Was it Nietzsche who said that marriage is a hindrance and a calamity on the path to the optimum? Lucky boy - he believed he was on the path to optimum - let alone he believed in the optimum itself. I wish I could be that optimistic. I do believe in marriage however. I believe that big white weddings are fun and, if you are lucky enough to organise it, provide many sweet photographs. Besides, one cannot have too many rings on their fingers. In the movie Love in the Times of Cholera the husband says to the wife that the most important thing about life is not love but laughter. Well, apart from the fact that the movie was endless and I lost all hope about the main characters getting together in the next few hours, I actually liked it. I did not see myself in it - oh, no; but I kind of liked the notion. One way or another, at times I imagine a giant clock up the wall-papered wall, a huge hand slowly moving across the face and measuring up the hours of my marriage, with an occasional cuckoo tinker. I do not believe in eternal recurrence, not did I like Groundhog Day, yet there is something very reassuring about being married. But this is a totally, totally different story.

As previously stated, a woman needs a hat. With the hat come the bread and the circusses, the nobility and the beauty. In all honesty, I don't even think it necessarily has to be hat; it could be anything which makes you feel good. All those Guerlain meteorites thingies are equivalent to a hat, if not better. At the end of the day, a woman must stay practical. A woman needs to live in a place where they treasure decent infrastructure and great flat expensive roads. Roads are very important, they allow you to wear high heels and feel fabulous; they make you remember what is to strut it and how to flaunt it. A woman also needs a car, and it does not matter much whether it's a high-powered European or a tiny Jap shag mobil; she needs a car to drive around aimlessly while listening to some great songs which may remind her of the great days of the past or set her off for the future. She can drive fast (on those good roads), she can smoke out of the window as they did in those black-n-white movies, she can cry over the lost ones and you she cruise with friends and laugh about the trivial insignificance of everything. A woman also needs a laptop (not neseccarily Apple, but ask me again next year), to stay connected with the world, to stay afloat of this digital world and to create every time she feels like creating. A woman needs good hair and nails - they simply must be good so she won't have to be distracted from the more important business. There also better be somebody small around - be it a kitten or a child. Somebody to hug, somebody to pet, to feed and to provide for; to watch it sleep and to watch it grow. Ironically, a woman needs a man - to love and to be loved, to own and to belong. To reach out and run the fingers around his strong back. A woman also needs at least one girl friend, and it does not have to be a constructive friendship. A girlfriend who can talk about anything and who tolerates everything, even if it is a daily wailing over the same man, again and again. A girlfriend to get drunk with when you need it most, even if it is way too ofter - as long as helps recover. But if she wants constructive, she might need a shrink - to search for childhood troubles, to analyse the same episodes for the umpteen time, to build bridges from the past to the present. If you don't feel you need a shrink - you may need a fortuneteller - to orientate for the better future and to give some hope when everything else fails. There are so many things that a woman needs! God be blessed for making me a woman, as I am a perfect marketeers' target and I am proud of it. I take all that finest bedlinen which a woman must have (a third of your life is spent, just think of it!). I take the long old-fashioned sleeping gowns to feel like a virgin princess.  I take the huge black every day bag to conceal whatever I am up to. I take those sexy gadgets which help me stay connected to the generation of the young and funky, and no, I don't need to really need them. I take the daring nailpolish colour, even if it is as infrequent as my actual birthday.  I take hundreds of tiny bottles which promise me a longer clinging to my youthful appearance and feel capricious in the mornings, when choosing a body wash smell. But if there was one thing I could really have - or keep, in my case - in exchange for everything else I could possibly lay my hands on - I would pick the opportunity to keep my beautiful legs which must never age. I want to be able to look at them and think - oh yeah baby, beat that. I am that woman with the most beautiful legs in the world.

I wish I had more opportunities to wear hats in my life. (I could stop here, but because I am not a mini-blogger, and this is not plurk, I will go on and on). So bear. I wish there were opportunities to wear hats in my life. When a woman buys a hat (even if it is one hat, the most modest one!), her life changes completely. It's all downhill from there - unless you buy a new hat, as every hat may only be worn once. A hat, first and foremost, means that you have somewhere to wear it. It means you have friends who invite you to the events which matter to them, be it a wedding, a Luncheon or a garden party. It means that you are demanded socially (which we all should be, no matter what). A hat means that you have enough money to spend it on silly, unnecessary accessories. It might or might not means gloves, a long cigar holder and a  dress to die for, but it means a woman is not starving and has certainly enough fat on her baby cheeks. A hat means you are pretty, as it makes you even prettier. I haven't met anybody who looked bad in a hat (I know my English friends might think of Queen Camilla, yet I like her in a way you like Victoria Beckham - in an amusing sort of way).  It also means nice, sleek, elegant hair - when no day is a bad hair day, when even  in the sun you look like a million dollars and this is how it should be - a million dollars daily. A hat comes with bubbles, and what I used to call "champagne attitude", when I was young and carefree. It is more of a state of mind, when you hold a flute ever so slightly arrogantly yet approachable at the same time; so those who dare may reach out. It means la dolce vita daily, and I wish it was possible. A hat, furthermore, does not mean the following: revolutions, money and/or food shortages, corporate wars, non-traditional medicine, lack of vision and other insecurities, as well as miscellaneous bizarre situations which must never happen to a decent woman. God bless the milliners and their lucky recipients. And god, do send me more hat opportunities - as with hats come everything I could wish for.

