(My sleeping pattern's weird lately. I go to bed in the afternoon, wake up for dinner, then sleep until half past four in the morning, fresh as a daisy.)
(Also: unless something happens or I've got major philosophising to do, I'm not going to bore you with my attempts at wittiness)
So the past few days have been pretty boring.
Iggy's still okay. He's even eating. I think he'd keep eating if we kept giving him stuff, but I'd rather have a dog than a jelly doughnut on legs.
My shoes still aren't shipped. If they don't get shipped today, I'm all out of excuses for the nice people working at the website. GIVE ME MY SHOES SO I CAN BE DISAPPOINTED, DAMMIT!
J. got new UV-light machines to harden gels. Technically, they only take one minute to harden out any modern gel, but she's not taking any chances with them. They're adorable, like little robot helmets. I've named them Biep-Biep and Wall-I. The names fit.
I knitted a pig hat for S., who was surprisingly happy to wear it. It was pink, glittery, and unmistakably pig-like. She's over twenty-five, but loved it. Go figure.
I said and understood a few things wrong. At some point I misheard 'electrical rotary tool ('fraser' in German)' for 'electroshock laser'. My surprise at the customer's calm aquiescence to have this used on her hands has kept people amused for days now.
I didn't know what a bike frame was, so I used the word 'skeleton', assuming people would know what I meant and correct me. J. took two minutes to recover from that one.
Shortly afterwards, I used my background in all sensible languages to assume 'repair' is 'reparation' in German. It's not. It's 'reparatur'. At that point, Boyfriend was called in to translate from Flemish (which he did admirably) what I was trying to say (the back wheel of my bike keeps rubbing the frame, the tire deflates surprisingly quickly, and I want to get it repaired, but I'm scared the repairs will turn into a complete bike overhaul costing several hundred euros if the bike repair shop doesn't understand my German) before J. developed a customer backlog. There are days I should just shut up.
Yesterday, we went to Bamberg, for whimsical shopping and inspiration. Well, I wanted blind-bag ponies and yarn. I found neither. I did get a pair of fresh leather thongs to turn into necklaces, a milkshake-y thing at KFC that definitely wasn't worth the three euros I paid and something whimsical. Something light. An STD.
I spent at least half an hour in the selection process. Did I want a parasite? A bacteria? A body cell? A virus? Which virus did I want? Then it was time for elimination. I'd hoped for the common cold, but it was either never in stock, or it had been sold out already. So that left Herpes or HIV.
Herpes was a nice, bright yellow and shaped like a flying saucer. Also, it had a little dent of a nose that was downright adorable.
HIV was black, had a support ribbon and was the same shape as my much-wanted common cold. It was fuzzy. Its little red eyes stared up at me all adorable like. It needed a home. It looked so helpless and precious and--
Yeah, I now have AIDS.
To prevent a rather urgent call from my mother, should this enter the family grapevine, let me explain to you that I bought a Giant Microbe. They're plushies, shaped like common and uncommon infections and/or cells, personificated somewhat, more or less acurately depicted and blown up to be about four inches high or long. (We also found a truly gargantuan Gonnorrhea virus, but it was a bit too expensive for what it was.) The things come with a card explaining what the actual version of the infection/cell did, how it survives, dies, gets treated, etc.
I learned, for example, that drying out fluids infected with HIV has a ninety to ninety-nine chance of killing the virus. Huh.
Should biology teachers be interested, the company also makes red blood cells, white blood cells, egg cells, sperm cells and beer yeast, in varying sizes and quantities.
And, to conclude, Barack Obama got another four years to try and make America a better place.
Wednesday, November 7, 2012
Sunday, November 4, 2012
The Improvement
So on Friday, I came home to find the house covered in brown pawprints, the dog with no appetite but otherwise fine and several bloody stools that hadn't been left by Boyfriend or me on the floor.
I had been planning on cleaning everything a day later, but Iggy made sure I did it faster.
Boyfriend took Iggy out, came back, and I cleaned. First to get the stains off. Dried diarrhea, even with hot soapy water and microfibre cloth, doesn't come off easily. I rubbed and scrubbed and soaked, and eventually there was no more poop on the floor. Then Boyfriend rinsed out my bucket and cloth, got me fresh water, and I went over it again to make sure it was clean.
We'd spilled some poo water on the bathroom mats, so those got washed again.
