So I've been sleeping really irregularly again, and it's starting to show. I'm tired all the time, my muscles hurt and I can't sleep at night.
Today, I rolled out of bed late. Afternoon late. With 'work' tomorrow. Jolly. I'd asked Boyfriend to wake me half an hour before I woke up enough to look at my watch and see the time, but he'd forgotten. He's not perfect.
He made up for it by calling the post people once again. They'd looked into my problem and forgotten to call back. They say my package should be delivered tomorrow, and if something goes wrong a third time, it should be available at the main post office next week. I'll believe it when I see it, but we've told everyone who sees postmen delivering stuff on the two addresses that get stuff for my address (yes, it's a mess) that I exist, live there and to please, please, please accept any and all mail for me.
Then we played around with the cow handpuppet. It's adorable, even if it's still nameless. And before you get any ideas, we were both dressed. Sure, we made it give birth to a smaller cow toy we had lying around, but that's the extent of our depravity. One of my friends did that for a pre-twelve-year-old birthday once, so no judging.
We were looking for a battery for my new bike computer. Oh, and I'd gotten an e-mail from a store where I'd ordered a cheap new pair of sunglasses. Well, I say cheap. Cheap for sunglasses that require actual eye-adjusting to happen. Below 50 euros.
So far, the bicycle has about half its value in add-ons hanging on, I know, but still. My bike. I loveums it. The problem with the bike computer is that it runs on a 1.5 V L43 battery. They have lots and lots of batteries, but L43 seems to be an unloved cousin in the battery family, and it's never invited to any store parties.
None in the supermarket. We looked in the electronics store, but it didn't have any, either. While we were there, we asked if it was true they needed more employees. They do. Employees with specialisation in a certain kind of electronics. Boo.
Onwards and upwards, we went to the optician. Hello, here's my order slip. Just a moment, here it is, please try it on. It's a bit loose. Let me adjust that, here try again. Perfect. Hmm, not quite right here, let me take it one last time. Even better. Okay. I paid with my bank card. There was no issue. Wonderful.
The pharmancy was next. I'd gotten one of my famous lower belly episodes the night before, Boyfriend has been complaining about belly ache, we think it's the Mentos we both had. And, of course, we have nothing whatsoever to combat either stomach or gastro-intestinal upsets. So I asked for some Immodium and Motilium instant. In any Belgian pharmancy, I'd have gotten both without anything more than a 'preparing a travel first aid kit?'. Not so in Germany. The Immodium was fine, if a lot smaller than the Belgian packaging. Motilium, I needed a prescription for, but I could get stomach drops. Fine, whatever, I just didn't want to get up at four again because I wasn't sure whether to heave or squat, so I took it. I tried paying with my card again, and of course, it decided not to work. I didn't have any cash on me.
The pharmancist was nice enough to let me go withdraw some money at the bank at the marketplace. It was about three hundred meters. I was not wearing any shock-absorbing inlays, so it hurt. Mostly in the leg that hadn't been operated on ever. I smiled as I paid the lady, got out and went 'ow ow ow' at Boyfriend, who'd been getting himself a snack as I went to the pharmancy.
I got myself a freshly grilled sausage in a bun with ketchup as we discussed what to do next. I was thirsty and my blood sugar wasn't rising any, making me feel dizzy and weak. We got some sparkling apple juice and a chocolatey snack, checking quickly for batteries. They had an impressive array of power sources, but no 43s. I was beginning to think I'd never find one.
We went to Kaufhof, mostly because we were bored and it's fun to explore the toys section. On our way out, dead tired and hungry, I asked a lady at the jewelry display if they, by any chance, happened to have the battery I was looking for. L43? Why yes, how many did I want? I resisted the urge to say seven and bought one.
We pedaled home and attached my bike computer. This was not as easy as the handy-dandy instruction leaflet made it out to be. We put the sensor too low, had to remove it again and put it higher so the wheel could turn without the magnet destroying the sensor... And then program the computer. We opened the battery compartment and out rolled a battery.
