Chronicles of Wynn

They don't even contain any candy like christmas stockings! Boo!

2012-01-24T15:58:00.003Z

I've come to the realisation that I need to shave my feet.

Why, you ask. Well, it's like this. Every time I get up from bed/the couch/from sitting down, since I've started at Metal Co, my feet hurt. Like seriously hurt. Sometimes more, sometimes less. But, I also realised that since I'm not getting any younger, and is hopefully not sitting down a lot more anytime soon, it was time to let go of the youngster dreams of being able to cope with everything! Everything! And just give up. Pull out mom's old compression stockings and hope for the best.

They've worked out okay. I feel a difference, but mostly in the fact that I feel like I have this awkward secret under my pants and I'd probably rather get eaten by one of the dinos before admitting to using compression stockings. I mean, taste the word. Compression. Stockings.

Also, when you take those stockings off, you don't really take them off. You just remove them to live another day. Evidence:

Sorry for the yellowy bluey tint of the picture, I'll blame winter
for being dark.

But what's up with these feet now? Well, you know how you pull up a pair of tights and then wear them all day long and then when you take them off, all the hairs on your legs have been bent the wrong way (up) and your skin is tender and sore for a while after you've freed them? I had no idea that the smidgeon of hairs on the tops of my FEET would be even worse! Yes. The hairs on my feet make my skin hurt when I pull the compression stockings off.

If anyone had told me as a teenager that I'd be this human by the time I passed 25, I would have cried.
Getting older and more "mature" and developing all these traits that grown up women and men have, isn't very much fun at all.

At all!

Yes. You're right. I suck in the bad way.

2012-01-21T11:22:00.000Z

Yeah.... So I guess you know that I haven't followed through with the whole photo challenge, right? Well, it's because I suck. Also, it's because we've had the sucky boring lifewishdecreasing week at work. I seriously go into this apathy because it's so damn badly combined with me and my natural rhythm, Starting work in the afternoon and then working all through the night and then have to go to bed instantly but you can't really sleep until after 3 AM and still have to set the clock for 9 AM because you have to feel like there's at least SOME freetime in your life that's not involved in doing laundry, hanging laundry, stuffing the dishwasher, making lunch, showering, finding all your clothes for work and getting dressed. If there's been free time, there might even be some makeup involved.

Blah. Shit week.

My solution to just being angry and annyoing that entire week, is preparations. On sunday before the suckyness begets, I made all the lunches for work, all the lunches for the real lunch at home before work, I carefully gathered clothes, socks, underwear and shirts for me to wear at work so I wouldn't have to LOOK for it later, and I got up a little earlier than I use to. Tired, sure, but I at least feel like I have some sparetime.

And now it's over, and doesn't come back until the next time in the ever revolving cycle of work (UNIVERSE, I LOVE MY JOB LET ME KEEP IT PLEASE I'M JUST BITTER ABOUT THIS ONE WEEK MMMKAY?)

TGI.. SATURDAY! (because I did work all night yesterday, so tgif, it wasn't)

Photo Challenge, Days 1-12!

2012-01-15T03:13:00.001Z

Yes. Composite post. Will contain images from last year. Don't get upset about it, it's only in good fun!

Day 1: You
Well, because I'm a lazy fuck, I refer to the header picture. I've put down a lot of love and affection in that picture, and I think it speaks my language quite well.

Day 2: Breakfast
Breakfast? Seriously? The only breakfast I've eaten the last.. six weeks, was when mom was here over christmas. Otherwise, I wake up around lunchtime and then I have lunch. Not breakfast. No wait! I actually have a picture of the christmas breakfast! Wait.. Fine ass quality moose/elk/whateveryoucallit sausage. Luxury!

Day 3: Something You Adore
I can't not pick my dear little estranged kitty. She lives on a different location because I'm allergic (sob) but I get to see her now and then. She remembers me every time, and that always makes me happy.

Day 4: Letterbox
Our letterbox is in weathered plastic and ugly, so I won't make the extra effort on capturing it on camera.

Day 5: Something You Wore
RIP, pretty pretty purple fake Converses. I miss you!

(It's not called Oak Grove for nothing)

Day 6: Makes You Smile
My dear fiancé (god, it sounds so gay).

Day 7: Favourite
Hmmm, what kind of favourite.. Well, I'll use the favourite breakfast for my birthday. Carrot cake with perfect topping and fresh yummy sammiches with "liver paté " (it's TASTY! I promise).

Day 8: Your sky

Day 9: Daily Routine
You mean scrambling around the house for an hour looking like a corpse, looking for my fatty pants, before I even wake up a little mentally? I'm sparing you that picture.

Day 10: Childhood
I currently have no pictures of my childhood. There's a bunch in a box, somewhere.

Day 11: Where You Sleep
Blah, messy bedroom with white walls and still questionable interior decorating. Let's skip that one for now.

Day 12: Close-Up
These candles are AMAZING. As usual with glitter, there's no way to capture their real awesome prettyness on camera. This was as close to their true nature as I got.

Fridays, huh?

2012-01-13T20:19:00.003Z

Throwing the chocolate on the table and shoveling the wrapper in your mouth is not the way to go when trying to enjoy a obviously unfocused evening at home.

Just so you know that.

In this post: exclamations!

2012-01-12T20:43:00.000Z

FEERNANDOOO!

While surfing the intarweb with the music divinities ABBA blaring in my headphones in our home "office", I find this:

I feel like doing it. I've already missed 12 days which sucks, but I guess that only gives me an excuse to collect pictures that I've already taken this month and try and squeeze them in, right?! Also, PHOTO POST? RIGHT? What's better than a photo post?!

Anyways, I'm doing it with a little creative spirit because you will for instance not get to see this pretty face, but I will make it up to you. At least try. I know I know, I assure you guys that I'm doing it for YOU!

You should take on the challenge too! And tell me about it!

But, to the important bit: There's apparently 89 people that has had the good sense of taste and added me to their following-lists, and I just wonder, WHO ARE YOU GUYS? Tell me! I'm curious about every single one of you. Where do you live, come from, work with, mate with, play with, drink, eat, call your pets, find me?? WHO ARE YOU WONDERFUL PEOPLE? Come back here, I mean you!

Voluez vooooous!

Ahhhhh! NOW! Gimme now! Uppercase writing!

2012-01-10T21:55:00.000Z

SO MUCH TO SURF, SO LITTLE TIME!

And here I sat for a couple of days towards the end of the christmas holiday and were all like "I'm bored. I have nothing to do." and BAM, within 40 hours of the real life starting again, I realise that scrapbooking exists. Now, I know that it has existed for a LONG time, and I've been working on my collection of papers, scrambly bits and pieces, glitters, minature stuff, pearls, vintage looking papers and all that kind of stuff, but yet, I just couldn't come up with anything more to do with it. I saved it all for the day when inspiration would come like a slap in the face. Roamed stores after pretty things while bf asked me what I would do with it.
"I dunno. Something pretty!"
He just looked at me with this "mad woman" look and slowly made it for the door, sitting himself down on the bench outside to surf the latest computery stuff. Stereotypes? Not in this family!......

Anyways, that moment when I realise what to do with my collected goods that I've been waiting for, that moment is now. Well, three hours ago. When I found vintage looking papers littered with copper metallic paint on the local fiddlystuffbotique. I skipped home and stroked the papers gently. Though about what I would do with it. I've had these plans for a wall in the upstairs hallway since we moved here, but bf looked at me funny when I said that I would probably plaster the whole thing with pretty stuff. Psch. He needs a kick in the butt to get him further out of his little box and realise that a wall filled with gems, glitter and vintage looking stuff is GOOD. GOOD!

Also, this whole surfing the internet while shrieking "THAT'S SO PRETTY, LOOK BF! LOOK!" makes time fly so fast, and soon it's time to go to work again. Ie, wait work out so I can go home and surf some inspiration and then (probably) build myself a very pretty little blinged up vintaged owl. You heard me. Owl. Those are great, aren't they? So cute and in so many different shapes and forms.

Also, don't tell bf I just spent an unordinate amount of (at least it's my own) money on an order containing brown and coppery and bronzy colours and glitteres, distress inks and PRETTY THINGS.

I can just feel that friggin lost creativity throw itself into the world again. I've missed it. Years of being REALLY broke/having too much to do in school really puts a stamp on creating things (that is not like gift wrappers on wardrobes). Eep.

Gotta get dressed.

Now that that's done, I don't need to be stupid more this year.

2012-01-06T02:17:00.000Z

It was late at night. I was bored. Surfed around on the internet and got inspired by all these hot ladies with happy coloured hair, tattoos and plugs in their ears. I want to have pink and purple hair again, I shout inside my head. Two hours pass.

I stare at myself in the mirror. Dangit.

You know what happens when you try bleaching parts of your hair that has been dyed with henna more than once?
Nothing.

You know what happens when you try bleaching parts of your hair that has been dyed with henna once?
It goes yellow. The ungodly straw yellow. The strands fold into your orangey browney hair and makes it look like real crap.

But you know that you can always throw some henna on top of it and it will disappear, right? Oh yeah! Pakistan hasn't delivered. There's no henna. There hasn't been any for months. The only reseller hasn't got a clue when more comes in. I'm two steps out of my door, roaming the streets looking for someone that could sell me illegal and highly overpriced packets of henna that may had passed customs because I HAVE AN INCH OF OUTGROWN BLONDE HAIR UNDER MY ORANGE HAIR AND IT LOOKS LIKE CRAP GIMME HENNA NOW!

Dangerous, dangerous stuff to have at home.

Well, I've always said that the winter holiday is for doing stupid stuff, and now that I can't have sex with my stalker, flirt endlessly with random people I'm sure I can get to make out with or just randomly travel to Foureyes and make a fool of myself in the big city, I have to do something at home.
Unfortunately, I had bleach at home. And dye.

Also, to make things worse, I chose to experiment with a purply pinky dye. Not potent enough to stick to all my hair, but only parts of it. So, now the outgrown natural blonde hair is purple, the strands are pink, orange, yellow and brown. It looks FANTASTIC. Also? I bleached the area around my face, making it impossible to hide. I rock! Now, I'm just thinking about dyeing it all purple just because, but since the rest of my hair isn't bleached (the upside and downside with not using chemical dyes for years), it'll just let it all go but some parts that will be pink. I have three days to solve this, then it's back to work.

THINK WYNN, THINK!

What's up with this 2012?

2012-01-02T01:26:00.001Z

Everyone's writing all these "this happened during 2011!"-posts and I'm like "I wanna be like EVERYONE ELSE so I'm doing it too!"

Well, as a matter of fact, this year has presented a few things. We got engaged and bought a house.
The end.

No, really. That's about it. I got a job, of course. A job that I have four weeks notice on (neverminding the contract I have, I can still lose it with four weeks notice) and as the world economy is declining, so is my faith about keeping it. We'll see though. At least I'll be unemployed and living here instead of drifting restlessly around St Aldus looking for anything pretty to look at. Warning, if I lose my job, I will probably be posting A LOT of pictures of water here. Just because I will have to dampen my sorrows by walking along the lake shore all day long. Pretending that I'm not in a pickle, that bf has to ride to work that half hour one way alone twice a day, or that we'll have the least impressive life ever just to be able to keep the house.

BUT! I also became an aunt (again), a little girl that I am godmother of now. I'm not really sure that the church should trust me on that one, btw. Hello blasphemic metal music and paganism.. I'll teach her the correct ways, don't worry. Oh, and my sister doesn't read this blog. MOHAHAHAHA.

Also? Foureyes got engaged. Islander got engaged. Northener is having a baby. Two of our couple-friends here had babies. Three other couples got engaged. Getting ass drunk and dancing has been replaced with drinking coffee, playing games or having dinner together. 2012 may be the most grown up year of my life. In other words, time to get that pierced lip (the bottom lip in my face, pervs) and getting back on that pink hair. Tattoo session booked. What else can I do to reclaim my youth? This whole being in a relationship thing really doesn't work well with teenage rebellion. Of course, I have to point out that neither tattoos or pink hair is part of teenage rebellion for me, even though my father really hoped it would be. Ten years ago he asked if I hadn't outgrown that yet. Well...

Also. Wedding? Weeks go by without us talking about it because we really just don't want to plan this whole thing. It feels.. way over our heads. Like seriously too much work and money. If we get married and only include family, I still have to scrape together somewhere for my side of the family to live, ie 15 people. Minimum. Sigh. So, eloping? ELOPING! But what if my mom gets disappointed? I hate disappointing her, even more so know when I really don't know how long I get to keep her.

So this will probably be one of the most chaotic years of my life too. Changes man. Changes. Time to pull that cover over my head and not look out until it's 2013. Would that help?

Maybe it's a good thing that it's all pressed into seven days of pure DO'S AND DON'TS.

2011-12-30T01:02:00.001Z

Oh. Am I the only one that's glad that christmas is over? Kind of sort of? I mean, all the tension and all the "DON'T GET SICK!" and all the "we need to.." and all that jazz. Gah.

This year, everyone got sick. There was no joint christmas because my brother got sick, my three nieces and my nephew got sick and bf and I got sick. Everyone stayed home. Sort of weird but also just fine, because hanging out with sick, tired kids isn't exactly my idea of having a peaceful time with fever raging through my system. The time when I have to take care of screaming noisy little people while feeling like death myself, is coming closer every day. Don't need to skip those last years of freedom, right?

So, we stayed home. Also, still no snow. We had a small, quiet, three-people (mom) dark snowless christmas in our house. Went to bed at 10.30 PM. Got up at 10 AM. It was perfect (considering the circumstances). We put all the soda that was leftover because we were to bring it to our joint christmas, on the patio. It wasn't even cold when we drank from it later, because it's warmer than in a fridge outside. So weird.

Now, it's all "DON'T GET SICK!" and "we have to.." and "we gotta" and "I have to paint the kitchen" and "don't forget!!" and blaaaah for new years. Hosting dinner. People are coming. Gotta make a three course dinner to satisfy 10 adults. Gotta clean the house and paint the kitchen and buy that food and don't forget anything and borrow chairs and set things up and move the christmas tree without breaking it and sort things out and prove to everyone that we're not the messiest couple in town and yes, we can make our home work evey though we "have a lot of stuff". I'mma wear false nails (LEOPARD PRINTED BABY!) for the first time in seven years and tomorrow I have to try to put on false lashes for the first time ever. I look like crap all up in my head because there's offically no henna to be bought (WHY GAWD, WHY?) and my haircut is extraordinarily boring. And I need to pretend that I have fancy new years clothes on but it's really only my usual red jeans and a top and I need to figure out a fun makeup so I can put on my fancy face instead of just my daily face. And we also have no idea if we're even gonna get to see any fireworks, because we, well, don't know anything about the new years celebrations here in Oak Grove. No pressure, peeps. Oh, and I'm making banoffee pie for the first time too. I have no idea what it tastes like, I just know it looks good. Quite like myself actually. Hurr hurr.

It's a good thing that I have a couple of days after new years off work, so I can REST from all this holiday stuff. It's tiring for a couchpiggy like myself.

It grows up so fast, it's almost ready for college!

2011-12-13T16:26:00.000Z

But let's not dwell over the lack of love this house has experienced before we got here! Let's instead dive deep down into the world of christmas decorations, feel the musty smell of the glühwine and gingerbread and imagine that Santa breathing down your neck as you run down the street trying to find that one leftover christmas gift to your damn spoiled nephew that already has everything you could ever think of but you still have to get something that will be recieved with a chilled "thank you" as its placed on the four feet high pile of christmas gifts that is churned out during an intensive 30 minutes of "Merry christmas to Nephew, From grandma" after which you get to clean up all the mess so the dog alternatively the 10 month old niece won't devour the gift wrappings or the pretty, metallic strings used to decorate them because that would like totally ruin christmas for everyone. Oh, that's not the spirit of christmas? No? Well that's weird, I could swear it happens to me every year.

MERRY CHRISTMAS/HAPPY HOLIDAYS EVERYONE!

We're on our way fixing all this. Just gimme time.

2011-12-11T12:15:00.000Z

So, we moved in. The first days we only worked on the wallpapers and slept, climbed over the piles of furniture, put up wallpapers, climbed, yeah you know. Chaos. And, damn, this house is NOT soundproof. And after getting down and dirty on the couch in the living room, we concluded that we have to move the huge mirror in the hallway to another place. I'm pretty sure that the neighbours have seen at least parts of us naked from the yard. Tip people, watch carefully where your reflections show. The shower downstairs has to be fixed because it squeals loudly when one is taking a shower, leading to me only showering upstairs in the bathtub. Oh, and we also had to break loose parts of the kitchen floor to get the old non-functioning dishwasher out (we did know that is was crap because they told us, but that it was impossible to get out? No.). Tip: DON'T LAY DOWN NEW FLOORS WITHOUT CHECKING IF THERE IS STUFF THAT GETS BUILT IN THAT SHOULDN'T BE BUILT IN!

But now, after a month, it's just fine. There's stuff that has to be done, but I'll just go into it with the more we do, the more the house is ours kind of attitude. I wanna cover the entire upstairs with carpet to dampen some sounds, just gotta find the ugliest most 70s style crazy coloured patterned carpet there is, and install it in the hallway. It's gonna be so awesome! People are gonna be all "holy shit, that reminds me of my grandmas basement" when they see it. Also, we taped the loose windowsills back onto their consoles (seriously people) furnished, pimped and puked up all the Christmas decorations and now, we love it. It's cosy, it's us, there's big windows in the livingroom that are framed by the strong chocolate coloured wallpapers, that allow for laying around inside while watching the stormy weather outside. Makes it extra good, ya know? The kitchen is red instead of baby blue (I will never understand this "light colours makes it feel bigger" crap. Bigger? Yes. Alive? No.) and getting ready to get all kinds of pimped up, and we've settled in fine.

But, as promised and long awaited (it's really hard to upload images when there's no intarwebs in the house) pictures of some of the WTF's of this house.

Painted over plaster.

The "let's not take down the lamp before painting the ceiling" complete

with shadowy profile of yours truly in the reflection.

Real gingerbread style work there, especially around that corner, right?

And.. my favourite. I do not think words are necessary here.

Need is the mother of all solutions.

2011-12-10T00:14:00.000Z

Event: My inherit spidar (spider radar, for those of you don't swing with my lingo!) discovered a dot clinging to the wall under the stairs. You know, one of those dots that really are dots until the spider decides to walk away, then they flap out to an inch long and an inch wide. Ugh.

Problem: When bf reached in behind the couch to vacuum it up, it almost didnt join the airstream because the vacuum bag is apparently so full that it doesn't suck pretty much at all.

Solution: Tape the muzzle of the hose shut and deal with it tomorrow.

Procrastination? Nooooo!

Thursday report.

2011-12-08T18:28:00.005Z

Bf's surfing cars again. Cars that are exactly like the one we already have, but five years younger.

Me? Finished off the cake and having a hard time deciding whether to sit here and surf or go downstairs to watch TV while I surf.

Damn all these choices!!

Edit: Also, reading blogs. You know how some people complain about the how technology has taken over our world when they don't even have to bother looking out the window in the morning to know that the first snow has fallen? Well, I could also say this: THEN DON'T CHECK FACEBOOK BEFORE YOU GET UP AND LOOK OUTSIDE IN THE MORNING! See? Problem solved. It's all what you make of it, bitches!

Yawn

2011-12-07T21:49:00.001Z

Is it a sign of getting older that you go to a christmas dinner with your co-workers, go home at 10 PM and look forward to surfing the wide web (that you've only gotten to enjoy for three days the last 35 days) and when you sit down, you instantly almost fall into a coma. Squinting, sinking down lower and lower in your chair, feel the clicky finger getting less and less agile. Reading posts with sentences longer than two rows almost makes you start dreaming. It's 10.30 and I'm ready for bed. I can't even imagine going out and even less getting drunk or tipsy somewhere.

Also, bf really likes when I look proper and, well, older. Not older-older, but like.. grown up-fancy. In my knitted, mid thigh long, sleeved christmas dress, he thought I should stay home instead of going out. To.. look at me? Well, it's all up to the future to see if he really likes totally grown up women, or not.

I really should write the sequal about the house, but I'm too tired right now. Bf's bringing me red bull and cake, that ought to cheer me up. Put a little sugar in it, so to speak. Probably will be in bed before midnight inspite of his efforts (and he's only helping me to stay awake because we're working the graveyard shift soon). Man I'm lame.

No wait, I take that back. This has to be some kind of middle-youngster aged crisis that my body is going through, because hell, those middle aged men and women at work are SO MUCH TOUGHER than me. Seriously, I could never keep up with those people. Partying until 9 AM and being all kinds of crazy. I get tired from even thinking about it. Ooh, cake!

