domingo, 30 de abril de 2017

BIBLILOVE - A bela e a fera modernos - Capítulo 1

Olá,
Minha primeira série, as 'PRINCESAS POSSÍVEIS' está indo como planejado, um novo romance a cada dois meses e para comemorar o lançamento do VOLUME 2 - NOIVA EM 6 PÉROLAS - Cinderela moderna, carioca e Olímpica, vou começar a publicação dos primeiros capítulos aqui.



BIBLILOVE - o primeiro volume da série, A bela e a fera modernos e carioca, já tinha os primeiros capítulos no Wattpad (aliás, me segue lá?), mas agora Cibele vem para casa - o blog!

Vamos lá?
Série PRINCESAS POSSÍVEIS
VOLUME 1
romance inspirado em 'A bela e a fera'

Princesa.

Substantivo feminino, a moça que pode se tornar rainha por ser filha do rei ou por se casar com um príncipe; alteza, mulher bela e formosa, culta e educada.

À Cibele faltava a realeza e mesmo assim desde muito cedo aprendeu a responder quando ouvia ‘princesa’. Sua falecida mãe sempre dizia ‘moya printsessa’ usando o pouco da língua dos pais que se lembrava. Era uma bonita e frágil descendente de Russos que infelizmente não resistiu à sua doença e faleceu logo após Cibele fazer treze anos.

Além da dor, restou a Xavier Machado terminar de criar com todo o cuidado e dedicação a filha querida que parecia bastante com a mãe. Cibele aos poucos se acostumou a não ouvir mais ‘minha princesa’ e, fora isso, nada lhe faltou.

Vários aprendizes de príncipes passaram por sua vida, mas a nenhum ela decidiu se unir definitivamente por lealdade ao pai que nunca a submeteu a nenhuma madrasta. Dezenove anos após a perda da esposa e ele ainda era solteiro.

‘Por que não namora ninguém, pai?’ Ela perguntou quando comemoraram o aniversário de cinco anos do falecimento.

‘Quem disse que não namoro, Bele?’ Xavier fez uma expressão divertida.

‘Está sempre em casa, nunca sai à noite...’

‘Você precisa de mim.’

Aquelas palavras ficaram gravadas na sua cabeça e coração, inconscientemente decidiu retribuir a gentileza decretando um limite para qualquer romance que tivesse.

Segundo a análise do pequeno e unido grupo de amigas que se falava quase diariamente, todas também princesas em suas muitas qualidades, Cibele era a única responsável por nunca ter sido pedida em casamento.

‘Acho que esse último ia te pedir em casamento...’ Cecília, a amiga calma e discreta pensou em voz alta, olhando sobre as lentes dos óculos escuros sob a barraca de praia.

‘Também acho.’ Ariela, a prima mais velha a quem Cibele considerava irmã, concordou mantendo os olhos na enteada de dez anos jogando frescobol na beira d’água com uma amiga. ‘Se ela tivesse aceitado morar com ele, com certeza o cara ia fazer o pedido.’

‘Coitadinho... Acham que ele queria fazer estágio?’ Serafina, que resistia a relacionamentos por temer se machucar, debochou. ‘Bem feito!’

‘Você sempre acha que os caras são todos errados, Rafí.’ Sua irmã, Melissa, sacudiu a cabeça. ‘O cara estava inseguro, é normal isso. Bele é totalmente dedicada ao pai.’

Bianca inclinou a cabeça sorrindo. ‘Pode até ser normal, mas é um corta tesão... Ele poderia ter falado antes. Se quisesse mesmo casar com ela, teria tomado uma atitude.’

Todas concordaram.

Na verdade, ele tinha dado dicas – algumas bastante eloquentes, que Cibele preferiu ignorar. ‘Pedido de casamento não houve, e se houvesse, teria recusado.’

‘Vai ficar com tio Xavier para sempre?’

‘Um dia, um príncipe perfeito vai chegar em um cavalo branco...’

‘Nesse dia me decido!’ Cibele fez graça.

Duvidava que esse homem maravilhoso e seu alazão existissem apesar de ter certeza de que havia muitos – só não calçavam seu número. Para si mesma repetia que não era fechada aos romances, vivia alguns muito bacanas, especialmente com a ajuda de aplicativos de encontros. Qual poderia ser o problema de evitar comprometer-se a longo prazo?

Bonita, loura quase natural, em forma, bem humorada, culta, educada e solteira. Feliz.

Cibele era advogada de formação como o pai e também como ele, era apaixonada por livros. Qualquer um. Letras impressas em papel, ilustrações, mapas, esquemas, orações, romances, histórias: se era encadernado, tinha título e autor poderia ser incluído no alvo de sua paixão.

