Moving On

My days in Taiwan are numbered. Literally. There's a countdown in progress as you read this.

That means I'll be closing this blog soon.

If you can't bear living without somehow being in touch with me, looking at me, reading about me, you can check my Flickr page once in a while.

Love, hugs and kisses.

Ta-ta!

T

I HEART LIFE!

Anyone who lives in Taiwan knows the Blue Trucks of Death.

They are blue and they will bring you instant death, if you give them a chance.

They seem to outnumber taxis both in numbers and in number-of-injuries-incurred.

There are countless anecdotes about murderous blue truck drivers, but this is not one of those. This is a happy story.

I was standing on an overpass one day, taking random photos of cars (Yes, this is how every normal, 34yo Croatian woman living in Taipei passes her time!). I saw a blue truck approach and I zoomed in as much as my poor little cheapo camera could, hoping I’d get one of those typical, scary-looking blue-truck drivers. You know the kind I mean, dirty tank-top, one leg on the dashboard (sometimes it's the RIGHT leg, too!), flip-flops, mouth red with betelnut...

So, I go *snap*... and I get this:

Nothing special it seems. Two guys in a blue truck, kitchen appliances in the back... but wait till I zoom in:

Not only do they not look anything like I expected, but they're WEARING SEAT BELTS! and look at the t-shirt print: "I HEART LIFE"

OK, OK, that one guy does have his foot on the dashboard, but to his defense, he's not the driver, and more importantly, he's not wearing flip-flops!

Isn't this just the warmest, sweetest, loveliest blue-truck story you've ever read?!

In Theaters This Saturday

Pics from the party

Big thanks to Mr. Stuey Cool (a.k.a. theWOWWW. CHOPPER) for photoshoppin'

Disclaimer: everything on the poster is realistically portrayed except boob-size.

Losing Ass!

I looked in the full length mirror this morning and screamed in horror.

MY BUTT's GONE!

Before and after pics coming soon. The dressed kind, so don’t hold your breath or anything.

"Where did your ass go, Tasha?" you'll ask. Well, I’ve lost some weight and didn’t do muscle exercise in a while, so I guess that’s what happened.

This is a tragedy, people. I’m devastated.

And don’t anyone dare comfort me with: “It’s ok. Now you fit in better here in Taiwan.” I don’t want to fit in! I WANT MY ASS BACK!

Squats. Lots and lots of squats. And salmon.

If you see a giant foreign woman eating salmon sushi and doing squats while waiting at the bus or MRT station in Taipei, don’t be alarmed.

To Flip, Or Not To Flip?

Before we go deeper into the Flip Dilemma, let me get something off my chest first.

Behold my lovely, ruby-red Nokia that is no longer with us. Sigh!

It even went with my red doggy-collar! Now, how often does THAT happen, eh?

I have had my lovely, ruby-red Nokia for years and never lost it.
Mr. Where'sMyHead?I'mSureIHadItOnThisMorningWhenILeftTheHouse! takes it in his hands for, I'm not kidding, THIRTY SECONDS, and manages to loose it! Oh, the tragedy!

Granted, the phone was very, very old, and most of my friends were embarrassed to be seen with me in public because of it. So, looking on the bright side, maybe I'll even win back some of those friends I'd lost due to the out-of-dateness of my cell phone. YAY! cos those are definitely the kind of friends you wanna keep.

OK. That was necessary for closure.

Where was I? Flippin, yeah, that was it... So now, after about 4 years of carefree life, oblivious of what is trendy and hi-tech in the world of mobile phones, I have to decide what model to get.

Enter my friend Juski, a saint among Taipei socialites and a cell-phone aficionado, known for her charity work in the field of fine dining, corn popping and ice chewing.

J lends me her spare phone to tie me over till I figure out which new one I want to buy.

Here's the phone in question, next to a delicious bowl of creme brule from Lotz Food. Delish!

I don't remember what this was about...

Oh, yeah... about the type of phone. So, now I'm using this flip phone for the first time and I'm beginning to like it. It's got that whole What?!YouCan'tTalkToMeLikeThat...*SLAM!* dramatic effect to it, you know? Add a little hair toss and an eye roll, finish it off with a diva-exit and you've got yourself a perfect prop for creating a scene. How can you not love that!