Then I prepared the shower, and Boyfriend and I washed Iggy. The spite factor in this was relatively minor. I'm not saying I wasn't partially thinking 'Ha! Serves you right!' at a sick puppy who doesn't like showers, but the main part of my brain was thinking 'blood in poo isn't usually a good thing' and that Iggy licks his paws and butt, which were covered in anything he pooped out. If the poop was infected, it was a vicious cycle and washing would, at the very least, lower the dose he got.
He predictably did not like the shower, nor that his usual ally seemed to have teamed up with me to rain down more misery on his already considerably bleak day. Then we took the blanket he'd spent all week breaking in, gave him a new one and put him in his basket. He stayed in there until long after he got dry. Either he was sulking, either he was scared, or he was simply exhausted. I'm guessing a combination of the three.
Then I washed all the towels we used, Iggy's blanket and the mop on a hot cycle. Die, bacteria, die.
Iggy continued pooping until deep into the night.
I eventually decided he'd pooped more than he'd eaten, since we somehow have a dog that is not interested in anything that isn't the dog equivalent of candy, and made him some rice. I know this is a valid dog thing to eat, since my host family's dog has a diet consisting for a large part out of rice. If his stomach was upset, this could go up to 100% rice for a few days.
To tempt him into actually trying some, I made sure the rice, when served, was warm, moist and smelled of beef. He'd never had beef before, but he's fascinated about the smell each time I make beef stock in soup or risotto. So I cooked the rice in beef stock and gave him a few spoonfuls on a small plate. He ate about a third before seeing through my deceit, but he'd gotten some calories in him, at least.
I wasn't looking forward to the morning, since we'd decided that any more liquid brown stuff meant a trip to the vet.
But he was clean. The house was clean. He'd peed in his litter box, but that was it. Outside, he knew he had to do something, so he walked around until he managed to squeeze out a trickle of pee. Then he walked over to me at the door and looked from me to the doorway until I gave in and let him in.
The dry streak has continued the entire day. He's eating. He's drinking. All that comes out is pee. No more or less than is caninely acceptable. He's turned downright adventurous, following me around as I do laundry (One week's laundry in one day!), dishes (All the dishes are done!) and cook (Finally made spaghetti sauce!) and reorganise the freezer. He comes very close to my chair, only fleeing when I move in his direction or stare too long.
Boyfriend is even less of a threat to him. Iggy comes to beg for cuddles or play time with him (Iggy's PLAYING), and he's even learned a trick. Now, I wish for tricks like 'sit' and 'down' and 'stay', but if Iggy wants to stand up on his hind legs and climb a hand at Boyfriend's whim, who am I to poke at a good thing?
So my scared, sick puppy has been healthy for a full twenty-four hours and is starting to learn that my sounding angry doesn't mean I'll do so for next six hours. Our home is clean and filled with the smell of basil and garlic and cooked tomato. I have groceries for fresh food for the rest of the weekend. I have most Christmas gifts planned out. Oh, and J. gave me a laundry basket full of mystery yarn. Yay.
I had been planning on cleaning everything a day later, but Iggy made sure I did it faster.
Boyfriend took Iggy out, came back, and I cleaned. First to get the stains off. Dried diarrhea, even with hot soapy water and microfibre cloth, doesn't come off easily. I rubbed and scrubbed and soaked, and eventually there was no more poop on the floor. Then Boyfriend rinsed out my bucket and cloth, got me fresh water, and I went over it again to make sure it was clean.
We'd spilled some poo water on the bathroom mats, so those got washed again.
Then I prepared the shower, and Boyfriend and I washed Iggy. The spite factor in this was relatively minor. I'm not saying I wasn't partially thinking 'Ha! Serves you right!' at a sick puppy who doesn't like showers, but the main part of my brain was thinking 'blood in poo isn't usually a good thing' and that Iggy licks his paws and butt, which were covered in anything he pooped out. If the poop was infected, it was a vicious cycle and washing would, at the very least, lower the dose he got.
He predictably did not like the shower, nor that his usual ally seemed to have teamed up with me to rain down more misery on his already considerably bleak day. Then we took the blanket he'd spent all week breaking in, gave him a new one and put him in his basket. He stayed in there until long after he got dry. Either he was sulking, either he was scared, or he was simply exhausted. I'm guessing a combination of the three.
