Some anxiety with a slice of humour on the side

I am having an anxiety attack as we speak. I’ve been having it for a couple of hours already and last night I had a similar one. I pretty much feel like screaming. But I don’t because I can’t wrap my head around what should I scream about first.

Possible causes:

1. It’s that time of the month. That time of the month when I have to cut&colour my hair. I cut&colour my hair every other month. Two weeks before the visit at the hairdresser it looks just sad. And it has grey roots. Depressing.

2. In the past few days spent too much time inside, in front of the computer, reading about London, instead of actually exploring it. Pro: I spent no £££ and the introvert inside me is happy for the break. Cons: Hmmmmm…none. I needed this break.

3. In case sugar and mascarpone are anxiety triggers, it’s because I had too much Tiramisu last night and today. And I might have another one once I finish writing this.

4. I read like 400 hundred pages and o tone of articles in two days.

5. I had one month holiday. Of course you go crazy when you do nothing and then rest.

4. Maybe I need to up my dose or change my meds?


What to do (if you don’t have Xanax at hand)

1. Breath (I did. Not working)

2. Count and count and count (I did. In two languages. Not working)

3. Organize a drawer/cupboard/something (No, thank you)

4. Try to stay in the present. Don’t let your mind stray (I looked out the window at the half moon and the few stars, amazed of what nice colours the night sky has. Then I remembered the colours are because of the pollution and I got mad)

5. Call a friend and look for sympathy (Not my style)


What I did:

1. Cracked three eggs and beat them hard. Added salt and pepper, goat cheese and green onion. Made a hell of a omelette and wolfed it down. 

2. Talked about it on the blog.


Am I feeling better? 






The Locust and the Bird

I have just finished The Locust and the Bird by Hanan Al – Shaykh and I am trying to sync my feelings about it. I read it very fast (I started it yesterday) and I am not sure it was a good idea to read it that fast. But I felt that the pace of the book was fast as well so I just kept up with it. 

I liked best the setting. I almost felt like I was following around the characters, like I was there, in a corner, taking a sneak peek at their lives. Not many descriptions make me feel like that.

As always when reading about how women in Middle Eastern are treated, I get angry. Then I remember how back in the day, Romania was not far from arranged marriages and husbands behaving like masters. And I get even angrier.

Kamila fought the situation in which she was dragged into by her family and had it her way, eventually. I always appreciate this, both in books and in real life: not settling for what you are given, but fighting for what you deserve. We all deserve to be happy, loved and appreciated for who we are, not for what we could become, if we tried harder, at someone’s request.

Kamila remained herself at all times and I love this about her. Involving her children in her mess made me cringe, though. Taking the kids with her to meet her lover, having the kids lying to the creditors for her, I don’t know…it sounds like child abuse to me and I am very sensitive about the matter, to be honest. She wasn’t better than her mother, who forced her into a marriage. They both wronged their children, even though in a different manner.

I know they were living different times but exposing the rotten world of adults to your children is wicked, in my opinion. 

One thing that puzzled me a bit: I lived under the impression that Hanan was Muhammad’s daughter. At least it was implied at one point but it never occurred again throughout the book. At the end of the book Hanan is reading Muhammad’s writings and she somehow connects with him. It is not clearly stated they are father and daughter but I choose to take this scene as a confirmation. After all, of all children, Hanan only has the gift of writing.

On a personal level, I must admit that Kamila being so hyper and all the blunders she was doing, raised my anxiety a bit. Usually movies have this effect on me. It rarely happens with books.

Now I’ll carry on with my Saturday. Because Kamila kept me busy, now I have to cancel a night out and carry on with things I was supposed to do today but I didn’t. Bummer! On the bright side, sister is making us Tiramisu so it won’t be a completed wasted Saturday night. 

How to sexually please a female Capricorn

I sometimes google funny stuff out of boredom and I am amazed how full of crap internet can be. The articles I found on how to please a Capricorn woman scared me at such level that I am determined to never ever answer the question “what’s your sign, love?”

Let me give some Capricornian feedback to some of the advice I have found on the internets:

This website preaches the classy, sort of geeky approach:

Art museums are a great first date option for a Capricorn woman. Intelligence is one of her biggest turn-ons.

Okay. I admit. I once dated a guy only because I didn’t understand a thing from his CV. And I love museums with all my heart. But at the end of the day, I am not that much into mental orgasms. These I can have on my own.

I remember how once I turned down a guy asking me out to Tate Modern for a first date and accepted another guy’s invitation, to the Wicked musical. The guy with the museum was an economics professor. The guy with the musical was in IT. Both very boring jobs, as far as I was concerned. But the guy with the musical was taller. And that was decisive. I try not to make my life more complicated than it already is.

Here we finally encounter some nasty advice.

The knees are something that this particular sign absolutely loves. They like their knees caressed, like them touched, like them rubbed. If you want to get anything out of the best sex tips for a Capricorn, you’ve got to give a try to touching their knees! Just a light brush can drive them completely insane!