So, now I'm totally confused. Should I stick to a non-flip phone or go Flippin?

See, J? See how I'm taking care of your phone? He's snug as a bug in this camouflage sock! He might not even want to go back to you. He, he.

Important note: I kept the same number, but lost the address book. So, please send me a text or call me if you want me to have your number. Thanks!

Errr... and if you can't send it because you don't have my number, there's a good chance that... you know... uh, do I have to spell it out?

Stealin From The Despised, Givin To The Hot

They sure don't make men the way they used to.

Luckily, there are still a few of them old-school boys left out there, who will go to any length to help out a damsel in distress.

Or, more specifically, a Croatian damsel who can't find her Croatian football jersey and the World Cup has already begun and she has nothing to wear to Croatia's games.

I'm sorry, we can't reveal what exactly transpired, because stealing is bad, bad, BAD... and we don't want to get our hero into trouble. So, gmail me for details. You'll love the story. I promise. He, he.

When asked to comment on the heroic deed, Mr. Hood had this to say: "What's the big deal? Been doin that shit since I was 10."

Awwww!

Speaking of football and World Cup, did you know that the FIFA website tells you exactly what each team wears, right down to the color of their socks? This truly IS the age of metrosexuals, isn't it?

Speaking of metrosexuals... here's one guy that definitly isn't. Dado Pršo.

I don't care how many guys' heads he kisses.

Cradle Robbers 'R' Us

Women in their thirties dating twentysomethingyearolds is apparently all the rage these days. So, I decided to get in on it and see if it's as fabulous as advertised.

It is.

Believe you me.

When I first told Mom about Mr. Taš, I ended the story with "... but there's just this one thing... he's a lot younger than me..." silence... suspense down the telephone wire... "Oh! By how much?" ... "Uh... six." "Oh, that's nothing! What are you talking about!?", said Mom cheerfully.

A week later I talk to Mama again. The first thing she wants to talk to me about is all these Croatian celebrities, women, who are dating much younger men at the moment. Now I get this report every week. It's like she's scanning the celeb news looking specifically for women dating much younger men. Hilarious. Especially coming from my mom who has never EVER been interested in what celebrities are doing, most of the time she couldn't name more than 3 singers and/or actors, and even those 3 would have been from back when she was in her thirties, the days of Sanremo, schlager music, Arsen Dedic and Gabi Novak.

So, apparently ("apparently" because I really can't be bothered to do research on this), Severina and Nina Badric are both dating a lot younger men.
Seve: and Nina: are the same age as me. Generacija '72. Nina even went to same high-school as me. I was darkerica, she was šminkerica, two opposing cliques, so we never hung out together, but I thought she was the most beautiful girl in the school. I love her album Ljubav.

Stanley Stick from Yilan

This new journey to freedom from bug-phobia has taken me to Yilan, a town on the Eastern coast of Taiwan.
In Yilan Samantha Jones ran into Stanley Stick. A gentleman among insects.

My first reaction to Stanley was to jump, scream and hide behind Indiana Jones. Stanley's first reaction, on the other hand, was not to move at all. Seriously, he wasn't afraid of me. He didn't budge. Not even a bit. He just stood there on the leaf, as if nothing happened. As if he had seen so many phobic city chicks go by that he couldn't be fazed anymore.

Thanks to the patience of Indiana Jones and my will to get over the fear, 5 minutes later I touched Stanley a bit. Major yuckiness and goosebumps! But I got over it. 5 minutes after that, I was holding him and 5 minutes after that Stanley and I were inseparable. I even let him crawl on my t-shirt. He chose my left boob to settle down on. Good choice. The guy is obviously a boob connoisseur.

Here's me holding Stan:

What a cutie pie, eh? And such a poser!

Er... someone needs a manicure. And those white spots on nails, I hear that's Zinc deficiency, is that right?

So, there you go. If you're a bug-phobe like me, I can recommend you to find your own Mr. Jones, get out there and start touching those bugs! If Samantha can be cured than anyone can.

Indiana Jones meets Samantha Jones

+ = ?