Second impression.

2011-12-04T22:48:00.000Z

So, after a night filled with anxiety and worry, we quite easily concluded that the smell of smoke was the most acute problem there was. Apart from the sewer smell that we told ourselves would go away if we just used the bathroom, there wasn't actually big problems around the house. Aesthetically displeasing, yes. Real issues? No.

After we checked closer and saw that that window does shut properly but the handles don't, we tore off one of the TWO isolatory rubber strands stapled around the front door so it actually shuts (seriously people, how effin lazy are you? Couldn't just REMOVE the old one and replace it?), changed the lightbulb on the porch, tore the leftover closets to pieces and threw them away, adjusted the toilet upstairs so it doesn't have water running 24/7 (SERIOUSLY, HOW LAZY ARE YOU?), put back the fronts on the bathtub because they could apparently not work out how the hell to put them back, fastened a loosely hanging cable on a wall (s.r.s.l.y.), brushed all the cobwebs off of everything, oiled a crazily squeaky door (I mean come on people) scraped paint off of fixtures and everything, adjusted another door that touched the floor so it didn't anymore, and then it was time for the wallpapers.

Those damn wallpapers. If I don't have to see another roll of wallpaper ever, well I'd be quite sad, but in theory, I'd be happy. There were layers that probably dated back to the 80's, haphazardly smeared with plaster that we still can not understand. When we sanded that damn plaster down, there was nothing on the wall witnessing on why they've done it. No joints, no holes, no tears, no nothing. Just meaningless plastering that made it impossible to remove that wallpaper. All but one layer came down after days of going directly to the house after work, leaving way too late, sleep, work, repeat. Along the ceiling all of it came down in chunks that were no longer at all attached to the walls (years of not gluing around the edges properly?) and in the hallway, I could just break the entire shell down. I was left with the bare original board wall, with no effort. Right. When I scooted around on the floor, scraping off that damn plaster that was everywhere, I suddenly felt a discreet breeze. WTF?

I put my hand up to confirm what I thought to have experienced, and I had been correct. There was actually air coming through the seams of the wall where it met a vertical beam. Air? Where did that air come from? Upon closer inspection, that air smelled of nicotine and cigarettes. WTF? Was it so infused in the walls that the space between us and the neighbour actually fanned nicotine winds into our house?

Two days later, after we plastered that shit up (I have finger-plastered every damn conceivable corner/seam downstairs) and painted it with a silicone cover-that-dead-body-in-your-wall-up-paint, we realised where the smell came from. The neighbour. Sitting in his kitchen, smoking away. Yuck. But you know what? Not even a hint of the disgusting smell since then. He's been smoking away in his disgusting house and we haven't felt a thing. HAH! Everything felt so much better.

Then, we moved in.

First impression. Landed hard.

2011-12-02T19:19:00.001Z

So. That day. Got up at 5.30. Worked all day. Then bank, money, former owners, keys. Sped away to the house to see it as ours for the first time. Got there, dark and wet outside. Unlocked the door and stepped in. The smell of cigarette smoke hit us like a slap in the face. Okay.. I'm sure it didn't smell of smoke when we were here the first three times? Right? WHY DOES THIS PLACE SMELL OF SMOKE? Stepped into the bathroom on the bottom floor. It smelled strongly of sewer. Met the eyes of my dear fiancé. It was a look of worry. Flushed the toilet, sink and shower to refresh a little. Walked upstairs and looked around. The rooms was roomier than we remembered, but.. What are those assholes of gargantuan closets doing there? They're still here? We told them to remove those fuckers? Texted and they let us formally know that the closets were not their problem anymore. Nice until they get their money, right? Okay, so rig the lights on the bottom floor and inspect the wallpapers. Need to tear them down or just wallpaper over those mothers? But.. you can see the lines all over the place from underlaying layers of wallpaper? So, just tear them down then. Threw everything into the house, from ladders to spatulas to paint to wallpaper to speakers to Red Bull in order to even survive the evening.

Walked into the empty, dark kitchen. Looked out the window. What have they done?! They've exchanged the ordinary lightbulbs on the yard to energy saving lights. Stone cold, bluish white light spread across the houses, luring forward the least pretty features of everything. A graveyard is more cosy at nighttime than our yard is. It was still smelling of cigarette smoke in there.

As we lit the worker's light in the living room we realised that they've mounted plain, plastic, L-shaped baseboards around the whole room, and also, the whole house. Those seriously have to go. The wallpapers that we intended to keep are peeling off? That window doesn't close properly. The front door is really, really hard to close? Like having to bodyslam it to get it to shut-hard. They brought the wallmounted hatstand with them? The light on the porch doesn't work. It did when we were here two weeks ago. The ringbell doesn't work either. So the door on the freezer is mounted on the wrong side so we have to stand out in the hallway to reach into it? They've not taken down any fixtures when painting so there's white paint on EVERYTHING. Every light socket, every wall plug, every handle, every beam, ceiling lights, white paint slathered. They've reconnected the newer washer and dryer to a normal wall plug instead of the actually intended fuse, which means that the fuse for the kitchen and hallway blows when we use them at the same time. They've also actually painted over a bent nail in the ceiling in the hallway. It takes one second to remove a friggin nail! There's cob webs everywhere. Apparently they've been a spider liberal couple. Times change, man. The curtain rods are barely hanging on the severly beaten up fixtures in every room. Hot damn, people can stare right into the kitchen AND our upper floor because of a tilted walkway we hadn't notice before. They've painted the bedroom walls white (and slathered it all over the electrical fixtures) and didn't bother to remove that huge fluffy bubble that they've also poked a hole in in the middle of a wall.

This house has not gotten ANY love from its owners in a long time. Poor house. I understand why they moved. They've used the least time costly, cheapest, dodgyest, most foul looking solutions to everything.
E. V. E. R. Y. T. H. I. N. G. And dude, I've been living in DORM ROOMS for years with seriously dodgy solutions, and I still find everything they've done to be crap.

We started around the living room, to remove window sills and sockets and those god awful baseboards and threw them out while brooding on the cigarette smell. Seriously, you can't live in a house that smells of cigarettes when you're not a smoker. Also, we knew that the previous-previous owner had been a smoker, and that the couple that we bought the house from had to redo everything when they moved in (that's also how we know who did all those evil things to the house). Could that poison still be in the walls and seep through into the air if we don't air it out constantly? That's unacceptable. What the frick to do?

The ride home, on the pitch black highway, was a dead silent one.

To be continued..

Finally! Our home is almost complete!

2011-12-01T17:55:00.000Z

I cannot BELIEVE I have more followers now than I did before I lost the internets. Maybe that's a real big, blinking hint of what my blog should really be about. It's already about nothing, but maybe it should be about seriously nothing?

Anyways, NOW WE'VE GOTS THE INTERNETS! It only took about three weeks longer than it was supposed to. Of course, the first thing I choose to do, is blog.

I am gonna tell you about the house. I know you've been waiting IMPATIENTLY for me to return and give you the epic tale of dissapointment, happiness, change, fear and dude wtf who does that?

In the next post, of course.

In your face, bf!

2011-11-10T19:42:00.000Z

We have a visual. I repeat, we have a visual.

You see, since we decided to bid on and buy this place, I've had an inkling that because it is so close to the water, we should be able to SEE it from here. Bf was always Debbie Downer and were all like "no there's so much stuff in the way" and "no, there houses in the way" and just "I don't think so. Don't get your hopes up."

Peeing in my parade usually doesn't pay off for him, but old dogs doesn't learn, right?

Anyways, today I decided to finish this discussion off. I had made one of the rooms upstairs walkable and took the opportunity to look out the window to see what could hide itself out there. And what did my eye spot?! The motherfucking lake baby!

Yeah so I had to stand on the bed, squeeze myself against the window and pull out the binoculars and direct it through and past some houses and through the vegetation that is currently leafless, and then squint to see a surface in the exact same shade as the sky, lined with sea weed and small trees. But BAM! Lake view!

This place just keeps getting better.

What? It's the small things, right?

It's alive!!

2011-11-08T19:52:00.000Z

Ah. I've lost a follower. Must be someone that felt so betrayed by my absence. Don't worry, I am alive. Barely. We're in and moved and holy crap the previous owners really have cheated their way through their renovations. They haven't even taken the ceiling light down when they painted the ceiling?! They rolled it. It looks so pretty. When I find the charger to my camera I'll show you.

Also, don't pick old wallpapers off with your fingers. Youll just stab yourself with old dodgy wallpapers and get a sore thumb that you after two days can feel your pulse in and then when you do some pretty skilled amateur surgery on it it'll pour out pus and then in the shower you'll happen to flush exactly there with the shower head and it'll penetrate into the abscess under your nail and it will hurt like a motherfucker. Not that that was what happened to me. I inform you in a purely theoretical purpose.

Also? I may be without Internet for weeks. Also? HOW AM I GONNA LIVE WITHOUT INTERNET for weeks? Blogging on my phone sucks and is the reason for all the weird auto corrections that will interrupt my thoughts and confuse you guys.

Well, now it's time to go down on my knees again with bf. And scrape white cover paint off of the wooden floors. Happy times.

Is it a bird? Is it a plane? No, it's a fucking horse!

2011-10-31T20:08:00.000Z

Sometimes, you're drunk and happy. Hanging out with people you don't know but just click with, for that moment. You swear to grab a cup of coffee later on when sober, because really, why wouldn't you? There's always room for new friends, right! You get their names so you can add them on Facebook the next day.

Then comes the next day. You feel a little silly for making friends while drunk, mostly because it's such a stereotypical thing to do, but also, are they gonna think I'm desperate? Oh well, let's do it anyways! It's girls, at my age, that seem fun and happy.

So you sent friend requests and get positive answers. You scour through their facebook profiles and realise..

Horror. Shock. Sadness.

They're HORSE PERSONS. Right then and there, all hope of a future friendship dies. Whithers away like a wet soggy snowman in the fine rays of the spring sun. But you can't undo the friendship request because that would just be weird, especially since you work with them. So now you just have to put up with seeing them post pictures of horses all day long. See how their status updates is all about the stables. Manicuring horses. Brushing them. Oh, look here, it's running. Look! It's running! Also, on this picture? Running. This is one with me on the horse, blurred because it was moving around. Also? Going to the stables. There's a new horsie baby coming today! Sigh, gotta go to the vet with one of them. Sadles on sale! I wonder what I should name the next one? I'm SURE I could take care of seven horses and still have a dayjob. Here's a picture of a horse that is no longer among us, so sad. Look! Here's me standing next to a horse. Yes, the same horse that is in at least 82 pictures in one of the photo albums. The rest have other horses in them, duh. Gosh got muscle cramps in my ass from riding to long last sunday. It was magical out in the forests, on the horse. Look, a horse SHUT UP ALREADY!

I mean. Horses are cute. And kind of fun to watch when they're happy and curious, but they are in essence cute because they are animals. Pretty much all animals are cute. Because they are animals. At least everything that is classified as mammals or fish. But what is UP with these horse persons? Does it take up so much time that they have to be certifiably insane about the damn horses, otherwise they wouldn't be able to do it? I have never met any other kind of animal lover that is so obsessed with their interest as horse people. It's like, they cannot, I repeat, cannot not talk about horses, even though they know very well that the person sitting in front of them is not at all interested and would rather lock themselves in one of the dino cages than to listen to another story about some horse grazing in some field.

It's so sad. For me. Not for them. I sure they love what they're doing. But for me, horse lovers are impossible to hang out with. So sad. Yes, this scenario may be taken from the real world and yes, it's annoying. So I had to rant a little.

Summary of a few days in existence.

2011-10-30T20:20:00.000Z

Still living in chaos. Still packing shit up. Still finding myself, having taken a really hot shower, searching for the moisturizers only to realise that they're in one of the 20 boxes in our office. Which one? You tell me. I'll just hope my skin will forgive me, when I take that deep soak for an hour in our bathtub.

Also, booked time for the next tattoo. I'm excited! If it's turns out good, it's gonna turn out AWESOME. I'm relying on it, of course, because I went to the same guy that did my tattoos last winter. They're pretty and he's really good. It's gonna be a feast of melancholic dark earth dust-to-dust autumny goodness, with a combination of the three things I love the most. Autumn, archaeology, and colours of nature. Gives me the shivers. The good ones.

Also, growing up. Well, at least getting over my initial petrifying fears of adulthood. It feels nice. Altough, what I've actually gotten myself into is another story. But it's nice to air things a little and realise that your friends had evolved too. It's not something that I had expected, but really, never doubted either.

I understand why people in the past have thought of mystical

and magical things about the forests. I do too.

Bf and I was out and about around our necks of the woods, and pleasantly found a ancient spring, with the word "sacrificial" attached to it. Of course, we had to roam and see the spring. As instructed on a little information board, the water is fine to drink. It tasted good, actually. I just felt that this is where I belong. And I was with the person I "belong" to. Roaming the world in search of places to experience new things just isn't for me. Not right now. I'm home. And that feels damn good. Now, the only thing that stands in my way at the time, is that damn drivers license. Sigh.

There's stuff everywhere!

2011-10-25T11:03:00.000+01:00

You know, I am going to go ahead and claim that after having packed 12 moving boxes and you can almost not tell that I've packed anything, it's because I'm amazing at storage at home and NOT that we have too much stuff. Just, stuff.

Because I don't really think we have too much stuff. One cannot have too many candle holders, right? And I haven't even started on the kitchen yet. Also, bf does no packing because he's all like "You're so much better at it than me" which is true and "you don't trust me with that anyways" which is also true but it still puts a lot of pressure on me to finish this place up before the deadline.

And I have to be finished by the deadline, because I think we all at some point in the past have gone to help someone move and when you get there, they haven't even dissembled like the livingroom or anything. What's up with that, dude? There's no TIME for packing shit on the day you're moving! Moving day should be exactly like it sounds. For moving. Not going through the garage after stuff you think about throwing away, or drinking too much coffee.

"So, how about a cup of coffee then?" is not kosher around my parts of the moving buisness. In my family, that has moved a lot, there's one word for moving day: efficiency. You do your shit and THEN, when you're finished, there's time for pizza and coffee and vegging out on your malplaced couch in the wrong corner of the livingroom because everyone's too lazy to walk upstairs with boxes until they have to.

Anyways, I sold my old sofa. With grief. Why is it that we move to a bigger place and still have to get rid of furniture? My entire dorm room is on its way out the door, damnit! My old TV/TV-bench is disappearing, the couch is sold, my coffee table is sold, my old little bookshelf that I kept in the bathroom is probably not fit for our house, my glittery wonderful lavalamp is getting old, the old Xbox that gave me the opportunity to laugh myself through three seasons of How I Met Your Mother (yes, when I did, there was only three seasons of HIMYM) is probably soon gone. It just feels a little sad. I loved living in one room, I had everything I wanted and I could see everything and my livingroom was my office and my office was my bedroom and the bathroom, well it was only the bathroom. But I loved it. Cramming all my stuff into one little space. Now we'll have five rooms, two bathrooms, one kitchen, laundry room, big hallway and a stair!

For yet another phase of my life, I'm able to say that it was easier before (even though we know that's only part truth).

I'm gonna go pack another 12 boxes and then we'll see if I even get closer to being finished or not. Hmm.

So I did.

2011-10-20T21:58:00.001+01:00

I'm not usually a fan of God, but this one's awesome!

You know, I can be a silly, confused dork sometimes, but I do believe this actually settles it. I mean some things are very obvious, like you have to pack up all your stuff before you can move, put on the snow tires before you ~~can~~ should be driving around on snow and ice, and that you have to ask someone if they want to, before getting married (in most places).

This time, I seemed to have mentally skipped the entire reason of my preparations, as it wasn't really until after he said yes and we had selected the engagement rings that it came into the real light that we're actually getting married.

And now I'm like, married? Wedding? How does that even work? I don't even know what to google because I feel so lost. I've never fantasized, dreamt or planned anything surrounding my wedding so I have really few preferences. Like, it should be with someone that I intend on being together with. And my family and friends should be there. With age, I've also come to the conclusion that no church should be involved and that I'm not taking my partners last name. That's about it.
And now what, how much do we want to spend? Where are we having the ceremony? How's the ceremony gonna take place? What are we gonna wear? Who are we gonna invite? Party? Honeymoon? Wedding dinner? HEN NIGHT (which Foureyes is already planning, btw)? What are we gonna do with all the peeps that have to come and stay over because all of my family and friends live too far away? Sidetrack, why are people surprised because I actually asked if he wanted to marry me instead of "just getting engaged"? What's the point of getting engaged if one doesn't plan to.. get married? Am I going to get married? Be a WIFE? And he's gonna be my HUSBAND? We don't want to spend too much money but we don't want to skimp too much either because it's hopefully something you only do once?

All of this is is so confusing and people get excited and wait for invitations and expect babies to pop out soon and dogs to be introduced to the family, and it all blew up from one little quiet moment with autumn leaves falling around us, sitting on a bench overlooking the water.
"Honey."
"Yes."
"Do you want to marry me?"
"Yes."

This is long but a good reflection of reality.

2011-10-17T22:49:00.001+01:00

So. I thought that I would write that I'd been holding off blogging for a while for you guys, but then I checked and realise that I wrote a post two days ago. Not very much room for holding anything off there, I guess. But, I.. still do it for you guys?

I mean, the only thing that has gone through my head since like thursday, is THE HOUSE. GIVE ME THE HOUSE NOW! We've spent (yes, we. Because bf was a champ and fought his recurring low blood sugar that sets in every time we step into stores that does not contain electronics or is IKEA.) hours at the store looking through wallpapers and trying to decide what to choose and how to choose it. FINALLY, we've settled on the right wallpapers to match our chosen colours in the livingroom. Brown, muted purple and muted gold mothafakka's! It's gonna be so awesome that I nearly pass out just thinking about it. MUTED PRETTY COLOURS! Combined with our furniture and lots of lights and live candles and it's gonna be porntopia. Or, just a really cosy livingroom, whatever we feel like.

Also? Bathtub! Real bathrooms, and two of them! Choosing all colours by OUR choices and not after the landlords (which always means white or blue, yuck). Washing machine? Yes. Dryer? Yes. Dishwasher? Yes. Big, newly built patio? Yes. Four minute walk to a small beach with sunset view? Yes. Seven minute walk to a bigger beach with a sunset view? Yes.
Ability to redo the kitchen? Paint those cabinet doors! Small, easily maintained backyard with lilacs? Spring's not that far away.
A full size fridge and a full size freezer? Now we CAN make food for days to come and actually be able to store it somewhere!

Eeeeep! Now, what I DON'T look forward to is the actual move. Sigh or what? Moving furniture could be one of the most tediously painful things one can do, and the feeling one remembers is just a tidbit of how it actually feels when you're there, moving. Because of economics, we chose not to hire a moving company. I'll like start "saving up" for the next time now because I DON'T WANT TO CARRY FURNITURE AND BOXES FOR TWO DAYS.

Phew. This whole thing with the house is exhausting. Of course, mostly because I think about it almost 90% of the time without being able to do anything. All I can do right now and for two weeks more, is just to sit around in our apartment's disassembled livingroom and stare at the boxes. Which sucks.

Also, bf told his mom that we're moving to a little house and the first thing she said after he explained where and why we've moving was "Okay! So.. there's.. nothing else you want to tell me?" I mean, do one HAVE to be pregnant before moving into an awesome house instead of a leaky apartment? Psch.

I've been planning some rooms of my future house for years, being a interior decorating nerd, and so the day has come. The day where I can actually actually think about making that office space real with it's streamlined wall-to-wall desk with room for at least two people, the shelves on the walls and the pretty accentuating wallpaper behind it. The hidden lighting under the shelves that gives highlight to the awesomeness of the wallpaper and provides a friendly glow in order to lessen the contrast between the computer monitor and the surroundings.

And, the kitchen. Instead of boring, standard 90's white cabinets and drawers, it's all in dark wood. A big dining table in oak is combined with six stuffed chairs clad in some pretty fabric/leather. If the table isn't massive wood and cannot hold a sexual encounter, it's not good enough. The appliances are black instead of white and the tile is in some pretty muted colour that compliments the wood. A separate dining room is for later houses.

Mmmm.. My design-self is masturbating. Furiously yet passionate. Even more by the fact that bf thinks all of this is a great idea. I love that man.

The bathrooms will get worked on too, but in less invasive ways. Ripping out two four year old bathrooms isn't really an option or a necessity right now. The all-white tiles isn't something that a little paint and tile decor can't handle. Ahh. Impatient!

Edit: I should point out that all this is still a fantasy. That hopefully comes true soon! Mehe.

No rest for the wicked.

