Board Games, Snow and Little People

At the end of 30 Minus 2 Days of Writing, (which may or may not have killed my will to ever write again and completely alienated me from the entire blogging business for an entire month), P.J. decided to throw out another challenge, in the process making himself persona non grata with just about every sane blogger out there. Not me, though, because I am decidedly not sane.

Anyway, P.J. suggested a photo challenge. One theme, one month, five photos. Today is the last day of the month, and the theme P.J. gave us on the first day of the month was "My World".

I didn't set out to take any specific photos with the challenge in mind. In fact, I deliberately tried to forget all about the challenge and just take photos. I figured any photos I took would inevitably fall into the category of "My World", so my only objective this month was to actually carry the camera around with me. Today I finally sat down with the photos I've taken this month, and here are now five photos of things that were all part of my world in March.

At the beginning of the month, M and I decided to play board games. It was a lot of fun until M won and I threatened with divorce. I'm not the best loser...

I've also done a ridiculous amount of baking, and these were definitely a favorite of mine. And M's.

March was incredibly cold and wonderfully sunny in Finland. This next photo was taken at sunrise, around 7:23 am while I was driving to work. It was -20 C (-4 F) and birds were singing. Add some warmly dressed dwarves and it could've been a Disney movie.

I also visited my grandparents, and took the opportunity to take this photo of my 92-year-old grandfather.

And last, but certainly not least, we have the one thing that just would not die. Snow. Tons and tons of it. The past few winters have been so snowy that in the snow dumping sites there is vintage snow from three years back. I am convinced 2013 will be the year when winter wins and spring will never arrive.

That's all for now, folks. Go visit P.J. for a list of anyone else who took five measly photos in March. *

Board Games, Snow and Little People

Is That All?

The blood slowly circled down the drain, reluctantly, resisting the pull of gravity and water. He watched it swirl against the pure white of the sink and marveled at the color. Blood was never dark enough on TV. This blood – her blood – it was beautiful, the color of ripe cherries. He’d been pleased to notice it matched her red nail polish perfectly. The color was called Aperitif.

He knew because in one of her many moments of foolish bravery and fearlessness, she’d told him, with a nice little insult tacked on for good measure.

She had been so spirited. He’d truly enjoyed working on her. She’d lasted for weeks before she finally gave up, and she had fought until the very end. Each new method of torture had been met with taunting words and fiery eyes. “Is that all you’ve got?!” she had shouted at him when he’d brandished a new weapon, then spit him in the face when he came closer.

Oh yes, she had been magnificent. He sighed as he tried to get the blood out from under his cuticles. He felt empty now. She had been an unwilling player in his game, but she had become such a big part of his life. And he would like to think that she had felt something for him, too. Hate and love were just two sides of the same coin, after all. It was a shame she had to die. She had so much passion.

He would have to find a new victim now, somewhere else. Someplace where they didn’t know his name and didn’t know to fear him. He would have to choose his next victim carefully; she’d set the bar impossibly high. He’d leave in the morning, he decided.

He turned to her lifeless form on the table and cocked his head to the side, deep in contemplation. He had a body to hide. But first...

He picked up the straight razor.

First he needed to take a souvenir.

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And with that disturbing little entry, I am done. Can you believe it? It is finally over, Nicky and Mike’s 30 Minus 2 Days of Murdering Our Muses ends today. The last prompt is Is that all, and please God, let that be all. No more. Ever again. (At least not until the next time.) Now go, check out We Work For Cheese for a list of the other participants, and for Nicky's apology for putting us all through this. *

Is That All?

And That's Why I Got Drunk

Sometimes, when you least expect it, something happens that changes everything. The Butterfly Effect, they call it.

Fate.

Destiny.

Personally, I think Destiny is a name people called “Barbie” give to their rat-sized dogs and spoiled daughters, and Fate is what we blame when our plans fail. Life wasn’t pre-determined. We make our own decisions; we control our lives. Sometimes we’re dealt a shitty hand, and we try to make the best of it. Some of us are luckier than others. But it wasn’t meant to be. It’s all just one big old coincidence.

But then sometimes, when you least expect it, something happens that changes everything. An idea, a change of plans, a right turn instead of a left turn, and life as you know it is over.

I never cared about such nonsense. Until one day, when Nicky asked me to participate in a wee little challenge. She came to me wearing her black and white fuck me shoes, the ones that make her legs go on forever, and she was carrying wine.