Up until a month or so ago I was one of those people who cringe and scream and run in terror at the sight of a bug. Centipedes, caterpillars, grasshoppers... EWWW! Just writing their names gives me the creeps.

Being a 100%, ISO-certified City Girl that I am, staying well within the city limits and never venturing into the nature, I had no problems avoiding bugs until now. A cockroach here and there, a spider in the kitchen every now and then... that's ok. I can handle that. Just don't send me into a forest, ok?

Howeverrrr.... irony, my favorite spice of life, made sure things got a little bit more complicated than that. It got me dating Indiana Freakin Bug Boy Jones who not only loves going into the woods to look for insects and lizards, but will find them in the middle of a busy road in Taipei, no problem.

We could be on our way to a nice restaurant, he'll be "Wait... look at that pile of garbage in that alley! Let's see if there are any bugs underneath!" Can you see the "Oh, YAY, let's!" written all over my face?

But, looking on the bright side of things, I am closer then ever to curing my phobia, which is a bonus, I guess.

All this talk of bugs reminds me of a BBC TV series I loved: My Family And Other Animals based on a wonderful book by Gerald Durrell.

Gerry himself is the main character. He's the Bug Boy. His mother moves the whole family to Corfu, which turns out to be a paradise for Gerald who will haul anything that moves into the house, to his family's horror.

Even though the idea of all these insects and other animals crawling all over the house scared the hell out of me, for some reason I wanted to be part of this quirky family and their life on the island. Which is a bit ironic because I already had an island just like that (Brač), with stone houses just like the one they lived in, with bugs and lizards just like those in Greece, with eccentric relatives and with a cool single mom just like Gerry's mom was. At the confusing age of 16 I somehow didn't see that at all. Teenagers are weird.

Natural Born Quizzers

Ladies and gentlemen... A new force on the Taipei Pub Quiz scene has emerged. They are smart. They watch Disco Very. They are sexier than Vince Vaughn and Nic Cage put together. They know what extinct animal had the largest antlers of any known deer species . They're unstoppable. They are...

Artwork by Jack. Except Jack's portrait which was done by Joyce.

Ok. So we didn't win. We came in third and won some discount coupons for a pet store, two free chiropractor sessions and a free meal at Grandma Nitti's, but just you wait! We'll be back!

Actually, this was a very nice event for a charity (Animals Taiwan) and we had a lot of fun. I managed to relax and let go of being overly competitive, especially after the second round when it became obvious the Nerds would beat us.

Normally, that would be a point at which I would resort to physical violence, Ninja-style. But, for one, these guys can't fight to save their doctorates, No.2, I'm 33 now, it's time for me to learn how to just let go, you know.

Like I said... We WILL be back!

Tan The Man Cooks Deee-Lish!

Chicken curry, beef curry, chilly, chicken kebab with sate sauce, pasta-something, pita and other breads, salads, cheeses, yummy!

Jonathan's housewarming party. This man can cook wonderfully! Ladies, he's still available! Snatch! Snatch!

He looks a bit angry in this pic, but that's only because he's worried about the wine supplies running low and has to contemplate the long trip down to Wellcome supermarket.

"Ok, so if Tan Tan cooks deee-lish and there was all this food, how come you, Tasha, were still left hungry enough to resort to biting Debra's ass? Huh? Huh?"
Tasha: "Oh, that was just for desert" :-) "Lekker kontje!"

Thank you for a wonderful party, Jonathan!

Hairy Harry On Tasha's Tushie

There's a hairy little guy called Harry and he's taken temporary residence on my tush.

Harry lives on a nice and sterile pad of white gauze and tape that had been attached to the left cheek of my bum by a very cute male nurse, earlier today. The nurse has skilled hands and a very proper British accent. The accent is fake, however. I asked him to feign it in order to give the whole procedure more class and credibility. It's also damn sexy.

The dressing needed to be applied because of this:
Yes, just the kind of photos you would expect of me. I know. I'm appalling.

But, wait! There's more....

The FIVE heroic stitches are there because something had to be taken out of Tasha's Tushie yesterday.

This used to be there:And that now resides in a container in my fridge.