Then I washed all the towels we used, Iggy's blanket and the mop on a hot cycle. Die, bacteria, die.
Iggy continued pooping until deep into the night.
I eventually decided he'd pooped more than he'd eaten, since we somehow have a dog that is not interested in anything that isn't the dog equivalent of candy, and made him some rice. I know this is a valid dog thing to eat, since my host family's dog has a diet consisting for a large part out of rice. If his stomach was upset, this could go up to 100% rice for a few days.
To tempt him into actually trying some, I made sure the rice, when served, was warm, moist and smelled of beef. He'd never had beef before, but he's fascinated about the smell each time I make beef stock in soup or risotto. So I cooked the rice in beef stock and gave him a few spoonfuls on a small plate. He ate about a third before seeing through my deceit, but he'd gotten some calories in him, at least.
I wasn't looking forward to the morning, since we'd decided that any more liquid brown stuff meant a trip to the vet.
But he was clean. The house was clean. He'd peed in his litter box, but that was it. Outside, he knew he had to do something, so he walked around until he managed to squeeze out a trickle of pee. Then he walked over to me at the door and looked from me to the doorway until I gave in and let him in.
The dry streak has continued the entire day. He's eating. He's drinking. All that comes out is pee. No more or less than is caninely acceptable. He's turned downright adventurous, following me around as I do laundry (One week's laundry in one day!), dishes (All the dishes are done!) and cook (Finally made spaghetti sauce!) and reorganise the freezer. He comes very close to my chair, only fleeing when I move in his direction or stare too long.
Boyfriend is even less of a threat to him. Iggy comes to beg for cuddles or play time with him (Iggy's PLAYING), and he's even learned a trick. Now, I wish for tricks like 'sit' and 'down' and 'stay', but if Iggy wants to stand up on his hind legs and climb a hand at Boyfriend's whim, who am I to poke at a good thing?
So my scared, sick puppy has been healthy for a full twenty-four hours and is starting to learn that my sounding angry doesn't mean I'll do so for next six hours. Our home is clean and filled with the smell of basil and garlic and cooked tomato. I have groceries for fresh food for the rest of the weekend. I have most Christmas gifts planned out. Oh, and J. gave me a laundry basket full of mystery yarn. Yay.
Thursday, November 1, 2012
The Shoes
I've decided not to do the Wrimo. Aww, sadness.
Instead, I spent the entirety of last night looking at shoes. That is not a happy thing for me. It's mostly a reminder that nothing fits and I can afford nothing that might, either. So I went to Birkenstock and its related daughter companies. They all have good arch support, if nothing else. Which inevitably led me to the Footprints website.
Footprints is Birkenstock's actual shoe brand. It's quality shoes: not too tight, good support at the ankle, arches, no insane heels, good materials. What's even more fun is that, for all the quality, there's options with a wide or a narrow footbed for under one hundred euros.
So I spent a few hours dreaming online until I stumbled over the model 'Riga'. It's no longer in the collection, but several stores still have enough of them left to have them in what I think is my size. For about a third of the price, I kid you not.
So there I was, with a shoe that looked my age, available in a range of colors and it might fit. For less than forty euros. I literally own flipflops with a higher price tag.
So I agonised over it for a while and ordered myself a pair of light green, leather sneakers. If they don't fit, I can return them. If they do fit, I will be beside myself with happiness.
On top of that, I'm currently trying out the treadmill desk idea. I put my laptop on a cupboard in the hall that's the right height, turned on the treadmill at the lowest setting and started walking.
It works, except I'm sweating like mad, and my pc is about twenty centimeters too far away from me to not bump into the start of the treadmill every so often. Typing is tricky, like I've gotten a new keyboard or something. They say you gotta keep it up for a week before it stops feeling like madness. I'll see if I can keep this up.
Instead, I spent the entirety of last night looking at shoes. That is not a happy thing for me. It's mostly a reminder that nothing fits and I can afford nothing that might, either. So I went to Birkenstock and its related daughter companies. They all have good arch support, if nothing else. Which inevitably led me to the Footprints website.
Footprints is Birkenstock's actual shoe brand. It's quality shoes: not too tight, good support at the ankle, arches, no insane heels, good materials. What's even more fun is that, for all the quality, there's options with a wide or a narrow footbed for under one hundred euros.
So I spent a few hours dreaming online until I stumbled over the model 'Riga'. It's no longer in the collection, but several stores still have enough of them left to have them in what I think is my size. For about a third of the price, I kid you not.