Xavier abdicado do exercício da advocacia em prol de carreira no funcionalismo público, mas frustrado decidiu abrir uma pequena livraria especializada em raridades. A loja física ocupando a extensa garagem do sobrado na Urca nunca cresceu, mas o negócio prosperou muito além das estantes de madeira lustrada e torneada.

Entre primeiras edições, point de lançamentos de bibliografias badaladas, precursor do selo ‘Livraria de charme’, a BibliLove era uma seara no meio do bairro mais bucólico do Rio de Janeiro.

E sua administração era o trabalho de Cibele, ao qual se dedicava com gosto e competência.

Para manter a forma, ela havia descoberto o muay thai. Praticar boxe tailandês era excelente não só pelas 1.500 calorias gastas por aula, mas também por ajudar a quebrar o estigma da lourinha bonita, burra e fresca.

A pequena academia no quarteirão da livraria era feia, mal iluminada e às vezes fedia (dependendo, se os alunos fossem os semi-profissionais em treino pesado pré-competições). Mas era autêntica. No wellness center badalado e decorado onde a prima fazia natação, muay thai parecia uma visita ao salão de beleza. Ali na sua pequena academia de luta ela encontrava amigos, lutava admirando o pôr-do-sol na baía da Guanabara e deixava a mente voar longe.

‘Tenta não ofender esse, Bele.’ O dono da academia, testa franzida. ‘Não posso dar essa aula introdutória para esse cara novo, meu braço está muito inchado depois do tombo de hoje cedo. Vou ficar de olho do balcão, se comporta!’

‘Dou conta.’ Cibele disse distraída em trançar o cabelo para manter longe dos olhos.

‘Quero dizer, não ofenda o cara mais do que ele vai ficar tendo você como instrutora.’

‘Ôpa! Qual é o meu problema?’

‘Uma princesa linda dando uma surra nele.’ O dono prendeu os lábios. ‘Depois da sua aula qualquer cara precisa de umas injeções de testosterona.’

‘Tudo maricas!’ Riram juntos. ‘Nunca quis ofender ninguém!...’

‘Claro que não, e é ótima lutadora.’

Cibele tentou não pegar pesado com o cara levemente grisalho de nome engraçado. Calado, forte, em forma, inexperiente nas lutas e um cavalheiro com medo de machucar a moça...

‘Vamos lá, Petrônio, chuta!’ Cibele gritou com sobrancelhas unidas. ‘Tem joelho, tem pé, droga! Chuta forte!’ Ela mostrou a mão dentro do aparador de joelhadas. ‘Está cansado?’ Provocou.

Em resposta, ele se contentava em apertar os dentes e bufar, limpava o suor da testa com o braço ou o ombro tentando não perder o foco. As poucas palavras que o quarentão grunhiu mais pareciam rugidos, a voz excessivamente grave precisava de atenção para ser compreendida, e naquele momento ela queria lutar.

‘Esquece meu decote! Chuta!’ Cibele provocou mais, o homem mal havia perdido dois segundos admirando seu top e short largo. Mas era muito cru no esporte. ‘Soca! Chuta! Força!’

Do balcão da recepção o dono da academia suspirou vendo mais um cliente que nunca mais ia voltar... Somente os que a tinham como colega de treino conseguiam vencer o constrangimento e achando que poderiam ganhar um encontro com a linda fera loura marcavam mais algumas aulas. Esse, como outros dois antes dele, provavelmente carregaria a surra marcada no orgulho.

---

Definitivamente o corpo de quarenta e cinco não era nada comparado ao de trinta e cinco. Petrônio bufou esticando o pescoço para um lado e para o outro. Uma semana desde a primeira aula de muay thai, dois dias desde a segunda e havia tanto ácido lático circulando por suas veias que levantar o copo de cerveja era um esforço.

Deveria estar recompondo seus músculos com aminoácidos e comendo proteínas, mas cansado e estressado se rendeu ao apelo curativo de assistir uma partida de futebol no bar do bairro.

Estava há pouco tempo na Urca e muito desde que havia morado no Rio de Janeiro da última vez, decidiu que se daria ao luxo de curtir a adaptação reduzindo a carga de trabalho e escolhendo bem os clientes para quem daria o privilégio de agir como lobista.

Quase dez anos de Brasília pesavam no seu renome profissional, gastrite nervosa e consciência apesar da conta bancária gorda. Era hora de ganhar distância, almejar novos caminhos, desbravar novos horizontes.

Não havia volta.

O que ainda o ligava ao Planalto Central seria desligado naquela semana mesmo já que tinha conseguido o contato do intelectual abnegado indicado para trabalhar como ghost writer. Uma vez que esta tarefa estivesse encaminhada, Petrônio poderia se considerar um homem livre.

