First I wanted to use this blog as a travel diary for France. But then I decided it would be more fun to write about myself.
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The run of my life.
Actually I love turbulence on an airplane but the flight from Düsseldorf to Montpellier was as if I watched my own open-heart surgery. Of course, I tried to pretend that I was searching for something in my bag that I had placed under the seat in front of me but actually I was just getting ready for my death. So while I was waiting for my life to go by I had to think about my absolute highlights. I had to laugh so much that I nearly died from having my chewing gum stuck in my throat. Faced with a life-threatening challenge of surviving my chewing gum- turbulence-disaster I was lucky that I received a second chance at life and so I wrote down my memoirs and by that my favorite story:
When you want to shower, are already naked and you realize that you have to pee and go to the toilet (of course outside the apartment), come back and the door is closed…then that´s a pretty depressing situation for a naked person. Okay. No surprise: the naked person was me. Initial situation: 1) spare key on the other side of the courtyard 2) a small rucksack available, found in the staircase
Holy moly… so I strapped on the rucksack to hide at least something and I ran. I ran like I´ve never run before. I felt un-break-able! The sky was getting dark so the light flattered at least my butt. In my imagination I looked like a beautiful naked elf floating through the courtyard. In reality I was more like a white bowed creepy gnome with a rucksack. I also loved that fact that nearly the whole time chestnuts were falling on me because it was autumn and the most windy night of the whole fucking year. Definitely the most beautiful aspect of this season when you have to run naked, hide from your neighbours and search for the spare key at the same time.
The pain was awful. I don´t know what was worse: the chestnuts trying to knock me down or stepping barefoot on nearly everything like screws, little branches, and a fork (?!). But I had to go on.
I crossed the line to my apartment in 4minutes and 37seconds. I ran the first minute way too fast. I knew I should have slowed down, but I didn´t let go. It was the run of my life.

Now, two years later I would have done everyhing different. Maybe I would be clever enough to look under the doormat where the second spare key waited for me. No comment. Story of my life.
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Cool. Und was ist mit Liebe?
Was für die Generation Y für den Arbeitgeber gilt:” Nie länger als zwei Jahre bleiben, sonst bist du unfähig oder dumm”, gilt für viele auch für die Liebe. Bloß keine Bindung eingehen! Bitte! Immer schön flexibel bleiben! Die Liebe bringt ja auch bekanntlich nichts im Lebenslauf. Wir sind zu entspannt für Spannungen und zu cool für große Emotionen. Der Freund wird zum Lebensabschnittspartner, denn „es passt grad gut, aber man weiß ja nie” und noch immer fehlt die Bindung, denn „ich mag das Wort Beziehung nicht, wir nennen es Konstellation”. Wörter wie „verliebt” und „Liebeskummer” spricht man ungerne aus, denn sie sind peinlich und machen uns verletzbar. Verletzt wurden wir ja schon mal, das brauchen wir kein zweites Mal. Goldene Hochzeiten gibt es nicht mehr und On-Off Beziehungen sind à la mode. Wir daten monatelang und hoffen, dass unser Gegenüber nicht nach Exklusivität fragt, denn man möchte sich nicht eingeengt fühlen. Es könnte ja auch etwas Besseres kommen, wo es dann „perfekt” passt. Wir könnten Social Media die Schuld geben, dass man emotional abgestumpft ist, aber ist das wirklich der Grund? Was, wenn das nächste Mal kein Herz gebrochen wird? Wir könnten aufstehen, von online zu offline gehen und der Liebe eine Chance geben. Oder wir bleiben im Bett liegen und fragen uns warum alles so ist wie es ist und antworten ihm lieber nicht, denn “OH GOTT ICH MUSS UNNAHBAR WIRKEN, ICH GEH LIEBER SCHNELL OFFLINE.”
Over.
Out.

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Schrittweise durch den Sommer
Wie sie mich anstarren. Voller Neid und Missgunst. Mein Gang scheint perfekt zu sein. Flott aber kein Lauf. Mit einem Stechschritt schreite ich den Ring entlang. Pallas-Athene vor dem Parlament winkt mir motivierend zu. Rechts die Museen und rings um mich Läufer, die sich müde zwingen weiterzumachen. Sie beneiden mich. Ich sehe es in ihren neidvollen Augen. Beim Heldenplatz überkommt mich die absolute Fadheit. Die pure Langeweile durchzogen mit Momenten der Einsamkeit. Was mache ich hier eigentlich? Wem will ich etwas beweisen? Bevor ich mich weiter in die Depression stürzen kann, werde ich von einem Läufer fast umgelaufen weil ich auf mein Handy starre. Hallo Oper. Absoluter Tiefpunkt. Ich schleife mein rechtes Bein hinter mir her. Meine Motivation ist minus sieben. Falls ich jetzt umfalle und jemand mein Handy findet, sollte ich vielleicht noch etwas Tiefsinniges von mir geben: ich hasse zufuß gehen wie die Pest! Dazu fällt mir ein, dass die Pest dadurch verbreitet wurde, dass Mongolen im 15. Jhdt infizierte Leichen über eine von Italienern verteidigte Festung geschleudert haben. So verbreitete sich die Pest in Europa. Endlich das Interconti und der Kursalon Hübner. Ein Typ lächelt mir zu. Ich denke mein Schritt ist wieder imposant und inspiriert die Menschheit. Meine Uhr sagt 49%. Falls ich den Rückweg aus unerfindlichen Gründen schaffen sollte, dann habe ich die 100% erreicht und kann somit laut Uhr meinen gesunden Lebensstil beibehalten. Mit diesen motivierenden Worten verabschiede ich mich! Seien Sie auch nächste Woche wieder dabei, wo sich die Frage stellen wird: sein oder nicht sein! Wird sich Lisa-Maria erneut kasteien?