2011-10-15T23:27:00.000+01:00

Oh. Saturday. The weekend started off with me paying a man to shove his fingers up my box and whisk them around asking "does this hurt? I'mma put pressure on your cervix, is that close to the pains you're having? How about now?". I don't think I'll ever feel totally comfortable with talking to and keeping eye contact with strangers that have their fingers inside me. I got a huge, two week dose of something that should solve the problem of the "inflammation" that I've apparently been carrying around with me for two years. Oh, and let's just hope that chlamydia test is negative or bf and I will have a VERY awkward it-wasnt-me-it-has-to-be-your-fault exchange of accusations.

I then paid a man to order me around a neighbouring suburb trying to teach me how to shift gears, look in the mirrors, dead angle, signalling to turn while breaking in the steep slope and keep track of any traffic around me in a friggin Golf that behaves very differently than our old trustworthy Volvo. Sometimes I just get the feeling that humans are not supposed to be moving any faster than walking speed. I could agree on horse-speed too, but it's borderline. He finished it off with calling me a sissy.

Not to mention the behaviour of my dear boyfriend that is under all kinds of standards and what you can expect from a 30 year old man. Dealing with men is, not entirely surprising, EXHAUSTING. I need to rest from this weekend.

A grown up problem for a grown up couple but I don't feel grown up. Will I?

2011-10-11T00:06:00.000+01:00

Yesterday at work I, once again, had a mental breakdown about things that are not remotely close in time from my person, and therefore very very unnecessary to get worked up about. But that has obviously never stopped me before, I couldn't just brush it off. So bf and I had a long talk about things and I came to the conclusion that my ability to get a deadly dose of anxiety about random topics has to come from somewhere in the dark dwelling deep-rooted issues that probably came into light when I was in fragile age of oh you know, one day old and realising just how little I would fit into many contexts for years and years that I still struggle with every day of my life.

My angsty self must have known this waay before I did.

Anyways, one of the things we talked about and that stresses me out is of course the topic of kids. I guess it's because since we bought the house, people expect us to spawn. You know what, YOU DON'T HAVE TO TELL ME if you think it's that way. No couple ever says anything before they're actually three months into baking a baby so shut the hell up and wait for it. If I don't say anything, it's not something you should know about asshole. But, I'm not really that far off with my concerns, because as we discussed it and I said that my thoughts about the whole kids thing is that I feel I'm losing time and that stresses me out because my damn biological clock hasn't really started shoving the rational thoughts out of the way yet and so, I can't think of many perks with having kids. I've always said after 30 to give me years, hoping that my hormones have taken over by then. Bf's always said at 25. He's five years my senior. You're a clever group of people my readers, I know you can do the math.

Bf told me to take the feeling of not getting enough time and spinning it around to the feeling of going overdue, and I get his stance on the subject. I asked him if it bothers him the same way it bothers me, and he answered "no, because I don't think about it. There's no use in that. I've just closed in on coming to terms that I'll never have any kids."

For all of you out there that thinks my attitude towards this is blown up and unnecessary because no one can make me have kids (therefore there's no problem?!) when I don't want to, should imagine actually seeing the love of your life give up his/her dreams. For you.

I mean, I don't see myself without kids when I'm older, but I still don't know if the longing for kids will ever come. I switch between "it's gonna be fine" and "NO!!!". Sometimes I even feel like having kids but those moments are extremely fleeting and confusing of sorts. Maybe it's my clock trying to get the whole shebang on the go but it's a bumpy ride. Maybe it's me wanting so badly to feel the wish for kids that I push it into mind.

Maybe, in a year or two I'll sit here all fat and about to go through life changing pain and all this worry will seem like a triviality. Maybe I will find myself searching for somewhere to go because the difference in needs have split us apart. Somewhere deep inside I believe it's gonna be okay, but even though it's a problem that won't truly rear its ugly head until sometime in the future, it's highly current. It's here, showing no signs of leaving.

It just hurts me so much to see my wonderful loving man, so filled with heart and kidness, go through this. Because he loves me. As the brooding type, I can't just let it go. The stress isn't doing anything for anyone and I know it's not doing anything for my future biological clock, but what to do? It has felt alright after the talk yesterday but I know it will come back. Sometimes I feel like just having a baby already so I can move on. You don't regret your kids they say, right? Two birds with one gargantuan, heavy rock off of my shoulders.

Being a grownup sucks sometimes.

Bling instead of anything meaningful!

2011-10-08T19:28:00.000+01:00

I HAVE WRITER'S BLOCK.

Or, is it blogger's block, maybe. Because I'm not a you know, writer.

Therefore, I will only post the shoes I wore last weekend for a family celebration. Yes, they are brand spanking new and yes, I cut away the plasticky strap before trying to walk in them.

I KNOW RIGHT?!

Sometimes, that's all a tuesday needs.

2011-10-05T20:18:00.000+01:00

The greyness lays heavy over the town, it's too windy and rainy to take a pleasant walk and you're feeling a little off. Touch of fever, perhaps?

Then you get your new tea cup, fill it with steaming hot vanilla tea and dunk a spoon of honey into it while googling ancient monuments in your neighbourhood. Your troubles are past. It truly is the little things.

Remind me again why I go to the hairdresser so seldom?

2011-10-04T20:31:00.001+01:00

So. Went to the hairdresser. *pulls fingers through hair*
It's short. It's like, really short. But I figured, if I'm gonna cut my hair and like, stay at the safe shoulder length a little bangs over the side which is the haircut that I've had three million times and that's it, I'll go mad from boredom and dye my hair purple just because, and that will make my boss stare at me even more suspiciously than he already does because of my tattoos. I mean, there's no risk of ever catching him glancing at my boobs because he's too busy staring at my tattooed arm, like he's really trying to understand it but can't.

Anyways, back to my HAIR. I sat in the awful chair with that robe over me. My theory is, because so much hair falls through that thing anyways and gets lodged on your neck and stays there until you've showered like three times, I believe that the robes are less for protection from falling hairs and more for hindering customers to throw their hands to their heads when the hairdresser is going loose on that long, fancy ponytail. Because when that ponytail is gone, there's no turning back from a cut and style ergo their pay.

Like for me. I was like "to about here" and she was like "Yes, well then, better start it off." and grabbed my hair and just cut it right off. Then she showed me the part that had left my person. It was a solid 12 inches of orangey coppery goldeny yellowy wisps of hair that fell to the floor.

Good lord. That's four years of hair, lost in two seconds. Very well, it wasn't like I could have it loose anyways because it just tangled and looked worn. The hairdresser nipped here and there and then pulled out the shaving comb, and just scoured through my hair, tousling it as she went along. She threw my bangs, that we'd agree on making more prominent, on the side and started working around the back. I looked at myself in the mirror and felt the regret flush over me.

In mere seconds, I'd gone from this:

To this:

Having to put all my energy not to start laughing or crying, I realised how foolish I'd been. I looked at the hairdresser. She had styled her hair exactly like this:

"I SHOULD HAVE KNOWN!" I told myself, sitting in a chair surrounded by my golden locks, shorthaired like Justin Bieber. "I've been Bieberized", I thought to myself. "How am I ever supposed to meet the eye of any beholder now? It's just teen girls that'll feel strangely attracted to me without knowing why really." The hairdresser kept on and styled my hair and blowdried it and showed me how to do it and was all "It looks SO good!" and I was like "It's like 50% Bieber!" in my head of course because I'm not THAT.. honest?

When I had paid I walked away straight into a clothing store with mirrors in it to see what I really looked like, all I could think about was "Tomboy". With my jeans, a sweatshirt and bob'y shoulder length hair (that thank some lawd came into light as she went), I looked exactly like some girl in a stereotypical movie that's just about to reveal to her family and friends that's she's been acting odd lately because she's met someone new - a girlfriend. She yells out that she's a lesbian and cries in the arms of her grandmother while her dad just gives her a "Right, so when's dinner?" kind of look while the mom is trying to process the fact that it may not be any grandchildren from her first born daughter after all. That's how I looked.

I rearranged the hair to suit my personal taste just a little better and then, in an act of pure self control, I forced myself to walk around downtown a little just to look at people and how they reacted to my hair. Would they stare and point and be all like "Wow, that's a LESBIAN!" or would they frown because the hair doesn't suit me? Well, perhaps needless to say, no one reacted. At all. The reaction from bf was "Wow, it's short. I like it. It's pretty. You look.. more grown up" combined with the twinkle in his eye telling that he in fact was getting just a tad of a hard on. Looking at it from a let's-find-the-positive-things-about-this-light, it's good that I have a boyfriend that gets turned on by grown women. He also pointed out later that I look more grown up while looking at me like that again, so I can be pretty sure he wasn't lying.

So it's said and done, I've washed it and realised that I don't even know HOW to put conditioner on three inches long hair? the hair in the front is easier, but in the back? Haven't had this short hair in eight years? Here's the extremely realisitically drawn, non-polished end result, de-bieberized and normal:

It is united with some pain and some regret and some anxiety, but on the whole, I'm pleased. It was what had to happen. Now.. where's that bleach...

Fall.

2011-10-03T12:21:00.000+01:00

This is a snippet of why I can't understand why people hate fall. They stare themselves blind by the fact that fall follows their beloved summer, and preceeds the winter, and can't appreciate the beauty of seasons changing.

Veggie, are you with me?!

2011-09-30T01:00:00.000+01:00

Sooo, I'm up for another hair session. This time, I've booked a hairdresser because bf forbade me to lock myself in the bathroom and cut my own hair like I really wanted to the other night when neither of us could sleep. At all. It was just those nights where I've always come out with pink streaks or an entirely new shade of screaming blonde.

Now, I'll cut it. I've made up my mind after going outside today with freshly washed hair (when it's the least tangly) and I had a friggin raccoon all up in that back of the neck after being in the wind for a few minutes. Shit doesn't cut it. Or does it? Ha-ha. I made a funny.

Anyways, I'll probably be one of those people with the fashionable bob. Also, to make it less... I'm crapping myself because I have a boring haircut-tedious, I'll try and scramble the courage to make it a asymmetrical bob. I have no idea of the hairdresser will actually DO it for me, but we'll see. If she/he does, it'll only be holy crap it's not at all as fun as I hoped but the least sucky of the alternatives-boring. And that's good enough for me when I'm left with only boo or ick.

Oh, and it will probably take just under four days (only because we're going away this weekend) before I find myself in the bathroom mixing up a bowl of bleach just because when I cut it all my pretty yellowishy goldeny highlights will go away and we can't have that now, can we?

Welcome to Whine-topia. Would you like something to drink? Aspirin perhaps?

2011-09-29T00:33:00.001+01:00

You know those days when you realise that you should have stayed at home like you joked about earlier? Those days when you should just go to bed, pull the cover over your head, surf on your smartphone all day and drink Red Bull. Well, that's what I would've done at least.

Today was apparently one of those days. I was in a good mood (all the glue is gone! oh, and I lied earlier, it was gone before, what I thought was glue was actually THE SCAR from stabbing myself), but my body didn't quite seem to catch up with me. You know when you squeeze your finger between two hard, heavy objects and it takes a second for them to release your finger and how much that friggin HURTS MOTHERFUCKER and your entire arm vibrates and is hard to use properly because you squished a nerv and you have to pretend like nothing happened because you're surrounded by co-workers?

And you know how much IT HURTS LIKE A MOTHERFUCKER to bang your knee cap, with the horizontal weight of your body moving, onto a small, circular sharp metal object and how it then hurts to walk for like an hour?

And then just before leaving for a break, you scratch your arm and it hurts but you don't think much about it until later on when there's a weird scratching on your wrist and you look down to see a blood stain on your arm totally covered in motor oil? I'm pretty sure MetalCo will be a integral part of ME somewhere in the near future.

And then! You shove your thumb straight into a solid, non-moving surface, with your thumb you know aligned with your arm so it doesn't bend or anything, it's just the joint that takes the hit and it hurts for like half an hour? And then when that pain stops, you squeeze your finger again. The same finger as before. And when that stops hurting, you do the exact same thing you did with your thumb, just with the index finger on the opposite hand.

And then! You take a wrong step to the side and happen to shove your entire fist into something hard and uneven, beating your knuckles red and making them hurt for a number of minutes. I can still feel it when I bend my fingers!

That was my day, in short. I probably won't have elaborate on the dino that totally messed it up for me (and our entire section, btw) for FOURTY minutes by just refusing to work, and/or, coming up with new and totally non-logical ways of displaying its dismay. Or the crappy, hastily store-bought lunch I had. Or the PMS-attack almost sending me into tears before I got distraced by the friggin dino. That was a good thing, I guess. I've laughed a lot anyways, because people are funny. A glass of coke and a turkey sammich will make everything better! *heads for kitchen*

Twitter is for suckers! (or: It didn't fit me therefore I have to hate it like a teenager!)

2011-09-28T00:41:00.001+01:00

I have a confession. Okay, not really a confession. I wonder why my semi-confessions always takes place on wednesday, when we all know that the official confessional day is THURSDAY, mostly in the shape of TMI Thursday. I wish I had more TMI Thursday stories for you. I'll dig into my memory bank and see if I can find something really embarassing for you guys.

Anyways, my confession today is about Twitter. During the long, warm summer days on our vacation I found myself with a little too much free time, so I joined Twitter. The day before yesterday, I broke up with Twitter. Yes bloggers, I have been cheating on you. I'm sorry. It wasn't worth it. It was just one of those summer flings that, once you return to your normal life, realise that you have no time for entertaining or giving to. When the leaves start turning orange and red, one just wants the old secure love back, right?

Also, I'm not funny or political enough to keep a stable follower base on Twitter, and also, I have a job where I can't tweet all day long, and also, I either sleep/work when everyone else tweets so I have no chance of keeping up. Also, there were no fun tweeters from St Aldus/Oak Grove and I got tired of reading about Foureyes drinking beer EVERY NIGHT. I swear, every night. That big city life isn't for me.

I guess that I just don't get the whole Twitter thing. It's not my kind of communcations. And, consider how long this post is, I'll just leave it there. LOVE YOU BLOGGERS!

Edit: Oh, and I can inform you all that there's still just a little glue on my nipple.

TEE GEE AYE EFF.

2011-09-23T07:46:00.002+01:00

Do you know just how little the skin on a nipple is adapted to separate itself from glue? A teensy tinsy smidgeon of an atom of adaptability, apparently, because do you know how LONG IT TAKES TO REMOVE A BANDAID FROM YOUR NIPPLE, FOLKS? It takes for. ev. ar. I stood in the bathroom, letting the glue release itself from my nipple and I merely helped it a little on the way or the bandaid would have been there forever. It took me surely ten minutes of standing completely still while breathing very controlled as to not tug my nipple skin. It has to be the same principle that's behind why men doesn't wax their balls. Because the skin WILL JOIN THE WAXSTRIP like it was some older dude on a motorcycle that promised a really exciting summer instead of that boring day job your parents fixed you up with. And we all know how that always ends, right? Tears, probably some blood and regret.

Anyways, there's still glue on my poor nipple because I will under no circumstances scrub it, so I'm hoping that'll settle itself with the best healer - time. "Time heals all wounds" - I'm counting on you now.

Otherwise, TGIF? I'm fucked (and I mean actually fucked, and it makes me all hot and bothered by just thinking about it. Why don't we just do it more often? Oh yeah now I remember*), I just got paid, we're off work for almost three days and the mothereffin house is officially ours. This makes for a really, really good weekend, right?

With that, if we don't read from eachother before monday, I wish you all a very awesome weekend with lots of whatever you want to eat and do!

*PMS and pains folks. Yes, I've booked an appointment with a gyno. It's a man. Expect a blog post.

Days one deserves chocolate.

2011-09-21T20:12:00.001+01:00

You know those days where you just feel that you DESERVE to revel in sugary substances and laying around in the couch watching people on youtube put on seriously amazing makeup and pretend that you're as pretty as they are and can afford all that amazing stuff they use? Today is one of those days.

At least I got to to to bed instead of going to work with a bleeding nipple. Yes, I am going to elaborate on that. This morning we arrived home from work and I realised that I had dark blueish greenish pores on a large area of my chest from having scratched myself some time during the night (do you know how WEIRD and dirty that looks?). I decided that I have to take a shower to get it off me. Motor oil shouldn't be inside any parts of you, I can just say that much.

So I got into the shower, picturing myself laying in bed in 10 minutes, all clean and warm and tired and cosy and sleeping. I was wrong. Little did I know that I within four minutes would go all Freddy Kruger on myself (this seems to be an reoccuring theme..) and happen to swoop by my right boob with my soapy and too speedy hand and get my, by work ragged thumb nail stuck on my nipple for like half a second before traveling on. I realised instantly that nothing good could come out of this. As I looked down, blood had started seeping out, and the blodshed was closely followed by a stinging, deep roted sensitive-nerve pain.

Like a champion I had to finish what I started so I kept on washing myself accompanied by a red streak trickling down from my boob and down my stomach, mixing with the white soap bubbles. I had to laugh for myself because it was so retarded. Got out of the shower and had to show bf and he scrunched his face up like a prune and was like "You suck." and I was like "I know." and it wouldn't stop bleeding and I really wanted to go to bed so like.. Imagine a B-cup sized boob (perky of course, no pens stick under my honeys!) with a bandaid over the nipple. That's exactly how my boob looks at this very moment. The pain kept me awake for half an hour before I drifted off and like, how long does it take for nipples to heal? Man, I gotta work and because I'm boobing things at work all the friggin' time, I'm kind of worried.

Yeah..

Lesson of the day: If you put a bandaid over a non-erect nipple, when it does go hard, it scrunches the bandaid accordingly and that looks VERY weird. Well, now you don't have to try this yourselves, so.. YOU'RE WELCOME!

NICE!

2011-09-19T22:23:00.000+01:00

You know what's nice? People that doesn't object to someone elses personal opinions.

Like people that "You're moving further away than you have to?"
"Yeah, it's like, right by the beach and it's an awesome house and it's gonna be awesome and AWESOME!"
and they're like
"Nice!" instead of "Oak Grove? Seriously? You're moving to Oak Grove?"
Dude, I'm not interested in your town-patriotic foolishness (can't see the woods for the neighbourtown trees?). The friend we had over this evening even said "Where is it at? We should go look at it!" because he's not very familiar with Oak Grove and curious, and happy for us. And that feels good. And it also enhances the chances of him and his girlfriend coming to visit us, ya know, them being positive.

Also, bf and his friends have been, with the exception for people moving away to study and then returning a few years later, a pretty close knit group of friends for the better part of two decades now. Altough I am very keen on giving myself the pleasure of closeness to water, I still feel guilt for removing bf from said group of friends. Well, you know, 25 car-minutes further away from said friends instead of 25 yards to walk in either direction. Not the biggest issue in the world but still further away than the entire rest of them are from eachother. But what feels good about this thing is the last weeks of discussions I've had with friends and girlfriends and people that hang out in the little group, about their futures. One pair is almost set on moving away from here, one couple IS moving away from here, one couple is moving to the country from here, another couple has one year left at the university and then their chances of getting employed somewhere else is great, one person has landed a job far away and is moving and another is trying out a job far away and will probably move away too. That leaves.. a couple of people. And us, unless we move too.

I mean, just a few months ago, no one seemed to be really moving anywhere. Life was just strutting along and everyone found themselves in the same town they've lived in for 30 odd years and now, well more than 50% is looking around for something else to do. I'd be the sole reason for removing bf from his simple life among friends, but now I'm not. Now it's totally okay, even with the explaination "Well, it's better than being last left", like bf put it.

It's nice to feel that things are seemingly coming at a very suiting point of time.
*leans back with a theoretical glass of expensive scotch and a fat, rolled-by-children-but-so-good-it's-worth-it cuban cigar and sighs smugly*

Edit: Oh, and I'm sorry (not really, really) for mostly posting about the friggin house and Oak Grove but that's because I'M SO FRIGGIN EXCITED ABOUT IT YOU HAVE NO IDEA OKAY MAYBE YOU HAVE BUT ANYWAYS EXCIIITED! I'm sure it'll end like.. no okay it won't because I'll still be excited once we move there. Just hang in there!

Damn all these pretty inspirational pictures and styles! (includes interior design, btw)

2011-09-17T05:05:00.002+01:00

Boys, look away. We have a makeover crisis!:

Oh crap. I'm having one of those lovely spread-eagle in the couch Friday nights with lit candles, chocolate, a sweet bf and girly TV with bitchy hairdressers competing and people making ugly unedible cakes and some serial killers here and there, what else could I ask for?! But, of course, all this girlyness throws me into the makeover mood. Okay I'm not gonna lie, that mood can pop up randomly out of thin air like that whale in Hitchhikers Guide to the Galaxy, but yeah, it's the friday night ones that are the worst.

