooking, I got upgraded to first class and there I chatted with this French guy. I have zero memory of his face nor figure nor what he did for life, but apparently I gave him my number. Was it because he was cute? or simply rich? Or that after 12 hours sitting next to each other I could not say no?

6 years, it has been 6 years, he moved from US to Swizterland and then to Belgium and then to Dubai, he kept my number the whole time, I am so touched, and then he called me using “vous” (vousvoyer as the polite, formal and distant form in French). He was so proper and calm and confident on the phone I could not make an excuse and hang up.

This is all so intriguing:

- He did not call me 6 years ago, because he was married or engaged? 6 years is enough to get married and have 2 kids and then divorced… or maybe he is still married…just looking for an adventure?
- He did not call me 6 years ago, he was working for the secret service? Now the war (whichever one) is over, he is retired? But retired in Dubai?
- He did not call me 6 years ago, because he was a gigolo, supported by some rich 80 year old woman, now she is dead in her armchair surrounded by 20 cats and he inherited all her assets?
- He did not call me 6 years ago, because he misplaced my number and after all the moves, my number suddenly showed up on his desk?
-He did not call me 6 years ago, because he was not sure if he liked me, and now he finally made up his mind.
- He actually called me 6 years ago, and we had a great time together, not sure where, and had wild sex in his hotel, but I just don’t remember?
-So Sunday afternoon, he must have been extremely desperate and lonely after having called everyone whom he could have called in his little black book, left him no other numbers except mine.
- He actually remembered what we talked about 6 years ago, so maybe I told him I was with someone, yet no questions asked this time, only an invitation to dinner?

So he is in France visiting family and proposed dinner Sunday night, should I?

- What if he is a complete waco?!
- What if he is short and fat and ugly? I have no memory at all and I could not ask him that over the phone either. “hey, are u fat?”
- Would you invite a girl you met 6 years ago to dinner? What if she is fat and ugly and old and pregnant now?
- What the xx, I need some excitement in my life.
- He could send whoever to dinner, I wouldn’t even know. And I could send whoever to this dinner and he will not notice either. How perfect!
- Maybe it is a scam, he will ask to borrow money …and then disappear in the bathroom.
- Maybe he will kidnap me although my family has no money at all. Should I ask some friends to go to the same restaurant that evening to protect me? Just in case I mean.
-Maybe I got partial temporary amnesia from this recent trip, he is really a long lost love of mine?

Should I at least pretend from now on until Sunday that he is indeed my long lost love? Isn’t life all about faith and believing? Isn’t love all about convincing oneself? To my long lost love of life.

water world

humidity aisa

Finair, the finest airline of all time

Creative minded me chose Finair for a 12 and half hours journey from Paris to Guangzhou, China with a stop in Helsinki; the real reason behind it of course is it is cheap. Since Helsinki is way up north, it is sort of on my way to China, the transfer only adds one hour to the entire trip.

As soon as I was on board, I started worrying, I only had 25 minutes to make the connection, if I miss that, I suppose I would be stuck in Helsinki getting an extended sauna until the next flight 24 hours later. As I expressed my concern to one of the flight attendants, I was suddenly surrounded by 3 or 4 most beautiful blond flight attendants with the most strange accent trying to explain to me how small the airport was and that I needed worry. If I were a guy, this could have been the most wonderful moment in my life. They must have expressed my concern to the captain as well; the plane actually landed 35 minutes before schedule. I wonder if the captain was blond as well, and how they manage the airport with planes arriving early just like that.

Needless to say, second part of the journey started smoothly as well. Finnish have the reputation of being rather quiet, yet my neighbour was not one of them; he quickly introduced himself, a training manager for Nokia. Apparently he has been to China more than 10 times already, through this sweet and gentle engineer of Nokia, I quickly understood that more than half of the passengers on board worked for Nokia or affiliated companies in telecom. It is only natural, China is the number one world mobile hand set market now.

My sweet neighbour soon expressed a strong desire to chat through this long flight; with no delay, he pulled out three different models of Nokia cell phones and started explaining to me the differences, their pros and cons… I wish I had taken swiss air, maybe there would be someone explaining to me the different percentage of caocao changes the taste of chocolates and I would have to taste chocolates during the entire trip.