There was a moment of inward cursing on my part.
We tried turning on the computer. It didn't work. We removed, cleaned and replaced the battery. It still didn't work. We put in the new battery. We had power. Wonderful.
Now, what was the circumference of my wheel? In millimeters, please. How am I supposed to know that? The diameter in inches, perhaps? Not a clue. We nabbed a measuring implement that was lying around the casino, did some creative math on my cell phone and came up with a number that was in the list. It took about five tries to enter it. 'Only two buttons' leaves an incredible amount of potential screwing up to do. Setting the time was the only other thing to do. It went similarly to the wheel setting, but luckily, we didn't have to re-enter the wheel diameter each time we wanted to adjust the clock.
Anyway, we got it set, so I chucked in my purse and we went upstairs.
I'm still tired.
Thursday, July 12, 2012
Wednesday, July 11, 2012
The Moment Suprême
Cindy is acting weird today and I'm worried. And Sis liked my cookies. Not what I wanted to talk about, but still. Consider it said.
So today was THE day. No, not the day in which I got a job, sadly, but a nice day all the same. J. decided, after I helped clean and watched her and a client for about an hour, that today was the day I got to sit behind a table and try stuff.
There was a free table. The table, however, was free of tools. And I didn't have gels. It took about fifteen minutes to assemble mostly everything. S. helped, I helped, it still took a long while. I got a bitchin' UV machine with leopard print and was allowed to go bananas on practice nails.
At this point I had sealing gel and building gel. No base gel. No color gel. I could basically see if I could work a gel brush, since both are transparent and I only knew what to do with one of them. Base gel you can skip if truly necessary, but colors... Well...
I asked if, by any chance, there had been ordered too much of one color, or a particular color needed using or--at this point J. was looking at me like I'd grown an extra head. I tried to explain that I didn't want to screw up with and hog the pretty colors that clients might want at some point during my expedition. J. still didn't understand what the problem with that was. Everyone nabs stuff from everyone in the studio. Whether they're using it or not at the moment is usually far beside the point. I insisted I'd tip over a jar or end up using half of one on a nail by mistake(s) and J. relented. She'd remembered some gels she'd bought, opened and subsequently rarely ever used.
I got an entire display case of colors. For me. No one wanted my old, dusty gels, so I was free to go utterly and completely insane with them. I tried opening one. It had dried shut. Going utterly and completely insane was put on hold as I tried to find a gel that would open. There were several, I would discover, but, well, I pretty much threw myself at the first color that opened. It was an almost adulterous red.
In all my enthusiasm, I tried applying it onto an untreated artificial nail. Yeah. I was quickly directed towards a bottle of cleaner-substitute (still no cleaner delivered) I'd been provided with and a nail file. First rule of Nail Studio is You Shall Abrade Up The Wazoo. My files were crappy, but I didn't know this yet. They made abrasions, so I threw myself on them. Make a nail red. Throw it into the light box. Stare in awe for two minutes. Take it out. Add another layer. Stare. Realise you need more colors.
My first tries were... Well, crappy. Firstly, they were my first tries. Secondly, my color combinations were schizofrenic in a depressing kind of way. Thirdly, I was using the wrong tools and forgetting about which colors coated better than others.
I eventually realised that the tiny, short brush was pretty much useless. And there's only so much a gel brush can do. So I tried the swirl tool. It resisted momentarily, but eventually gave in and did what I wanted.
Not something I could say about the stamping kit. I was doing everything right: paint, scrape, transfer, stamp, work fast all the time. The nail I was working on was bumpy and my stamping pad was oily, two things I took a very long time in figuring out. I got two stamps on a nail in about an hour. In the mean while, I'd even wrangled the useless brush into something approaching submission and made a nail consisting of five coats of gold sparkles with purple squiggles on top. J. had laughingly said it was fun to watch me 'destroy artificial nails with a file' as I prepared that one for a few coats of paint. Crappy nail file and unwielding nail on a stick do not make for elegant working habits. I eventually decided the stamping kit could suck it and added some silver details that blended well with the light blue stamping varnish I was using. At this point I was nearly high on nail polish remover fumes, a side effect from the stamping.