After being so self-on-the-head-pattingly pleased with having managed to grow my hair out all the way down to my nipples, I all of a sudden feel like getting an above the shoulders haircut. Something cute and easily manageable and layered and adjustable after mood, with hints of fun colours. I imagine yellow and bright orange in my rusty orangey hair. It would be awesome. I mean, my hair is long and pretty but it DOES tangle all the friggin time and it gets tangled up in the clasp of my necklace so I have to tear loose a small bundle of hair like three times a day and it is worn even though the hairdresser told me that it was in fine condition (with the addition "even though it's been bleached. So many times."). And soon it's time for fluffy scarf season and I always remember all the entanglement that goes on up in the back when having been out for a while.

Now, of course, this wouldn't be as much of a problem if shorter hair suited me as well as longer does, that is. Boo.

Can someone explain to me WHY ALL COLOURS FADE OUT WHEN I UPLOAD PICTURES? Things that are stunning on my computer turns all blah and meh when I've uploaded them, no matter if it's Photobucket/Flickr/this blog. Can someone just tell me if I'm being a total computer dummie and what the hell is up!

I had dampen the instant urge to flee into the bathroom with a pair of scissors to mame my own hair in lack of ability to wait for the hairdressers to open by playing around with makeup and holographic nailpolish from The Makeup Store. I mean, if anything can keep me from doing stupid stuff then it's holographic prettyness that'll keep me staring at my nails for a few days, but it still didn't prevent me from googling pictures of haircuts for three hours while watching documentaries about serial killers. I'll just comfort myself on that note with the belief that I am among the "normal" crowd that is indeed interested in seriously disturbed human beings.

So now what? What should I do? The girl-crisis here people?! Haircut?! I mean, when I've gone into this mode I usually don't go back until I get what I want (which is the reason for so many late night bleach/selfcut sessions throughout the years) and bf was like "You should think about it for a while, but I'm supporting you either way" because he's the sweetest as long as I don't cut it short and I totally won't. He added "It's just hair" and he's right. Life's too short! Right? No? Think about it? What about SPONTANEITY PEOPLE?*

I will have to think about this. Instead of sleeping, because even though it's 6 AM, I'm not tired at all. Naps are super potent people, use them wisely. Remember who you heard that from.

*Now, of course we pretend that it doesn't take an un-spontaneous amount of YEARS to grow hair back out.

Hmmm.

2011-09-13T11:24:00.000+01:00

I don't what to think about this. Just tore the sheets off of my bed and found this, at the footsie-end of the bed.

Maybe bf and I should have a.. conversation..

Waves breaking on the little shore.

2011-09-12T09:11:00.000+01:00

Now, this thing with towns. Some (many) may think I'm a total neurotic about this when I nag and complain about St Aldus being a dried up sad place but it's true. My entire life has been spent near water, whether it's a lake, a sea or a park built around a dam with adjoining river. I had no idea, or at least I hadn't reflected on it much, when I moved here that St Aldus does in fact not contain any water. At all. There's a duck pond, that's it. When they removed the fence around the duck pond a few years ago there was a roar in the community about how they should put it back because CHILDREN COULD FALL INTO IT! That's how strange to water St Aldusers are.

For me, there's nothing more relaxing and soothing for a troubled mind as just sitting down on a bench or rock by the water and just listen to the sound of the waves hitting the shore. Do I need to point out that I am quite a troubled mind? I NEED it, it fulfills something in me that I cannot explain to anyone else. It's just as it is. I need it.

In addition, I love surrounding myself with older types of environments. Old houses, historic environments, somewhere where I can feel the years passing and get a sense of what has been. It's also something rooted deep within me. I hadn't reflected upon that much either before I moved to the island (altough I always took the route through the medieval remnants in my hometown when I got the chance) and suddenly got to sit by the sea, listening to the waves with a 800 year old church ruin right behind me. I took nightly walks through the cobble stone alleys, just feeling like I belong there. I mean, they say once you go black, you never go back. This is like that, but in a much less rimey kind of expression. Once you go seaside, historic/ancient environments with all spectrums of history involved from the stone age to present day, you never go back?

I've spent a year in St Aldus and it's wearing on me. I love the region, it's fabulous. Graves, ancient monuments, pretty environments everywhere you look. Except for the void called St Aldus. No water. No sunset. No museum. No historical environments. There's one house predating the 1850's. No theater. It's just a town. A post-railway town.

When we visited Oak Grove for the first time, I felt about the same as with the island town. A little excited, a little.. homey. It felt right. We walked up the old town's cobbled streets, shadowed by the church and overlooking the lake. It feels like I belong there. I don't want the visits to end. I don't feel like I belong here. Something's missing. And that's why I'm so into this whole idea of moving. Maybe (likely) it'll fulfill what I'm missing. And right now, with the presence of a move there, it feels really good.

Totally..got laid last night?

2011-09-05T19:34:00.001+01:00

Well, it's nice to see that at least ONE person is happy for me. Yes, I'm looking at all you others that haven't congratulated me! I'll take it as a safe side from you guys, not wanting to get all worked up for my sake before it's final. You're welcome.

Anyways, this whole not-having-signed-a-contract-while-knowing-that-people-are-calling-and-wanna-come-see-the-house IS STRESSING ME THE FRICK OUT! Graahhhr! Shit needs to go down so I can sleep properly again. Of course, the owners are more than willing to sign their shit over to us, but we're currently waiting for the bank to gives us our precioussssss cash for the down payment.

I totally was gonna write about something that I currently cannot remember. Damnit. Uhm.. I got laid yesterday? No, that's not it. I.. no, not that either.. Well I'm gonna have to get back to you on that one. Meanwhile, you can rest assure that the luxury-bought iPad hasn't gone unused. From some angles, that's really obvious.

Ohhhhh! NOW I remember. Unnamed town? Henceforth, Oak Grove!

Holy shit! For real this time. I might just crap my pants.

2011-09-02T21:22:00.001+01:00

I've re-written this post five times and I don't know what to do. I'm so excited you guys. Or exci-Ted. Excited!! Did I mention being excited? Good! Bf thought that we shouldnt say anything to anyone but he's already talked about it with his father, my mom called me while we were at the bank and I had to tell Foureyes and Psych and I've talked about it more loosely with like seven people at the party last weekend.

Fortunately, at least three of them supported me. The rest? Not so much. It's funny that they didn't btw, but I'll get into that later. The friggin bank lady from yesterday that didn't give us a loan? Not so much either. If I may say what I think, then I think the bank lady shouldn't give a friggin crap about the reason for our decisions and realise that the stupid tiny lake up on the mountain DOESN'T COUNT AS LIVING NEAR A BODY OF WATER!! She almost didn't want to handle our appointment because of HER personal opinion about it. Holy crap it's easy to tell people that have grown up near water and people who haven't, apart. So far, at least seven inbred St.Aldusers have strongly questioned why that is important and finished it off with "well, I've never lived near water so I wouldn't know.". Gee, really?

I don't even know why people insist on questioning me. It's like someone who loves football really wants a stadium where he/she lives, I would just "I get that." while I'm totally uninterested myself. DON'T ALWAYS JUDGE PEOPLE AFTER YOURSELF, DAMNIT.

Now, end of the rant. No, wait. One more. They question my will to be living somewhere near water, in this instance unnamed town that's 30 minutes from here and they question if it's worth it because it's such a long drive. Then all of a sudden, they say that they can imagine themselves living far out on the countryside, like in a collection of houses outside of St Aldus. Drive time? 25 minutes. What's up with that? At least I would be able to WALK to the store if I need anything.

NOW, no more rant for this time. On to the exciting stuff. I might just pop before I manage to write the end of this post. Now, how shall I.. I'll just say it: We've looked at a house (housing association home?), went to a bank that gave us a loan, put in a bid, won the bidding, about to do a proper inspection of the home and if that clears, mothereffin' sign a contract and MOVE FROM ST ALDUS TO UNNAMED TOWN!!!!!!!!!

I really gotta find a good name for it. Really. Not only that, the lake and walkway around the lake is almost a literal stones throw (I mean, if you can throw a stone reeeally far) away. If I suddenly spot a lovely sunset, I'll just head down the street and I can look at it in full glory! *passing out*

Now, I'm posting this here because if I jinx all of this by posting it on my blog (I'm always very precacious) it just wasn't meant to be. I just NEED TO FRIGGIN TALK ABOUT IT BECAUSE IT'S SO FRIGGIN AWESOME. After my years in towns with water, this is the closest to it that I've had my home. Swoon or what?

*Pops in cosmic orgasm*

Now, I'll write more about this subject and clarify some stuff. It's not ONLY because I'm obsessed with water that I want to move. But yeah, water is forgiving for many flaws. More on that later.

EEEEEP!

No confession this thursday either. Maybe next time?

2011-09-01T22:34:00.000+01:00

You know what I'm doing right now? I'm sitting at home, drinking red bull and eating some chocolate. You also know what I am right now? Getting paid. Totally, getting, paid. Without being at work. Totally according to MetalCo's instructions. Let's talk about how awesome that is.

I know right!

Also, yeah I totally forgot what this post was supposed to be about so I'll just confuse you bf's magical swiss roll instead. If you haven't tried making it yourself instead of buying it ready and preservatives-laden from the store, YOU REALLY SHOULD. TRUST ME.

Sweet lord buttercream and flour-less sponge. Holy crap.

Holy crap, and I'm not even making it up.

2011-08-30T10:55:00.001+01:00

My head is too preoccupied to be sleeping, apparently. I've slept like crap for two days, probably mostly because I have lots to think about. "But, isn't Wynn a blonde under all that henna?" you may ask. Yes, yes I am. But I'm was still nourished enough in my younger years to use that flabby pink blob of a brain for things more useful than saying "Durr" and "hurr-hurr" after someone cracks an ass joke (hurr-hurr). Shocker, right! Wait, I'm just gonna go wake bf up..

There, that was MUCH easier than it normally is..

Now, what's up with all this thinking? Well, I'm a thinker (esp in times of PMS). I process, twist and turn, stress myself out, always consider the worst scenarios, fantasize about the best scenarios (but not nearly as much as the worst ones), go into reeeeaaal detail and then have to discuss it with bf that doesn't have a clue why I'm actually thinking about that thing that isn't even close to being a reality in our current lives. Like how we should divide the parent leave when we have kids and how that's supposed to work with our current shifts and bf's responsibilites at work. I'M not gonna reduce my work time more than he is, that's for damn sure. I'm not gonna get stuck in those friggin mom-traps with 75% lesser time at work to then get a pension that's a smidgeon of what bf gets after his boss-services and then he leaves me for a younger dame at about 55 to share his wealth with, leaving me in a small apartment in St Aldus, poor and pissed. If we even get to become pensioners! Dude, we don't even know if we're still here in that time. Oh, and I also obsess about these friggin kids that are supposed to come out of me. Also, I could see myself having one. Everyone else thinks it's child torture to only have one and that makes me all "Do I HAVE to get two? I don't want two!!" and I don't even know that because it may change and I'll get two. Or maybe I'll never want to have kids and that's also something to get all worked up about because that means that bf and I are gonna break up and I don't want to do that. What if we break up and then six months later I realise that I actually want kids? Also, if we've moved to a house when I realise that I don't want kids, who's gonna get the house? I mean, the still-resident have to buy the leaver out of the house and how's that gonna go? With loans and stuff? Can I get loans? From big scary banks? Oh, and don't get me started on the whole house-dealio. How expensive is it really? Rates? Loans? Hundreds of thousands of dollars in a friggin house that can lose a lot of value if Metal.Co ever closes? There's money invested in Metal.Co but surely they'd export the entire industry to Asia because that's cheaper right? And what am I gonna do then? Unemployed, 40 year old ambition lacking lazy ass?

It would be so much easier if I could just look at the skies.

And I want to move from St Aldus to.. damn, I gotta name that place. How's that gonna work because bf likes it in St Aldus and it's a bit more to drive and if he doesn't like it there and I do, what are we gonna do? I mean, moving there and then BACK to dried up St Aldus is gonna suck more balls than moving here from my hometown that at least didn't have a beautiful lake covering two sides of the town and how am I gonna cope living in St Aldus while knowing what I'm losing? I mean, I'm tortured enough as it is with the lovely memories of that little island I lived on. What if we move to earlier said nearby town and because of the longer drive to work, we'll get into a car accident? How's the longer driving time gonna work with those friggin KIDS that have all that friggin daycare to go to because KIDS CAN'T TAKE CARE OF THEMSELVES AND WHY WOULD ANYONE WANT TO DO IT FOR YEARS AND YEARS FOR THEM? What if I don't like living there? Do I bail on my dreams on living near water and thriving in small towns? What's the next option if it doesn't work out? Giving up and live in the shadow of the mountain for the rest of my life? Feel the beauty get drained out of me? Am I being too dramatic and tries to fill some void in myself with water? Moving to a big town just to get close to water AND fun things to do, like hanging out at rock clubs. By the time I realise this, will I be too OLD to like hanging out at rock clubs?

Oh, and what's up with this PMS? Am I actually gonna have to go to the doctors and get like Zoloft and become a zombie 24/7 instead of feeling miserable for 2 out of 4 weeks? Is it worth it? What's gonna happen? Are my teeth gonna fall out because of my dried up gums that come as a result of the Zoloft? ARE dried up gums a result of Zoloft? Maybe that's sleeping pills. Which I also need. Good lord, will I have to rely on pills every day in my life? I thought that shit stopped when I quit taking birth control pills? What if the Zoloft doesn't work? Am I left to my own devices? How am I gonna lead a normal life if I don't want to do ANYTHING half of the time? And then I don't mean just my introverted, natural kind of not-wanting-to-do-stuff-all-the-time, I mean even more time and even less will to do it.

Well, that's about a percentage of what's floating around in my head at pretty much all times. It's tiring, but I can't make it stop. I need to do it even though I would love not doing it. Just take everything as it comes, like everyone tells me to. But I CAN'T! Maybe I should see a shrink? How does that work really? Man, I hate talking (writing is preferred) about stuff that bothers me.. What if..

You shall be missed!

2011-08-27T04:55:00.000+01:00

Do you know what I like the best? That I actually gained a reader by posting my egg-drawings. Not the direction I could see that one going in, LOL.

Anyways, this will be the third post where I mention that my little baby, my DSLR is broken. I took it to the camera store (you know, one of those smaller, smarter ones) and he just diagnosed it as I feared. It's just worn after being used for like eight years and now the mirror doesn't flip like it should. So sad. It would have cost like almost the total of a new camera to fix it, so I just decided that it have done it's thang and may proudly retire. I should notify Northerner about it because I bought it from him when he'd gotten tired of it after five years.

You were my first DSLR-love and you will always be!

But! As I'm sure you can tell by the fact that I actually have a nice picture of the old little retired lady, I went out and bought a new camera. Wow, this thing called a "salary" is awesome stuff. I just gotta learn the new one and its quirks and I'm sure I'll be happy with it.

Ovulation, you're doing it wrong.

2011-08-25T20:52:00.000+01:00

I have this lingering suspicion that my body is trying to pester me into getting pregnant. The latest trend, ie the last month's cycles, is that I get PMSy and depressed right after ovulation and it keeps on giving until my period starts. For those who are in tune with how women's cycles generally work, know that this means two weeks of misery. Then when my period has kicked in I get happy and horny again, and get to enjoy this for little under two weeks before it all starts back up again.

Le sigh, or what?

Bf states that I'm "so cosy and fun the two happy weeks, it's worth the bad weeks."
Yeah, it's that bad.

In my head, it goes something like this:

It's giving me a conscience damnit! But of course, I will not budge. The egg's protesting will not interfere with my responsibility-less lifestyle. Do you hear that, eggs?!

Not again!

2011-08-23T18:08:00.001+01:00

Bf and I suck. Why do we both suck, you may ask. Isn't it Wynn that takes care of the sucking in this relationship? Well, let me just reveal the fact that I'm writing this post on an iPad. embarrassing right?

The same DAY as bf uninstalled iTunes on his laptop because iTunes can suck my non existent BALLS, we went out and retail therapied ourselves into the proud, joint owners of this luxury item. What makes the shame worth it is seeing bf's eyes childishly glisten as he says "it can do everything my iphone can do, but BIGGER!". At least it's a buy we made because our laptops are non-functioning or VERY close to collapse.

Now I'll just try to deny any guilt in feeding the evil Apple with more money and watch YouTube clips of men doing fancy makeup. Mmm, shallow stuff.

Edit: my blog looks GREAT in the iPad, btw. Goodie.

The annual Yeah-I-still-love-autumn-post.

2011-08-22T20:39:00.000+01:00

This friday night when we got home from visiting my sister's, I really felt fall creeping closer. It wasn't apparent in the weather, that was rainy and gloomy just like three weeks of july was btw, but rather in the little things. A little shrubbery over there had a couple of leaves gone yellow. A breeze rolled in that smelled not of summer, but of earth. The sun peeked through the clouds with a coldness that had little resemblance with the hot sun that shone on us on the beach three weeks ago. We took the lazy side and bought thai food that even my mom liked, and lit candles. I had to shut the window because it was getting too chilly inside.

The return of fall doesn't make me melancholic so much as allows me to be melancholic.

Last night at work my co-worker complained about the weather and said he wasn't ready for summer to go, and I said that fall is my favorite time of the year. He asked me why and I couldn't answer straight up. I mean, I love the colours of fire and that the dark is coming back, allowing us to stay inside, light candles and walk over almost petrified asphalt during crisp cold, early mornings. But I don't know why I love the feeling of autumn. It's just always been like that. Fall for me is like sitting by the ocean, staring out into the waves and in the midst of the salty sprays, just feel how all your troubles are so present but still so far away. And I like that feeling. I guess I've always been a sentimental person, and autumn is the perfect forum for that.

Beauty, I'm waiting for you.

Bf and I watched TV yesterday where they searched for the perfect chili con carne, and we got inspired*. It wasn't before I poured the crushed tomatoes into the pan while cooking today that I realised, like a slap in the face, that it reminded me of the years I lived on a small, beautiful island. It was the best years of my life. It will always be. I moved there in august, during the hot summer and it was like being in another world. Then came autumn, and I would walk along the shores of the sea, accompanied by thousands of years of remnant history, rustling firey leaves around my feet. Winter came late that year, and in the middle of december the snow still hadn't fallen. Autumn gave us all that it had. It was perfect.

I always hope for another long, frost-nipped fall that makes everything go bright coloured and have time to taper out before the snow comes, but every year it's like a lottery. No difference this year. I really hope I have the right numbers on my lottery ticket.

*I'd take a picture of the steaming, yummy chili but since I at the moment have no cameras at all, I couldn't. Boo.

This is a bad excuse for a friday night post, it contains no chocolate!

2011-08-20T00:32:00.000+01:00

Ah, home again. Being out of town is EXHAUSTING. Especially when the being-away part involves kids and sleeping on a two inch thick ultra-non-compact matress on the floor while bf's on a queen size blowup matress, sleeping like a god. I should point out that I would have gotten a lot less sleep if I tried sleeping on the same matress as Sleepy McRavagingson over there. He has to tidy his sheets every night before he goes to sleep because he moves around so much during the night. Me? About once a week? Tops.

But, now I'm home again and bf's asleep in our dreamy, lurvely heaven of a bed, and mom's passed out on the couch in the livingroom. I'm tired but I'm just not going to bed yet. I don't feel like it. Ah, the sweet bliss of choices. Then again, I just realised that it's a friday night and I should be shaking my unshaven ones in a club somewhere, but naw. Screw that.

Altough, because we have exactly one day to set the waken hours from waking up at 7 am, to going to bed at 7 AM, I'm not inclinced to rush into bed like I want to. Instead, I feel like taking a chance and cutting my own bangs. My brightest ideas shine the most at night. I have a looong history of hair enhancement at night, whether it involved cutting my own hair or dying it bright pink. I miss the pink. And I'm friggin sick of my boring ass grown out bangs that suck so bad in their natural state that I have to cut them in order for me to have a normal hairdo.
Serious problems, I know right. I don't wanna care about real problems like losing my job (well, potentially. America, keep it the fuck up so I get to keep my mothereffin' job, man) or losing my mom or admitting the pain in my hands or worrying about anything when I can obsess over my bangs or going downtown tomorrow to get that specific shade of lipstick.

IMPORTANT STUFF, PEEPS.

Besides, autumn is coming and I just KNOW I'll be a happy person if I get to pimp myself out accordingly.

Oh, and btw, autumn? Don't come just yet. My DSLR is friggin broken, I hope I can fix it.

Ah!

2011-08-11T18:47:00.001+01:00

Do you know what's good with having your father in "law" in the same town as you?
He can drive me when bf can't, go through papers and look for good deals when we're too lazy to do it ourselves and help with the car so I don't have to.

