Easter mania!

Back in the ol' country, we have our very own Easter tradition. One that I haven't seen anywhere else. It's one of those things that I've missed since I've moved to Denmark. I'm referring to the tradition of blood & gore. Every Easter, the Norwegian people gorge themselves, not only on sugary snacks, oranges and excessive skiing, but on horror and mystery, both on the screen and in books. The term is "Easter chills" and it's a very big deal.

When I was a kid, back when there were very few television channels, each channel would create their own Easter horror/mystery series, and there would be a vote at the of the holidays to see who did the best job. To many Norwegians, Easter is less about Jesus and more about murder and mayhem. And fluffy baby chickens.

Every year, the mister snickers a bit when I get my seasonal craze on, and start dragging branches into the house to be decorated with little, wooden bunnies, or when I start to make googly eyes at chickens-wearing-outfits table decorations.

And every year, we stuff two Easter eggs full of candy and hide them. I hide the misters egg and he hides mine (because I make him). Then I spend forever trying to find mine, becoming both tired and frustrated, while it takes him all of fifteen seconds to find his, no matter how brilliantly I've hidden it.

Every. Friggin. Year.

And yet, he won't be able to find his glasses if I move them ten inches to the right...

The anniversary hunting expedition, sorta

The mister and I had our third anniversary this week. Happy, happy, joy, joy. And we went to InSushi, which is my favourite restaurant out of all of the restaurants in the whole, entire world.

Do you want to know why?

Because, as you sit in your comfortable, red chair by your pretty table, all the food goes right by you on a little conveyor belt, on colourful little plates. What's not to love? It's almost like hunting, only you don't have to sit out in the woods for hours while pine needles dig their way into your ass.

Now the only question is; how fast can I nag the mister into going again?

Lonesome and sugary

The mister has gone off to another seminar. He keeps insisting on learning stuff. I have this bad habit of mostly just eating sugar while he's away. Hopefully he'll come home before I get so big that I won't be able to make it out of the house.

Holy crab cakes, am I nauseous... And yet, I still manage to feel hungry, despite having to crammed my face full of junk all day long. However, I'm not clever enough to eat real food, and opt for more candy, which makes me even more nauseous. Because I don't insist on learning stuff.

The Mister will be back on Wednesday, which happens to be our third anniversary and we,re going out for dinner. Keep your fingers crossed that pukey-foamy-in-the-stomach sensation will be gone by then.

The house that the mad hatter built

What I usually do when I wake up in the morning, is roll over and go back to sleep. The second thing I do, is check all my gadgets for emails and such, in case I missed something fascinating while I was on standby. By this time, the mister will usually be at work, twisting young minds. Since I am the boss of me, I only get to twist my own mind. One morning, a few days ago, I had an email from the mister. It simply said; "honey, I think the dishwasher is broken..."

At first, my mind was just completely unable to process such a horrible possibility (I mean, washing dishes by hand? Who do I look like? My grandmother?) so I just sat there for a while. Then I went to check on the dishwasher. I turned it on. It wasn't dead, but it certainly sounded as if it wanted to be.

To our great relief, we found a place that could deliver a new machine within just a few days. I was still a bit grumbly, at first, but then I realised that the new thingy would be much prettier than the old gizmo, so I was happy in the end, shallow little thing that I am. Besides, the old one kinda needed cleaning on the inside, and...you know...yuck.

Little did I know what fate had in store for me...

Do you, by any chance, remember when I told you about the insane wiring in the living room? The one that made our lives of so interesting when we tried to put up a lamp in the ceiling? As it turned out, the set-up in the kitchen made that look as sane as tea and crumpets.

First off, the dishwasher wasn't fastened in any way, shape or form. It was, however, placed into a slight...uhm...well, it wasn't exactly a hole in the floor but it wasn't exactly NOT a hole, either. This was what kept it from dancing across the room when it started to vibrate. And underneath the kitchen counter, the installers found that it was just simply hooked up to an ancient extension cord. They didn't feel comfortable installing the new machine that way, go figure, so we had to call for the electrician who fixed the first mess in the living room.

Mr Electrician came by the next morning and redid all the wiring in the kitchen. Apparently the oven was hooked up using the same, fine system as the old dishwasher. Basically we're just grateful we haven't burned to death. Who used to own this house? Doc Brown?