So there I was, with a shoe that looked my age, available in a range of colors and it might fit. For less than forty euros. I literally own flipflops with a higher price tag.
So I agonised over it for a while and ordered myself a pair of light green, leather sneakers. If they don't fit, I can return them. If they do fit, I will be beside myself with happiness.
On top of that, I'm currently trying out the treadmill desk idea. I put my laptop on a cupboard in the hall that's the right height, turned on the treadmill at the lowest setting and started walking.
It works, except I'm sweating like mad, and my pc is about twenty centimeters too far away from me to not bump into the start of the treadmill every so often. Typing is tricky, like I've gotten a new keyboard or something. They say you gotta keep it up for a week before it stops feeling like madness. I'll see if I can keep this up.
Wednesday, October 31, 2012
The Empty Dog
Iggy's not feeling well. He's his usual scared, energetic, perky self, but anything that goes into his fuzzy little frame comes out liquid. And I mean anything.
It started sometime yesterday with just impaired structural integrity of what he was producing, and tomorrow I woke up to fecal-licious pawprints all over the apartment, with my parents there to witness it all. His blanket is soiled, his litter box was a mess.
The two most likely causes are too much treats and too much stress, or a combination of the two.
I got permission from J. to take the afternoon I'd said I'd work off to look after Iggy. He kinda left a brown puddle in the middle of the studio. In front of four customers and my parents. My mom freaked out. J. isn't exactly used to it, but she's a lot better at taking these things in stride. She was, in any case, convinced I wasn't playing on her feelings to get an afternoon of napping when I invoked the sick puppy clause.
So I spent the afternoon waiting for Iggy to get all nervous and pacy, which is Iggy's current way of indicating something's up, made sure he had plenty of fresh water, and eventually googling basic measures to take when your dog has diarrhea. The googling happened after the adjective 'explosive' became applicable and it took five minutes before Iggy wanted to sit on his butt after being taken outside.
The internet advised against any and all human medications (No, I was not planning on giving my three-pound dog a tablet that was meant for humans that weigh at least forty-five kilograms, but apparently this is something some people do) and to provide hydratation. I'd gotten that far myself. What I had forgotten was to take away his food bowl. Every time he chewed or ate something vaguely edible, it didn't seem to improve matters. So I took his pig ear, his chewing bone, his dentastix and his food bowl. He gave me the look he rarely gives Boyfriend and often gives me.
It's his 'Why are you being so mean to me?' look. He uses it when his food is taken away at night, his collar or harness is put on, his lead is taken off the shelf, he's put under a shower, his blanket is taken away for washing, one of my purses needs to be taken out of the drawer behind his basket and, lately, when the treats he sniffed and then left in someone's hand are not delivered to his spot. Oh, and when he's told to get off the couch. Though the couch thing has some confusion mixed in.
The frequency of pacing went down when I removed all edible things. His water intake increased. The amount of what's coming out went down. I'm hopeful that the end of the poonami is near.
The problem is that Iggy's still on edge. When Boyfriend's friends came in for a night of gaming, he tried to hide. Normally, he recognises them as 'The Guys Who Leave Me Alone And Occasionally Call My Name, But Don't Care If I Don't React'. Since my parents came over and he was taken in a car, walkies, in a car, in a store, in a car and home, with the strange man trying to get a rise out of him, he's been wary about people.
I'm going to see if a few days of peace and quiet and a less treats will improve matters. I'm hopeful.
It started sometime yesterday with just impaired structural integrity of what he was producing, and tomorrow I woke up to fecal-licious pawprints all over the apartment, with my parents there to witness it all. His blanket is soiled, his litter box was a mess.
The two most likely causes are too much treats and too much stress, or a combination of the two.
I got permission from J. to take the afternoon I'd said I'd work off to look after Iggy. He kinda left a brown puddle in the middle of the studio. In front of four customers and my parents. My mom freaked out. J. isn't exactly used to it, but she's a lot better at taking these things in stride. She was, in any case, convinced I wasn't playing on her feelings to get an afternoon of napping when I invoked the sick puppy clause.
So I spent the afternoon waiting for Iggy to get all nervous and pacy, which is Iggy's current way of indicating something's up, made sure he had plenty of fresh water, and eventually googling basic measures to take when your dog has diarrhea. The googling happened after the adjective 'explosive' became applicable and it took five minutes before Iggy wanted to sit on his butt after being taken outside.