Do you know what's bad with having your father in "law" in the same town as you?
It's the fact that I've lost 5 pounds since sunday (water, of course, but still) and he brings over CAKE. CAKE! WTF. If there's something we're not supposed to eat right now, then it's cake. I mean, we guzzled that shit up the moment we got it in the door. It would just be rude not to, bf's grandmother sent us the cake because it's her birthday. Bad conscience? Yes. At least it was no sponge (have you ANY idea what wheat does to a stomach that haven't had any wheat in a week or more?!) in it and it was made mostly of whipped cream, dark chocolate and hazelnut. All in the lines of low carb. Apart from the sugar. So I guess we could just put this to the archives and forget all about cake. THERE'S NO ROOM FOR CAKE IN OUR SUGAR ADDICTED LIVES, DAMNIT!

There, I got that out. Now I can concentrate on staying awake and my cramps again. Life goes back to its normal, sugarless self.

And before our vacation, I had the exact opposite problem. Sigh.

2011-08-09T21:31:00.000+01:00

Getting back to work has been hard on the Drinkwine household. Bf and I have unanimously experienced serious problems sleeping, like setting the alarm to 5.30 AM at around 10 PM, and then still rolling around all oogly eyed in the dark at 2.30 AM. It sucks donkey balls. So, yesterday I did the only thing that was sensible considering the circumstances because working with dinos isn't safe when you're cross eyed and near collapse - I took a sleeping pill that my mom gave me a while ago.

Yeah I know, I'm like right there with the rubber band between my teeth in that abandoned house along the way to work with a man named Bubba and a needle sticking out of my arm. I told bf that if I start making strange noises, develop weird rashes or stop breathing, he should call the ambulance. I'm sure he managed to fall asleep much better after that. Anyways, ON the sleeping pill, I drifted off around 12.30 AM. The prescription recommended that one gets at least 7-8 hours of sleep in order to avoid memory lapses, but.. I'm a rebel?

An exhausted, sleep deprived desperate rebel, taking the risk of not remembering the first three hours at work just to get that tad of sleep that I wouldn't get otherwise. Hey, it didn't say anything about doing things badly when under this memory lapse, so it would probably just mean that I just wouldn't remember a few hours of arguing with non compliant dinos. As far as I know, I remember everything. At MetalCo, everything spreads like wild fire so I guess by tomorrow, someone will tell bf that that redhead over there assaulted the boss and tried making babies with the female boss-boss while shouting out Hitler's name, if I did an ever so slightly unusual thing. Like, look at someone funny. It really is the house of gossip.

Oh fuck, now I'm like nine minutes past bedtime and I'm scared to go to bed. I hated hated the feeling of not being able to sleep back in school, but then I solved the problem by just not going to school. Now, I'll go to work anyways and probably just fuck everything up. One wrong lean against something in a moment of thoughtlessness may very well cause the entire factory grinding to a halt for hours and hours.

And you'd think that a complete seven hours of quality sleep in three days would make me TIRED round about this hour, but I'm not. The irony is that I'm tired from the time that I get up in the morning, until like 8-9 PM. Then it's like I wake up feeling fresh and fabulous. Ah, the sweet smell of irony.

I'm just gonna read blogs for a little while and see what happens. Pray to the cookie monster that I'll be in bed before 11 PM. Thank you.

Gotta rid myself of those pesky 40 pounds. Now.

2011-08-07T21:26:00.000+01:00

Okay so now I'm gonna do something very risque and tell you about this, but I feel it's for the better:

My friends. It's time for me to retract back to low carb food and working out. I'mma start with the lowcarb tomorrow, meaning that I'm right now stuffing my face with hard ryebread (omgosh, it's the devil) and liver paté. It sounds disgusting but it's DELISH and good for you. Anyways, stuffing yourselves with carbs is the right way to go before quitting, right? Like devouring an entire packet of cigarettes because you're about to quit smoking.

Oh, and that gym? I've signed a gym card for a YEAR because there's some stupid shit going on around these corners that you have to sign for six or twelwe months and signing for six months is ridiculously expensive compared. So, a part of my economy is in their hands for another year, exactly 10 months more than I'm garantueed a salary. But who cares, right? Bf pays for me, right? And if I become unemployed again I can always spend my days working out, right? Oh, and the bath is included in the monthly fee so I can SWIM AND BATHE AND yay showing myself in a bikini is one of my favourite things..! I've not only signed a gym card, I've been there four times in 1½ weeks. Not bad for laying around for four days because of my muscles killing themselves after those two first visits.

I also gotta get myself together in some other aspects. Like, just because I have Coke at home, it's not alright to skip drinking water for two days. Because we all know that Coke is draining, and if you stuff your face with carbs, that are water retainers, you get dehydrated AND bloated (that's at least what I've in my laymans research years have concluded). Just what I'm after.

So, I'm telling you all now, that I'm going to the gym and keeping to the low carbs. I should present more details, like weight or measurements but this isn't gonna turn into a weightloss blog so I'm skipping that. I'm sure you'll get that dose anyways with me whining about being in pain from working out.

There, now I have an official record to feel ashamed about if I stray. You may be mean to me if I do stray.

Being this close to not having vacation anymore, makes the boredom just that tad less boring.

2011-08-06T12:27:00.000+01:00

It's a saturday. You know, one of those days where you're typically off work and at times very hungover from the day before or just, slapping around and doing nothing. Ah, the life without kids (yes, I'm having a crisis again). Let's not dwell on the fact that I'm insanely bored and too restless to do ANYTHING. You just reach that point in time where everything is boring because you've had so much free time that you've exhausted everything you once thought was interesting.

Now, that problem will be solved in exactly 1½ days because that's when work starts again. In the posterior of dawn, luckily. The day hasn't been short enough to make it okay to get up at dawn yet. But, my friends, the days get about 30 minutes shorter every week! By december, we'll have 3 hours of light and 21 hours of night. But let's not talk about winter either, shiver.

Anyways, I've taken the mature and wise decision to not get hammered today, like many of my friends in St Aldus and bf. Last weekend was enough to keep me from it for at least another week. Of course, last weeks drunken battle included bloodshed (do I sense a new tradition?) because Foureyes can't handle a razor. Jeez lady, I've never seen anyone peel her legs like that. You're only supposed to remove the hairs, dude.

Anyways, I just can't handle feeling sick and wandering around with Gilberto all day, like three weeks ago when I SPOONED HIM all night because I was so afraid of puking that I couldn't let him go anywhere. Or not being able to go outside until 4 PM because of getting the famous post-drunk-stomach that does whatthehelleveritwants, whenever it wants. Or that blistering headache that keeps on giving until 8 PM.

It's just not worth being in serious pain for twice as long as the fun, sadly. I've always thought that the allergic-to-alcohol-and-getting-deadly-hangovers-gene was alright because it would mean that even if I try, I cannot become an alcoholic. Potentially getting kids with a man that has alcoholics in his family, I'll just claim that it's worth it. Let's just hope that this spreads along to my kids. Damn, college is gonna be hard on them (like it was on me). Moahahaha!

Okay, so today I'm just looking forward to.. not being drunk. That's good enough for me. I'll probably put together some new playlists to listen to at work and some supporting socks to save my feet from the terror that awaits them. Four weeks off leads directly into 70 hours of standing up in one week. Man, it's gonna hurt.

Swimming like a champ

2011-08-02T23:24:00.001+01:00

Vacation times isn't good for blogging. And then, when you're about to blog about useless stuff that has happened (like "the sun was shining today"), you fall into the worst set of PMS-rage for like.. at least five weeks. I know right, typical. At least, after 3½ weeks of vacation, the weather's been hot and sunny and given us a chance to go to the beach(es) for some D-vitamin injections and helped us out so we don't have to feel as ashamed for the total lack of tanlines when everyone's been all "Oooh I've been in Thailand tanning for a week" or "Oooh, I've eaten breakfast on our patio every morning" or "Oooh I've been poking around in my garden for four weeks" and built up a skin colour that more closely resembles the natives in Australia rather than the pale sun-starved people most of us are. I live in an apartment damnit! I'm not gonna run outside and sit on the lawn just because the sun's out. No siiree. Besides, now after two days at the beach, I'm a happy lobster red and can tell you that it looks really silly with white marks around my tattoos from the sunblock.

Actual footage.

We spend yesterday in one of the finest beaches there is in this country. Yes, I am haphazardly assuming this because I have in no way spent time in even one half of a promille of the beaches in this part of the world, but I will say this: It feels like being around the mediterranean. You know, apart from the pine trees and cliff remnants from the ice age. Turquoise water and white, fine sands, stretching for longer than I've seen. Then you step into the water and your hypothetical (or real, for that matter) balls shrink and pull into your body, screaming "MURDER, BLOODY MURDER!" because the prize you pay for such wonderful water is, sadly enough, every little bit of warmth there ever could be. Altough, we did realise this when we entered the beach because the beach itself was packed with people, and only five or six brave souls played in the water.

I'm still proud I actually got into and swam around for a while before clarifying to myself that it wouldn't become any warmer, and laid on the beach for some sun warmth instead. Then today we swam around in a more classical type of water: Brownish, a TAD (cough) warmer and when you reach knee-deep, you have to squint to see your feet. Blessed be, water that you want to swim around in, blessed be.

Oh, and I can feel work tugging at my ankles. It's soon time for autumn season to commence and St Aldus made this very clear by cutting down a bunch of trees so I now can, in the distance, SEE METAL.CO FROM OUR KITCHEN WINDOW. Yeah. I got the hint. Don't worry MetalCo, soon I'll be limping out of there again.

I still don't understand really.

2011-07-27T13:00:00.001+01:00

Phew. It's been a couple of braindead, laidback days with my mom for a visit. She has, and I know I will miss this when she's not here anymore, the magical mom-ability to talk. And talk. And talk. And when she's here and we TALK all the time, bf and I realise that we talk a lot less on a daily basis than when mom's here. It's, to put it harshly, exhausting. I'm a pretty closed up person and I don't want to talk for hours on end, LOL. But my mom knows that and still talks, it's kind of a deal we have.

But, to make things go back to normal when my mom left yesterday, I spent 13 hours in the livingroom, semiwatching/watching TV/fiddling with stuff. Almost no talking at all because bf was away on "buisness" and by buisness I mean planning how to distribute all those 600 pounds of alcohol that is currently stored in our garage, to the 60 or so people that are joining us into the mist this weekend.

I kind of want to squeeze in something about the horrors in Norway, but I really don't know what to say. So many other people have said it so much better. We went through a couple of minutes contacting some folks in Oslo after the bombing, and they were alright. When we got home from the store to watch the news about the bombing, the first thing we saw on TV was pictures of a bare cliff heading down towards the water, with people scattered around it, and a man standing in the middle. Ugh. This is my confused reach out to the norwegians and all those affected, I'm thinking about you. All luck and happiness to you, and let's hope that motherfucker doesn't get out of it alive. Yeah.

How to be a Woman, READ IT!

2011-07-22T12:08:00.000+01:00

Yesterday I found myself confined to the fine spaces of the living room floor, sans rug. I had a headful of runny henna that decided that it should fight its way out of the plastic wrap around my head and flee down my neck (and as it turned out, straight down my asscrack too, sneaky bastard) and made it totally impossible for me to be around anything that could catch this orangestaining, brown mess for about one and a half hour.

I took the opportunity to read one of the ten books that I got in the mail, namely How to Be a Woman by Caitlin Moran. I've gotten through about half of it while she talks mostly, so far, about how her teenage years was and how she saw herself (in a funny matter, of course). In one chapter she tells about the time where she and her sister had a hard time coming up with a name for their vaginas, because only bad things happen to "vaginas". They get examined, they catch evidence from rapists and murderers, they bleed, etc. I laughed, and agreed. I've never had a name for it really. At 25 years old, I still call it "down there". In writing, I can call it my hoo-ha and my cooch and other names, but when I talk about it, it's "down there". And names for my breasts? Does people have names for them? I actually just call them breasts but I don't like saying that either.

I'm like a word anorexic. I have a terrible time saying, and writing some words and the worst is when I have to express feelings in words. Like "I feel sad." or "I feel happy." Maybe that's why this blog means so much to me, here I can write and still not have to face anyone directly when talking about it. Hmm. Also, I'm a prude. For the two first year's posts on this blog, you won't read that I'm horny anywhere. I was sexually challenged (which of course, is a complete truth at times) but nowhere was I "horny". Now, I am. I'm HORNY! Okay, not just in this instance because.. well I woke up a little while ago and if there's something I'm missing, it's the morning-sex gene. Now, I'm up for a little.. un-vanilla tet a tet, but I rather not talk about it. I don't think those two go together really. Maybe I should join some hippie camp where we shout out genital words and feelings.

For example, the insides of bf's upper arms are called "the wolf cubs" because they're silky smooth like pages in medieval books made of poor wolf cubs tummy skin. Yeah I know, that's why I've never told anyone but bf. What do you guys call your vaginas and penises and breasts and other parts of your bodies that you've felt the need to name?

LOOK!

2011-07-22T11:48:00.000+01:00

There. A new header, altough a little unpimped, is up. That'll keep you preoccupied while I write the next post. I mean, so you don't break of curiosity.

The times that I ate glass.

2011-07-19T13:08:00.001+01:00

Now, I'll start off with saying that there are charming things around me. I just turned off the music so I could instead listen to the summertype pouring of rain on our paper thin roof, while I sip my mug of coffee and stalk people on you know, the site with the little blue bird where people write meaningless stuff waay too often? Yeah, I'm five years behind. Don't blame me, I... I let people test it out and when it seems like it's quality stuff, I can lay my precious time on it. Yeah, that's right.

But, to the story. Since Rico here questioned me eating glass and then compared me to someone who does it compulsory, I find the need to explain that I do not, under any circumstances eat glass willingly, as little as I eat plastic willingly. Or glue, but that's also another story.

Anyways, my experiences with eating glass are these:
Sometime, far north in this country, my family and I resided at my grandmothers for new years. I was, well, little. Like two three years old, and apparently my grandmother felt that she could trust me enough to give me a glass of milk. A thin glass, the fancy kind. The kind that I still do not like, maybe for this very reason. Only psychologists can tell. Anyways, the milk she gave me was what I would now consider pleasantly cold, but at my innocent age, I thought it was too cold. Don't ask me about the logic here, but since I thought it was too cold, I instead bit the glass (while.. waiting for it to get warmer..?) and bit a little too hard making a piece of glass break off. Then, once again don't question my logics, I managed to swallow said piece of glass.

It was a new years eve spent in the ER.

The second time, the other week, when I ate glass it went like this:
I was in the kitchen, trying to squeeze down a slab of cocoa butter into a square glass container (tip: don't). Either I pressed too hard, or the container itself had suffered earlier injuries (it has been in bf's care for years) which led to the hasty cracking of the glass container. Needless to say, I threw the container with the cocoa butter away, sweeped around to see if there was any glass anywhere but couldn't see any. Then I continued making my lunch, consisting of something that was prepared on the cutting board where said glass accident just took place. I prepared my meal and took a bite. Something crunched a little and I thought to myself that it was probably pepper. Continued cooking something on the stove and took another bite of my lunch. Crunched a little more, and I was like "It's hard and really crunchy. Hmmm."

Continued to cook and just as bf entered the kitchen, I realised that the crunchy bits in my lunch was probably, and most likely, small shards of glass that had flown loose from the glass container. Bf's only comment was "I can never leave you alone in the kitchen, can I?". So much for support, right? Thereafter I threw everything away that had been close by, and cleaned the kitchen. Not crunching since then, as long as you don't count Cheetos.

It wasn't my brightest moment, I might add. But, I'll just claim that I did if for you guys. YOU'RE WELCOME!

Dear uterus, isn't it enough with six days?

2011-07-18T01:00:00.000+01:00

Fuck, I had sex too early. By "too early" I mean "first night together alone and free after having spent six days with my parents and since I'm unable to have sex with my parents very surely present in their houses there will be none of that until we're alone and oh my period is just over and I'm horny like a I don't know picture something red, swollen and wet and you'll get close to the severity of the situation and yes I know that I'm creeping you out but yay let's friggin' do it!". But, of course, it doesn't end when the period ends. No, after that there's a, oh, day or two, when I start bleeding again if I have sex. You know what? YOU'RE MADE TO HAVE SEX, TRANSPORT PERIODS AND BABIES. You shouldn't keep me from doing what it all revolvs around - getting laid. Damnit!

Then I followed the whole thing up with eating moldy cheese. I don't always swallow. Hurr-hurr.

And just last week, I ate glass. I'd say "typically me" but I've only eaten glass twice in my life, so it's not really typical, is it? AND! The other day I apparently managed to devour something containing large amounts of lactose, and well let's not dwell in what consequences that had. Maybe I should be more controlling of what passes this lovely yapper, or my communcation will be limited to this blog and that would mean that you'd have to read through A LOT more crap than you do today and we really don't want to open that Pandora's Box.

Vacation times, whazza!

2011-07-16T22:01:00.000+01:00

The dinos say happy vacation and don't do anything you wouldn't do! (it does make sense?)

The day that I cried at the chiropractors office.

2011-07-11T21:48:00.001+01:00

SO, here I'm sitting at home, in front of my computer. twisted like a little cheese doodle to keep my flabby backfat away from the computer chair. Bf looked at me and said "Dude, it's not a surprise that you've got back problems when you sit like that" and I'm like "Dude, I'm sitting like this because I tried getting rid of my back problems!"

Because I've been hobbling about like an old man with a foot up his ass and it's gotten increasingly worse the last few weeks, I felt that when I could no longer lay on my back and sleep, it was time to give up this "It's gonna sort itself out"-nonense and just pull out that credit card and get it fixed. As a chiroprac..tic virgin living in total abscence of knowledge about this fine profession, I had this idea in my head that it's a fast process and it hurts like a mothereffer for like five seconds while they break your bones. Of course, this notion comes mostly from people around me that have visited one of these "doctors" and gotten away with life in store. Lemme just state that all those people are getting an email, soon. Very soon. Anyways, earlier today I was calmed down by the knowledge that it would only hurt for a very short time and like I've had cramps and survived that, this surely can't be any worse. I entered the office, stated name, adress and occupation and talked a little about my problems with the dude taking care of the bone breaking.

Little did I know that I was told to undress down to my underwear and that 40 minutes of pure torture would follow up this casual, chatty conversation of about what pains I've gone through. Shit, I'm sitting here with a black and blue bruise on my ASS after what felt like getting run through a spiked medieval style stretch bench while being picked at by angry birds. I had makeup on when I went downtown but when I got up from that torture slab of stuffed fake leather, I didn't. It was all in the rest of my face along with 1½ months of collected birch tree allergy snot. I've never whimpered out loud in pain in front of strangers before, but this time it was the only thing I could do to survive. Sweaty and red faced, I wiped all the makeup away (like.. a man..?) and went in for another go with the dude that was probably 2/3's of my size but yet had the capability to make my bones crack and let the pain ensue. The entire lower half of my back was, apparently, grumpy as he put it. RIGHT BACK AT YOU, LOWER BACK! Good lawd.

It's quite possibly one of the worst experiences in my life.

I'm booked again for next monday.

What the hell was that designer thinking?

2011-07-10T18:23:00.000+01:00

I was at work the other day, doing what I do. Ie, we had lunch. I was just about to wash my hands for the first time in that very sink outside of our lunchroom. What do you mean, why haven't I done it earlier? Don't judge me for not having to wash my hands because I eat with ya know, a knife and a fork and not with my hands like a beast. Or David Hasselhoff. That's right Hasselhoff, the internet hasn't forgotten. And it never will.

Anyways, I kept looking for the handle thingie that you press or push down or whatever to get the soap to come out of the dispenser but I couldn't friggin' find it. I bent over to look what the hell was going on under there, and got interrupted by a fellow worker that informed me that you have to press it a special kind of way.

I looked at the complicated plastic machinery and realised that the soap dispenser is not really white but a kind of off white-ish type of pink and actually shaped like a teet, and you have to squeeze it, like a teet, to get the soap out. By the time I realised this, it was too late to abort mission because that would make me the perverted one with my head down the pornbucket and the colleague that had informed me stood right by and waited for his turn, so I couldn't just turn away. I had to squeeze it, and feel the sensation of "what I am doing just now is so very wrong" and I use up all my saved energy to act like it didn't bother me. It didn't bother me that I stood around 14 of my colleagues, squeezing a semi-pink soft wet and a little slippery teet/penis like creation that dispensed a milky, semi see through thick fluid in my hand that was supposed to make me cleaner. It would at least have been better if my brain's association skills had stayed at teet/penis, but of course if didn't. You all know what I was thinking. The expression "milking" comes to mind.