I went back to happily experimenting with the swirl tool, my new bestest friend, when J. called me over and scared the pee out of me. "Do my nails."
At this point, I'd had a grand total of two hours of practical experience. She was unveiling the most delicious, hand-made colors that needed testing, displayed in a case that just begged for me to screw up and put my elbow in it during an unguarded moment. I kept my rather undignified exclamation to myself, whimpered, and went over there.
I still don't have long nails, so I got a rosewood stick for poking and scraping. She'd done her left hand and I got to do the right. Everyone said gel burned like napalm if it got onto your skin. I had horror visions of second degree burns on J.'s hands (and thus livelihood) due to my incompetence. She was happily mixing her gels, uncorncerned by any serious injuries I could inflict here.
I discovered something as soon as J. instructed me to apply base gel. Artificial nails on sticks suck for learning stuff. Real hands are much better. Their nails arch, their fingers flex, you can use both hands at the same time... Whichever idiot came up with nails on sticks was insane.
I got the base gel right. The building gel, I missed a few spots with, but I made up for that by not ever hitting skin with the gels. And the color gel smile lines and French tips were--dare I say it--easy.
J.'s next customer was about to come in, though, so she let me finish up a single nail. I used the long, thin pencil to apply the strokes she wanted over the tips and the swirl tool for the dots. It wasn't as good as J.'s example, but it was very good for someone who hadn't eaten in six hours and had no idea what she was doing. J. is a very good teacher.
I even relaxed so much I started chatting with J., which turned into digging myself into a hole, though I didn't realise this yet. Somewhere in the conversation, I mentioned that I wondered why everyone said getting gel nails hurt.
I got sent back to my table with the news J. would do my nails after she finished with her customer, and I could try abrading my own nails and filing them into shape. Uhm...
I filed. I abraded. J. was still busy. I got base gel and applied it without incident on both hands. I discovered why people said it hurt to get gel nails: the UV gel undergoes an exothermic reaction directly propotionate to the thickness of the applied gel as it gathers its reaction starter energy. Simple words: you have about two to four seconds of burning happning underneath your fingernails.
Base gel is thin, so I didn't have much problems with that. But I got instructed to try building gel, which gets applied in a thick layer for shaping. Ow, ow, fucking ow.
Next, I was instructed to apply 'a thin white smile line' onto my freakishly short nails. I skipped the building gel altogether on my right hand and decided to torture myself with the smile line. I failed in making it look like anything other than having dipped my fingertips in Tipp-Ex. For half an hour. Then J. became available, looked at what I was doing and took pity on me. She removed my last attempt at not covering half my nail in 'Extreme White' and started discussing my progress so far. How it was good to get your nails done on short nails at first. How it was more difficult to do it on yourself and on short nails. How I'd done a good job in not getting the gel on skin with either her or myself, and only got one bumpy nail in five. I'd learned a lot in a day.
She, however, is and remains the teacher. What I needed an hour to do by myself, she did in eight minutes flat on both hands. I am currently sporting a French manicure, and it's freaking me out slightly. My nails are Godzilla strong and the Extreme White is... Well, extremely white. It's distracting.
I got something to drink and eat at this point, having stopped working long enough to realise lunch time was two hours ago. Then I got some more water and spezi from the casino, since I'd drunk all the water and Sis wanted spezi.
I tried working with the building gel some more, but the artificial nails were not my friend. I gave up, tried swirling some gels together, failed and decided to call it a day. I was tired.
So I learned a lot today. I still can't file and to learn faster I'd need a human guinea pig to submit to possible gel burns as I try building gel. But I can apply base colors and do a few simple designs. I can work with most of the equipment. I've started.