Good wine.

Old wine.

She whispered to me, sweet nothings about faceless wordsmiths, about star-crossed lovers separated by distance and misfortune, about well-dressed lions and fantastical time pyramids, about handsome men on an endless road trip, about never-ending lyrics and perpetual puns, about a Texan adventure and a snowy wedding, about a mother’s love, and some unfinished business in California.

She made it sound like an adventure. A journey that only a select few would ever be able to make.

I couldn’t say no. Not when she looked at me like that.

And I realized, it was Destiny. The bitch had finally found me.

And that’s why I got drunk.

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This post is part of Nicky and Mike’s 30 Minus 2 Days of Writing challenge. Today’s prompt is And that's why I got drunk. Go check out We Work For Cheese for a list of the other participants. *

And That's Why I Got Drunk

Deal With It

The job at the button factory was the best thing that had ever happened to her, she told herself while standing in front of the conveyor belt. It was full of buttons, white today, traveling by at a constant but manageable speed. During the two months she’d been working there, she’d noticed that the black ones were much more prone to flaws than the white ones, so she was feeling pretty relaxed today.

When had white buttons on a conveyor belt become her definition of a good day? She found herself dreaming back to happier times. Being a quality control inspector at a button factory hadn’t always been her dream. In fact, it still wasn’t. At one time in her life she had made it a point to follow her dreams, wherever they may take her. And they had taken her to some pretty amazing places.

She’d seen the world, traveled as a groupie with a band, living off their good will and repaying them with favors of the more physical kind. Then she’d backpacked through Europe, living under the stars and making new friends in every city. When it rained in Rome, she left for Madrid. When winter came in Europe, she chatted up an older man at the airport, then told him about her dying niece in Australia, whom she would never get to see again because she didn’t have the money for a plane ticket. She spent the summer on Bondi Beach, getting cozy with one of the lifeguards.

She was in Mexico when she met Ricardo. She fell head over heels, madly in love with him, and him with her. Even now, standing at the production line, she remembered him so vividly. His deep laughter, his kind eyes. They were like magic together. They danced and partied all night long. Alcohol and drugs were plentiful, and the physical attraction palpable. In her mind’s eye she could still see his tousled hair, and her own pleasure painted on his skin in blushing crescent shapes.

It all came to a sudden stop that fateful day three years ago. He’d asked her for a small favor, and she had said yes, her love and trust in him infinite. It had only been a few pounds, tightly wrapped around her thighs and belly. She had been so sure it wasn’t visible that she was carrying anything, but they still knew. Ricardo had come to see her during her trial, and told her he would deal with it; he would take care of it.

He hadn’t.

But now, three years into her twenty-five-year sentence in a Mexican women’s prison, she had landed a job, a privilege only a handful of inmates were given. She was allowed to leave the prison for ten hours every day, heavily shackled, travelling in a secure bus. But for a few minutes each day, she got to see the sky outside of the prison.

Yes, this job at the button factory was the best thing that had ever happened to her. Inspecting buttons on a conveyor belt would make the next twenty-two years go by so much faster.

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This post is part of Nicky and Mike’s 30 Minus 2 Days of Writing challenge. Today’s prompt is Deal with it. Go check out We Work For Cheese for a list of the other participants. *

Deal With It

Fact or Fiction

In Finnish, there is a unit of distance called poronkusema, which roughly translates into “a reindeer’s pee”. It’s as far as a reindeer can walk in any given direction without having to urinate – about 4.5 miles, depending on the reindeer. Most of the time a poronkusema is more or less a straight line, but sometimes the reindeer will get lost and it’s a big squiggly S-shape, or if the reindeer has to go really badly, it might be tiny little cross-legged circles.

Needless to say, it’s not a very useful unit, nor it is a very useful fact to know.

I apologize.

I have another mile in me, then I have to go.

Now, in the interest of serving you up some facts that are actually useful, let me tell you a little bit about cheese, that wonderful, wonderful substance that Nicky and Mike love so dearly.

This here is a photo I lovingly stole borrowed from Nicky and Mike’s cheesy blog, and for some inexplicable reason, I’m going to give you some entirely fictional facts about these smelly cheeses, in no particular order.

First, there is the wonderful Brie. Hopefully from France, it’s a lovely Brie de Meaux, made with the milk of a cow named Rosa, who lovingly gave birth to a calf and raised him while the electronic pumps pulled every last bit of milk from her udders. The cheese has a very faint aroma that even a cheese-hating Finn can adore. It tastes of mould and spring, and goes very well with a delicate white wine.