Uhm. Do I need to add that I haven't use that dispenser since?

I do believe this is the first time that soap has made me feel dirtier.

It's a good thing that it's vacation soon.

2011-07-08T02:11:00.001+01:00

It's been a hard day at work today. I mean, I'd have been forced to work like.. at least half of the time.

It's getting clear that the dinos need vacation now, and the workers too. I don't think there's one single dino that didn't go haywire today. One even threw things around it in pure teenage pimply defiance. Metal against metal is the sweet sound of relaxation (for us who doesn't have dino whispering skills) Oh, me and my colleagues may or may not have used this fact for our own, lazy bottom purposes..

But don't tell the boss.

Woot!

2011-07-06T13:37:00.001+01:00

Man. It's during the evening shift that all social and other sorts of moral fall under the Lazy Ass. Because bf nor I are morning or even lunchtimepeople, nothing gets done because we have to leave home before 3 PM. Clean the apartment? Uhm, dude, I haven't woken up yet. Hamburgers for lunch? Yeah! Instead of wasting time this lovely hour around lunch making food for work, let's buy frozen dinners. Go to the employement agency to pick up that summer gift we've all gotten? What is it? Is it worth it? It means that I have to get up before noon? I'm sure it's not worth it. Have lunch with someone? But that'll cut down ou.. let's do it this weekend instead. Do laundry? Are you insane? You'd have to get up at 10 AM?!

Then, when we get home around 1 AM, it's a totally not different story. Leave clothes of floor to be picked up another day? Yes. Eat candy instead of making anything for a late dinner? Yup. Stare in front of me for two hours instead of doing anything sensible and then feel that the day have passed way too fast? Yes.

Having all your actually-awake hours at work also demoralizes us beacuse the days get sooo long with all that you know.. brain actitvity.

But you know what dudes, it's vacation time soon. And you know what vacationtime means? It means that I don't actually become unemployed and instead get to have a vacation, and I get to keep fighting sourpuss dino's to for another couple of months. Of course, it's an unpayed vacation but who the frick cares, I HAVE A JOB! (also meaning that I can spend a little of all those monies that I've saved, during our vacation)

(it never gets old, does it?)
(Oh, and imagine him dancing to Rock that Body by The Black Eyed Peas
Hilarous.)

Brain fart

2011-07-06T01:13:00.000+01:00

It's a classic. Think of a really awesome blog post while working, and then totally forget about it by the time you quit for the day. Sooo.. now I have nothing interesting to write, really. Btw, is drinking a can of Red Bull and eating candy smart at 1 AM when you're supposed to go to bed pretty soon?

Damnit, now my finger started going nuts in the pain-department, so I'll just scamper off to bed for a few hours of not-being-able-to-sleep. But it sure tasted good, at least!

And there were no mosquitos! Amazing.

2011-06-28T13:54:00.000+01:00

I'm not a traditional girl in some senses, but I do love some traditions. Like always eating cake for breakfast, if there's cake in the house. Like during spring time gather in front of a fire built up of the autumns tree leftovers and watch it burn down. Like watching fireworks on new years eve and feel the pleasure of not dealing with the explosives yourself. Like spending christmas with my family and the chaos it brings. Like having all my friends over for my birthday party and then getting silly pretending that the sound of bubble wrap popping is in fact the sound of a fireplace crackling.

Another favourite tradition has to be this very weekend (oh, getting mighty personal about local traditions, here). You see, around this time, or on a specifically picked out date most often ending up on fridays, hordes of people embark on a 1000+ year old tradition and migrate out into little cottages by streams or lakes in order to during two days pretend that they actually don't have running water or electricity and are in fact allowed to pee in the great outdoors. Well, a thousand years ago they didn't have to pretend they didn't have running water or electricity, but this does not dampen the fact that we all feel very authentic while doing it. This holiday's roots comes, very simply put, from celebration of the longest day of the year. It's "dark" for about two hours this night, and during those two hours there's a hectic rumaging through the forests trying to find a closed off spot to get some ass, skinny dipping while pretending that you can't see eachother because it's not dark at all, sleep with flowers in your face to predict the future and of course, eat just enough food to get that medieval style hard liquor down your throat because it tastes like all your old mistakes just came back and collected themselves in a drink that undoubtedly will make you do another one or two. At least if you're lucky, no one took a photo of you doing it.

I believe that this tradition is so very popular in this part of the world, unlike you know.. easter, because this is traditionally (and I mean that in the most literal of senses) not about Jesus, but about getting drunk in the light summer nights, having sex outside and picking flowers. And maybe sacrificing a goat or two. The church has apparently tried to get this very weekend into the celebration of some saint being born, but I assume that you can only find that out by googling it, like I did. The heathen is strong in these ones. *stretches arms out to embrace her fellow "sinners"*

As dark as it gets.

AND, we all get the day off to do it. Yeah okay we don't actually get time off to perform the sacrificial rituals surrounding the humans need to put their hands on other lifeforms, but to completely dedicate yourself to the whole idea that getting drunk and peeing in the woods is what you're supposed to do. But then again, when I accidentally elbowed my friend in the face so he bled all over the place and then instantly followed that up by spilling an entire can of freshly opened beer, I believe I've done my bit for the gods. And they say water's always been sacred, so we naturally covered that by taking a 4 AM swim in order to wash the blood off of us. Holy swimaroodle, it was awesome. Top Notch whose blood I spilled, and Foureyes who was just there laughing until she cried, I will assume that you're covered by this sacrifice and for that, all I have to say is:

You're welcome.

May your year be fruitful and bring you lots of cattle and crops.

Ah. In doubt, go shopping.

2011-06-27T23:03:00.001+01:00

I don't think I need to make it clearer that I like pretty things, preferably things who either look old, give off light or sparkle. Mmmm, pretty things. And, because I need to collect my thoughts, ie defeat this fever, I'm only gonna post pretty things. Yay, pretty things!

New, little more pink holographic nail polish. Mmmm.

The first functional item that I've bought ONLY for its looks, and because I needed new earphones. But, my decision was only based on the glittery stones. Fortunately, the sound in them is approved.

When owning a phone that allows excessive amounts of glittery covers and

protections to be bought, who am I to deny the phone its possibilites?

Ahhh, so that's how you go through an entire blog post without writing anything sensible? Now I see how all those people do it!

Moment of a sort of enlightenment. Kind of.

2011-06-22T18:25:00.001+01:00

Last night I was spread eagling all over one side of the couch, playing with boyfriends hair while he was too spread eagling on the couch but the other side of it. We watched a documentary about women that were married to murderers.
The poor woman was talking about the terror the husband had put his family through by being a twisted son of a bitch, and after some time into the show bf said "I don't understand how these things work. Why do they stay? I mean, you have some experience of this kind from your asshole ex, but.."

I was about to answer the question, giving my side of the story, before I realised I hadn't said anything. Because I had nothing to say.

After six years, three short-term kind boyfriends and one wonderful, longterm boyfriend, I can no longer recall how it felt to be in a relationship with an asshole. I remember losing every single argument because he bent everything I said until I could no longer gather the energy to argue anymore. I remember "being the whiny one" when he called me foul names but was "only joking". I remember sitting outside on the patio, crying in the late summer evenings because I didn't know what else to do. I remember being glad that it was pitch dark in the room when we had sex because then he wouldn't see the tears, after he nagged and argued his way into it. Salvation was so near (and looking back at it, so easy), my mom lived a seven minute walk from there. But I didn't get out of it. Instead I spent two years with a "man" that spend his time daily calling me whore, sinking my confidence into the ground with all sorts of comments about my person and appearance and how he treated me totally different when we were alone than among people so in everyone's eyes, I was the whiny bitch. No one knew because at that time, I was too ashamed to tell anyone. I can't remember really why I didn't get out of it, because "If you ever leave me, I'll go right back to drinking again" wasn't really something that kept me there. It was just parts of it.

I have old diaries from that time laying around here in a box somewhere, but I don't want to read them. I will freely admit that I have and is carrying around a lot of resentment for my asshole ex, but half of that resentment is directed at myself that spent so much time not getting out of it. If I can't remember what I've been mad about, I can't be mad any longer, right? But at the same time, that was what he did throughout our relationship. Manipulated everything ever so slightly, that I didn't understand myself why the fuck I couldn't figure out what exactly was wrong. He got skills in that aspect, gotta give him that. I remember towards the end of our relationship, he'd been at me so hard and made me care so little about him that the day he got mugged under knife threat, I didn't feel anything. I can't recognise myself in that person, because who shrugs her shoulders and continues to watch TV with her sister after getting that phone call? Apparently, me, after two years of verbal abuse.

It's really strange to think about it. Some of it comes back to me but it's only smidges of our time together. Now, I instead spend my days seeing bf at work at a distance and catch myself smiling about it. Of course, what I experienced isn't comparable at all with all the women out there that have lived with dangerous, seriously disturbed men, but if I stayed for any longer, who knows what he'd become.

Maybe time actually does heal wounds. Who knew.

The Dinos.

2011-06-21T03:07:00.001+01:00

After sleeping for ten hours, napping for another two, eating two ice creams, sticky fudge brownies and nachos, I'm human again. Ah. Feels good, man. Sort-of-vacation times baby. I'm feeling like this following post is about as serious as this point of time demands. As in, not at all. Now, enjoy my free-handed little suckers and don't be afraid of clicking the pictures. Ya know, so you can enjoy them even more.

So, I said I would introduce you to the dino's. I'll introduce you to four of them because there's a lot and I don't have the energy (and you're really not that interested) but these are the most prominent ones, ie, the ones I like best.

This is Tangerine. He's the most reliable dino and hasn't messed with us once since I started at MetalCo. I think it's because he gets to fly around and enjoy the freedom.

This is Greeny. He's a veggiesaur and a little unsure of himself. Therefore, when working with Greeny, you have to be on the lookout when he needs assistance, and approve his work. A kind soul, this one is.

Rainbow is a girl of many talents. She has a little bigger cage because she has a bit of a temper and is known to thrust that tail into the sides of the cage, destroying it in the process. Yes, I've seen it almost happen.

This is Purple. She's the oldest dino and well.. she's a lazy lady. She has a special dino keeper to keep her in check, doing what she should do, and she doesn't have a cage because no one has ever seen her try to get up and do anything. You know the phrase "working hard or hardly working?". This one's hardly working.

To add to the whole dino-park, there's a multitude of other little workers. Climbing, flocking (this way), flying, walking in lines. There's even big turtle-like thingies that roam the factory all by themselves, and if you're unlucky, they'll walk all over you. Literally.

Remember, all these dinos are kind creatures and their cages aren't for keeping them inside, they're for keeping us out of their way. Because humans are a lot dumber than dinos, apparently.

Whoop.

2011-06-17T20:25:00.000+01:00

Hi y'all. To tell you the truth, why I haven't been blogging that much lately.. Some of you might remember my awesome un-diagnosable hand pains? Well, they've returned (almost instantly when I started working, that is). So I've been forced to spend a lot less time by the computer in order to work without being in pain all the time. As we all know, putting things together requires healthy hands and I kind of really want to keep my job. I can in no way seem to be in pain at work either, because they have no reason to keep me if I don't cut it. So, less time by the computer. More money for me. Good, right? Yes. Bad for blogging and surfing? Yes.

As I write this, it hurts. Probably because I've been surfing around for a while now. Also, I've got a temporary limp because my feet still haven't adapted to standing up for so many hours of the day, and my toe still haven't got all its.. sensation back. And I'm experiencing cramps. I think we all know it's gonna be an awesome 25+ hours at work this weekend. Therefore, I'm loading up with Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy in audio form which I'm hoping is gonna make the days run faster. If itunes would start. Whore-iTunes. You're not worthy of my time. PWN at me for getting an iPhone.

Oh damn it's 9.20 on a friday night. Better go to bed. Hope you all have an awesome one and then I'll introduce you do the dino's when I become human again, sometime after monday lunch!

In the meantime, I really think you should surf in on YouTube and search for "Motherlover" by Lonley Island. If you haven't heard it, YOU SHOULD!

.. D-d-d-d-doggy style..

See what MetalCo causes.

2011-06-12T14:41:00.002+01:00

Man. Short weekend and then just right back into work for an asshole of a week. I'm now sinking in into the whole it-feels-like-I'm-at-work-very-often-kind of lifestyle, ie getting closer to the normal person's way of looking at work. I think it's mostly because we're working shifts and it's confusing to one week get out of work when the sun's just gone up, the other when the sun's just set and another one where the sun's shining and another when we can choose what sun we want to see.

See, I totally use my Wacom for important stuff!* Feel free to clicky to enlarge.

(Yes, everyone's bald and yes, everyone is of different size and yes that dude has really small legs and yes I misspelled "veggiesaurus".)

I'm bruised and scraped from yesterday when there was no flow whatsoever which totally caused me to be the worst worker yet. Forgetting stuff, not pushing buttons when I should be, walking in on dino's when I shouldn't, not catching on when playing cards, just being totally confused and hurting myself on stuff around me. I should be writing an accident report every times it happens, but I mean.. if I could just keep my limbs and body where it should be and NOT walk into things that I KNOW are right next to me, it wouldn't have happened. Seriosuly, I think I have boobed every station at work because there's always something in boob height that I walk into.

Oh, and the tip of my big toe is still numb because I've squeezed some nerve during the asshole week last time. It feels really weird touching it and I can't put on socks like usual because it's like its asleep. I'm checking it regularly to see that it at least has a blood supply so I don't have to worry about it falling off. But that's on me, MetalCo. YOU'RE WELCOME. See what I sacrifice for you? Skin and LIMBS! For a ~~holy hell I made that kind of money?!~~ measly pay that will ~~give me the chance bathe in shoes if I want to AND pay for food~~ just get my bills around and food for the month. I mean, how are they supposed to demand things from me?

Did I mention I went shopping today?

*Don't worry, I'll introduce you to the dinos soon.

Nature's pretty.

2011-06-10T12:56:00.000+01:00

While I talk about sunsets a lot, one shouldn't neglect the awesomeness of a sunrise either. Of course, my main reason for talking more about sunsets is, when I'm actually awake to see a sunrise, I'm either supposed to be asleep but isn't, or I'm working, hence, not getting to really see a sunrise.

Either way, this time I was supposed to be asleep.

It's not all sunshine and beer.

2011-06-09T01:40:00.001+01:00

It's that time of the year, friends. You know what time. That time. It's.. summer. People go around longing for this season for nine months of the year, whining about fall and pouting over winter, and can't even be happy about spring because it's not quite summer and soon fall's here. Dudes, shut the fuck up. I don't want to be a Debbie Downer, but before it even got warm enough to go around in short sleeves, mosquitos showed up and allergies started torturing people. It's like the summer-gift that keeps on giving. And summer's here now, and you know what? It's 29C/84F. At all times. I wake up at 6.30 AM, soaking wet, shower, go to bed again because I've slept waaay too little, go to work, work for nine hours in FUCKING 29C/84C with extremely little help from the old fans that doesn't do their job. Then you go home, covered in sticky salt water, shower again, try to lower the temperature in your attic apartment from the ridiculous temps down to at least the temps that's outside when you get home at 1 AM after work, but it's impossible because the houses here are built to retain heat, not shy away from it. Repeat.

I mean, all this heat and sunshine and stuff is awesome if you actually don't have a job, have a cool place to sleep and a body of water to bathe in as soon as you get tired of perspirating everything you drink. I go through four normal sized water bottles just during the nine hours I'm at work and I still only pee three times a day.

Sure, summer has a lot of awesome features like sensible temperatures that doesn't make grown people want to cry, bathing, skinny dipping at night, drinking beer outside til 11PM without having to put on a shirt, OUTSIDE SUMMER SEX, etc etc etc etc etc. But, in my part of the world, summer is also infested with bugs, mosquitos, ridiculous heat alternated with heavy rains, sleeplessness because of the heat, allergies, bees, wasps getting really aggressive around august, tics, friggin EARWIGS MAN. The sun rising at 4 am can be a problem too if you're, you know, forced to have your windows open and you work the night shift. Oh, and the heat and lightning scare the dinos at work so they don't function properly. I have extra strong antihistamines and an INHALER for when the trees really begin to mate and send their seed flying everywhere because it's sure to make it hard for me to breathe.

At least this year, knock on wood, we have a car with air conditioning. Last year we had the full parents-during-the-80's-experience when traveling. It's charming, but.. yeah. No.

Don't get me wrong, I like summer. But there's always those times of summer when I get as pissed off as when it's snowing the worst in the winter or just pouring down in the fall. This my friends, is one of them. Let's just hope the promised thunder storms make up for it.

Is this what summer feels like?

2011-06-03T22:56:00.001+01:00

This morning, I found myself waking up at 7.30 AM which was kind of weird because the last week, we've been going to bed at 7.30 AM. Apparently, getting ass drunk and going to bed early is the solution for changing back the day to day-hours instead of night hours. Of course, this waking up was a result of me not ever getting to sleep through a hangover but instead have to be wide awake through the whole thing and experiencing the finer parts of the horrible abomination that is my brain swelling to at least double its size and the detoxification of an entire bottle of wine and three beers. Thank you, life. And no, you are not allowed to not-feel sorry for me.

It's like a disease that every time someone comes for a visit from the big town, there's hangovers and drunkenness and really, seriously tasty drunk late night food subs filled with kebabs and garlicky sauce and shredded angels covered in fluffy God-blessed clouds (no seriously, it was so fucking good. I'm gonna talk about it for weeks), four hours of sleep and then ten hours of pain and suffering. Altough, I did surprise myself by drinking wine this evening too when we fired up the barbey. Maybe there's some youthful healthyness left in me, hidden under all those hangover-genes and alcoholic dysfuction.

Ah, there's always a little glimmer of hope.

I didn't even need to bring out Gilberto today! Okay, I DID bring out Gilberto and we hung around in the living room for ten hours before I decided I'd dare go outside without him, but I didn't actually need him. And now, hanging out with Gilberto in the living room (he likes the couch so he got to stay there) is four dudes all stretching above 6.3 feet which is totally making me feel small and is in fact quite a turn-on, and it's giving me an entirely new problem: to decide whether to, and how I can get bf to have sex with me. Because I'm really horny.

Horny AND post-hungover AND drink-the-day-after? It must be a magical day. I am in fact only blogging about this in order for me to remember it later on.

... Uhm.

Over and out.

Well when you post pictures, you don't have to write anything funny, right?

2011-06-01T22:24:00.000+01:00

'Ello! Long time no.. read! I gotta admit, I've been keeping things from you. I haven't told you guys this earlier because well, I thought it deserved a post that I took the time to write. So here it is. I'm proud to tell you that bf and I have gotten some new additions to our family.

What? Oh that. That's my niece. Brand spanking new baby in the family. We stared at her for two days and then went to IKEA and spent money instead of taking care of children. But I wasn't talking about the baby, The addition I'm talking about is MATERIAL STUFF (the stuff that dreams are made of!)! Like the brand spanking new car. Okay, it's not brand spanking new like, counted in years, but it's new to us. And that's what counts right? The old one, bless its hard working soul, had just turned 18 when it decided it was time to move on to another owner that have the energy to fix the apparent electrical shortcut that kills it while driving. Let's just say it moved out, and we're VERY proud parents.

Other than that, I got paid. Mothereffin' paid, man. So while mom was here I took the opportunity to buy new things that I've been eyeing since I moved here a year ago (oh, and because mom has a car, bf wasn't there. Hello shop-o-rama). Oh, and a shower drape because the one I had, bless its five year old soul, decided to attack bf while he was in the shower so we thought it was best to give him a new home too. The new one is a little loud, but fits our style AND neurotic personalities. Alright, my neurotic personality.

Don't get me wrong, I LOVE hearing bf shriek like a woman when I start talking to him while he's in the shower and he didn't see me enter the bathroom, but I just think a see through shower drape makes ~~me see if an axemurderer steps into the bathroom so I can escape~~ the bathroom look bigger.

I also had to replace the skull-printed broken shower drape with a new skull, because there's not nearly enough skulls in our apartment. Can't let go of my metal head inheritance! I don't know what to call him, but I really think he goes well with the books, neverminding his apparent headache. A little Shakespearian, don't you think?

And then just pictures of pretty things.

Mmmm, pretty things.

It's funny, the times when people have no idea what they're actually saying.

2011-05-30T16:00:00.001+01:00

Sometimes I wonder about the perception people have of me and what kind of message that I send across the room while totally unaware that I'm doing anything at all.