Yay. ^-^
So today was THE day. No, not the day in which I got a job, sadly, but a nice day all the same. J. decided, after I helped clean and watched her and a client for about an hour, that today was the day I got to sit behind a table and try stuff.
There was a free table. The table, however, was free of tools. And I didn't have gels. It took about fifteen minutes to assemble mostly everything. S. helped, I helped, it still took a long while. I got a bitchin' UV machine with leopard print and was allowed to go bananas on practice nails.
At this point I had sealing gel and building gel. No base gel. No color gel. I could basically see if I could work a gel brush, since both are transparent and I only knew what to do with one of them. Base gel you can skip if truly necessary, but colors... Well...
I asked if, by any chance, there had been ordered too much of one color, or a particular color needed using or--at this point J. was looking at me like I'd grown an extra head. I tried to explain that I didn't want to screw up with and hog the pretty colors that clients might want at some point during my expedition. J. still didn't understand what the problem with that was. Everyone nabs stuff from everyone in the studio. Whether they're using it or not at the moment is usually far beside the point. I insisted I'd tip over a jar or end up using half of one on a nail by mistake(s) and J. relented. She'd remembered some gels she'd bought, opened and subsequently rarely ever used.
I got an entire display case of colors. For me. No one wanted my old, dusty gels, so I was free to go utterly and completely insane with them. I tried opening one. It had dried shut. Going utterly and completely insane was put on hold as I tried to find a gel that would open. There were several, I would discover, but, well, I pretty much threw myself at the first color that opened. It was an almost adulterous red.
In all my enthusiasm, I tried applying it onto an untreated artificial nail. Yeah. I was quickly directed towards a bottle of cleaner-substitute (still no cleaner delivered) I'd been provided with and a nail file. First rule of Nail Studio is You Shall Abrade Up The Wazoo. My files were crappy, but I didn't know this yet. They made abrasions, so I threw myself on them. Make a nail red. Throw it into the light box. Stare in awe for two minutes. Take it out. Add another layer. Stare. Realise you need more colors.
My first tries were... Well, crappy. Firstly, they were my first tries. Secondly, my color combinations were schizofrenic in a depressing kind of way. Thirdly, I was using the wrong tools and forgetting about which colors coated better than others.
I eventually realised that the tiny, short brush was pretty much useless. And there's only so much a gel brush can do. So I tried the swirl tool. It resisted momentarily, but eventually gave in and did what I wanted.
Not something I could say about the stamping kit. I was doing everything right: paint, scrape, transfer, stamp, work fast all the time. The nail I was working on was bumpy and my stamping pad was oily, two things I took a very long time in figuring out. I got two stamps on a nail in about an hour. In the mean while, I'd even wrangled the useless brush into something approaching submission and made a nail consisting of five coats of gold sparkles with purple squiggles on top. J. had laughingly said it was fun to watch me 'destroy artificial nails with a file' as I prepared that one for a few coats of paint. Crappy nail file and unwielding nail on a stick do not make for elegant working habits. I eventually decided the stamping kit could suck it and added some silver details that blended well with the light blue stamping varnish I was using. At this point I was nearly high on nail polish remover fumes, a side effect from the stamping.
I went back to happily experimenting with the swirl tool, my new bestest friend, when J. called me over and scared the pee out of me. "Do my nails."
At this point, I'd had a grand total of two hours of practical experience. She was unveiling the most delicious, hand-made colors that needed testing, displayed in a case that just begged for me to screw up and put my elbow in it during an unguarded moment. I kept my rather undignified exclamation to myself, whimpered, and went over there.
I still don't have long nails, so I got a rosewood stick for poking and scraping. She'd done her left hand and I got to do the right. Everyone said gel burned like napalm if it got onto your skin. I had horror visions of second degree burns on J.'s hands (and thus livelihood) due to my incompetence. She was happily mixing her gels, uncorncerned by any serious injuries I could inflict here.