To me, one of the signs of being mature is the ability to talk to strangers. I mean small talk talk going on big. When you can start a conversation - and carry it through - and have a wonderful time - and then farewell and never see each other again. And then, if you had a good time together, you take their picture and when you are home you put it on the email and send it through, and you receive a cheerful response with a thank you hug. I have basically made it a new hobby of mine. The best people to talk to are Americans, they just love being spoken to! And they are worldy, too - they don't mind getting personal. British are the worst - they are too uptight , and their sense of personal space is very rigid - unless they are drunk. Or drinking right there, with you. I think there is a special term for it in psychology, the concept of chronotope. Well, chronos is time, and tope is space, and it means something like when you are on a train in a car with other people in it. You are confined for the space, and you are there for the period of time, and so you talk to people. And you know that you can get frank as because you'll never see them again. So you tell them your secrets, feeling the comfort zone of the train chronotope, and then, feeling better, get off and forget all about it. Has it ever happened to you? It has to me, and it was remarkable. I intend to get better, though. I am still barely a conversational wizard, so I just need strangers to practise with. Oh bring it on!

One of the habits I have picked up over the past year of being a housewife is reading a weekend paper on Saturdays and Sundays. By the time I am usually up, the paper gets delivered to the door and all I have to do is to make myself a hot cup of earl gray tea (full cream milk, mad cats mug), sit down and realise that the weekend is just about to begin. I start with the thin glossy Canvas magazine (apparently, Qantas airlines award for the best newspaper mag), which is about everything and nothing. It has brain teasers (I am ashamed to admit, I like them), botox specials around town (also, very ashamed to be looking at them), and about 40-odd pages of articles on various topics. Occasionally, it is politics, often it is going green, every now and then there are "intellectual" celebrities and arty interviews. The notorious Shoe Of The Week section always features some high-end fashion pair at a thousand dollars or so. There was a huge debate recently, with people writing angry letters to the editor, mentioning recession and quoting rocketing grocery prices. Back off, - the editor responded, - art is art, and there is no price tag on it. Price tag or not, they could be picking prettier shoes more often. Anyway, the start of last weekend was marked with an article about China. I know that everything is about China these days, and the further we go, the more humongous it becomes, yet that one caught my attention. The one-child policy is having a hiccup, and things are getting more and more out of control.  Kids are lottery whether it is one of six of them, yet the risk is higher if you only get one chance of making your point in this world. So the parents - the middle of the road Chinese citizens - are placing their bets on the one and only precious thing they have - their child. Mothers carry their child's backpack around; couples forgo lunch so their child can have plentiful snacks or new Nikes. Of course there is a price tag. For the pleasure of being the only child and not having to share anything, the child gets the obligation to support the parents when they are old. In order to provide good support, you have to do well at school. And what is the best way to get good marks? That's right, study more. So this is exactly what they do - they study. Often a kid comes home from school in the afternoon, has a bite to eat, and goes straight to doing his homework - in some cases, they do it till the bedtime. Everyday. They. Study. For. Like. Ten. Hours. A Day. At one top Beijing kindergarten, students must know pi to 100 digits by the age of 3. Mad, mad Chinese! Of course, when you study for ten hours a day from 1988 till 2001, you'd have exorbitant expectations about your future, your job and your pay check. But alas - there is the reality check. Not only is China not providing enough job opportunities, it is also that everybody is just as good. Tough competition for a very limited number of applicants. So they might find it hard to adapt to blue-collar jobs and less nicer lifestyle than their parents have been setting them on to. Which just repeats my views on participating at all those crazy shows like Fear Factor and Survivor. It is OK to do it if you win - but boy, it sucks to lose. So it is OK for a parent to give everything up for a child, as long as the child pays you back. But all those years of sacrifice for possibly nothing - God forbid. PS - I am going away for the month of August, I have already recorded a new voice mail message and learn the guidebook by heart. Europe, Europe, there I come! I haven't been before, so, just as those Chinese kids, I have very high expectations :) Please wait for me, as I shall be back. Podcasts on eugenia.co.nz in September, a gorgeous black-and-white photo session with me barely clad and much more to come. Buen viaje, ciao and au revoir, mon cher amis. Yours truly, Eugenia.