When coming to a new place with new faces and new possibilites of making a whole bunch of new people think you're a real weirdo, there's usually a coinciding pattern. Namely, people being a little hesitant of me. You see, I've inherited a feature from my dear father that, while it may be one of those alluring and attractive features for a man stretching 5'6 above ground, it's not really that charming on a woman in her 20's. The brow. No, I'm not talking about a uni or monobrow, altough I'd prefer that because then I would actually be able to correct nature's slip. And no, we're not sporting the Neanderthal either. No, I'm talking about having angry eyebrows. When I relax totally with my face, I look angry. When I don't make a gesture or face, people think I'm angry about something. I cannot spend my life being animated, you know that right?

It was just the other day when I was hanging around at work that one of the dudes just "Hey, don't look so angry!"

And my usual reply, because.. well what should I do really?, was:

"This is what my face looks like, I'm born this way. Can't help it."

and the reply I got was: "Heh, it's that bad, huh?"

Yeah. It's that bad. I was a little PMSy and kind of wanted to cry about it. But it hadn't gone four weeks yet so I didn't..? And I've heard from pretty much 80% of everyone I ever known/know/knew before I realised that.. just no/strangers/drunk people/sober people/friends/at least one boyfriend/etc etc etc, that why do I look so angry? Has something happened?

NOTHING HAS HAPPENED!!

Okay well YOU just happened.

I even had a friend that asked DAILY for two years why I looked so angry. Dude, I'VE LOOKED LIKE THIS SINCE YOU GOT TO KNOW ME, you're giving me a serious complex here. Needless to say, this is causing me daily frustration and I'm pretty sure that without my angry eyebrows, I would be a happier person. How ironic? I'll probably fall for the knife when I get older and my brows drops even more and I'll look EVEN angrier because I would really prefer to look surprised at all times throughout the day instead of angry. Because people aren't scared of surprised people.

Now, all of this of course comes to mind because I hear things through bf that people tell him when they've seen me. Like that it's time for him to start getting tattoos because he has to match his seriously gangster looking girlfriend. I mean, I'm not gunning for a girly outlook on life, but.. I've had countless persons admitting, after they've gotten to know me and realised that I'm about as dangerous as a clawless kitten in the sun on a lazy sunday afternoon, that in the beginning they were actually a little scared of me. How... charming.

But at the same time, I can't be THAT bad. I've gotten popular, hot and regular and ugly people to try and hunt me down for makeout sessions/sex/relationships/handjobs - it's just that I've had to fight for it (well, actually not the ugly people. That's the few occassions where I've felt how attractive people feel). I can count the times that guys have asked for my phone number, on half a hand. I must have an outstanding personality to weigh up all that anger and gangstah-ness and stuff because unlucky in love I have not been.

And well, they say that you should embrace what you get, right? So what do you think I should do next? Tattoo a spider web on my neck or pierce my septum and hang a huge black ring in it? Maybe some tears below my eye? Thug-4-Life?

FINALLY IT'S ALL MINE, AAALL MINE!!

2011-05-24T21:30:00.000+01:00

Sooo, I thought, you never know how long I'll get to keep my job and have an income, so why not just SPEND IT WHILE I CAN, RIGHT?

So I did.

It's tingling in my insides, and this time it's not the bbq meat. It's the shiny, black, new-wacom smell of the pen tablet I recieved in the mail today. I've been waiting nine years for this. I'm not even kidding. And now it's mine. Hrrrrr.

Insert Homer-gargle.

Dang. Excited!

2011-05-24T10:34:00.001+01:00

We're going to the beautiful neighbouring town today, to look at an apartment, and a house. A HOUSE! Of course, a house that you rent. Bf and I calculated on houses and realised that the earlier calculations the banks are trying to lure us into are totally wrong and that it would, in fact, cost us an entire month's salary to pay for a house and all the costs around it, every month. And fuck me, houses are expensive. Uhm. So, if we would buy a house and I get to keep my job, we'd be as poor as we've been since I moved here and still risk all those unforseeable costs like the car breaking down (like it has now, get better soon!) or something breaking in the house. And then imagine if we'd buy a house in a couple of years when there's kids costing money too. I get tired by just thinking about it.

SO, we've figured that renting is an awesome option. A better good-nights-sleep-option.

The house has a little garden, a garage AND a parking lot (luxury!) and all the things that come with a house. A washer and dryer JUST FOR US! It's tingling in my insides just by thinking about. Okay that may be the bbq meat I ate last night that apparently shouldn't have been eaten.

Anyways, I'm kind of excited. It's not at all sure that we actually want the apartment or house, or get it because there's a queue, but at least we're going to look at our first not-St.Aldus homes! Gotta start somewhere, right? And if that doesn't work, there's about ten other apartments that are available and just waiting for someone to give'm some loving. Good part about moving to a small(er) town, right?

Bf and I went there the other day and scouted around the areas where we know there's apartments available, and took a walk around town and the river and the docks. The sun was shining and people were hanging around the water eating ice cream and playing with dogs and couples walked by holding hands and you know OMG IT'S SO COSY THERE. He just ".. I mean, it's real cosy around here. It's pretty awesome. Damnit."
"Why the damnit? Because you realise that this is the way to go?"
"Something like that."

Good thing I'm together with a romantic.

Eeeep. Oh, and we're bringing mom because she's here for a visit. Eeep.

You were just waiting for it, weren't you?

2011-05-22T23:18:00.000+01:00

I'm retaining water.

Yes, I am gonna talk about my period again.

Ladies and gentlemen, I present to you!: Wynn - the last three weeks-edition.

Also, I'm on my third period in five weeks. Indeed, kids, condoms are not 100% safe and NOT USING ONE IS NOT WORTH TAKING A MORNING AFTER PILL! Now you know, so you don't have to try it yourselves. Not that we didn't use it, it just broke like a mothereffer and I really didn't want to even think about risking it. Because ya know, abortion sucks in so many more ways than any side effects of morning after pills.

Like three weeks of PMS. Or two weeks of cramps. Or an extra week of period. Or crying at work. You know, the little things.. Today a dude said to another dude "Dude, are you PMS'ing or what?" and then looked at me like he shouldn't have said that. I'm guessing that it's because he caught me the other day popping bloodstoppers and painkillers like it was a cocktail at a summer party, and of course (because people are so frickin' curious about everything) asked what I was doing. So I did what any grown woman would do and totally danced around the subject and said "Well ya know, once a month we need this to function properly" which made him look puzzled for about 5 seconds before he realised what I meant and then didn't know what to answer.

I'm glad that periods scare men of all ages. At almost all times. The only exception was one dude at Papercut Alley that really wanted to know why I'd been home sick (yeast infection) and I tried getting out of it but he was insistant. So I said it was cramps. Seriously, dude. Don't ask.

Anyways, after this I hope I'll get back to normal. My sex drive was completely missing until the day that my real period came. Then it was raging. This seems to happen a lot. I wonder how that evolutionary process worked. The lawd "joking" with humanity again? Like people who cramp out when ovulating. How do you expect people to procreate if they're down with cramps the days when they should just get down?

Now I don't know what to add anymore, so I'll just go to bed. I've been at work waaay too much this weekend (CASH IS KING!).

Shape up, bitch.

2011-05-18T19:27:00.004+01:00

Dear co-workers.

I realise that we newbies are hired on shaky time limited contracts (with possibilites of getting prolonged though), with somewhat differing assignments and I do realise that I have drawn the long, sparkly straw in what possibilites we've gotten at work. Lucky me, right? But, I will still ask you something. Will you be able to pay your rent this month? Yes, you will. Do you know why you can afford to pay your rent this month? Because you have a JOB. What do you do at this job? You work. You've just started working, a few weeks ago.

I'm doing my best to be serious at work because I believe in being serious at work. Playing around on my phone, trying to prolong the breaks and avoid doing boring stuff isn't on my agenda when I'm at work. So, I beg you please, don't walk up to me, even during the most tedious of moments when the entire Jurassic Park is in chaos, the T-rex just escaped and strange men in jackets run around trying to fix things leaving us with nothing to do at all but wait, and talk to me about how boring it is being at work.

You should be damn grateful that you even HAVE WORK TO DO. And I get really annoyed when you keep talking to me about "Hey, how about going home?" or "I'm good now, I could sleep. This is boring." because the last thing I want is for you saying that to me when a boss or boss-boss walks by and could imply that I'm actually a part of that stupid conversation. I have done nothing or said anything to make any bosses, coworkers, boss-bosses, random people walking by, that rabbit that lives outside the window in a lilac bush (aw) or even the dinosaurs themselves, believe that I don't like my job. Because I like it. I really do.

I'm especially disappointed in you, DJ. I recommended you for your job and you got it, and even though it's repetetive, it still prevents you FROM PACKING UP YOUR SHIT AND MOVING HOME TO YOUR PARENTS, RIGHT? So I would REALLY appreciate it if you DIDN'T talk OUT LOUD about going home when your BOSS-BOSS is right behind you. Or your boss. Or your co-workers. Fuck, you say it all the time, everywhere and anyplace.

So, DJ and other whiny newbie, I henceforth will take active distance from this behaviour and I WILL reprimand you if you keep doing it. I want none of it on my resume.

Sincerely yours
Pissed off, thankful Wynn.

Sidenote: Bf just said "awwwwwwww!" and hugged me when I ranted about this earlier. This is apparently, as a boss, what you want to hear from a simple dino keeper.

I reeaally couldn't see that one coming.

2011-05-17T19:40:00.001+01:00

Hay! Long time, no see! I've just been working oh and speaking of work. You know how (you don't, because I haven't told you) I always bet that it'll take me about four weeks before I cry at work? Now, of course, this is based on a stable, empirical basis. I don't know if I'm just right about it, or that me saying it will make me cry at work after about four weeks, but anyways. It's true.

It all started back in 2007 around the time when I was getting all riled up about MrBusy and then all of a sudden contracted (literally) a little strain of the Holy-fuck-I'm-gonna-puke-all-over-this-place-kind of cramps. Luckily, no man has ever debated whether a teary eyed girl holding her lower tummy, slightly hunched over and semi dry heaving should work or not, so the boss just instantly told me to go home and feel better. I didn't, for hours. But the entire factory got the pleasure of seeing me cry because I had to walk through it all to gtfo of there. Then, there's the whole thing at FFS Enterprise when my mom called me and gave the notice from her doctor's appointment, exactly four weeks into the job.

And then there's today. You see, I have been working for four weeks now. Actually working, that is. Not fooling around in some computer generated copy of the actual work I'm about to do. So, four weeks. And I cried at work today, scaring the life out of a colleague. Because you know, nothing feels better than having bouts of cramps and PMS* and then make a stupid mistake and then making yet another stupid mistake that oh I don't know held up the entire line for about 20 minutes because NOTHING FEELS BETTER WHEN PMS'ING like knowing that every minute that goes by costs the company probably about the entire month worth of your salary. Or more.

There were actually only like two tears, and I said "Ah, PMS is a wonderful thing" when it happened, so I hope that at least gives the impression that I don't cry because I made a mistake because everyone makes mistakes and I know that and stuff. But, the whore-moans cannot be overtaken. Or as some people on the internet would express it: In Russia, the hormones HAVE YOU.

I don't know what to add. Typically me?

* Oh yeah, I'mma tell you about this month's PMS later!

ME WYNN, ME MAKE MEAT ON FIRE. WHAT DO YOU MEAN, EAT SOMETHING MORE?

2011-05-15T22:09:00.000+01:00

Blogger, I want my visitors back!! I've gone from many to like nine a day since this mishap!

Come back visitors, I'll even fire up the barbey and feed you if you come back! I bring the meat*, you bring the ~~lubricants~~ condiments!

I've gotta keep taking pictures in series, it's AWESOME to make gif's. Seriously.

Love it.

It was mad tasty, btw.

*This is a forgiving place. You may interpret that whichever way you want. You're welcome.

Passive agressive is the right way to go.

2011-05-14T11:34:00.000+01:00

Blogger just shut down for three days, messed up posts for a lot of people and lost comments. Including comments on here. I don't know how many. I hope it was worth it, Blogger. I really do. I mean, don't mind us attention whores that's trying to post about ficticious dinosaurs and jokes about breasts, we're just here for YOUR entertainment?!

I'm gonna go have a very luxurious breakfast now. Blogger, you are not invited.

I'm hemorrhageing!

2011-05-09T01:42:00.001+01:00

You guys. I have my panties in a twist right now. Like the most twisted twist I've experienced so far. I'm pretty sure I will have to throw the panties away, partly because the knot won't loosen and partly because I'm GONNA PEE MYSELF, damnit!

Now, I believe you are aware of a few details about my location in this world by now. Like living in an apartment with leaking walls, without a balcony, in a place where there are no lakes nearby and where the sun never sets - it just hides behind a mountain. Needless to say, I feel that I want more of sunsets and pretty waters and nature in my life. Let's just say that there's a reason for me not taking very many photographies of nature here in St Aldus - it's dry and boring. But the other day when bf and I were scouring the rental market we found something. Something that I didn't think I would find like ever, and I really didn't think there were any rentals there. It's a two bedroom apartment in a neighbouring town, you know the town that I said we've been pondering about moving to.

I've made a 3D-model, roughly, of the apartment and its surroundings, and I think I'll let it speak for itself for a few seconds while you look at it. Yes, that's water you can see through the glass lining of the balcony.

I'm not even exaggerating. A literal stones throw to the right hits one of the boats that sits in the dock (so, don't throw rocks please), and to the left is the sunset, unhindered by the few low-profile villas that's located around the apartment building. It's a five minute walk to the city center one way, and the other way it's a five minute walk down to the beach where I snapped this, and this.

AND THIS APARTMENT COULD BE OURS IN LESS THAN A MONTH AND I CAN'T TAKE IT ANYMORE. I mean, there's like 20 more interested people according to the website, but there's a slim chance that it'll be ours and it's friggin' killing me. I'll be crushed when and if someone else gets it, and if we get it, we won't be St Aldus'ers in three weeks. Aaaaahhhhhhhhhh. This apartment is pretty much all I've ever dreamt of, and it's so close but yet so far away. If you don't see any more posts from me, you can be sure I've fallen over dead from the stress of waiting for the message if we will continue to live in a dark, dry balconyless place or in heaven.

Help me lawd.

Sunday reflection.

2011-05-08T22:53:00.001+01:00

I'm amazed by the fact that I actually gained a follower after that TMI Thursday post. Seriously guys, you rock.

Yes. That's all.

What are you doing this saturday evening?

2011-05-08T00:33:00.000+01:00

Do you know what you get if you combine sugar, egg, butter, flour and cacao, a boyfriend completely lacking the hideous macho-gene and a little red food dye?

A pretty picture. But, there's more! You also get a fresh swiss roll with pink buttercream AND whipped cream without lifting a finger. And two pounds of water sucked up into my body by the carbs that will take three days to get rid of.

We only live once, right.

TMI Thursday - The word "spray" will never be the same again.

2011-05-06T16:27:00.000+01:00

So, this is a re-write of an old TMI Thursday. I'm that lazy. On a friday. I believe some of you may remember this one, and those of you who haven't read it before.. well, put away that plate, boy. This time, instead of warning you guys three times, I will say this only once. If you don't think you can handle an intricate insight in hidden (well not now that I've blogged about it, right?) parts of a woman's life, I suggest you go here. You're welcome.

SO, for those of you that are left, here the story begins.

Necessary background info: As you all hopefully know by now, I am a woman. As a woman, I've had my period for about 12 years now. This incident happened around the time that I had lived ten years with my dear period with all its pains and cramps and PMS's and you know, omg the bloodshed. To steer off the worst parts about the period, ie pads and tampons because dude who invented cotton stuff that you shove up your vajayjay (that shit hurts), I've got a Mooncup. It's awesome, btw. Girls, get one.

I like my cup but come on, the reason for using that cup has only made me smile

like that once because OMG pregnancy scares can suck it.

Also, this whole period thing in combination with my IUD that I had at the time meant that I bled shitloads. I'm not even joking when I say that I bled more every month than my sister did when she delivered her first baby. It was that bad. This unawesome bleeding could also be very unreliable so when it was time for my period, I walked around on edge all the time, trying to be one step ahead of any catastrophies involving my pants, the general public and fo shame. Except this faithful day, of course. Bf and I was out and about at the mall, looking at stuff and being generally couply. Bf was eyeing a couple of candles (that's my boy) and placed himself in the line at the store to buy them. I stood around waiting for him when I felt something.. very familiar.

Very eerily familiar indeed. I believe you girls know what I'm talking about. The shit-that-wasn't-air-that-just-passed-through-my-labia-kind of feeling. The where's-those-toilets-kind of feeling. The WHY-did-I-put-on-these-notblack-pants-today-kind of feeling. So I took a step closer to bf, hissed that I'd be back and waddled off like a cowboy that had just removed himself from that tent up in those Brokeback mountains - with slow, broad-legged steps and a very awkward facial expression.

I waddled up to the line to the bathrooms and waited. Impatiently. Tapping my finger and my foot and I probably looked like I was gonna poo myself but I'll just say, guys, don't judge women that look like that. This leaking undercarriage phenomenon is really, really stressful. Anyways, at last the crowds separated and the beaming heavenly lights shone upon a door with a wheelchair on it. I looked around, saw no one in a wheelchair which totally meant that that toilet's mine bitch! Hastily entered and locked the door while at the same time unbuttoning my pants so I could save them from their apparent doom. Pants-around-ankles-walked over to the sink, washed my hands and proceeded to get that cup the hell out before it dribbled all over my light jeans, and then in order to grab some paper to put in the toilet before spilling the contents in there (tip, keeps the blood from sticking to the bottom of the toilet. Yes, that happens.), I reached over the sink to grab the paper sitting in a container on the wall.

Little did I think of, that the faucet in that very bathroom was one of those faucets that automagically starts flushing water when you pass a censor. And apparently, I happened to activate that censor, sending a hard stream of water down in the sink. Except, it wasn't in the sink, it was RIGHT into my cup. Brim filled with blood. Do you know what happens when you force something out with water, out of a confined space? Yeah, I know you can see it before you. We've all done it while doing dishes.

The watermix gushed out of the cup like a fountain before I could react and I just blanked out. I stared into my cup, and it was EMPTY. I looked at it for three seconds as if staring at it would will all the blood back into the cup and retrace everything that just happened. It didn't work. In my inner mind I saw myself, totally covered in blood and I wondered to myself how I could exit that bathroom and explain it to people. Like, I didn't murder anyone, please believe me? I looked down and saw that my clothes was stainless and instead looked up. I just stared for another three seconds at the mess, like staring at it would will all the blood bloody back into my cup! It didn't work, damnit! There was blood on the mirror, on the faucet, on the walls, on the sink, on the paper dispenser, on the soap container, on the trash can, on the floor.

At the same time I looked up at this, someone grabbed the door handle and pulled on it. Shit, people's waiting. Damnit. Think Wynn, think. First of all, rinse that cup and shove that damn thing back up, put those pants on like your life depend on it and then proceed with the next stage of the plan. Said and done, I felt the pressure of cleaning that place up really good and really fast because I mean, I'm not a carrier of any blood transferrable diseases but come on, I don't hate people that much. So I wiped and soaped like I've never done before nor since and took my time to really make sure no unsuspecting visitior would discover patches of blood on anything in there. Finished and satisfied (all in the matter of like 60 seconds, of course) I opened the door and there.. was no one there. Then I looked down and DOH! A person in a wheelchair was eyeing me like I stole her bathroom and unlawfully pooped in it. First time ever, I mean who thought disabled people even use the toilet?

In that very second I thought that I should've left it like it was. Which is also sort of a part of the confession.

Hrm.

Just another this-info-is-too-small-for-its-own-post-post.

2011-05-05T22:50:00.002+01:00

So, I bet you've missed me, right? Right? No I haven't been too busy for you, I've just worked and slept a lot. To like 5.30 PM. Oh, and I've got unemployed DJ into MetalCo. Yeah, I'm that awesome. Now he ows me. Remind me that I need to go around and tag him in old posts, because he's actually in them now and then, but still, no tag. And, I've lost eight pounds. Okay okay, I've written a few posts since I started losing eight pounds but DON'T JUDGE ME!

Oh, and I'm an aunt, again! A healthy baby girl came into this world yesterday and she's like, TINY.

And now, back to work!

MAY I ask.. wtf?

2011-05-03T20:49:00.001+01:00

Today I got to create a folder named 2011-05, because it's may motherbitches!

But, the first pictures that went into that folder, the spring month folder, after weeks of hanging in recliners outside in the sun, thinking about sun screen, putting up the mosquito nets, having the windows open 24/7, looks like this:

Dude. Why?

This combined with the introduction of a new strain of the flu that bf collected last night at work gives me an eerily reminder that winter and sickness will always be around. Here we go again.

BOO!

We're Facebook and we suck.

