An apocalypse of my very own

So it looks as if the world isn't ending, after all. Therefore I have decided to arrange my very own End of the World Extravaganza. It will consist of me stuffing my face with candy, while watching apocalyptic movies. I will also cast the occasional glance out the window, and as soon as I see anything fiery falling out of the sky, my Christmas calendar is gonna get it.

Happy apocalypse, everyone!

Toothy adventures

A little while ago, I chipped a tooth. Let's just say I've learned that when I'm trying to eat something which turns out to be harder than I thought, I no longer think that I can still crush it with my mighty super-hero teeth.

And now I need to go to the dreaded dentist. Or so the logical part of my brain likes to tell me. Then there's the not-so-logical part, which likes to point out that the worst thing that can happen, is that it dies and falls out. And you can't even see it unless I do this:




There aren't really a lot of situations where that facial expression is called for.

The weekend

I made a pie, while listening to 'eye of the tiger' again and again.

Now you get to watch the picture and listen to this:

Pooch's December Lesson

Having lived with Pooch for the past 12+ years, I don't really notice all the little sounds she makes throughout the day anymore. The Mister, however, is newer to this whole dog-thing. He is frequently driven to the brinks of insanity by the sound of Pooch licking her butt. In order to distract her, he will throw a pepper nut at her. A pepper nut, by the way, is a bit like a gingerbread whatever, only in the shape of a small ball. They're a Christmas thing.




Now it's only a matter of time before Pooch comes to the conclusion that whenever she licks her arse, the p-nuts will start to fly. Then we will never see her face again...

Location:Møller Andersensvej,Tjele,Danmark

Guilty pleasure

This is the Kai cake. It's quite possibly the very bestest cake in the entire universe. the downside is that you can't stick your fork in it without feeling like a terrible human being...

Oops, I did it again!

Oh boy, oh boy, oh boy, did I fall off the wagon... They don't call it world of warcrack for nothing. So if you don't hear from me in a few months, send in the rescue team!




Because right now, this is me:

Look what I found!

On January 19th this year, this article appeared in Swedish news:

A homeless, naked dwarf went berserk this weekend, in the streets of Stockholm. Several people in the area tried to catch the intoxicated dwarf in a net, but failed.  

"He was like a fast animal. He moved tirelessly from side to side," says Tareq Ali Andersson, who happened to be passing by, when the dwarf suddenly leaped out, baring his yellow teeth, before he started to thrust his penis up against the parked cars. 

"It was terrible. Poor car owners. It looked like it hurt, too. Every time he pressed his little penis against the cars, it froze and stuck, before he tore it loose again. I will never forget the sound that he made before he ran away and disappeared." 

Now, this might be politically incorrect of me to say, but I would kill - and I do mean KILL - to have seen that. Even just the bit where people are trying to catch the drunk, naked dwarf in a net... Seriously, to witness something like that, I would stop someone's heart from beating.

Sidekick/mini-me wanted!

Must be hard working, experienced, responsible & reliable. In short; must be able to imitate an adult during working hours.

Please do not apply if you oversleep, have no alarm clock, have no car, have court often, have no baby sitter every day, have to give friends rides to work later than I expect you to start work, experience flat tires every week, have to hold on to your cell phone all day, or become an expert on your job without needing to learn or take advice after the first day. Must be able to talk and work at the same time. Must remember to come back to work after lunch. Should not expect to receive purple ribbons or gold stars for showing up on time.

Also:

Boom goes the dynamite!

So I was in the bathroom, doing my thang, when I made a certain noise and heard Mister Choochoo's voice from outside say; "boom goes the dynamite!" We're definitely past that stage of our relationship where we hide our impolite noises from each other. Hell, around here, those noises are another form of communication.

Meanwhile, in London...

Morning glory

Because I am very sweet, loving and whatnot, I like to make a nice pot of coffee in the morning. Being more partial to coffee drinks with fancy, Italian names, I usually pour myself a small cup and drink about half if that while Mister Choochoo takes care of the rest.

This morning, I was in the middle of dumping coffee into our French press, when Pooch happened by. She stopped, did a little tap routine and stared at me expectantly. I said some words. She did another little dance, this time with a song. I said more words. Satisfied with our exchange, Pooch continued to her crate (which is more of a large tent with windows) to do whatever the hell she does in her crate. Sometimes she likes to lick her bed very slowly, eyes closed. But I digress.
I returned to my coffee-making-project, only to realise that I had no idea how many measuring spoons I'd already put in. So I guessed. The result is pictured below. Look at that! That is blacker than Satan's personal exit tunnel, that is... But hey, I'm awake.

To sleep crazy

Sometime in the middle of the night, I woke up because I heard myself say something that sounded a lot like "here comes Santa!" Then I found myself basically crawling around on top of Mr Choochoo, who - unlike me - was still sleeping soundly.