If you wanted to see it live, you had to be at Carnegie's Friday night. Now it's too late. I'm not taking it out to clubs anymore. Or at least not until I find formaldehyde. Which I tried to do this morning, but failed. You wouldn't believe how difficult it is to explain to a Taiwanese pharmacist what is formaldehyde and why I need it.

Juliana doesn't know any of this yet. Hence this note on the fridge: Anyway... Back to Harry and the dashing male nurse with the sexy, fake British accent... I felt sorry for little Harry all alone out there on my bum. So the nurse drew him a home planet. Look how happy little Harry is now:
Don't get too attached to Harry though. He's being replaced by a new bandage tomorrow.

Such a Brave Girl

People think brave is when you jump out of an airplane or when you get yourself into a standoff with a Taipei taxi driver. But I think those things are brave only if you're afraid of doing them. I'm not.

I’m afraid of bugs, dentists and of a lot of ordinary things. Such as sticking to something that’s boring and requires hard work. Or going back to something that you used to be good at but now you’re crap and have to start all over again.

Well, tonight I did something that's really, I mean REALLY brave and hard for me: I finally went BACK TO THE GYM!

After not having been since December. After having gone out of shape and gained weight and flab. Ewwww!

I almost didn't go. I almost talked myself out of it again. All you lazy bastards out there, you know what I'm talking about!

Gym is great. I LOVE going to gym. When I first came to Taiwan, one of the first things I did was join a gym, my second week here. I knew that things would be hard for me in those first few months and that one way to stay mentally in shape would be to have something familiar, a source of strength and discipline. And it was.

BodyCombat by Les Mills is my favorite aerobic exercise. It’s the Stambuck’s of the fitness world. You go anywhere in the world and you get the same class. It’s dictated by the Mighty Les from his throne somewhere in NZ (I use NZ because I can’t spell the whole country and I can’t be bothered to look it up. Sorry, Ant.)

This lady is one of Les' chicks. That's pretty close to what I consider to be the ideal female physique. If only her bee-hynde was slightly more in the J-Lo neighborhood. I, too, want to be featured on Les' poster one day, but I have to hurry up and get into shape, I'm no spring chicken anymore.

I used to go to BodyCombat with Diana in Holland. Our favorite choreography was the one with jabs and jump-kicks to the Survivor theme from Rocky II. We did it everywhere. In bars and restaurants, on the street, in department stores… All it took was for one of us to suddenly think of it and we’d start punching the air to the famous riff: Bam… Bam-bam-bam… Bam-bam-bam… Bam-bam-baaaam!

When I joined the Alexander Gym here in Taipei I started taking the BodyCombat class again and had a huge crush on the instructor for months. But, that's a whole other story.

So, how come I stopped going? Well, I'm inconsistent with everything. I will get bored with things. I lack discipline when it gets tough. So around the time I got a bit lazy about the gym, also Mr. Tash came into my life and I found a really legitimate excuse not to go anymore: I WAS HAVING SEX!!!

Howeverrrr... although the quality of the abovementioned activity was/is as high as they get, I'll have you know... it doesn’t constitute a valid compensation for gym training, two reasons:
A. We aren’t doing it as often as one would like to.
2. I myself ain’t doing all that much hard work during it, anyway. (90% of the time I'm of the “Let the guy do all the hard work School of Sex”.)

But now I'm back. Back among the trendy, glitter sweat-pants wearing Taiwanese girlies who use the treadmill to watch their favorite soap at resistance level ZERO. Life makes sense again.

End of Ugly Month February

I know my mom, for one, will be happy this month is over. No more disgusting pics of her daughter and her decomposing body.
One more before we go:

But this one was ugly on purpose, so it doesn't really count.

And that concludes the Ugly Month, kids! Hope you've enjoyed it.

Special thanks to Joytoyz for the inspiration ;-)

Ultimate Ugly Pic

Two days left in February.

Two days left to post ugly pictures.

Here’s the ultimate ugly pic. Taken four years ago for my Croatian passport.

I have no explanation for it. I don’t remember looking THAT ugly, but maybe I was in denial.

And as long as we're on the subject of ID photos...