Alguém comentou na mesa ao lado alguma coisa sobre a seleção, o técnico ou expectativas para a Copa do Mundo que começaria em poucos meses no estádio Paulista que muitos duvidavam se estaria pronto.

Petrônio estava muito descrente com o time oficial de estrelas mais preocupadas com suas carreiras pessoais do que com a nação de chuteiras, tinha visto demais dos preparativos por debaixo dos panos para se animar com a competição de maneira geral.

Mesmo assim, determinado a despressurizar e adaptar-se ao novo estilo de vida apesar de frequentar a ponte aérea, ele discutia futebol esperando a partida amistosa contra o Panamá daquela tarde.

Já estavam no pré-jogo, os atletas se aqueciam no campo quando um raio louro passou na calçada seguida por dois mendigos. Passou rápido e como Petrônio já estava na terceira garrafa seus reflexos estavam lentos o suficiente para que só o perfume e a sombra do cabelo louro ficassem claros para ele.

Apertou os olhos tentando lembrar o nome da fera loura instrutora de luta e decidir se os maltrapilhos que a seguiam estavam prestes a atacá-la.

Mas no bar ao lado, um boteco pé-sujo com vitrine de ovo colorido e sardinha frita, ela parou e se virou para conversar algo com eles, apontou onde Petrônio estava, depois para o boteco e um apontou para a calçada, ela concordou e entrou no bar.

Dois minutos depois o mendigo estava de pé no meio da rua parando um taxi, abriu a porta e ela entrou sorrindo. O raio louro sumiu tão rapidamente quando apareceu.

Petrônio manteve os mendigos sob vigilância enquanto comiam voraz e constrangidamente um prato feito grande acompanhado de uma cerveja cada. Assistiram boa parte do jogo, recolheram seus pratos, copos e garrafas, também outros nas mesas vizinhas, entregaram no balcão e saíram.

Cibele, o nome era Cibele, ele se lembrou vendo os homens passarem por ele. Talvez tenha sido o cheiro que eles deixaram em oposição ao perfume que a acompanhava.

---

‘Demorou, Bele!’ Rafí reclamou abrindo a porta de sua casa. ‘Quase começando o jogo!’

‘Atrasou para se arrumar toda. Somos só nós, boba!’

‘Sabem que não saio de casa maltrapilha!...’

‘Para descer para a livraria precisa fazer escova no cabelo, maquiagem, bijuterias, acessórios...’

‘E Deus me livre se a roupa estiver amassada!’

Riram as amigas e Cibele revirou os olhos. ‘Tive que passar no bar da esquina para organizar um almoço para meus amigos.’ Cibele beijou o rosto da amiga e da prima sentada no sofá. ‘Eles queriam tomar banho na livraria e claro, comer alguma coisa.’

‘Quais amigos?’ Bianca franziu a testa. ‘Suas amigas estavam te esperando aqui! Está dizendo que existe gente mais importantes que nós?’ Sorriu irônica.

‘Coitadinhos, Bia.’

‘Achou mais um, amiga?’ Melissa gritou da cozinha arrumando copos ao redor de um prato com sal na bandeja.

‘Átila me pediu para deixar um conhecido usar o banheiro, sabia que eu não iria negar.’

‘Temos certeza que esse cara não tira vantagem de você?’ Serafina ligou o liquidificador misturando marguerita para todas.

‘Ah, Rafí, alguém tirando vantagem de Bele?’ Ariela riu. ‘Existe homem assim corajoso?’

Riram todas.

‘Átila trabalha para nós às vezes, faz segurança e ajuda a manter os flanelinhas longe, cuida dos paparazzis quando a noite de autógrafos é cheia de artistas famosos.’ Cibele provou o drink e levantou o polegar em aprovação. ‘Ele é totalmente seguro.’

‘Drogado.’

‘Viciado, coitado.’

‘Se o cara é tão bom, como é morador de rua?’ Bianca desafiou.

‘Acho que nem ele sabe.’

‘Quem tinha uns ratinhos ajudando, fazendo as coisas, costurando e tal?’ Cecília sorriu por cima da sua taça de marguerita. ‘Cinderela, né?’

‘A Bela da Fera tinha uns bules e xícaras.’

‘E Branca de neve uns passarinhos.’

Cibele levantou o dedo. ‘Alto lá! Olha o respeito!’

‘Então nem comento de bule, xícara, relógio?...’ A esta altura, as amigas estavam rindo fora de controle com a ajuda da tequila com suco de limão.

‘E tinha um candelabro cantor!’

Cibele revirou os olhos.
---

estamos só começando...


quinta-feira, 27 de abril de 2017

Musical Post 7: Let me love you

So, as I sweat away every morning running while the sun rises behind the Sugar Loaf Mountain (yeah, like a boss, right?), my Ipad fills my ears with lovely songs that I chose at some point. As I download several each time, some are happy surprises as 'Let me love you'.