So yeah...that was a thing.

Also, there's this:

A word definition

Optimism (Op-tuh-miz-uhm)

1. a disposition or tendency to look on the more favorable side of events or conditions and to expect the most favorable outcome. 
2. the belief that good ultimately predominates over evil in the world.
3. the belief that goodness pervades reality. 
4. the doctrine that the existing world is the best of all possible worlds. 

Maybe it was optimism that drove whoever-it-was to knock on our door at 7:30 am on a Saturday, thinking that someone would actually get out of bed to answer. I hope they learned something today. 

Cynicism (sin-uh-siz-uhm)

1. me

I hate Mondays

I went down into the living room to watch some tv and goof around on the laptop, and suddenly there was this loud hissing noise. I couldn't tell where it was coming from, but it was really loud and intense.

Then I happened to look up... Our living room used to be a shop way back when, so there's some very funky wiring in there and there's a chunk of wires sticking a couple of inches out if a small hole in the ceiling. We've tried to move them before, but the idiot who put them there decided to pull them through these plastic tubes and fix the tubes in place somewhere inside the ceiling, so the bastards won't budge. It's like something out of an Asian horror movie. They're ancient, from back when they used cloth in wires (also pretty idiotic).




Would you just look at that? It's like our ceiling is giving birth to one of the Borg.

So I'm looking up and I realize that's where the hissing is coming from. And then there's also smoke and sparks \o/ To make it even more fun, we have no idea what those bloody wires are connected to so we have no idea whether or not we've managed to turn them off, and if we kill the fuses then the alarm will go into hysterics. Isn't life grand?

At least now there's an electrician on the way. We're very excited to see of he manages to fix it without removing arts of the ceiling...

I hate Mondays.

two things!

First off we have documentation of my last girly moment.

It looked pretty for a while, then I went outside where it was hot and humid and the curls all ran away while I was in line at Baresso, waiting for my Gelatte. I didn't even notice at first, because I was standing next to a girl with the biggest plastic boobs I have ever seen in my entire life. I kept looking over at Mr Choochoo and his friend to see if they would notice, but no. 


Second, this is the strangest music video ever. Even if this might not be your kind of music, I'm sure you can still appreciate The Weird. Hell, if you can't appreciate The Weird, then what are you doing here, eh?

Goo and sleeping beauty

I have entered the influenza phase where I can sneeze a gazillion times in a row. Normally I'm a huge fan of sneezing. It's better than chocolate and the smell of new jeans. This is because a sneeze (and yes, I know I've said this before) makes the inside of your head feel like the air outside after it rains.

Not this time, though.

I will now distract you from thoughts of snot and slime by dangling a picture of my dog in front of your faces. I call it "sleeping beauty."

Farewell, cruel world!

Because I'm at death's door, see. I'm sick. Terribly, horribly sick. I have...the man-flu. Equal opportunities, and all that. Unfortunately, I don't get to whine and complain anywhere near as much as I'd like, because my voice is gone. Completely, absolutely vanished. Can't even make a squeaky sound.

As if that wasn't enough, Pooch is bored and has decided to spend all her time staring at me. Whenever I try to tell her to go lie down, no sound comes out and she thinks it's a new game. Then I try to use arm movements, which leads her to think that I've thrown something fun and she'd better go get it. When she fails to find anything, the whole song and dance starts all over again.

Also, I'm constantly stuffing myself with throat lozenges, because that is my way of clinging to sanity. Do you know what happens when you eat unnatural amounts of throat lozenges in a short period of time? Gas, that's what! Mister Choochoo has dubbed me Fart-Burp-Monster...

This week is stupid and I wish it would just go away. At least the weather is nice. Oh, wait...

Missed a spot with the sun lotion

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I have grumbles!

Last night, I woke up with my shoulder going "it huuuurts! It huuuuuuuurts!" And it was right. It did hurt. Three cheers for inflamed muscles. Weee. 

Given the circumstances, we decided to order food yesterday. Among said food there was a garlic bread. Of evil! 

So today I woke up with my stomach going "it huuuurts! it huuuuuuuuuurts!" My poor stomach has somehow swelled up to twice it's normal size. I'm just waiting for Mr Choochoo to get out of bed, take one look at me and think "Oh my god! She's pregnant!" Then I'll just sip my coke and watch the freak-out. 

Ladies and gentlemen, on our show tonight...

The Pooch's birthday cake video! TADAAA! (just ignore the house being a bit of a mess)

Boy & girl moment

Me: what do you think my Indian name would be, if I was an Indian?
Mister: Farts-at-night.

I was horribly insulted, because I never fart. But then I got distracted by another thought.