ID photos are serious stuff in Taiwan, especially to women. Sure, everywhere around the world women like to look good on their passports and driver's licenses, but the level of importance seems to be raised a couple of notches here in Taiwan.

This new law came out recently, dictating stricter rules for identification documents photos. "All five organs must be clearly visible", to paraphrase the regulation. I've tried to figure out which 5 organs those could be: eyes, nose, ears, mouth... one is missing. I don't know which other one they mean.
Because suddenly everyone needed new ID photos, our company arranged for a professional photographer to come to the office and get everyone new photos at a reasonable price. I didn't need it, but all my female colleagues were getting very excited over it, so I wanted to see what the fuss was all about.

Two weeks later we all got our little envelopes with about 10 prints and a digital version on a CD. We all burst out laughing at the result. Here's mine. The Freaky Manequin photo.

Others' were no better than mine. At first, we couldn't figure out what was so weird about them. Then I realized... they retouched them. All of them. With mine, they put make up on my lips and cheeks. Tidied up my hair (yes, this is the tidy version) and erased the contours of my nose in the area between my eyes! Can you believe it? That's why my eyes look further apart then they should be.

Needless to say, I won't be using this photo for any ID.

The best use found for it so far: My friend Joyce shows it to her students to scare them with the creepy WaiGuoRen.

Toe Tragedy

More disgusting photos from me...

It's a fungal nail infection. I caught it here in Taiwan sometime last year. Probably in the summer, from walking around barefoot all the time. Especially in the showerroom at the gym. Never had it before, so I didn't recognize it in time.

It doesn't hurt, it's just ugly and damn hard to get rid of. It'll take about 8 months, if I treat it every day.

I think I'll make February the Month of Ugly Pix. Coming up next: Tasha's worst ID photo. From my Croatian passport. Must scan it first.

Not A Pretty Corpse

I was bored in the bathtub the other day, which also happened to be the day I discovered new functions on my digital camera. You would think that these two circumstances put together would result in some very sexy photos.

Sorry. No.

It resulted in this:


This proves one thing: I most definitely will NOT make a pretty corpse.

So, when I die I don’t want anyone to look at me. Wrap me up and burn me.

Which brings me to a more serious point. Most of those close to me know this already, but it can’t hurt to let everyone know, you never know who will have the honor of me dying in their living room, so here it is:

Ever since I can remember I’ve known that I want to be cremated and for my ashes to be scattered over the Adriatic Sea near Brač.

Boerenkoolstampot

Time for a lesson in Dutch language and culture, kids.

Boerenkoolstampot.

It's a mouthful, I know. But Boerenkoolstampot happens to be the most typical Dutch dish. It's made of some green stuff called boerenkool, potatoes and a big sausage called rookworst. They all get cooked and mashed together.

It sounds pretty simple, doesn’t it? But, at Kees and Diana’s house it’s anything BUT simple!

See, the problem is that Diana makes her Boerenkoolstampot the way her mom makes it: WITH appelmoes (applesauce).

Kees makes his withOUT appelmoes, as do 99,9% of stampot-making Dutch people.

Kees cooked this evening, but Diana put a pot of appelmoes on the table. There was some tension in the air. (notice the yellow pot between the plates? that's appelmoes!)
But then I designed my Borenkoolstampot Pacman Chasing A Piece Of Rookworst on the plate and the tension was relieved momentarily.
Kees’ Boerenkoolstampot was LEKKER!

Mom's Other Daughter

You all know me as an only child, right?

Well, I've been keeping a shocking secret from you... My mom has another daughter.

Here she is, making a hand stand after one of her victories, somewhere:

Yes, my sister is an overachiever. She’s the best skier in the world. Wins all the gold medals. And my mom loves her more than me. How cliché, eh?

My mom is obsessed with watching skiing competitions. No, not obsessed with skiing. She’s obsessed with watching it. Here she is in Holland, the day after she arrived from Croatia to see her first daughter, me:

We couldn’t go anywhere that day until she finished watching race one of the Super G competition for women in Cortina d’Ampezzo, or some other place, and then we had to carefully time our walk so we could come back in time for the second race.