The internet advised against any and all human medications (No, I was not planning on giving my three-pound dog a tablet that was meant for humans that weigh at least forty-five kilograms, but apparently this is something some people do) and to provide hydratation. I'd gotten that far myself. What I had forgotten was to take away his food bowl. Every time he chewed or ate something vaguely edible, it didn't seem to improve matters. So I took his pig ear, his chewing bone, his dentastix and his food bowl. He gave me the look he rarely gives Boyfriend and often gives me.
It's his 'Why are you being so mean to me?' look. He uses it when his food is taken away at night, his collar or harness is put on, his lead is taken off the shelf, he's put under a shower, his blanket is taken away for washing, one of my purses needs to be taken out of the drawer behind his basket and, lately, when the treats he sniffed and then left in someone's hand are not delivered to his spot. Oh, and when he's told to get off the couch. Though the couch thing has some confusion mixed in.
The frequency of pacing went down when I removed all edible things. His water intake increased. The amount of what's coming out went down. I'm hopeful that the end of the poonami is near.
The problem is that Iggy's still on edge. When Boyfriend's friends came in for a night of gaming, he tried to hide. Normally, he recognises them as 'The Guys Who Leave Me Alone And Occasionally Call My Name, But Don't Care If I Don't React'. Since my parents came over and he was taken in a car, walkies, in a car, in a store, in a car and home, with the strange man trying to get a rise out of him, he's been wary about people.
I'm going to see if a few days of peace and quiet and a less treats will improve matters. I'm hopeful.
Tuesday, October 30, 2012
The Wrimo
(Why yes, I am compensating for not posting. I'm also putting off unpacking the last box of stuff. EPIC COMBO!)
I have a bit of a dilemma. Tomorrow is the thirty-first of October. That means that it's the last day to any prep for Nanowrimo.
Except I haven't done any prep.
I don't even have a story idea.
I haven't adjusted my settings since two years ago, so the website still thinks I live in Belgium.
But I kinda sorta wanna do it again. I miss the crazy 'Write ALL THE THINGS in the head' mode that happens in the middle of the month.
It's a bit like this blog, except I have to think even less about what I write down.
It's a bit like writing a paper with a word limit, since you suddenly start noticing things like words where hyphenation is optional get counted as two whenever you don't put a hyphen in them and your descriptions turn adjective-tastic.
I could do it in any language I like.
But then again... I also want to write in my blog during November. And maybe sleep at reasonable times. And there's the very real risk that I'll put on headphones and zone out Boyfriend until the writing quota for the day is met and/or the muse-moment has left me. And that I'll start to eat quick, easy meals.
Then again, I could write it on the treadmill.
...
Halp.
I have a bit of a dilemma. Tomorrow is the thirty-first of October. That means that it's the last day to any prep for Nanowrimo.
Except I haven't done any prep.
I don't even have a story idea.
I haven't adjusted my settings since two years ago, so the website still thinks I live in Belgium.
But I kinda sorta wanna do it again. I miss the crazy 'Write ALL THE THINGS in the head' mode that happens in the middle of the month.
It's a bit like this blog, except I have to think even less about what I write down.
It's a bit like writing a paper with a word limit, since you suddenly start noticing things like words where hyphenation is optional get counted as two whenever you don't put a hyphen in them and your descriptions turn adjective-tastic.
I could do it in any language I like.
But then again... I also want to write in my blog during November. And maybe sleep at reasonable times. And there's the very real risk that I'll put on headphones and zone out Boyfriend until the writing quota for the day is met and/or the muse-moment has left me. And that I'll start to eat quick, easy meals.
Then again, I could write it on the treadmill.
...
Halp.
The Knitting Plans
So I've got a few things I want to knit that are in the knit-making.
J. asked me to knit her a cowl. It's basically the one I made for Boyfriend with shorter ribbing and ribbing on both sides. The pattern is quite easy, except she wants it in bulky yarn. Bulky yarn knits quickly, but she wants a huge cowl, with a thirty centimeter diameter, forty centimeters long at least. If you want that in any yarn that's suitable for adults in my head, you're looking at a minimum of forty euro's worth of merino or alpaca. Provided you can find a yarn store with humane prices. This may shoot up to one hundred. She said she'll find the yarn. So, yeah, we'll see.