I discovered something as soon as J. instructed me to apply base gel. Artificial nails on sticks suck for learning stuff. Real hands are much better. Their nails arch, their fingers flex, you can use both hands at the same time... Whichever idiot came up with nails on sticks was insane.
I got the base gel right. The building gel, I missed a few spots with, but I made up for that by not ever hitting skin with the gels. And the color gel smile lines and French tips were--dare I say it--easy.
J.'s next customer was about to come in, though, so she let me finish up a single nail. I used the long, thin pencil to apply the strokes she wanted over the tips and the swirl tool for the dots. It wasn't as good as J.'s example, but it was very good for someone who hadn't eaten in six hours and had no idea what she was doing. J. is a very good teacher.
I even relaxed so much I started chatting with J., which turned into digging myself into a hole, though I didn't realise this yet. Somewhere in the conversation, I mentioned that I wondered why everyone said getting gel nails hurt.
I got sent back to my table with the news J. would do my nails after she finished with her customer, and I could try abrading my own nails and filing them into shape. Uhm...
I filed. I abraded. J. was still busy. I got base gel and applied it without incident on both hands. I discovered why people said it hurt to get gel nails: the UV gel undergoes an exothermic reaction directly propotionate to the thickness of the applied gel as it gathers its reaction starter energy. Simple words: you have about two to four seconds of burning happning underneath your fingernails.
Base gel is thin, so I didn't have much problems with that. But I got instructed to try building gel, which gets applied in a thick layer for shaping. Ow, ow, fucking ow.
Next, I was instructed to apply 'a thin white smile line' onto my freakishly short nails. I skipped the building gel altogether on my right hand and decided to torture myself with the smile line. I failed in making it look like anything other than having dipped my fingertips in Tipp-Ex. For half an hour. Then J. became available, looked at what I was doing and took pity on me. She removed my last attempt at not covering half my nail in 'Extreme White' and started discussing my progress so far. How it was good to get your nails done on short nails at first. How it was more difficult to do it on yourself and on short nails. How I'd done a good job in not getting the gel on skin with either her or myself, and only got one bumpy nail in five. I'd learned a lot in a day.
She, however, is and remains the teacher. What I needed an hour to do by myself, she did in eight minutes flat on both hands. I am currently sporting a French manicure, and it's freaking me out slightly. My nails are Godzilla strong and the Extreme White is... Well, extremely white. It's distracting.
I got something to drink and eat at this point, having stopped working long enough to realise lunch time was two hours ago. Then I got some more water and spezi from the casino, since I'd drunk all the water and Sis wanted spezi.
I tried working with the building gel some more, but the artificial nails were not my friend. I gave up, tried swirling some gels together, failed and decided to call it a day. I was tired.
So I learned a lot today. I still can't file and to learn faster I'd need a human guinea pig to submit to possible gel burns as I try building gel. But I can apply base colors and do a few simple designs. I can work with most of the equipment. I've started.
Yay. ^-^
The Mornings
Boyfriend and I work on dissimilar rythms. Read: I have to get up early slightly more often than him.
Now, if my parents are to be believed, I am physically incapable of waking up soundlessly. Sue me, I'm not a ninja. If I try to be, something goes horribly wrong. I knock stuff to the floor, doors slam when I try to close them or I snag on something while exiting the shower and can't help but get a potty mouth. If I act normal, I make less noise, but the average amount of noise stays the same.
So I have adopted the non-ninja technique when waking up without purposefully waking Boyfriend. I've done that before, for selfish and nefarious purposes, but we decided it was a bad habit to develop.
So I got up today, showered, brushed my hair, got cereal... all without incident. The shower decided not to try and kill me today. It didn't yank on any of my parts in any way and it didn't try to make me slip. Amazing. I might even tempt fate and pick out fresh plugs to wear to the store today. So far, Boyfriend hasn't woken up. I don't think he's going to. Well, he's going to eventually, but I don't think he'll wake up enough to actually get out of bed and demand I pipe down.