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Bye bye university.
Monday. First lecture. Last floor. Zero condition.
At the beginning of the semester I was jumping from floor to floor with my Laptop and the biggest motivated smile ever. Healthy, being in shape and sometimes taking two steps at a time. Impressive!
Today I was gasping for air and thinking about quitting my studies. It was impossible for me to reach the last floor without taking a break. (Okay, two.) The sad proof of my declining condition.
For weeks I’ve been listening to the same song when I’m surviving on the stairs. (Bullit-Watermat) Because if someone will find me dead, lying in the corridor, they will see what music I was listening for during my period of suffering. That song should be played during my funeral with a diashow consisting the best moments of my life. Back then, where I was able to reach a lecture without seeing my whole make up flowing away.
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Limping Wednesday.
Today I was reading my 500 page French novel in a coffeehouse and felt extremely intelligent. I nodded, drank my strong coffee and made clever notes. I was just awesome! Looking so smart, cosmopolitan and culturally interested.
Suddenly everything changed because I needed to pee urgently. I made one step and I don´t know why, but my left foot didn´t move. Apparently my circulation stopped and I tried to manage my way to the toilet without creating a sensation. I was extremely confused. Were my heels broken? No!! Apparently MY LEG?!
The waiter already stared at me and I could see the complete confusion in his eyes. I tried to trail my leg behind discreetly.
Arrived on the toilet, I had to laugh so much that I peed on the toilet seat and got water on my sleeve. (with the tapwater). Okay. I had 2 possibilities: I could pretend to have a serious knee problem and whisper to the waiter that my surgery was just 2 weeks ago OR I could be self-confident and deal with the fact that the runway must still wait for me.

Because first I will apply for the university of art.
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Post traumatic french disorder
When I got to France I first studied the behaviour of French women. They don´t use public transport and they walk everything by foot. So what?!
Lisa-Maria doesn´t use public transport anymore! She walks everyhing by foot now! Which is amazing because Vienna decided to be the center of gorgeous hails, fabulous storms and stunning showers. It´s pretty awesome when you arrive at home without any eyebrows at all and your Iphone turned himself off because you couldn´t resist swiping on Tinder in the rain. What a match!
Another positive effect is that French women use perfume all the time. So I´m in the streets. I look around. Okay, nobody´s here. Hehe.
Well, I can´t explain it to myself but I tend to spray in my mouth. Of course not just a bit. No, I spray like there´s no tomorrow. Now I can at least confirm that „Lancôme- La vie est belle“ really tastes like tonka bean and patchouli.
Last week I was accidentally racist because I had to smile at a dark pigmented man who bought just bananas. I felt so bad that I flirted with the breathtaking cashier and ate 2 crêpes at home. Hi! I´m French!

Okay… once again: The cashier was pretty gross and I´m really not sure if he was a man or a really ugly girl. I ate a kit kat on my way and 5 crêpes at home. I forgot my perfume and prefered the tram. Hi! I am… Austrian.
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My Love of hating alcohol
First of all, I have to high five myself because the best thing about my drunk self is that I never text or call men. Way too good for that. But honestly, this was the only good thing. Because my drunk self thinks that, for example, I haven´t used enough blush. So I go straight to the toilet and return as a combination of a whore and a clown.
The guy in the corner who I swore was, at best, a 5 is looking a lot more like a 10 right now. So back to the toilet to check my makeup. Wow! Awesome rouge by the way! Now let´s redo my mascara. That´s usually the point where I lose one of my contact lenses. So I come back as a half blind clown-whore. And suddenly the guy in the corner isn´t a 5 or a 10- he´s the new love of my life. In addition to that, I already lost a high heel. Yes. Just one.