At first I frowned thinking: 'this sounds like Bieber... How odd!'
It is him, with a very cool DJ Snake tune and at least two amazing lines:
1- burning on the edge of something beautiful
2- driving the edge of the knife

Cool, right?
I could write a whole story based on these two lines.

Let me love you

I used to believe
We were burning on the edge of something beautiful
Something beautiful 
Selling a dream
Smoke and mirrors keep us waiting on a miracle 
On a miracle

Say, go through the darkest of days
Heaven's a heartbreak away
Never let you go, never let me down
Oh, it's been a hell of a ride
Driving the edge of a knife
Never let you go, never let me down

Don't you give up, nah-nah-nah
I won't give up, nah-nah-nah
Let me love you (Let me love you)
Let me love you (Let me love you)
Don't you give up, nah-nah-nah
I won't give up, nah-nah-nah
Let me love you (Let me love you)
Let me love you

Don't fall asleep
At the wheel, we've got a million miles ahead of us
Miles ahead of us
All that we need
Is a rude awakening to know we're good enough
Know we're good enough

Say go through the darkest of days
Heaven's a heartbreak away
Never let you go, never let me down
Oh, it's been a hell of a ride
Driving the edge of a knife
Never let you go, never let me down

Don't you give up
I won't give up
Let me love you 

quarta-feira, 26 de abril de 2017

Many reasons to avoid fretting

Hey,
So, we've finished binge-watching '13 reasons why', the much talked about Netflix production. 
I'm not sure if it's Google's algorithm spy or the tv show is really the hype of the season, but it seems to be all over the place (aka my Twitter and Facebook timelines). Always with alarmist reviews and harsh criticism, the news build an expectancy that the show doesn't deliver. Unfortunately.
The Mary Sue
Well, it didn't Clay... 
And this speach... Oh please...

For me, it was like Mad men: something I had to watch so I'd hate with a reason. For my hubs it was like 90210: something to despise. (Let me take a moment here to say that I was a Brandon fan way back when I watched the original 90210.)

13 reasons have so many plot holes that I gave up paying close attention around episode 9, snoozed on 10, dragged myself till 13. 

Oh, what a relief it was over!

Let me explain: the dead girl starts pretty lively, the only 'problem' she has is a one friend that moves away. I thought: well, that happened to me... Mmmm... 
And then, the boy she fancies is a jerk. Ok, everyone has had a fuck boy in some degree. Not good, of course, she breaks again and rebuilds just like characters in Lego movie. I thought: well, she broke and rebuilt, probably there's a missing piece that they're not showing the audience yet. 12 (very long) episodes to go, we've seen a character go from sunny in a movie- mere 120 minutes.
But she broke and rebuilt perfectly well over and over, just like animated Lego. Shouldn't she be depressed - her mom said she didn't notice her daughter was depressed - or is suicide an easy enough decision one takes after a bad day?
And let´s not talk about the bad guy being rich and a good athlete...
And the boyfriend who sells his girl NOT being called a rapist...
And the skinny weird boy being said boyfriend - THE hot guy is school...
And why didn't the dead girl (alive at the time) use her phone to call for help as she witnessed her former friend being raped for those long moments?
And the actually depressed and troubled boy not being identified as such? I mean, tough cop dad obviously bullying the kid - do we need more?
And please someone reading this take time to explain to me why the girl after seeing her friend being raped willingly enters the rapist's house, undress to her underwear and awckwardly lounges in a hot tub with two couples when the only other single guy was the rapist himself? How does that make sense in any universe?
Does the book make sense?
Should I waste my time in it?
The only good logical sane issue on 13 reasons why that I found is on 'The Mary Sue' that I'm now following on Twitter.

I hate when something that rose so many expectations turns out to be a huge frustration... Hate it, hate it.

quarta-feira, 19 de abril de 2017

BibliLove no VEDA

oi,
fiquei super feliz com a notícia de que uma parceira ia vlogar sobre um dos meus livros, e logo BibliLove que abre as 'Princesas Possíveis'.

Fiquei ainda mais feliz em ver que consegui explicar a Cibele do jeitinho certo porque a Sissi entendeu tudo como quis contar. Ueba!
As princesas são como nós e os príncipes são muitas vezes sapos, mas é a vida e vamos que vamos!


Adorei, Sissi, mesmo mesmo!

Dia feliz para mim!
bj

terça-feira, 18 de abril de 2017

Resisting temptation

Temptations exist to be resisted, right?
 
I am committed do post once a day for a month to make do for the months of neglect, but sometimes it's not easy to find what to talk about...
I do have my new books to show the first chapters, and those make interesting posts... Be serious, that's why you come here. Right?
To read a new lovely romance?...
So, easy posting for a while?
Yeah...

segunda-feira, 17 de abril de 2017

Trying to be patient: take 2

Hello,
Here I am STILL stuck in that fateful project to celebrate Austen's death bicentennial anniversary. 
 