Ok, I’ll be back in a bit…

Hmmm…I am back…I took a moment and did some of this stuff to my knees but nothing happened. I am pretty sure my knees are senseless. The only sensitive knees I reckon they were in Ally McBeal. There was a guy there, making all women orgasm by doing their knees. To all my future boyfriends: stay away from my knees, for God’s sake! (and yours).

Another great thing about a Capricorn is that they aren’t scared to experiment. If you’ve been dying to pull out the handcuffs and pull a bit of Fifty Shades out behind closed doors, they are fine with it! They actually love bondage and BDSM – just a little bit of course. They don’t want to get too rough, but a little is perfect!

First and last time I heard of BDSM was last week. I was talking with a girl friend and a male friend (ex boyfriend) and the girl mentioned this. I was all confused and asked her to explain me. The ex excused me by saying: She never tried it. To which I promptly replied: I never tried it with you! You don’t know what I did before and after! And then we all laughed at the very thought innocent Lavinia would do something actually dirty (I am making this up now. We laughed at something else, I forget what).

Back to the quote above, here is how I see it. I could probably deal with a pair of handcuffs but in the name of all gods out there, if you even mention Fifty Shades, you are out of my life, my phone book and I block you on Facebook, I swear! I try hard to pretend this book was never written, hence never made into a movie. Please don’t ruin my fantasy. 

They also love secrets. It could be secret spots all the way to swapping secret fetishes behind closed doors. They want to get under your skin, they want you to know everything about them and they want to connect with you on a deep level. Keep that in mind whenever you are behind closed doors!

No. No. No. I am no Mata Hari. I want sex. I don’t want secrets. I have my own.

A Capricorn is not someone that is going to not think about where they are having sex, so remember, the atmosphere is something that matters. Clean sheets, candles and a little romance to make the place look amazing can truly work wonders and can really get you exactly what you want! Who doesn’t love that?

Clean sheets, please. Thank you. And I think this just common sense not erotic. I have a complicated relationship with candles. I only like them in winter and not for too long. I was dragged to many Romanian funerals as a child. Even the scented candles end up reminding me of a funeral. Romanian funerals are horrid. I don’t want to remember them.

Here is the cherry on top. I saved the best for last! Wohoo!

Please note the exhaustive chart created by the scientists after duly researching for two years how to sexually please a Capricorn.

Lick or kiss her behind her knees. Lightly graze the area behind her knees with your fingers

Not the knees again, please, people!

Use this Restraints – Fantasy bondage tape (Black)  and give her a full body massage with this Sex oil – Sensual massage oil (soaring spirit).

At least the book which shall not be mentioned was not mentioned. I am game with the massage but I’ll be fast asleep afterwards, I hope that’s okay.

Add on some Nipple clamp – Tweezer clamps.

Unless you want them used on your unmentionables, DON’T EVEN BRING THEM ONSITE.

Let her drink the most healthy aphrodisiac cocktail a week long: blend watermelon with avocados or, if you can’t find any watermelon, blend oranges with avocados.

Add some meat to that and we can call it supper. I love myself a good supper.

To sum up, take this from a Capricorn: if you wanna please a woman, any woman, don’t google it, dude! It’s not an Agatha Christie mystery novel! It’s just a woman. You can do it! 

My Anti – Rosie The Londoner style: let’s talk Paris

A while ago I went to Paris. With “the chap”, obviously. We didn’t “pop” and “hop”, we planned in advance, because this is what people with jobs do. Employers like their employees to ask for vacation days in advance, they don’t believe in free spirits that “pop” and “hop” to places out of the blue. 

So, as I was saying, we booked train tickets and we used for accommodation (we are free spirits with a limited budget). 

Before “hopping” on the train, I had to make a quick stop at Harry Potter’s shop. I just had to. I love love love the wizarding world. I read the books in March and I am still trying to make some time to watch the movies as well. 

I couldn't help it!

I couldn’t help it!

We travelled to Paris at first class, please envy us. (We paid £5 extra, it was a special offer but please don’t tell anyone, we want to look posh). I didn’t take pictures of the carriage or of the food or of me at first class. I know I should have but I was busy reading a Paris travel guide as it was my first trip ever to Paris and snoozing from time to time as I went to the station straight from work. Not glamorous at all, right? Right! So then I won’t mention I had sand in my shoes from a play at the sandpit that day (I am a nanny).

Now I feel sorry I didn’t document the trip and made a big deal out of it. It was a great achievement for a Romanian girl, not even from Bucharest but from a random town, who grew up in communism with scarce food and electricity. Silly me, not putting this trip in my CV!

In Paris we had breakfast in our little studio every day, mostly because I am one lazy bum and I like sipping my coffee in bed, for an hour or so, before I actually start doing something productive. I can’t always spoil myself, so weekends and holidays are for lazy mornings.

We had lunch and supper in cozy brasseries, in quiet neighbourhoods, far from the tourist crowds (“the chap” is Parisian, he knew what he was doing). We didn’t take pictures of food, of course. We ate it to the last bit. Every single time. 

Rosie’s chap takes lots of photos of Rosie, especially crossing streets. Mine couldn’t be bothered. He would have probably given me the most bewildered look if I had asked him to stay on the pavement and take pics of me while I was crossing the street in a daze, taking my time.

