Monday, November 29, 2010

Too Cold For Correct Grammar

Too cold to blog. Didn’t think it would be this cold until January or February. Fuck me, cold now.

-17 C = 1.4 F

At least the Fahrenheit scale didn’t go negative.

Drove a popsicle to work. Dark when I got to work. Dark when I left work. The only sunshine I get is through a window. But don’t go too close, your tongue will get stuck.

Hair needs defrosting and ran out of spare toes, too.


Beware, content is hot.

Friday, November 26, 2010

Glögg - Try To Say That Five Times Fast

It’s been snowing all week. Big flakes, small flakes, storm flakes, corn flakes and friendly flakes. If we get another ten or twelve feet we’ll be completely snowed in. And it’s freezing. 15 degrees Fahrenheit, -10 degrees real temperature. I wouldn’t mind the cold, but tomorrow it’ll be even colder and I’ll first have to wear a little black dress to a play, and then I’ll have to wear this:

…and go to a student thing were we stay up until 3 am and walk around outside in the snow and drink glögg strong enough to pickle an elephant of moderate size and weight. It sounds weird, but it’s actually very fun. Drinking glögg in the street, not pickling elephants of moderate size and weight. If I survive the night I’ll tell you all about it after the weekend.

And some of you might remember that the last time you heard from me, I was on my way to the set of Dancing with the Stars. The show was much better on this side of the camera. I particularly liked the crazy camera men running around, and the slightly unprofessional behavior everyone was exhibiting during the commercials. And of course the dresses Muschu had made were amazing. And as if it wasn’t enough that my sister gets to sew fantastic dresses for Dancing with the Stars, she was interviewed for the 10 o’clock news today and the entire country saw her pretty face on TV. I’m pretty sure your level of success is measured in the air time you get on the national news, which means Muschu is right up there with our Minister of Foreign Affairs. If she wasn’t my sister I might be jealous. But because she is my sister, I’ll just pretend to be happy about it and smile and nod.

The red means I’m a political sciences major, and the badges were sewn onto the jumpsuit by little Chinese kids who didn’t get enough pay. I have a bunch of them stowed away in the closet for just such occasions.

Keeping up appearances.

Most important accessory of them all.

Sunday, November 21, 2010

Happy Birthday Muschu!

I’m getting really tired of starting every other blog post with ”M is away,” but he is. Again. This time it’s karate camp. And I’m alone on a beautiful snowy Sunday. Technically I was alone yesterday too, and it was a beautiful snowy Saturday, and I was alone on Friday, which was a beautiful snowy Friday, but you guys are not interested in that. Luckily, being alone means that I’ve had time to think of potential blogging material. Sometime in the near future I’m going to treat you to the story of my language course in England, complete with crazy soybean-loving American; and the story of my week in a French monastery, complete with bus trip through Europe and monks everywhere. My stories are not as adventurous as Linda’s, but I bet she doesn’t have a story about soybean madness. She probably has one about monks, though.

Sadly, those little stories will have to wait a little longer, because I’m off. I am going to the live set of Dancing with the Stars for tonight’s show, to celebrate my gorgeous sister's birthday. I’ll probably go crazy trying to run away from the cameras and avoid being seen by a million people on live TV, but a little more crazy won’t hurt. You probably won’t even notice it. *

Sunday, November 14, 2010

Keep the Banana Out of the Doggy Bag

I wonder if every baby comes with an extra set of hands for the parents, compliments of the stork. Because yesterday we had a couple we know over for dinner, and they have a 2.5-year old and a 6-month old, and they made it look easy. Well, as easy as holding a baby in one hand, feeding a toddler with the other, while you’re eating with a third and making sure you’re properly hydrated with the fourth, can look.

Having company over was fun. We had a wonderful 9-year old red wine from Spain, and some sort of mystery meat dish that I probably should know a little bit more about seeing as I was the one who made it. I also made chocolate cake, and these:

I had every intention of serving coffee with the cake and cookies, but when I tried to make it I found the coffeemaker broken and unusable. Everything turned out great, though, because I fixed it with a fork and a sauce pan. Which reminds me, I should really send that picture to “There, I Fixed It”...

