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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