“you know what, I really have to sleep,” I felt so bad when I said that, yet his words on mobile phones were just way more effective than sleeping pills.

In the middle of the night, I woke up to look for some snacks, that is when I realised the real catch of Finair. SNACKS ARE NOT FREE!!! All of a sudden I missed those good old days with Air France when there is unlimited supply of fruits, sandwiches, ramen noodles, ice creams and lion bars, who need the blond girls, I want FREE SNACKS!!!

Boleo – by the light of the moon...Part II

Now that I know I have the attention of the white hair Argentina man, the only question is when and how he is going to come and ask me to dance. And more importantly, how am I going to actually “dance”, I kind of hoped that I still had time for a few more lessons.

Ana: Don’t you think it is time you went dance with some other women? People probably think we are married you know.

Friend: We make a wonderful couple, no? (my friend in need obviously sensed that he was no longer really in need; rather a friend in obstacle, but he is playing along to annoy me a bit).

Music came to a stop, it is the end of the third tango, this is also when they put on some fast rhythm which doesn’t mean anything at all. However, for people in the club, it is the moment which meant everything: it is the moment for changing partners and real conversations. I searched my white hair Argentina man in the crowd, he is taller than the majority men in the club, probably in his 50s, but his white hair makes him more than 60 years old. I cannot really describe him as good looking; yet appearance probably takes on a very different perspective in a tango club like this. Being a good dancer, his confidence and charm brought him all the power to march into every corner of the club with grace and ease. He had a few words with the girl he danced with and then walked to the bar to join a buddy of his. He had his back facing me, I wondered if he was talking to his friend about that girl he just danced with, or about football and politics, or about his wife and kids…

I hear the music changing and quickly stood up, “Let’s dance!” I probably wanted to say, “Let’s practice!”

Friend (stood up slowly): I thought you were trying to get rid of me.
Ana: Just dance!!!
Ana (trying another strategy, this time big charming smile): I like dancing with you, they say tango is the dance of love, you better be careful, you might fall in love with me.
Friend: I am already under your charm.

Did I mention that he was French? And very French? I realise this friend can be a real friend, like a cushion in certain occasions; or a coach for seduction; or he might want to play competitor. But who cares, I am up for the ride.

Ana: So was that an Argentina woman you were in love with? And that inspired you to learn tango?
Friend: And you are just in love with tango, which will then make you fall in love with Argentina men?
Ana: I realize not only you are using plurals form “Argentina men”, but also you responded my question with another question. This is just all too intellectual for me, I better focus…

Before I could focus on my steps, I saw this couple on the dance floor, they must have arrived just as I was busy talking. This time I could only notice the woman, she was absolutely stunning, dressed all in black, a tank top and knitted pants, as the bottoms were too large, she put a knot on each side to hold it up. Red shoes with heels of at least 10cm. Long curly dark hair worn pulled to the back. What I loved most was on one side of her ears she wore a piece of red feather, just enough red and black to tango in the light of the moon. With her partner, they took up all the space on the dance floor, I was certainly not the only one who noticed them. My eyes followed every step she took; I would not want to take a single breath if that will make me miss one of her movements. I was enchanted and mesmerised.

The third tango, we did not dance, I just sat and watched. Yet I could feel one side of my face burning, the white hair Argentina man was looking at me, I know it, but I never took my eyes off the red feather woman.

Ana: Is he still watching me?
Friend: Yes!
Ana: Are you sure he is from Argentina?
Friend: Yes, I heard him talking. You are afraid you get a fake one?
Ana: LV bags can be made in China, this guy could just be French like you, in that case I want my money back.

I turned to the right and smiled at my Argentina man, he had been smiling the whole time, seemed to be highly amused.

Ana: If you just go to the bar after this tune, he might be ready to come and talk to me.
Friend: I don’t think this guy will worry about my presence, I want to see the details.
Ana: Fine!

Music stopped, the Argentina man stood up and went to the bar.

The next round of tango started, I just sipped on my Perrier didn’t even look for him. I was pretty sure that he would turn up just like that and ask me to dance, in proper French but a slight Spanish accent.