Me: is it normal to become queasy if you stick your finger in your belly button and shake it up and down fast?
Mister: What?
Me: kinda like car sickness.
Mister: I have another Indian name for you.
Me: what is it?
Mister: Comes-from-Space...




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Wisdom just leaps from my brain

This pretty much sums up myself as a wannabe writer (insert sigh here):Self-doubt leads to failure, and failure in turns leads to self-doubt, and the two tango together, punching you in the butthole again and again until you can no longer defecate productively

So...

Mr Choochoo sent me this earlier. I think he's trying to tell me something...




I have no idea what he's on about, of course. He's also accusing me of messing up his Netflix recommendations. He is apparently not too thrilled about categories like "romantic comedies featuring a strong female lead." Which is funny, because they look just fine to me. And you should have seen the look of despair on his face when he saw me watching Toddlers and Tiaras. He's a strange man, that one.

It's science!

Today I cloned my dog, using nothing but her brush.




See that look in her eyes? She still hates me a little for having given her a bath. Now she smells like wet dog and strawberries.

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This is why so many artists become weird

This is from an art school's notice board




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And then Pooch's mind was blown

This is what I picked up at the store




And this is what happened when I showed it to Pooch




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Monday morning "/?=¤/&"%

Had a rude awakening because Friendly-Cat decided to do an aria outside my window:

Made a large cup of coffee. Dropped it and made sure to not only spill all over the counter, but also onto every piece of clothing I was wearing. Underpants included.

Home completely alone until tomorrow

Rain, rain, rain and more rain. And wind.

Freddy Krueger marathon on netflix tonight and drinking cherry wine until he looks purdy

I do NOT snore...

Mister Choochoo didn't come to bed until late last night. I was awake, playing with my iPad, when I heard him coming up the stairs. I quickly hid the thing and pretended to be asleep. The tricky part when it comes to making people believe that you are sleeping, is not to giggle. I don't know why, but it always makes me want to chuckle like a psychotic toddler.

I focused oh so very hard on breathing slowly and peacefully, while I was biting the insides of my cheeks not to do the mental-patient-laugh. Then, just as the Mr had sat down on the bed, I hopped up and yelled "BOOO!"

Mister Choochoo just looked at me calmly and said "as if I hadn't noticed that you weren't snoring..."

How very dare he!


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Oh, the subtlety

So I picked up on your discrete hints and the word verification on this blog should now be gone.

Might I just say that HOLY CRAP was that thing unwilling to die quietly. I keep looking over my shoulder in case this is going to be like one of those horror sci-fi films where the computer decides to fight back.

In further news, this just moved in:





It's the world ugliest soup tureen. I love it. I don't know why. I think it's the same thing that makes people fall in love with rescue pets that are, say, missing an eyeball and maybe a couple of legs. Not only does it have weird flowers everywhere, it's also painted in a way that makes it appear to have been sculpted out of mashed potatoes. And it has a miserable looking face! Hint: the roses are the eyes.

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My list of two items

As I mentioned before, Mondays are my home-alone day. They tend to be pretty boring. This time I've decided to make a list of the positives. These are the two best ones:

1. Chips: in all shapes and varieties. The smell of chips makes the mister put on his pukey face, and although I've near-vomited on him a couple of times when I was sick, I would prefer to not be vomited on in return. So on Mondays I get to eat chips until the smell of them makes me want to puke, too.

2. Open doors: if the doors to the living room and the bathroom are both open, I can pee and watch telly at the same time!!! That totally needed more than one exclamation point.

After a full night of snoring...

You know how sometimes you wake up in the morning, and your throat feels as if you tried to swallow a porcupine without chewing? And you have this sneaking suspicion that you might have broken the sound barrier a few times during the night with truly epic snores? And you kinda glance guiltily over at your spouse/partner/realdoll lying next to you in bed, sleeping soundly but maybe looking a little pale?

Welcome to my morning! I'm also feeling a bit...oxygen starved. Nothing a 6x espresso won't fix. Then maybe I can come up with a clever plot to still be lovable by the time Mr Choochoo gets up, despite having snored like a wilderbeast all night long.

If I could only get out of this chair...

Happy valentines day

Posted this yesterday, but something went funny with it.

I've lost it...

Remember that huge pile of candy from last night? Remember how I was all "I'm going to eat it all, muahahaha"? About an hour later, I was 1/4 into the bowl and slowly turning a shade of putrid green.
I used to be really good at stuffing my face. Good enough to wear a special crown, if I must say so myself. Not that I would. I've spent countless hours watching "what not to wear."
But last night, I was forced to admit that I have lost my imaginary crown. My poor body isn't used to sugar the way it once was. Right now I'm thinking that THIS time the lesson is going to stick. Although logically I know it'll only last until this damned sugar headache wears off.