2011-05-02T22:15:00.000+01:00

So, when you get a friend request on facebook, you're facing two options.

These two options should be "Confirm" or "Hell no."

These two options are "Confirm" and "Not now."

Not now? What do you mean, not now? Either I want to be friends with that person on Facebook, or I don't. And like, when it's my asshole ex trying for the second time to add me as a friend on Facebook, the answer is HOW ABOUT NEVER, ASSHOLE. I had to specifically go into the settings for requests and click that request twice before the option to erase that motherfucker even came up. Come on, you can do better than that. I don't want it to be possible to happen to click something wrong after 6 months and then all of a sudden be friends with the one person that I'm trying to forget the most.

I mean, I know Facebook is one sneaky mothereffer in all its "oh click here" "oh, now that you have clicked this little button that only said ok, you've sent this request out to ALL YOUR FRIENDS on Facebook, great huh!" and that shit. You guys need to think that one over.

This post was really, really not intended to be about dairy.

2011-05-01T04:28:00.002+01:00

I've been having this blogpost in my head all weekend but been too lazy to write it, and now it's gone. Partly because it turned out that it wasn't my computer monitor that something had crawled up and died in which I thought because it smelled like cat poo in the entire room and the only place I could track down the more poignant smell impressions was just below my monitor. I couldn't locate the origin of the smell and had to shower once and change clothes twice, change socks three times (stepping into water that has leaked from a garbage bag is an excellent way to soil your squeaky clean feet) in order to rule myself out as the evil perpetrator and clean out the entire room of it's non-stationary content. But still, the bastardly opponent managed to slip my hawk eye and remain for a while longer. That was, of course, until bf showed up and just solved that problem. Just like all dudes do when I'm trying to get help with my computer issues. People just step into that friggin' room and problem's solved. Which of course has led me to MULTIPLE occasions where people don't even believe what I'm saying about my computer problems because they've never seen any sign of them.

Bastards.

Anyways, it was a old mug that bf had hidden under a desk because he's a friggin lazy ass and now he's officially forbidden to leave anything containing anything containing milk (yes, I meant for that sentence to happen), anywhere but in the sink or better yet, just leave the friggin CARTON IN THE FRIDGE BECAUSE I DON'T WANT TO BE THE ONE THAT OPENS THAT BOX WHEN IT'S BEEN STANDING ON THE COUNTER FOR TWO DAYS. Seriously. Apart from seafood, what smells more disgusting when it's been hanging around fermenting in room temperature for days than dairy?

I can still remember that time when my asshole ex said it was my turn to do the dishes, and had convienently hidden an old bowl with sourcream dip. That mold was white, black AND green. Apart from the one time we had pasta bolognese in the fridge for too long and found that it grew little 1/4 inch black sprouts with little balls on them, that was the worst. Quite cute really, but.. yeah no. Oh, and except that one time when I forgot a safely sealed lunchbox with leftover pasta in the million degree summer heat in a plastic bag on the floor of my hallway for three weeks. After closely regarding whether I could ever look at that lunchbox the same way again, I threw it away. Man, that lunchbox was tainted forever. Ever.

So watch your dairy people. It not only comes from big animals that can win any stare-contest in the world against any opponent (have you ever hung out in a field with cows for an entire day? Betches don't even blink) but the consequences of leaving its spawn on the kitchen counter for too long can take those eyes out, dude.

Wynn The Ripper. Oooh and it's totally a TMI Thursday too!

2011-04-28T15:48:00.000+01:00

Dudes. After working hard for a couple of days, I now realise why dinosaurs are extinct. I've been working with the oldest kind of dino, imagine like eons older than the T-Rex of robots. Either he needs som serious TLC or he just needs to retire. As it is right now, I don't think he's getting either. If you've ever come in contact with a stubborn old dog that sits down all the friggin time during that walk while you're maybe a tad stressed because you've got other shit to do at the same time and there's ten people depending on you that you finish your shit in time while you drag that dog along on its ass, you've got the general idea of how that specific dino behaved.

I suddenly really understand why there's such a mildly ascending learning curve in this job.

Anyways, I got home this morning and looked forward to just falling into bed because there's no time for winding down or standing up after standing in those shoes for seven hours. And you know how it's awesome to just scratch yourself everywhere after taking your clothes off? If you don't, just shut up, agree with me and try it sometime. This scratching is a fast, all over kind of activity to make sure that everything's in order now that we're nekkid and we make no discriminations, so I ran past my lady bits on the way from my thighs to my waist. My first mistake was the speed. It went a little too fast. My second mistake must have been hanging out with dino's all night because apparently, one nail had been inspired by the claws. I hadn't foreseen this because I have always just assumed that my nails are happy as they are, but hey, who hasn't had a personality crisis?
Anyways, just as I had passed my lady bits, I stopped because that didn't feel quite right. It didn't hurt, but it definitely didn't feel like it should have. So I arched my back, you know the sexsay, cheese doodle kind of hey I'm a woman looking at my own bits and they're kind of hard to see from other angles-way and I saw it.

Small droplets of blood formed in a line along my cooch. I'd actually tore my own box! At least it wasn't inside the box, (all mothers out there, keep your yappers shut, I don't want to know) right? So now I have a 1½ inch long dotted line of blood on my va-jayjay. I mean during all the years I have tamed the garden, so to speak, I've managed to cut myself with a pair of scissors at multiple occassions (which btw, hurts like a motherfucker and totally makes you not eligible for teh oral sex in like two days, and this fact is also the reason why I thank the lawd for razors), but I've never actually torn it myself.

Oh, and to make this post even more confusing, I'll add a picture of the latest bruise on the inside of my arm. It came into existence because of skin-on-skin friction, and yes. It hurt. A lot. But as we all know - sex bruises are good bruises. Or, in this case, forplay bruises are good bruises!

Squirt!

I was gonna be like "well, at least it's almost leopard spot shaped" but I just realised as I look at this picture, that if you tilt your head to the left and squint a little, the bruise sort of looks like a penis, squirting its annoying stuff all over the place. Well, fits the occasion, right?

Okay, I'm finished talking about penises and vaginas. For now.

I'm not made for this kind of pressure, damnit!

2011-04-25T11:12:00.001+01:00

Now, this is the news you've been waiting for.

Shit. I feel like I've been on Unemployed Idol again. Of course, this time I wasn't unemployed but had a lot more at stake and the nervousness didn't let go for hours. HOURS. Warning; There's a lot of CAPS in this post. Just to make you aware that I'm aware.

Seriously stressful. Lemme explain.

MetalCo has taken the longest time to decide where we simple workers are going and on what shifts. Now, because I'm sleeping with a boss, there is only one right shift and all the others are WRONG. Unfortunately, he's not the boss-boss so he doesn't make the all important decision about where I should be placed. Cue anxiety, because I want to get laid, damnit!

So we've all been waiting all week long to find out where everyone goes and WILL I EVER SEE MY BOYFRIEND AGAIN OR WILL I NEED TO GET A NEW VIBRATOR AND WHO'S GONNA GIMME A RIDE TO WORK? You know, the important questions. So at the end of the week and day, of course, some boss-bosses came into the room and stared at the nervous crowd of people while looking really mischevious, like they knew something that we didn't. You could see it in their I'm-your-superior-glistening eyes that they enjoyed it. Bastards.

I was like "Hay, I've heard that these people aren't taking in anyone on -RIGHT- shift, only the -WRONG- shifts. Please don't call my name, please don't call my name, please don't call my na..FUCK! My sexlife is offically over. I'm gonna have to ride my bike to work and not get laid at the same time. Maybe if I start crying they'll move me." The boss-bosses kept looking really mischevious and started confusing us all with strange claims that they were happy to have us and we're very needed and OMG JUST TELL US WHAT SHIFTS WE'RE GETTING ON DAMNIT BEFORE I LOSE MY MIND.

Bf walked past us in the background to talk to the others that hadn't been picked in the first run and I saw in my mind how I would only see him during the four minutes the shifts meet. Who has time to shag the boss in four minutes and get off? Propped up against a brick wall in the gentlemen's toilets? Even though I would like to claim my sexual prowess and that I often just need about 40 seconds to get off if I really try to, something tells me that that I would fail miserably if I actually had to try for the love of my sanity.

"So, the one's going to -WRONG- shift is... *opens envelope*
*stares out into the audience*
*drags it out*
*INTO INFINITY*
"Notwynn."

One down. Heart beating heavily. Omg-omg-omg-omg-omg.

"And, the ones going to -ALSO WRONG- shift is... *opens envelope*

*stares out into the audience*

*drags it out*

*INTO INFINITY*

"Notwynn and Notwynn."

Ahhhhhhhhh.

"And, there's only room for one person on the -RIGHT- shift..."

Ahhhhhhhhhh!

*shuffles through papers*
*drags it out*
*INTO INFINITY*

I swear to god I'll stab the fridge in the neck if you keep dragging this pain out! Mentally clutching another girl's hand while feeling my heartbeat all the way up in my brain.

..."and that's Wynn."

PRAISE THE COOKIE LORD! I felt like I'd won the marathon and did a mental, one-person wave. I'd won Whatevercountry's Idol. Masterchef. Any talentshow. The fan-fucking-tabulous Olympics. I can't believe I actually made it. *streaking through the factory while screaming and woo'ing*

Now, of course, bf is in on it, because what boss-bosses want bosses that don't get laid? That'd be bad for everyone involved. Either way, I don't need to buy a new vibrator and I don't need to shag my boyfriend in the men's bathroom (of course I can't promise that that won't happen anyways..) and I don't need to ride my bike to work. Unless the car breaks, of course. Knock on wood.

And you know what, that terror preceeded my final release because I rock. Apparently, I have done very well up until now so they chose me and the others in my "group" to do a little more advanced work. Which of course scares the crap out of me, because I've always just seen myself as a mere worker with no special talents, but I guess I have to trust them. The mischievous bosses. The scary leader, and his posse.

I've been trying to sort out what to compare my planned work with (because you know, here at Chronicles of Wynn, we don't like to say things out loud), and I finally got it. You know the starting scene of the first Jurassic Park movie, where there's cages with fierce animals everywhere and people have pokers and it's dark and you have to be on your watch? It's like that. My job will be to make sure the dino's (ie, robots. Remember that, I will say it only once.) do their shit right and poke'em if they don't AND FOR THE LOVE OF GOD DON'T STEP INTO THE CAGES IF YOU'RE NOT SURE THAT THE DINO'S ARE SEDATED. All that's missing is the evil Professor Fiddlewinkle. Let's just wait and see if he pops up somewhere.

And hopefully, the dino's won't eat me.

I hope you all had an awesome easter!

2011-04-24T14:13:00.001+01:00

This was probably the best easter eve in many years. Easter being late made it warm, sunny and AWESOME. Coming from a family where we don't really celebrate this holiday very much, it's always been a haphazard kind of tradition.

Yesterday we celebrated with the first bbq of the year complete with grilled corn on the cob, meat and garlicky butter yummyness, hanging around in recliners and on blankets outside for hours and hours in the sun (without getting burnt!), drunken monkey afternoon sex (man, semi-drunk sex can be so fucking good), a tad too much carbs passed my yapper, taking a hand-in-hand walk at 9 PM in a dress without getting cold, knowing that mom is in good hands at my sister's, neighbours being nice. You name it.

Now the sunday socks are on and things aren't moving very many miles an hour around here. Just the way I like my sundays.

When the hell did we reach easter? It was just winter!

2011-04-23T10:23:00.002+01:00

Note, this isn't the good news I was talking about earlier. I'll tell you about those later. When I finished editing that damn post, natural writer? Me? Noo.

Reposted image but like.. it looked exactly the same so.. why bother cleaning the kitchen table, right?

I once again started this lovely spring day with a big latte mug of luxury coffee, and yes Paddy, there was actually coffee in there. I mean, not a huge lot, but still. Coffee. But, before that I woke up this morning seeing the light press through the blinds, keen on filling the room with its beams of warmth and HOLY HELL IT'S NOT WINTER ANYMORE and I felt comfortable with getting up and shuffling around at home for a while. Until I looked at what time it was.

5.56 AM.

Dudes, when the hell did I turn into Frances, 78, who goes to bed before midnight on fridays and then gets up at 6 AM on weekends. The last two months, that's when. Although, I still feel that that is reserved for those who have worked for 60 years and have had the decency to stop doing that, those who work (and earn a whole lot of CASH this weekend, I might add) weekends, and those who have made the life altering decision to create and take care of one or more small yet surprisingly loud alarm clocks. The kind that's probably jumping up and down in your bed, tugging your arm so you will get up and play with them.

Ie, not my kind of alarm clock.

So I had to press on in bed, hoping that I'd fall asleep again so I could get up at a more humane hour, that turned out to be just before 9 AM because I haven't slept past 9 am in about two months now. Man, I can feel the grown-up-points just trickling into my little piggy band of elderdom. Anyways, I would have been fine with getting up after the asscrack of dawn (because seriously, the sun gets up at like, no okay I just checked, I've been getting up at exactly the time the sun does this week) if I were actually going to work around that time, but next week, I won't. You see, next week I'm back to my regular nocturnal hours ie the graveyard shift, woot! Usually, people get a couple of days to turn the hours of the day, but since I'm awesome (and I gotta tell you those good news), I only have two days to do it. I never thought it would be so tough getting back to my natural hours like I did yesterday..

.. when I went to bed at midnight. On a friday. But let's keep quiet about that.

Maybe tonight I should make the totally new and unusual decision to drink strong coffee at midnight so I can ease my way into my bat-ways but of course without the hanging upside down in a tree somewhere. Instead, I'll probably hang upside down in the couch at home because I've actually forgotten what I have been doing all night long for years.

Clink. Clink-clink. Clink.

I'd like to think that I'm stable nowadays, but I'm not. Really not.

2011-04-21T19:41:00.001+01:00

I feel like the odd one out today. Apparently, on easter thursday, you get pissed drunk and go out to celebrate ~~that Jesus was resurrected~~ that they have no fucking work to do tomorrow. The entire neighbouring house is filled with people drinking and smoking, everyone around the lunch table at work are going out tonight and bf's away at a party.

I'm not.

I talked to both mom and dad today to tell them the good news (I'll tell you later) and when I talked to dad we talked about mom a little because he'd been by her and picked some stuff up for my sister. He only got to "She has one of those (emergency) bracelets now.." and then he went silent. He cleared his throat a little and then continued to talk about something else.

I've never seen my dad sad, and to hear him choke up like that when he talks about mom breaks my heart.

Over and over.

So I'm staying in tonight, trying to take deep breaths to keep the worst away and hope that this day is kept short.

I just wish everything was back to normal.

MetalCo, the first review.

2011-04-20T21:13:00.001+01:00

So I guess I should do some kind of compilation of my first days at MetalCo (badass name right?! Yeah I didn't think about that for very long.. just agree with me.) but since I've been so focused on learning and trying to make people believe in me, I haven't had any time to think about blogging so it's not very organised and it goes something like this:

Shit better not look like a total newbie and stare too much at people, just gotta glance back and look sort of experienced I mean I've been in this industry before and it's like, I totally know what it's like to work in these places. Right? Oh I don't recognise anyone, it's friggin awesome (I should tell you about my last job in the industry sometime, HELLO teenage sins brought back to life!). Oh the introductor looks dangerous but he seems nice, and he's funny too, phew.

Am I supposed to know this shit? Wtf is that? Oh, I recognise that now.

I totally understand everything, yay! Better make sure the teachers know I know this and how dedicated I am, because I friggin' want to keep this job damnit! People are looking at me funny whenever I talk to bf. Yeah that's right, I'm sleeping with the boss. Mohahaha. May I sense a tad of jealousy? Yeah I mean you. Bf seems popular, people are chatting with him like there is absolutely a tomorrow and they want him to be there then too.

Oh now we're actually doing a physical excercise? The scary teacher has his evil eye one today. GOOD GOD HE'S STARING AT ME DO IT RIGHT WYNN, DO IT RIGHT OR I'LL NEVER FORGIVE YOU/ME WHATEVER, MARK MY WOR.. oh, it worked. Phew. Nice. Now stand back and shine. Stop blushing. God I'm sweaty. He's looking at me again, did I miss something that he said?! DID I?

HE CALLED MY NAME WHAT HAVE I DO.. Oh, he wanted me to show how I did that little trick, and now he's totally showing everyone else how to do it!. SHINE LIKE THE MOTHER EFFIN' SUN. Damn I rock!

Damn this place is big.

My thighs are chafing in these pants. I wonder how much I'll make..

Just because.

2011-04-20T17:32:00.003+01:00

SPRING'S MOTHERFUCKIN' HERE, BEATCHES!

I don't even know what to name this post. Smugness?

2011-04-18T17:11:00.004+01:00

Do you know what I've gotten today?

1. The start of a tan (while getting paid, btw).
2. Weird looks from all sorts of people that I've never seen before but that have obviously seen me before because then they run off and ask bf' if that isn't his girlfriend walking around? Yes. It is me. I know you're Facebook stalkers, you've blown your cover!
3. 160 dollars/113 euros. Post-tax.

Life's hard.

You know what, never say never.

2011-04-16T21:51:00.004+01:00

Earlier when I wrote the draft to this post, I argued that getting up too early in the morning on the weekends are bad for you because you find yourself sitting there at 6 pm, bored, unable to go outside because of the cow-poo like gunk covering your entire head (½ an inch of blonde roots just isn't pretty) and you're finished with all the days stuff that has to be done and have to officially kill off five hours in order for the clock to hit 11 pm so you can go to bed.

Since then, bf and I have had sex, showered twice (mmm), taken a nice walk in the windy spring night, voyuered the neighbours having a party, looked at houses (hobby, woot), talked about a lot of stuff, bf's ordered that new computer that he's been longing for since I moved here (updated since then, of course), we've cuddled for a 1½ hours in total AND now finish it off with grabbing a beer and nachos with cheese dip, salsa and aioli.

I mean, who was I to whine about it being a boring saturday, when it turned out to be a friggin' awesome saturday? GOD I love the homelife sometimes.

I do believe this adds a few years on my mentalage-o-meter, but damn, I'm gonna be so happy tomorrow because I'm not hungover, clutching Gilberto for eight hours.

Sorry Gilberto. You know I love you, but man, we only see eachother under the worst circumstance.

I'm getting up at 7 am tomorrow too, to do LAUNDRY.

2011-04-15T19:27:00.000+01:00

Today, I have spent about five hours sitting between a knuckle cracker and a fiddler. You know the type that can't possible have her/his hands still but has to fiddle with things all the friggin' time. This one had dry hands, so I had to listen to that constant swishing noise that stems from dry skin rubbing against dry skin, rubbing her hands or her arms or neck or GOD DAMNIT LADY JUST KEEP THE FUCK QUIET. With knuckle cracklings in the other ear. And then she started eating crunchy stuff really slowly as for the "teacher" not to hear it, I guess.

Fab.

Also, one angry text to bf at 6.30 am that I sent while panting and sweating on the parking lot outside of work solved my problem as he promised that he'd start riding his bike to work when I've gotten my driver's license, LOL. He's sweet, my boy. I actually miss him right now. We haven't been together for more than two hours since sunday night. You see how I swing between being scared of always being in his company and then missing him when I'm not? Yeah, I'm.. I'm not even gonna say that I'm a woman so I can use double standards because double standards are totally not gender related. Well, if it's related to having a gender at all, then yes, it's gender related.

Anyways, it's friday night and when they released us from work today (I gotta come up with a name for it, I suck at that. Sigh) I rode my bike home reeeally slowly, because I have nothing to do. Not even after four weeks of getting up at 5.30 am and working full days on weekdays has the weekends gotten glittery and magic. I just have too much boredom in my system still. The second I'm unoccupied, I get super bored and super whiney because I've been bored soo much the last year.

When it's vacation time in a couple of months, hopefully I've changed my mind. SEXACATION!

Oh, and do you want today's fun sexay fact? I'm so fat, that all the walking around I've been doing today (no joke, it takes like five minutes of fast walking to get from my locker to where we're working, whazza with the space?) has caused my thighs to rub against eachother so hard that I now have a sore, chafed spot on my inner thigh. The quote made famous by the fanciful Fat Bastard goes well here: I'm Dead Sexy. You Are Crap.

I'm working on it.. But I'm sure there's like 40 pounds before I actually get my thighs to not touch eachother anymore. Beach 2020? The solution until then: Men's underwear. Seriously, who the fuck decided the standard between women's and men's underwear? Men's underwear are AWESOME. They're comfy, stay up and don't show off my crack when I bend forward, have a little leg on them so my thighs are kept apart and I can like.. store stuff in the pouch if I want to. Win!

Hope ya'll have an awesome weekend!