As I looked up, there he was …on the dance floor…. with the red feather woman!!! Of course!!!

All that sweat coming from the dance floor mixed with various type of perfumes, cigarettes and alcohol and beautiful music from the past and people whispering in a language I don’t understand, skirts, high heels, red, blue, black and many more… I could only think of one word TRAGIC, written upside down, backwards, in French or in Spanish, it is still T-R-A-G-I-C, TRAGIC!!!

- by the light of the moon...

Boleo – by the light of the moon...Part I

There are two types of Argentina men who are worth meeting in one’s life time - the sexy long haired football player and the old and ugly 70-year-old tango dancer. Since the world cup is starting in a couple of months, no footballers within my scope, why don’t we go and meet the old and ugly tango dancer tonight.

Escorted by a friend who knows how to tango (two years of tango lessons under his belt), we ventured into a local Latino club where they alternate between various Latin dances. Half past ten, the small club was half packed. We found a little table against the wall, we put down our motorcycle helmets and quickly changed into our dance shoes. The helmet is an important detail, since I came on a motorcycle in some baggy jeans, that gives me the right to go to the bathroom and slip on my little red skirt.

My friend went to get us some drinks at the bar like a real gentleman, my eyes are completely glued to the dance floor, fascinated by how people dance. The crowd is rather mixed, people anywhere from 25 to 70 years old. Many look like regulars, they come in groups. I have always loved tango, it is so emotional and dramatic.

This is my first tango ball, I only had 2 lessons.

Before I had time to think what I was supposed to do to pull off this first ball, there is already a man in front of me inviting me to dance. “no, Ana, what are you doing!” I got up and whispered to his ears, “ I happen to be a beginner, but I am very willing…” he smiled and led me into the dance floor…

The tradition in a club is the following: tango dances are in groups of 3. Usually, men will invite women to dance, they dance 3 tangos without changing partners. If he leaves her before the end of the 3rd tango, it is considered rude; however, if he stays with her after the 3rd tango, it is considered INTERESTED.

This first one is not yet too difficult, I guess my partner just decided to walk the tango. I asked to leave and find my friend after the first tango before any further embarrassment.

Friend:
Let me give you some background information. In a tango club like this, there are only 4 types women: 1. beautiful women who dance well, once men find them, they will let them go; 2. ugly women who dance well, they have difficulty getting started, but once people see how they dance, they will do fine; 3. beautiful women who don’t dance well, they get invited fast by lots of people, after a while, it will be okay; 4. ugly women who don’t dance well, they should go home right away.

Ana: Thank you for the analysis, to satisfy my self-esteem, I got invited before you even got me a drink, which makes me the type 3 women, but now everyone knows how badly I dance, no one will invite me anymore.

Friend: The night just started.

Ana: Thank you for being here, you are a friend in need, a real friend indeed.

I took a big sip of my Perrier and stood up ready to conquer the dance floor, my friend had this naughty smile on his face, I had to add “your mission is to make me look like a real tango dancer”. “My honour, your majesty!”

I did the classic salida, ocho and followed by a slick boleo, except that boleo was slick enough to kick un unknown leg.

Friend: Easy Ana, you are not on the stage, it is a club!
Ana: I should get a mojito, that should help!

I suddenly caught a glimpse of the guy who asked me to dance the first tango, he was with a Japanese woman. Rice Cooker he is, not sure which model though. I have to say they dance a very Zen type of Tango, must be the rice and soy sauce thing.

As I was intrigued by all the little details of each couple on the dance floor, my friend drew my attention to this white hair tall Argentina man who just walked past us and sat down at the next table.

I then started follow his movements, a real good dancer and very skilful with women. He only dances with the best and the most beautiful. Women in his arms are just surrenders.

Before I knew it, he was dancing just in front my face, with the most sensual movements, the beautiful woman with her eyes closed. It was so close I didn’t know if I was supposed to focus on their legs or other parts of the figure. Music stopped, he was looking straight into my face, “how are you?”

As I smiled back politely, music started again, he danced away with his partner.

My friend commented in the background: “You are in!”

(to be continued)