How to make your dog go from a solid to a liquid

This post will illustrate how to melt your dog, using simple massage techniques. Sorta.

Today I swallowed a camera

Right after I moved to Denmark, I started coughing something awful. I'd cough until I threw my cookies, and I would do that several times every day. It was exhausting and not terribly sexy. Not to mention that it makes your food budget much bigger than it needs to be. The doc figured I had asthma, but she was a bit stumped at my freakishly awesome lung capacity. Seriously, my lungs should wear a cape, or something. Then she was stumped some more when my meds didn't really work all that well.

So off to the lung specialist I went. They told me that I didn't have asthma at all, and sent me off to yet another specialist to have a gastroscopy. Thats when they run a tube the width of a finger, with a camera attached to it, down your throat, into your stomach. There are no words to adequately describe how gross that is. It didn't hurt at all, it was just....yeah. Especially when the doctor decided to pull it up a bit and then back down a little, and then to turn it around and around.

There was a nurse in the room, who's only job, apparently, was to stroke my hair and go "there, there...it's almost over," while dressed in an outfit that was clearly meant to be thrown up on. I hope they pay her very well.

The camera guy told me that I didn't have a closing muscle (which I already knew) and that's why I've been having "asthma" (which I didn't know) and that if the medication he was going to prescribe didn't help, they would operate (which I didn't want to know, and pretended not to have heard.)

At least there was a present in the mailbox for me (from me) when I got home; touch my katamari! Which isn't anywhere near as dirty as it sounds.

Bad to the bone, na-na-na-nana

The Dante's Inferno Test has banished you to the Second Level of Hell!
Here is how you matched up against all the levels:

Level	Score
Purgatory (Repenting Believers)	Very Low
Level 1 - Limbo (Virtuous Non-Believers)	Very Low
Level 2 (Lustful)	Extreme
Level 3 (Gluttonous)	High
Level 4 (Prodigal and Avaricious)	Very High
Level 5 (Wrathful and Gloomy)	Very High
Level 6 - The City of Dis (Heretics)	Extreme
Level 7 (Violent)	Very High
Level 8- the Malebolge (Fraudulent, Malicious, Panderers)	Very High
Level 9 - Cocytus (Treacherous)	Very High

Take the Dante's Inferno Hell Test

Level 2: You have come to a place mute of all light, where the wind bellows as the sea does in a tempest. This is the realm where the lustful spend eternity. Here, sinners are blown around endlessly by the unforgiving winds of unquenchable desire as punishment for their transgressions. The infernal hurricane that never rests hurtles the spirits onward in its rapine, whirling them round, and smiting, it molests them. You have betrayed reason at the behest of your appetite for pleasure, and so here you are doomed to remain. Cleopatra and Helen of Troy are two that share in your fate.

*snicker*

Long live things and stuff!

So last week I was extreeeeeeemely Hormonal, with a capital H. Now, most months I can do the whole period thing and remain relatively sane, but once in a blue moon I would probably be better off locked up inside a room with soft walls. This was one of those months.

Little things that would normally only be a mild annoyance, we're suddenly doing my head in. Especially the boxes and piles of stuff that were occupying corners of every room throughout the house. Our basement is no good for storage, because it's too wet, and organising storage in other ways was one of those things that we were always talking about, but never got around to doing. So these little areas of every room pretty much looked like something exploded.

Then the mums announced that they were visiting.

Drastic tidying up was necessary. However, no matter how much time I spent tidying and prettifying parts of various rooms, I would always be able to see these little sectors of absolute chaos out of the corner of my eye. It was really frustrating. Then the frustration would turn in to fits of pick-things-up-and-throw-them rage. Then that, in turn, would lead to all kinds of sobbing and blubbering, because clearly I had gone completely completely batcrap crazy.

After two days of that, the mister was extremely motivated to go out and buy storage furniture. everything looks nice and grown-up now. We could totally trick people into thinking we were adults, if we invited them over.

Now look at this picture below, and tell me that this wouldn't be the perfect doggy bed for Pooch. Because the mister didn't think so, so he clearly needs to be shown the error of his ways.

(I'm kidding. No, I'm not. Yes, I am. Or am I?)

February whatnots

I can't quite decide how the layout should be for my whatnots. Definitely not like last month. That was pretty much The Suck. At least it was when I looked at them from my computer. And then I was just way too lazy to fix them. Oh well.