Then there's talk about somewhere in the studio, there being yarn J. doesn't want anymore. The general consensus is that it's pink. I'm thinking of knitting S. a butterfly beret with it. Unless I get all impatient and knit it from the multicolored Bravo yarn I have lying around for testing purposes. The pattern is interesting, yo.
Boyfriend wants a beard hat. I found a pattern that looks good, is fairly simple and might even be customisable should it turn out to look like crap. All I have to do is find yarn. Aran to bulky weight. No idea what color yet.
I also want to knit J. a hat, because she told me that, if I were to knit her something, she'd want something either in dark earth tones or grey, that is a bit more suitable for her age (by which she means: no antennae, no fins, no tails, no cat ears) and I wanna prove I can do it. I'm still looking for patterns and don't have any yarn in mind.
So yeah... A trip to the fabled yarn store a few towns over might be in order. I want to see their prices. I want to be inspired. I want to come home with so much loot I can roll around in all the colors of Bravo and several skeins of delicious superwash merino.
Oh, and the boxes my mom brought included a truckload of fuzzy blue acrylic yarn which I've never owned. Apparently, an old kindergarten teacher of my brother got wind of my knitting and sent a carload of things. Most of them are knitting books in Dutch, which would be nice, were it not for the internet having things like knittinghelp.com, knitty.com, ravelry.com and youtube.com. And then there's the fact that knitting patterns and explanations in any other language than English confuse the pee out of me. I've tried it, but it's all gobbledygook. And there's no modern, nice knitting books being translated into Dutch as far as I know. No wonder so many of my Flemish friends don't see eye to eye to me where knitting's involved.
Also in the boxes were my fabled number fifteens.
The blue yarn is going to become a fuzzy, fuzzy scarf, I think. I might even make Boyfriend knit it up.
J. asked me to knit her a cowl. It's basically the one I made for Boyfriend with shorter ribbing and ribbing on both sides. The pattern is quite easy, except she wants it in bulky yarn. Bulky yarn knits quickly, but she wants a huge cowl, with a thirty centimeter diameter, forty centimeters long at least. If you want that in any yarn that's suitable for adults in my head, you're looking at a minimum of forty euro's worth of merino or alpaca. Provided you can find a yarn store with humane prices. This may shoot up to one hundred. She said she'll find the yarn. So, yeah, we'll see.
Then there's talk about somewhere in the studio, there being yarn J. doesn't want anymore. The general consensus is that it's pink. I'm thinking of knitting S. a butterfly beret with it. Unless I get all impatient and knit it from the multicolored Bravo yarn I have lying around for testing purposes. The pattern is interesting, yo.
Boyfriend wants a beard hat. I found a pattern that looks good, is fairly simple and might even be customisable should it turn out to look like crap. All I have to do is find yarn. Aran to bulky weight. No idea what color yet.
I also want to knit J. a hat, because she told me that, if I were to knit her something, she'd want something either in dark earth tones or grey, that is a bit more suitable for her age (by which she means: no antennae, no fins, no tails, no cat ears) and I wanna prove I can do it. I'm still looking for patterns and don't have any yarn in mind.
So yeah... A trip to the fabled yarn store a few towns over might be in order. I want to see their prices. I want to be inspired. I want to come home with so much loot I can roll around in all the colors of Bravo and several skeins of delicious superwash merino.
Oh, and the boxes my mom brought included a truckload of fuzzy blue acrylic yarn which I've never owned. Apparently, an old kindergarten teacher of my brother got wind of my knitting and sent a carload of things. Most of them are knitting books in Dutch, which would be nice, were it not for the internet having things like knittinghelp.com, knitty.com, ravelry.com and youtube.com. And then there's the fact that knitting patterns and explanations in any other language than English confuse the pee out of me. I've tried it, but it's all gobbledygook. And there's no modern, nice knitting books being translated into Dutch as far as I know. No wonder so many of my Flemish friends don't see eye to eye to me where knitting's involved.
Also in the boxes were my fabled number fifteens.
The blue yarn is going to become a fuzzy, fuzzy scarf, I think. I might even make Boyfriend knit it up.
The Unpacking
(Note: There were no posts on the previous two days because just filling a few pages with a's and sticking 'h! Parents are coming/here and I'm too exhausted to be literate!' didn't seem very productive.)