How. Why. What?
So height difference of 11cm. Awesome. I was standing there totally crooked for a couple of hours and I didn´t realize it. At this point: thanks to all the bitches who didn´t draw my attention to the fact that the "cinderella-look" is definitely not working. So after stumbling behind the bar to get more tequila shots (best idea) I finally found my shoe there!! Between my coat and a garbage can.
Again: How. Why. What?
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The run of my life.
Actually I love turbulence on an airplane but the flight from Düsseldorf to Montpellier was as if I watched my own open-heart surgery. Of course, I tried to pretend that I was searching for something in my bag that I had placed under the seat in front of me but actually I was just getting ready for my death. So while I was waiting for my life to go by I had to think about my absolute highlights. I had to laugh so much that I nearly died from having my chewing gum stuck in my throat. Faced with a life-threatening challenge of surviving my chewing gum- turbulence-disaster I was lucky that I received a second chance at life and so I wrote down my memoirs and by that my favorite story:
When you want to shower, are already naked and you realize that you have to pee and go to the toilet (of course outside the apartment), come back and the door is closed…then that´s a pretty depressing situation for a naked person. Okay. No surprise: the naked person was me. Initial situation: 1) spare key on the other side of the courtyard 2) a small rucksack available, found in the staircase
Holy moly… so I strapped on the rucksack to hide at least something and I ran. I ran like I´ve never run before. I felt un-break-able! The sky was getting dark so the light flattered at least my butt. In my imagination I looked like a beautiful naked elf floating through the courtyard. In reality I was more like a white bowed creepy gnome with a rucksack. I also loved that fact that nearly the whole time chestnuts were falling on me because it was autumn and the most windy night of the whole fucking year. Definitely the most beautiful aspect of this season when you have to run naked, hide from your neighbours and search for the spare key at the same time.
The pain was awful. I don´t know what was worse: the chestnuts trying to knock me down or stepping barefoot on nearly everything like screws, little branches, and a fork (?!). But I had to go on.
I crossed the line to my apartment in 4minutes and 37seconds. I ran the first minute way too fast. I knew I should have slowed down, but I didn´t let go. It was the run of my life.

Now, two years later I would have done everyhing different. Maybe I would be clever enough to look under the doormat where the second spare key waited for me. No comment. Story of my life.
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Why I feel sometimes sexually harassed and extremely sexy at the same time.
When a leaf lands in my cleavage, I want to grab it and I find a small black bug on my bra : well this quite simply means that it´s autumn. Or that I shouldn´t wear bras anymore.
Anyway, with or without a bra: it´s autumn. Thank God! This means that men calmed down somehow and they don´t jump on me in the street when I wear some lipstick and my hair loose. Do I like it? Hmmm yes and no.
For example when I wake up from the anesthetic of my knee-surgery in pain and the male nurse welcomes me with:“ Oh the beauty is already awake“, I want to hurt him. Properly. (After asking myself what his favorite type of woman may be. I mean.. seriously? With no Make Up and just one eyebrow? Good taste!)
When someone asks me during my workout :“ Ahm you look gorgeous, but can you really lift that weight?“ …I want to drop my barbell „accidentally“ on his feet and answer: „Sorry I´m just a very weak girl.“ (The fact that I fell over my own feet after that had something to do with my muscle mass. I´m pretty sure)
Another time when someone whistles at me in the street I´m embarrassed, burn with shame and finally walk into a trash can.
Note to myself: watch where you´re going, Lisa-Maria!
Note to yourself: you will never know what you get: my telephone number or my vicious look!
Note to note one last thing: I always feel sexy… even though I´ve eaten a whole glass of speculoos cream and as a topping 7-34 spoons nutella and maybe some reeses pieces… BUT more important: without any comments from creepy men on the street.

P.S.: After this reflection and thinking about myself I still don´t know why I feel sometimes sexually harassed and sometimes extremely good-looking when someone flirts with me.
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Extreme-Me
“Moderation?”
A foreign word to me. Has always been.
The foundation stone of “Extreme-Me” was definitely my first lighter- experience. I was 4 years old and I burnt my left eyebrow. Yap. Of course the whole. No half-measures with Lisa-Maria here. Looks awesome by the way. (High five to eyebrow make-up.)
At primary school everyone had braces. In different colours. And seriously.. THEY WERE FUCKING AWESOME!!!!!! Blue, green…whatever…awesome awesome awesome! It´s a large understatement that i wanted to have one too. When my friends with braces (nearly everyone) talked to me I had to concentrate to look into their eyes and not to stare at their beautiful braces. Okay, so I finally had an appointment at my dentist. I was reeaaally nervous and already thought about the colour I wanted to have for my braces. Ah so exciting!! Jewellery for my teeth. After feeling so naked all these years.
Then the depressing news. My teeth are perfect. Seriously? Thanks for nothing Monsieur! But I´ve always been creative or more like…crazy and decided to throw myself onto the ground in order to change my teeth. Result? Blood in and around my mouth. Pebbles in and around my mouth. Silliness in and around my mouth. Great idea. Lisa-Maria at its best. Big cinema. And of course no braces for me. And on the top of that it was sexy plaster-time. Fail one.
At high school I decided to know the french dictionary inside out. Seriously? Yap. And of course during the break and not during the lessons because I was a nerd. (Just managed the letter A by the way) Fail two.
When I do sports, then for a few hours. When I open a peanut-butter-glass, then I will finish it at once. Although I already have stomach-ache. No half-measures here again! I study all night long or do precisely nothing…

In life, it is about balance for many things. Taking on an extreme approach can be dangerous! Dangerous…
awesome super great FUN!
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