Today is Father’s Day. I know it’s confusing, but Father’s Day is not celebrated on the same date all around the world. Just go with it. M and I went with it and invited ourselves to my parents’ house for dinner. Mom made something that didn’t quite know if it was dinner or dessert, but M liked it. It was full of meat, cayenne pepper and bananas, of all things. Fruit should never ever be warm. Dinner should not be sweet, unless it consists of nothing but chocolate, which is okay, of course. But dinner with warm banana, pineapple, red apple, green apple, any fruit really, shouldn’t be allowed to exist. I should be struck down by lightning, in fact, just for suggesting it. I ate the meat and the sauce and threw the banana pieces on the floor for the dog to eat. Then I remembered our dog died 10 years ago. Then I remembered that even if she’d still been alive, banana was the only thing she refused to eat, even counting things such as small children and rusty nails. Smart dog. *

Tuesday, November 9, 2010

Green Toilets and Japanese Perverts

Snow. It’s really coming down now. The first snow came down on Sunday while M and I were driving to Kirkkonummi to visit my grandfather who turned 90 years old. It came down, first as hail, then as big wet flakes that melted on the ground, and last as tiny little flakes that didn’t even melt when the sun came out yesterday. This means that the roads are nothing but ice, but at least there’s snow on the ground. And there will be more, because the first snow storm of the winter has just arrived. And I was really enjoying it, too, but then I had to drive my car to Zumba and decided I’m not going to like this winter any more than the rest of them. I need a snowmobile.

My grandfather, 90 years old but fit enough to fight off the Russians if need be. (Just ignore the wheelchair.)

Apart from visiting my very old grandfather, M and I also visited our good friends Dani and Jonas and their little boy Adam this past weekend. The food was great, the company awesome, and I got to be creative and play with Lego. I made all sorts of fantastic creations, and Adam really helped me find my inner artist by helping me with the finishing touch on every creation. Inspiringly enough, the finishing touch was a green plastic toilet every single time. I predict great things for Adam in his future.

First snowball of the winter. I hit a complete stranger right in the head with it, too.

Now, in keeping with my new series, “Shit M Says”, here’s a conversation M and I had while having dinner today. This is simply to show that it’s not just black people M has it in for. We were sitting at the dinner table, discussing camera noises, like any normal couple would, and we got a little sidetracked.

M: I know that Japan is very strict with that. If you take a picture the camera has to make a sound. It’s to keep Japanese perverts from reaching under girls’ skirts in the subway and taking pictures.

Z: I guess that Japan is the only place where the subway is so crowded someone can reach in under your skirt and you wouldn’t notice it.

M: Have you seen the pictures of those subway workers whose only job is to push people into the subway cars because they’re so crowded the door won’t close otherwise?

Z: How the hell do you survive with a baby there?

M: Don’t you know that in Japan babies are this small *shows with his hands* and can fit into your pocket for easy transport?

Z: I wonder how many baby girls are “accidentally” lost on the subway in Japan. “Oops, lost the baby, better make a new one. Let’s hope it’s a boy this time.”

M: I have no idea how they even have time to make babies. They work insane hours and have to fit all that perversity into their schedule as well. You know you can buy used panties in Japan, kinda like you can buy sodas from a vending machine here.

Z: You’re not serious. That’s just gross. Where do they get all the dirty panties?

M: I don’t know, college? And I once saw a geometric calculation from Japan about sitting opposite to a girl dressed in a skirt and how far from her you’d have to sit in order to see under her skirt, taking into account skirt length and eye height.

Z: The entire country of Japan should be put behind glass and the rest of the world could buy tickets and come watch the Japanese show from a safe distance. That’s entertainment right there. *

Thursday, November 4, 2010

Don't Take Your Cutlery For Granted

I am extremely pleased with myself today. Well, I was even more pleased with myself last night, but I’m still hanging on to this strange and tingly feeling. In my last post I told you about the “new” dishwasher M and I bought. We got it used on the internet, picked it up ourselves from someone’s dark garage, cash only, put it into M’s tiny little car and carried it up to our apartment, where it stood in the living room for days. We didn’t want to have to call anyone for help, so we stared at the thing for a while and finally figured out what we’d need to make it work. So, after a trip to the store to get a hose clamp and a nozzle adapter, another trip to the store to get a new nozzle adapter because M lost the gasket to the first, a third trip to the store to get detergent and rinse aid, and a an hour of scrubbing off the dirt, last night we had finally installed our very own dishwasher.

Fearlessly, I pressed “ON” and jumped behind the kitchen table to wait for the explosion. The explosion never came, and the dishwasher happily dishwashed for what seemed like two hours, but was probably closer to an hour and a half. Success!

Now we just have to work up the courage to run the dishwasher with actual dishes in it.

Although, I do feel a little bad for being so spoiled. Dishwasher, washing machine... Did you know that every fourth person in the third world doesn’t even own a separate salad fork and dessert fork? A real eye-opener isn’t it? Oh well, at least my salad fork will be clean as a whistle.

My tin whistles. They’re not very clean.