Maybe it's due to the touchy subject of celebrating one's passing (urgh!) but this project is constantly facing bumps in the road.
Last take was designing a card for each romance according to a certain model so we can have a neat pack to present readers and bloggers.
So, I tried my best to please everyone but there's always one to complain about fonts and the image of one of my books in the prototype saving space for the actual cover... Oh dear!
 
Please, oh Saint Austen of Chawton, help us carry this project to term!
Amen!

sábado, 15 de abril de 2017

Em um mar de pérolas

Lançando livro novo da coleção Princesas Possíveis, estou envolta em pérolas.
Gosto de ter mimos para enviar com os livros impressos, acho que é um carinho com o leitor que aposta no autor indie. 
Assim...
 
Se na Bela e a fera, BibliLove teve o marcador com a rosa da Fera, agora Noiva em seis pérolas tem que ter as pérolas de Rafí!...
Gostam?
Pré-venda começa domingo de Páscoa...
Bj

quinta-feira, 13 de abril de 2017

MANicure

Today I visited my manicure salon, a small nail shop filled with women- both workers and clients. But unlike most days, a man had an appointment.
 
I've seen men there before, it's not a totally foreign situation. The few male regulars there are old men but today it was a top notch specimen. Tall, dark and handsome, shirt and tie, phone glued to his ear and not an ounce of homosexuality showing. 

Guess what happened? All girls were instantly giggling and whispering, glancing his way and grinning... oh, dear! 

I considered it weird because he had a hand appointment... Can't see that as anything other than buzz killer. Feet, ok. A man can have his feet treated, nails locked inside shoes all the time are a disgrace, but hands?... I was afraid the perfectly handsome guy would use clear nail polish or - God forbid - sheer white. *shudder* Luckly the technician took him to the other side of the shop.
 
Why did I think it so awful? Maybe because I have in my mind an image of men with clear shiny nail polish, jewels, mustache and a creepy grin. Eewww...

Some women may think that appealing, probably his girl likes his hands well cared; there are even romance novels portraying manicured heroes. There are all kinds of people, right?
But me, no... Way, no!
 

quarta-feira, 12 de abril de 2017

Somethings are hard to overlook

Hey,
So, since my last post a few hours ago, we had an interesting development on the same subject. Since a good friend of mine quit working for the biggest TV company - the same I mentioned in the last post - I gave up watching Big Brother. I had all the reasons, right? It's mostly boring but it's pretty popular here in Brazil.

Because I don't watch it neither have any interest on its gossips, I wasn't aware of a sad case of abuse going live for the nation to witness. Confined people tend to show their worst and so did the forty-something MD over the twenty-something student. Cliche again... older established man, young naive girl.

Oh, dear...

I've heard that she was quite annoying and that  was what slowly pushed him to the limit. Explains but doesn't justify. 

The last straw was physical abuse (holding her upper arms so tight it bruised) while verbally leaching her after a particularly boosy party. Ring a bell?

Funny I just wrote a love story that starts with the same abuse, ipsis litteris. It's my take on The little mermaid and the abuser is her ex husband. Kept putting myself on her shoes, wandering how to fight back. Lots of women do, and sadly lots of them loose the battle.

On the subject of where to draw the line between seeing any male attitude as abusive and overlooking anything to avoid the risk of being irracional, bruising is never excusable.

You might say I wrote that, and I nod: I did write about the girl getting bruises after a naughty night, there's even that in my Regency trio of love stories, but in any way the character was under the threat of an abusive lover. I hate that. 

And so there's context?
Yeah... there's always a 'but'...
My issue still stands after all. Something's are hard to overlook - maybe because it didn't happen to me. 


Hope I never find out.

terça-feira, 11 de abril de 2017

Can we honestly not mind?

Hello,
These days here in Brazil we're facing a national scandal of sexual harassment. One of our most famous actors was accused of steady abuse on a wardrobe specialist that escalated from 'How cute you are' to 'grab'em by their p**y', literally.



She was a minor worker on our bigger and better TV stations, he is top ten actor material, she's on her twenties, he's nearing 70. Couldn't be more cliche. 
After she gave a very poignant interview to a newspaper TV column, the personnel department had to make the gigantic TV station take measures, and only after that other women reported similar circumstances with that guy - even famous actresses. 
Aside the indignation of the case, the common place of it all, I find myself asking why didn't any of them report earlier?
Can we women overlook some dirty look or snigger? Do we see things in different layers? Of course, I guess. 