Same thing every winter, she’ll watch the race at anyone’s house, she doesn’t care. She’s not at all fazed if people don’t care about skiing competitions (and, most normal people don’t), she’ll just tell everyone who’s racing, what position they have after the first race, and, most importantly, whether this particular skier is relevant to the success of Janica Kostelić, her other daughter.

Mom: “Here comes Anja Pärson! Watch out! She’s behind Janica in the overall standings by 234 points. If she wins here and Janica doesn’t get any points, she’ll close in on her! I don’t wish her to break a leg or anything, she’s a nice girl, but let’s all cross our fingers that she finishes way behind Janica.” … We, the normal people, are all rolling our eyes, and trying our best to block out the noise coming out of the TV and my mom’s mouth.

At the height of her FANaticism, Mom wrote this poem when Janica won first place at something important or other:

tiho lepršaju zvjezdice kristala
čvrsto prijanjaju uz neprirodan materijal
vatrena, leteća harpija spušta se
iskre vrcaju
metri nadiru poput plime
nema greške
nula cijelih pet, najavljuje finale
noge plesačice utiru tvrdo bijelo tlo
odušak. užitak. urnebes.
povijest je rođena

She’s asked me to find Janica’s email address and mail the poem to her.

Post edit: I translated this to my mom and she corrected me that it’s not Anja Pärson, but rather, some Dorfmeister chick that’s behind Janica. And, it’s 274 points, not 234. I should get my facts straight, she said, even if I’m making fun of her and her love of skiing competitions.

Santa Comes Early

The Perfection Series: Cappuccino Sunday Mornings

Perfectly lazy cappuccino Sunday mornings with Diana. 6F (that's European 6th), 491 Olieslagerstraat, Roermond.

Know When To Quit

When for the first time in your entire career of playing the boy-meets-girl game you manage to totally misread the signs, make a fool of yourself and ruin a potentially good friendship, all in one evening, then you know it’s time to quit!

This year has been amazing. Lots of good things, a few not so great. But in the relationship department I’ve managed to create nothing but a great big mess.

It’s time for a break.

Staying Fresh, Staying Cool

"Doesn't matter what comes
... nanana can't remember this part nana...
With Mentos fresh and full of life
Nothing gets to you
Staying fresh, staying cool
... blah, blah..."


Who doesn't remember the oh-so-cheesy and annoying Mentos commercial with the oh-so-wonderful girlie who suddenly oh-no! breaks her heel in the middle of a busy Parisian street, but oh-wow! doesn't even slightly let that spoil her joie de vivre experience, because, of course, she's got Mentos! Duh!

Well, eat your hearts out, all you commercial-starring wannabies! I got me my Mentos Commercial Moment today! Yay!

Only, not exactly, because I don't actually carry a roll of Mentos on me at all times in my life. Oops!

And, not exactly, because mine didn't happen on a charming little street in Paris, lined with cafes and beautiful people. MY Mentos Commercial Moment was on the charmingly polluted Bao Chiao Rd., Taipei County, lined with greasy breakfast stores and beatlenut-chewing laobans. Cut!

As a woman, I know that the Heel Breaking On Busy Street scene is something we all must go through at least once in our lives. It's the women's equivalent of, what I suspect for men would be something like the Willy Gets Caught In Zipper scene (picture THAT Mentos commercial!). i.e., it's no more avoidable than nylon runs or overflowing tampons. We women know it's coming. We're ready for it. Bring it on! No biggie. I’m just super-extra glad that mine decided to come today, of all days. Yeah, today! As in, after the fantastic day I had yesterday. As in, I couldn't imagine my week getting any worse than it already was. As in, when it rains, it pours. End of whine.

Insert mandatory look-on-the-bright-side paragraph: Could have been worse. Be grateful for what you've got. Tomorrow is a new day. The only way is up. Behind every cloud… End of bs.

I'm writing it off to quantum physics. End of story.

PS to all you High Heel Haters out there: No, this will not turn me on to flats! Never! You hear?! :accompanied with that finger in the air motion:

JUST SAY NO TO FLATS

The Perfection Series: Dive

Diving deep into the cool Adriatic water on a hot summer day.