He did take some, though:


Fooling around on the narrowest street in Paris, Rue du Chat-qui-Pêche. Not so stylish but oh, so fun!

Fooling around on the narrowest street in Paris, Rue du Chat-qui-Pêche. Not so stylish but oh, so fun!


Last picture was taken in Jardin des Tuileries. I don’t know where the scarf or the dress are from but the cardigan is from Boden. God no, I didn’t buy it! My boss gave it to me after she shrank it when washing it. As always, best item of my outfit is the book. That time I think it was The Help by Kathryn Stockett. Reading makes you smart and smart makes you sexy. Trust me on this.

Rosie went to see a football game and so did I. Except I went to a big stadium, I forgot the name, where there was a finale going on, I forgot which finale. The teams playing were Paris St. Germain and Lyon. With the chap being Parisian and all, I had to cheer for the Paris team, which won, only because I cheered for them, I am sure.

Football game

Football game

Few days later we “hopped” on the train, not first class this time as no promotion was going on and “popped” back to London, to our ordinary, out of style but real lives. 

Speaking of real lives, I’ll end this entry here because I have to go grocery shopping. There is no Waitrose where I live, not even a Sainsbury. But for the sake of poshness, I’ll go to Tesco, instead of Aldi. That’s all I can do upscale today. Oh, last night I had a £6 Peroni at Salvatore’s Bar in Mayfair. Is that glamorous or what? I went there for the Sinatra-like music, by the way…You should give it a try. No, the bar didn’t pay me to say this. They gave us lots of free nuts, though. 

Lavinia and public transport

I was too stupid to get a driver’s licence when I was younger and now I have lost interest. I will only buy a car if I can afford a driver as well. Therefore I am prepared for a lifetime spent in public transport.

I have lived in three countries so far: Romania (in Craiova and Bucharest), Canada (Toronto) and UK (London) and I have travelled around Europe a little bit. Here is my two cents about public transport:

London has the best public transport system, complex yet easy to get around it, thanks to the arrows pointing you to the right direction all the time. Honestly, you have to be completely illiterate not to find your way in London. 

Toronto has the most polite bus drivers ever, always saying hi, how are you and bye to passengers, giving directions when asked, unlike the London bus drivers who sometimes gave me the impression they have no idea on what route they are on.

But Toronto’s tube is a joke. Bucharest has more lines than Toronto and that’s ridiculous.

Italy is the worst ever. Worse than Romania.

In Rome you never ever know when the buses are coming or if they are coming. They don’t seem to run according to any schedule whatsoever. I feel for people in Rome that have to go to work every single day. 

In Milan I couldn’t use the tube because I had no idea how. No map, no arrows, no employees to ask for directions. I walked instead. 

In Barcelona I used the touristic bus only and it was great. But that was ages ago. I will have to go back and check. 

In Berlin was pretty much like in London, including people drinking beer in the trains.

Paris has great connections but the trains are so dirty it makes me sad. A city like Paris deserves better trains. Not to mention I was terribly embarrassed by all the Romanian gypsies singing and begging around. I love good music in the tube, London has plenty of it and I always spare some change for the musicians. But Paris was another story…

Greece is pretty much like Italy. I almost missed my plane once because they diverted a bus and didn’t announce it. 

In London I am trying my best at all times to catch the last train home. I fear the night bus. I once had to take it and not because I partied too much, but because the queue at the cloak room was huge! 

For starters, on my way to the bus station, a guy approached me, all smiles, asking me if I wanted to take him home with me because he had a big penis. I said “good for you” but no, thanks. He asked me if he could have a hug instead. And no, he couldn’t. I come from Romania, where people knick your wallet when they come to close to you, so yeah…let’s call it a cultural thing…I don’t hug strangers. 

Then, in the bus, I had to go to the upper deck, for a free seat. There, people smoking pot. They were polite, they didn’t want me to feel left out: “Love, do you fancy some pot?” No, I didn’t. I was getting high already anyway, from the smell only. What a sad night: to have to take the night bus because a long queue at the cloak room and to get high from other people’s smoking.

Later on, some party girls got on the bus. And they had their eye on a cute Latino boy, most likely coming from a late shift somewhere. Apparently his name was Felipe and he was Brazilian and one of the girls tried to persuade him to come home with her but Felipe stood his ground. So the heart broken girl did a wee wee on the floor, close to the stairs, that much wee wee that is got all the way to the lower deck. There must have been at least two beers there. 

This is why I am done with the night bus in London. I am too old for this shit. So I am leaving all parties Cinderella style, by midnight. Anyway I like a good night sleep so it is all for the better.

But in Toronto I had a different kind of experience.

I was in a bus trying to get to a tube station to catch my last train home. I was reading a book and missed the stop (it happens a lot, I am hopeless). I realised what I did at the end of the route and complained to the driver. He showed me which bus to take to go back but I told him it was useless, as my last train home was gone. The good driver didn’t leave me stranded, no! He said he had a break anyway and he turned the bus around, drove it to my front door and waited until I was safe inside. How cute was that?