The Camembert is very similar to the Brie, but for some inexplicable reason they still have to have different names because some cheese snob in France says so. Nevertheless, the Camembert has a little less fat, and is therefore an excellent diet cheese. But only if you don’t eat it.

Next, there is the cubed Cheddar Cheese. The bane of my existence. Found in everything, the Cheddar Cheese has a sharper taste than the friendly Camembert, and resembles old Lego bricks in appearance. This aged cheese tastes slightly earthy, with an undertone of older gentleman, heavy on the dandruff. Food colouring has been added to give it its yellow tint, and we can only be happy it didn’t come out of a can.

Then there’s the ash-coated Chèvre, a rather soft goat’s milk cheese. Slightly salty, but mild in flavour. A Chèvre is something almost anyone can enjoy. Make sure you get the kind with food grade activated charcoal ash, though, and not the kind with human remains ash. It’s tastier, and you won’t feel bad for eating Uncle Willy.

The Mozzarella looks faintly plastic on this lovely platter, and I can only assume it’s fake. I will not tolerate such cheating and refuse to speak another word of it. Hell, it’s so soft it won’t even do as a murder weapon.

The silly looking round cheese with an orange rind is an Oka, and this one, will in fact do quite nicely as a murder weapon. Just ask Uncle Willy. It goes well with a late harvest Gewürztraminer, or if you’re having problems pronouncing that, any vodka will do, as long as it’s Finlandia. It’s semi-hard (much like Uncle Willy), and while I’ve never tasted it, I can only assume it tastes like cheese, maybe with a faint aftertaste of lost dignity.

The monster in the aluminium package is illegally produced bathtub cheese. It was probably made in Nicky’s and Jepeto’s own bathtub, and has a very pungent smell, due to Jepeto’s frequent cheese baths. This of course has led to a rather nasty yeast infection, causing Jepeto to start producing his very own cheese as well, (thankfully not seen on the cheese platter). It’s best to just stay away from this cheese, for all the reasons mentioned above and many, many more.

We’re almost at the end now, and since the three little white cheese wedges at the edge of the platter are infested with Listeria, I’ll skip those and move on to the last one.

And last, we have the Blue Cheese. The king of horror, this cheese contains more Penicillin than a hospital, and has about the same death rate. It goes well with a strong wine, even better with a gun to put yourself out of your misery. It smells of dirty socks and dead mice, left to rot for exactly 6 days in a humid and warm place. The green or blue colours resemble varicose veins on a beauty queen, and are designed to scare people away. Sadly, many people suffer from an incurable disease called idiocy, and will eat the Blue Cheese anyway. The smell stays with the body long after death.

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This post is part of Nicky and Mike’s 30 Minus 2 Days of Writing challenge. Today’s prompt is Fact or fiction. Go check out We Work For Cheese for a list of the other participants. *

Fact or Fiction

The Social Experiment

Today I did something I have never done before. I made a lemon-meringue pie. It’s not a very common thing to find here in Finland. In fact, I’ve never seen one in person. But I like lemon, I like meringue, and I like pie.

What could possibly go wrong?

Well, let me tell you what could possibly go wrong. Burnt crust all sunken in on itself, yolks in the whites, sugar all over the floor, runny filling, stiff meringue, matrimonial problems due to shouted accusations (he really did cause me to forget to pick the crust), scared cats, sour looks, tiny spoons dropped into the fluffy white never to be seen again.

And that was just the first ten minutes.

After hours of blood, sweat and tears, I finally pulled the finished creation out of the oven, thanking my lucky stars that you couldn’t see the horrible train wreck for a crust just by looking at it. Then I snapped this photo of it with my phone and posted it to Facebook with a message: “I have homemade lemon-meringue pie, I have coffee, and I am bored. Does anyone want to come over?”

I leaned back and felt good about myself.

After hours of staring at the screen, waiting for someone – anyone! – to reply to my message and say that they would love to come over, I finally gave up and ate the entire thing myself. It tasted like failure.

It's like Confucius say, “Shit happens.”

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This post is part of Nicky and Mike’s 30 Minus 2 Days of Writing challenge. Today’s prompt is Confucius. Go check out We Work For Cheese for a list of the other participants. *

The Social Experiment