Everyday we are subjected to contact with the opposite sex, not all is friendly - and not particularly hostile either. Something I don't appreciate is enough to be labeled harassment?
Don't get me wrong, I abhore such things and have complained vocally more than once when I see, feel or hear an 'attack', but risking sounding chovinist, some things are just stupid. Not necessarily haressing.
In books, if the guy grabs the girl by her arm, squeezes her butt and thrust his tongue in her mouth as she says 'oh, John, we better not' we swoon. There's context, we seem to know the attacker and so we feel free to overlook the victim's will. In a way, we are culprits too.
It's a double standard, men have to be sexually aggressive but even as we appreciate (and expect) such behavior, socially we say we don't accept it.
There's always 50 shades that comes from Twilight that in some other dimension came from Pride and Prejudice. The crappy and creepy guy had a violent taste for sex and a lot of cash to make his willing victims fancy themselves in love with that life (let me not start here, I've already blogged quite elegantly about I felt about it). Then, a sparkling vamp was both father figure and supposed lover to a girl 80years his junior and -me included- thought it exhilarating to have him invading her bedroom every night. Then, my dear lovely imperfectly perfect gentleman proposing marriage by saying 'your inferiority is shameful'. 
'These are only books, Moira.' You may be rolling your eyes.
'Yeah, sure. I do right awfully chauvinist lines for my heroes sometimes.' Shame on me. 'But books reflect the age they were created.' 


Austen was 19th century. What's our excuse?
*sigh*

segunda-feira, 10 de abril de 2017

Musical post 6: Catch & release

hello,
so, music is part of my daily routine even though a lot less than what I'd think necessary. But there are so many stimuli these days, I can hardly keep up with reading, binge-watching Netflix, TV news, etc, etc, etc.

One of the last songs that caught me by the heaurt is Matt Simons' 'Catch & release' that I think explains how I feel. And oh, what a lovely video...

'There's a place I go to find out what I'm made of'... yeah, I do that... Close myself inside my head and let all the stuff around wash over me while I rest. 

Do you do that?

Again, great lyrics + lovely tunes + sweet calm voice = repeat button.

There's a place I go to
Where no one knows me
It's not lonely
It's a necessary thing
It's a place I made up
Find out what I'm made of
The nights are stayed up
Counting stars and fighting sleep

Let it wash over me
Ready to lose my feet
Take me on to the place where one reviews life's mistery
Steady on down the line
Lose every sense of time
Take it all in and wake up that small part of me
Day to day I'm blind to see
And find how far
To go

Everybody got their reason
Everybody got their way
We're just catching and releasing
What builds up throughout the day

It gets into your body
And it flows right through your blood
We can tell each other secrets
And remember how to love

Da da dum dum dum dum dum

There's a place I'm going
No one knows me
If I breathe real slowly
Let it out and let it in
They can be terrifying
To be slowly dying
Also clarifying
The end where we begin

So let it wash over me
I'm ready to lose my feet
Take me on to the place where one reviews life's mistery
Steady on down the line
Lose every sense of time
Take it all in and wake up that small part of me
Day to day I'm blind to see
And find how far
To go

Everybody got their reason
Everybody got their way
We're just catching and releasing
What builds up throughout the day

It gets into your body
And it flows right through your blood
We can tell each other secrets

And remember how to love


Most important line in this lyric: 
to remember how to love, we need peace. 
I struggle sometimes...

domingo, 9 de abril de 2017

Things we do for our kids

So, kid has many friends and it's always fun to meet out of school and (stupid) me thought that inviting four other moms for a beer couldn't be of much trouble.

But of course I was wrong.
They had a slight fall out in the messenger app as we tried to schedule the night out. 
I feel agitated 😡. Kind of pissed off because I tried to control dates and schedules and even which movie to watch - the simple pizza & beer evolved to kid movies and dinner. But apparently one got her feathers ruffled and the other fought back and...

I hate to deal with such things... man, I feel like shouting out loud!
Urgh!
How long till my kid's able to set play dates on his own?...
*groan*

see ya.

sexta-feira, 7 de abril de 2017

Things that escalate

hello,
Yesterday we finished watching Big little lies, the HBO tv show, very famous cast, great production.
Love this opening sequence...

I loved it.

And couldn't help but see myself caught up in a similar web of petty gossip involving kids. Urgh, I hate that part of motherhood!
 
When my son was 4, only 4!, I posted a seemingly innocent comment on a Facebook picture of him holding a girl. It wasn't me who first posted the pic, it was the girl's mother, and I simply answered in good humor and good faith saying something like 'he has been gaining sweethearts' to which the effing woman answered in a lashing: Her hubs do not want to think about boyfriends.

Oh, dear!... Of course I answered in a similar dose of harshness, she said she wasn't offended by my comment and neglected to ask if I was offended with the public lashing - that unfortunately was seen by several friends because she had tagged me in the picture.  