Later that day: My headache went away and then I lost my mind and before I knew it, I had eaten more candy and now my head hurts again. I'm telling you, there is something wrong inside my brain somewhere.


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The unlearnable lesson

Mister Choochoo and I had a little chat and decided that our moods could be improved upon. The best solution? SUGAR!




There is one lesson that we keep learning and then forgetting over and over again, and that is that when two people share a shopping basket and they both wander around the grocery store, stuffing things into said basket without really registering what the other person is doing, they end up with a whoooole lot more junk than they had anticipated. Even Pooch got more snacks than she'll be able to eat in an evening (although she has that nifty tactics of puking when she's stuffed to make room for more)

In my (optimistic sugar-starved) brain, we will TOTALLY be able to eat all this stuff tonight. Run to your nearest bookie and place your bets, ladies and gentlemen!


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Every Monday, Mr Choochoo starts work early in the morning and doesn't get off until late at night. Given a stupidly long drive home and another early start on Tuesday, he spends Monday nights at a B&B. I spend Monday nights on the couch with my peepers glued to the boob tube. Being home all alone is much more boring than I remembered from when I lived alone. To entertain myself, I stock up on all those things you shouldn't really eat and stuff my face until I'm half a chip away from tossing my cookies. Luckily the mister always comes home before I get fat.

However, in a few weeks he needs to be away for several days for a seminar. I might have to have my jaws wired shut during that period...

In the meanwhile, I'm going to just do this:

A space-alien of my very own

The other day, I discovered this little fella sitting on my desk. Mister Choochoo's been shopping again :D

For those of you who don't know what this is, it's an Adipose. They're made out of  human fat. In the Dr Who television series, that is. This one is some sort of silicone and is ment to function as a stress ball. On the show, the Adipose is born when people take an made-in-space diet pill which contains 'the spark of life,' and before they know it, their body fat bounces off their bodies in the form of oh so cute and huggable Adiposes.

The downside is that the weight-conscious human dies, but you can't make an omelette without breaking a few eggs. besides, these little guys are much cuter than the people they bounced out of, so there...

I've never had faith in diet pills and I'm sure as hell not taking any after having seen THAT episode. However, since starting a new and healthy lifestyle, quite a bit of weight did come off and so seeing the Adipose sitting on my desk was a tiny bit disconcerting at first. You can say it functioned as more of a stress-creating ball. But I'm over that now and we're buds.

Oh, the horror!

I might have mentioned it already, but I am a tiny little bit of a bookworm. I just finished reading ’77 shadow street’ where the whole story took place inside a luxury apartment building where unspeakable violence happened every 38 years.

And then I realized that my body is a bit like that.

I still have all my wisdom teeth. For some reason, I’m a proud of that. I mean 38% of humanity doesn’t develop wisdom teeth at all. And then there’s just a mess of people who do develop them, but have to have them removed. So getting to keep them all is a little bit like joining a nice(ish) club. A club where the members chew their food with heightened efficiency. It’s certainly harder than it is getting into the college I went to, I’ll tell you that.

¾ of said teeth are perfectly well behaved. The fourth one is the problem… The lower left tooth… Every three years or so, it tries moving. After a few days, it gives up and goes back to sleep, like a good little tooth, but it is pretty annoying while it’s going on.

The other day, Tooth decided to wiggle around in its seat for a bit. Every time it does that, I think that maybe it’s time to leave the ol’ club, but before I can get around to making an appointment with a dentist, the tooth goes back to sleep again. I guess there are bigger problems in the world, or something.

 I would also like to do something about my monthly gift subscription to bleeding uncontrollably. I suppose that won't happen either. 

Poor Ol' Pooch

Ever since this blog started, about a million years ago, Pooch has been my loyal sidekick. My furry, not terribly bright, acts-before-she-thinks-and-often-doesn't-think-afterwards-either, perpetual baby. She likes to bounce and sing. At the same time. She knocks things over in very creative displays of speed and poor coordination. Usually right after she's been outside for a poo. Nothing makes Pooch more bouncy and accident-prone than a good poo.

But although she is the silliest baby in the world, she is also going on 12. In her waking moments she is as lively and daft as when she was young, but she's far less enthusiastic about getting out of bed before noon, and GOOD GRIEF does she snore... She's got a bit of an old lady turkey neck going on. When the postman knocks, she doesn't always hear. Her eyes are more grey than they used to be.

A little while back, we noticed she had a bad limp on her front leg. Remember that? Later we spotted that same limp again. Unsure what to make of it, we called the vet. He figured that it might just be a pulled muscle, but advised us to give her a pain killer. If that helped, it would indicate early stages of rheumatism.

The pill helped.

I wish Pooch came with a rewind button on her. I could start her over again. Not all the way back to puppyhood, as I value my sanity. But a few years would be nice. Although I expect we'll get a couple more good years out of her yet.