Things I plan to do in the next 5 years. 1. Visit Japan, Holland, India, and some icy-cold place (Alaska or Iceland). 2. See all oceans. 3. Smoke a Peace Pipe with a real Native American. 4. Have a baby 5. Figure out all those stocks, shares, bonds, dividends and investment portfolio things. 5A. Get rich. 6. Become successful (still very vague on which field though! Need to work it out). 7. Read all books from my Reading Log. 8. Get confident enough for the black ski slopes. Learn how to ski backwards. 9. Visit Canadian ski slopes in 2010 (By then a friend of mine will hopefully actually move there, so I could visit and ski!). 10. Get a tattoo. 10A. Talk myself out of getting a tattoo: I am a lady, damn it. 11. Learn how to edit digital photographs. 12. Be able to do handstands again (and splits, too). 13. Take some time off, move to a farm and live there, riding horses and looking after other farm animals. 14. Drive a 4WD with a plastic roof over some swampy road. 15. Get rid of pimples and learn how to live with wrinkles. 16. Stop being afraid of planes and flying. Fly to London from NY on one of those hypersonic planes. 17. Get a large, black, fluffy, clever dog. 18. Stop being afraid of ageing. Learn how to turn the time towards myself, not squeezing into it. 19. Get good at baking perfect eclairs, tap dancing, dealing with small kids, simple maths and physics, Spanish, singing, playing piano and learn how to ride a bicycle. 20. To see Mona Lisa, Sunflowers, David, the Thinker, the Black Square. 21. To do 31 days bikram yoga challenge. 22. Keep running this list.

Once upon a time, in a far away land, there lived a girl who thought she loved horses. She read somewhere that horses were kind and intelligent and she had been horse riding a few times, so she thought she knew enough to call herself a horse lover. Until she met another girl, who actually lived on a farm and looked after the real horses for a living. That other girl had four horses of her own, and she took care of other people's horses as well. She had to get up early, and clean the stables, and teach her horses different tricks, and then bathe them and feed them and show them she loved them. So, our girl was very much envious of that other girl, so she asked her what it takes to be able to live with horses. All you need is a horse, - that other girl said. You cannot train unless you have one. If you had one, I could teach you how to ride and how to look after it. And that got our girl thinking about the actual, real, alive horse she could call her own. She recalculated the budget for the next month  to realise she could squeeze some little horsie in. She knew she could afford the horse's rent and food and maintenance (the quote was around $50 per week). She started picking the names and looking at knee-high boots. It all was going very well, until she realised that living in a central city apartment, not owning a car, not being able to drive and not having the actual time to spend with the horse it would have been a total disaster buying it. So she did not. (That girl was me, four years ago). I like to think about it as not of a crushed dream, but a postponed dream. A horse - any horse, not necessarily pedigree - is still in the top 5 on my wish list. I still intend to take some time off in this life and live on a farm, looking after animals. I intend to learn how to ride and how to trot and how to jump. One day, one day.. Why am I talking about it here? Because a "Horse and Pony" magazine was delivered to my mailbox the other day, and I am thinking, God, is this a sign it is time to buy a horse?

I think you get old when you stop taking your birthdays seriously. The moment you stop caring about gifts, clowns and face painting is when you might as well prepare your will and your cremation arrangements. I think the transition period is tough, but the moment when you stop caring whether you are 26 or 86 is crucial. Nothing can save you after that, and this is when the miracles stop happening.

I am 26 today, and I have had a fairly slow day. One of those when you get to spend it at the chocolate factory without actually tasting the chocolate. I know I mustn’t grumble, as there were still flowers, a cake and miscellaneous gifts; yet it is still sad to get old and farewell the usual carefree-ness.

Oh well happy birthday Eugenia regardless! Apparently the birthdays are good for you - the more you have, the longer you live for; so all I can do is to have a  bloody loud celebration; so cheers then.

I am seriously afraid of the future. All the aspects scare me shitless. I suspect I am too rigid to change and too conservative to even admit it. I am afraid of the fashion. I know it is spiralling, but all I can envisage is sexless neon outfits for girls with no hips and boys with motley hair, I am afraid that masculinity and femininity will be gone before we notice. We will be forced into a maze called "no fashion is really fashionably" and we will lose an important part of out lives - our dress code and therefore sex appeal. I am afraid of the food of the future. GM-ed, inbred, hydroponic ingredients, no seafood, mad meats and plastic vegetables served in a bizarre way. Order something like fish at the restaurant - and be brought up an ipod to listen to the sounds of ocean while you eat it. Waiters looking like customers looking like chefs. Customers taking instant camerapics of food and blogging it immediately. Chefs too bored cooking fish'n'chips and serving extremely tedious 16-course degustation dinners. I am afraid of the climate change. I am afraid there will be no grapes in NZ, but will be bananas. I am afraid my kids wouldn't know what a polar bear is. I am afraid of every city turning into Beijing, with too many people (that's a different phobia altogether, by the way) and too much pollution. I am afraid in 50 years time I wouldn't be able to hug a tree daily. I am afraid of technologies. I cannot keep up with it, the machines and mechanisms being much smarter than me. I am afraid of each tiny little gadget becoming everything, a gadget that is not just a phone but a PC, a remote, a gprs-tag and a leg shaver. I am afraid that we are going to be chipped at birth and that the government will know everything (everything!) about us. I am afraid of people, of disappearing of love, of having to have ersatz - relationship on the go. Of the old values going missing (no code of ethics is the new code), and no values developing over time. My only hope is that it takes longer than we all expect and my paranoid self will be long gone before it hits.