How could I keep talking to that woman? I'm constantly fearing another lapse of good sense... 
The TV show is all about that, exactly that pettiness where everyone is both guilty and victim.
And there's a big line: 'Women are chemically incapable of forgiving.'
Guess I am... If and when the right button is pushed. 
 
Anyway, the tense story also had the disturbing acknowledgment that Laura Dern and Nicole Kidman are old... And had pretty weird face jobs. Botox, perhaps?
 
Also, as another strong vilan, we had Eric Northman...
 
*swoon*
Let me finish with such a Cad of a vampire (here he prays in something other than blood).
 
C ya.

quinta-feira, 6 de abril de 2017

A friend is...

Hey,
Today I heard two things:
1- A friend is someone who has all the reasons to give up on you and doesn't.
2- The key to live well is to accept whatever comes your way.
 
In a perverse twisted way, these two truths complement each other - at least as I see it. And still they are not as truthful laws as they seem.

I do have friends who have given me a handful of reasons to give them up, and I didn't. I guess mostly because they didn't give up on me. Of course we carry scars, but those aren't bigger than the love we nurture. 
Other people I did give up. With grief, yes, but  complete aware it was for the best because I've been ditched along the way. I could make an extra effort and work on a comatose friendship but you know what? It's ok to miss the person (or the memory of the friendship) and still not want him/her around. It's even ok to keep liking someone you don't want too close.
 
Maybe THAT will bring me to the second truth: accepting.
Should I accept everything without a fight? 
Shouldn't I try to change what I CAN?
Yeah, I don't know... Maybe I'm not in the acceptance stage of emotional development, I'm still moved by reds and blues are hard to achieve sometimes. 
 
I guess the only truthful truth is that what's the best for me may not be right for you. That's where the actual law of life begins: people are different and we should accept that.
Oh!
Look at that!
Acceptance... 
😉

quarta-feira, 5 de abril de 2017

Musical post BONUS TRACK: Tshirt

I said I was done, but seriously, Thomas Rhett. *heart shaped eyes*

So cute, lovely velvet voice, catchy lyrics, easy romance. My Muse seats back, kicks off her high heeled shoes, lights one of her smelly cigarettes and grin.




Thomas Rhett, yeah!

Get off work and we meet down at our spot
We had a patio with a view of a parking lot
It was two for one and four for two
Had Christmas lights in the middle of June
All hung up like I was on you

I said "Hey hey baby do you wanna come over?"
You say "No way", then you move in closer
Next thing I know you were wearing my

T-Shirt right there
Your hair messed up like a Guns-N-Roses video
Ooh ooh so hot
Still got it up in my head, you were moving around in the TV light
I ain't ever seen anything like, your dress, my floor, the way you wore, my my T-Shirt

We walking up the stairs with the neighbors saying, "keep it down"
But it's hard to unlock the door when you're making out (You know what I'm sayin')
You've been saying that we've gotta quit doing this,
So why you leaning in for one more kiss,
And pretty soon your sliding off what you've got on and slipping into my

T-Shirt right there
Your hair messed up like a Guns-N-Roses video
Ooh ooh so hot
Still got it up in my head, you were moving around in the TV light
I ain't ever seen anything like, your dress, my floor, the way you wore, my my T-Shirt

Oh no baby no I can't lie
Sure look good in my t-shirt
Oh no baby no I can't lie
You look good oh my my

I said "Hey hey baby do you wanna come over?"
You say "No way", then you move in closer
Next thing I know you were wearing my
T-Shirt, oh you look just so dang hot in my T-Shirt
You see you're spinning around in my T-Shirt, right there
Your hair messed up like a Guns-N-Roses video
Ooh ooh so hot

My T-Shirt right there
Your hair messed up like a Guns-N-Roses video
Ooh ooh so hot
Still got it up in my head, you were moving around in the TV light

I ain't ever seen anything like, your dress, my floor, the way you wore, my T-Shirt


Gone creating a new romance. Be back soon.



terça-feira, 4 de abril de 2017

Musical Post 5: Wherever I go

so, this one ends my musical posts.
For now.

One Republic for me is sticky. I hear the song, love it, make it an anthem, put on repeat. These guys have this thing... can't explain.



So 'Wherever I go' to me was like PB to my Jelly. No pun intended. I mean it like a perfect fit. Ah, forget it.

I was in the middle of my Princesses books, was all about fairy tales and magical moments. So, these guys tunes, voice and lyrics were just so nice... Loved to have them with me for a long time. My mused was pretty pleased with it...

Let's ride in this magic, come along.