So my parents arrived yesterday. I spent the day stressing about in the studio, eating pizza for lunch, unloading boxes, going to a few stores (Iggy now has more toys than he knows what to do with and has decided that all he wants now is a pig ear) and finally going to a restaurant. By then I was so exhausted, typing was no longer an option.
Today, my mom thought I had to unpack all the boxes all day, since they're taking the leftovers with them tomorrow. So they picked Boyfriend and me up this morning and we visited the castle. It was raining, so they couldn't take a walk, and it was museum with kids or shopping with my mom.
The castle was fun. Cold in some places, but fun. Afterwards, we had lunch in the restaurant. Boyfriend decided to once again demonstrate how he somehow fails to tick all the 'typical German' boxes by asking me 'What is apfelstrudel, anyway?'. Upon explaining, he thought it was a really good idea, so we had dessert. The restaurant showed howinsane skilled they were by offering homemade apfelstrudel which wasn't just flaky, but also delicious. Anyone who has ever tried to make traditional strudel knows what I'm talking about.
My darling sweet parents even asked if we needed to go grocery shopping. Y'know, raining, near-freezing temperatures, my winter coat somewhere in a box at home, quite possibly still in Belgium... Yeah, I abused the opportunity to pick out some wrapping paper for Boyfriend's birthday gift. I was going to go for something blue and neutral, but when I teasingly offered baby pink Hello Kitty paper, he was really enthusiastic. So yeah. His birthday and Christmas gifts will be easily recognisable. (Also: why isn't it questionable to his sexuality to give him girly wrapping paper, but giving him something everyone knows he collects is? Also, why would his dad think he's gay for receiving a gift when there's noisy sex above his kitchen at least once a week? Guy-logic makes no sense to me)
Then I procrastinated, and put it off some more and finally took a nap to not have to unpack the boxes. It was eight pm when I woke up. And the boxes looked like four hours of emotional turmoil and suffering. Yeah, trepidation was a word that particularly came to mind. So was 'sleep not allowed'.
Anyway, Boyfriend was going to make spaghetti sauce from scratch (We later discovered we still had some in the freezer) while I unpacked.
I got started and unpacked for an hour. All boxes except one got either unpacked or identified as booktasticness. So yeah... I'm currently on a break.
So my parents arrived yesterday. I spent the day stressing about in the studio, eating pizza for lunch, unloading boxes, going to a few stores (Iggy now has more toys than he knows what to do with and has decided that all he wants now is a pig ear) and finally going to a restaurant. By then I was so exhausted, typing was no longer an option.
Today, my mom thought I had to unpack all the boxes all day, since they're taking the leftovers with them tomorrow. So they picked Boyfriend and me up this morning and we visited the castle. It was raining, so they couldn't take a walk, and it was museum with kids or shopping with my mom.
The castle was fun. Cold in some places, but fun. Afterwards, we had lunch in the restaurant. Boyfriend decided to once again demonstrate how he somehow fails to tick all the 'typical German' boxes by asking me 'What is apfelstrudel, anyway?'. Upon explaining, he thought it was a really good idea, so we had dessert. The restaurant showed how
My darling sweet parents even asked if we needed to go grocery shopping. Y'know, raining, near-freezing temperatures, my winter coat somewhere in a box at home, quite possibly still in Belgium... Yeah, I abused the opportunity to pick out some wrapping paper for Boyfriend's birthday gift. I was going to go for something blue and neutral, but when I teasingly offered baby pink Hello Kitty paper, he was really enthusiastic. So yeah. His birthday and Christmas gifts will be easily recognisable. (Also: why isn't it questionable to his sexuality to give him girly wrapping paper, but giving him something everyone knows he collects is? Also, why would his dad think he's gay for receiving a gift when there's noisy sex above his kitchen at least once a week? Guy-logic makes no sense to me)
Then I procrastinated, and put it off some more and finally took a nap to not have to unpack the boxes. It was eight pm when I woke up. And the boxes looked like four hours of emotional turmoil and suffering. Yeah, trepidation was a word that particularly came to mind. So was 'sleep not allowed'.
Anyway, Boyfriend was going to make spaghetti sauce from scratch (We later discovered we still had some in the freezer) while I unpacked.
I got started and unpacked for an hour. All boxes except one got either unpacked or identified as booktasticness. So yeah... I'm currently on a break.
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