I know I could lie but I’m telling the truth
Wherever I go there’s a shadow of you
I know I could try looking for something new
But wherever I go, I'll be looking for you

Some people lie but they're looking for magic
Others are quietly going insane
I feel alive when I’m close to the madness
No easy love could ever make me feel the same

I know I could lie, but I won't lie to you
Wherever I go, you're the ghost in the room
I don't even try looking for something new
Cause wherever I go, I'll be looking for you

Some people try but they can't find the magic
Others get down on their knees and they pray
I come alive when I’m close to the madness
No easy love could ever make me feel the same
Make me feel the same
Make me feel the same, same, same

I know I could lie but I’m telling the truth
Wherever I go there’s a shadow of you
I know I could try looking for something new
But wherever I go, I'll be looking for you
Wherever I go, I'll be looking for you, you

Some people pray to their god for some magic
Cause no easy love could ever make them feel the same
No easy love could ever make me feel the same
Make me feel the same, same, same

I know I could lie but I’m telling the truth
Wherever I go there’s a shadow of you
I know I could try looking for something new
But wherever I go, I'll be looking for you

You think it's a lie when I'm telling the truth
Wherever I go, I'll be looking for you
Wherever I go, I'll be looking for you

Looking for you, looking for you, ah



segunda-feira, 3 de abril de 2017

Musical Post 4: There goes my heart

And my heart goes again because Lisa Stansfield is one of my favorite artists since forever.

She reminds me of college and partying with dear friends who are not around anymore. She tastes like good days, discover of adulthood, the unknown adventure of life.




And so, this song 'Hre goes my heart' carries all that and a lovely lyric in a lovely tune for her lovely voice.

My Muse doesn't even have to make a big effort, I just need to close my eyes and see the story in my mind.


I'm just the one you see
Every day
But you don't look at me the way
I always pray you will
I'm just another face lost in the crowd
With all the unfamiliar faces and places
But still
There goes my heart
There goes my heart again
I would give anything
Just to let you know
There goes my heart
There goes my everything
Turning inside out
Inside down
Turning inside out
Inside down

I think of all those looks you've thrown my way
How I missed all those glances for romancing
You didn't even care
I take the long way home
Imagine you're there
Right there by my side
Gone for the way every night
There goes my heart
There goes my heart again
I would give anything
Just to let you know
There goes my heart
There goes my everything
Turning inside out
Inside down
Turning inside out
Inside down

I sit in the same old place
And look at your amazing face
Day after day
And then you walk away
There goes my heart
There goes my heart again
I would give anything
Just to let you know
There goes my heart
There goes my everything
Turning inside out
Inside down
Turning inside out
Inside down

There goes my heart
There goes my heart again
I would give anything
Just to let you know
There goes my heart
There goes my everything
Turning inside out
Inside down
Turning inside out

Inside down

And in the end I get a taste of Gwineth Paltrow singing Just my imagination in Duets. 

Love this song, Lisa.


domingo, 2 de abril de 2017

Musical Post 3: We don't talk anymore

This is a song I hear all the time.

Coincidentally, when i discovered this song on VH1, I was writing my Princess #6 and her story has a lot in common with this song. 




But frankly, I don't know if what makes me like 'We don't talk anymore' so much is Charlie's Puth' voice, or Selena's (ha!) or the tunes... Maybe a mix of it all with the lyrics that in my opinion make a perfect fit.

I particular like this verse: Should've known your love was a game, now I can't get you out of my brain, oh, it's such a shame

It's another loooong lyric, but I can't edit it. So, let us just sing along. Shall we?


We don't talk anymore, we don't talk anymore
We don't talk anymore, like we used to do
We don't love anymore
What was all of it for?
Oh, we don't talk anymore, like we used to do

I just heard you found the one you've been looking
You've been looking for
I wish I would have known that wasn't me
Cause even after all this time I still wonder
Why I can't move on
Just the way you did so easily

Don't wanna know
What kind of dress you're wearing tonight
If he's holding onto you so tight
The way I did before
I overdosed
Should've known your love was a game
Now I can't get you out of my brain
Oh, it's such a shame

That we don't talk anymore, we don't talk anymore
We don't talk anymore, like we used to do
We don't love anymore
What was all of it for?
Oh, we don't talk anymore, like we used to do

I just hope you're lying next to somebody
Who knows how to love you like me
There must be a good reason that you're gone
Every now and then I think you
Might want me to come show up at your door
But I'm just too afraid that I'll be wrong

Don't wanna know
If you're looking into her eyes
If she's holding onto you so tight the way I did before
I overdosed
Should've known your love was a game
Now I can't get you out of my brain
Oh, it's such a shame

That we don't talk anymore (We don't, we don't)
We don't talk anymore (We don't, we don't)
We don't talk anymore, like we used to do
We don't love anymore (We don't, we don't)
What was all of it for? (We don't, we don't)
Oh, we don't talk anymore, like we used to do

Like we used to do


here goes my Muse...