It's partly gentlemanliness and mostly the fact that I think he's used to me emitting some kind of noise at all times. He naps on the sofa while I watch videos, I belt out songs at random moments when I forget he's studying for his driving tests and the click-clacking of my keyboard, while quite quiet, is practically constantly there. I'm so bad he asks me if everything is okay if I'm quiet for more than ten minutes and not asleep.
Of course, it's also partly because the water pressure in the house is a bit... off. I would need a drum kit to be noisy in the bathroom. And we currently only have the quietest cereal known to man (chocolate rice krispies) in the house. And I packed my noisiest things last night before bed. I don't have any pressurised sprays to make me cough. I caught my alarm before it belted out its annoying tune. I'm not watching youtube videos on full blast, either.
Then again, at home I used the downstairs bathroom, got dressed behind closed doors, ate alone, in a kitchen, two rooms away from any other living being, and I was still being too noisy. Boyfriend is practically within spitting distance at the moment, all doors opened, and he's blissfully sleeping on. I'm even scraping my chair on the floor, rebel that I am.
Of course, this has a few downsides. Like the fact that the laundry needs folding and I wanted to remind him to call the post people again today. I could write a note, but that feels antisocial. I could wake him up, but that'd be mean. Maybe I'll send a text message around eleven or so.
Now, if my parents are to be believed, I am physically incapable of waking up soundlessly. Sue me, I'm not a ninja. If I try to be, something goes horribly wrong. I knock stuff to the floor, doors slam when I try to close them or I snag on something while exiting the shower and can't help but get a potty mouth. If I act normal, I make less noise, but the average amount of noise stays the same.
So I have adopted the non-ninja technique when waking up without purposefully waking Boyfriend. I've done that before, for selfish and nefarious purposes, but we decided it was a bad habit to develop.
So I got up today, showered, brushed my hair, got cereal... all without incident. The shower decided not to try and kill me today. It didn't yank on any of my parts in any way and it didn't try to make me slip. Amazing. I might even tempt fate and pick out fresh plugs to wear to the store today. So far, Boyfriend hasn't woken up. I don't think he's going to. Well, he's going to eventually, but I don't think he'll wake up enough to actually get out of bed and demand I pipe down.
It's partly gentlemanliness and mostly the fact that I think he's used to me emitting some kind of noise at all times. He naps on the sofa while I watch videos, I belt out songs at random moments when I forget he's studying for his driving tests and the click-clacking of my keyboard, while quite quiet, is practically constantly there. I'm so bad he asks me if everything is okay if I'm quiet for more than ten minutes and not asleep.
Of course, it's also partly because the water pressure in the house is a bit... off. I would need a drum kit to be noisy in the bathroom. And we currently only have the quietest cereal known to man (chocolate rice krispies) in the house. And I packed my noisiest things last night before bed. I don't have any pressurised sprays to make me cough. I caught my alarm before it belted out its annoying tune. I'm not watching youtube videos on full blast, either.
Then again, at home I used the downstairs bathroom, got dressed behind closed doors, ate alone, in a kitchen, two rooms away from any other living being, and I was still being too noisy. Boyfriend is practically within spitting distance at the moment, all doors opened, and he's blissfully sleeping on. I'm even scraping my chair on the floor, rebel that I am.
Of course, this has a few downsides. Like the fact that the laundry needs folding and I wanted to remind him to call the post people again today. I could write a note, but that feels antisocial. I could wake him up, but that'd be mean. Maybe I'll send a text message around eleven or so.
Tuesday, July 10, 2012
The Sad Day
Today, the plan was to get up early, get on a bike and enjoy the sunshine. It seemed completely foolproof yesterday evening. It wasn't.
For starters, I woke up at eight, realised Boyfriend hadn't gone to bed until five (he'd woken me from a deliciously warm sleep) and decided two more hours couldn't hurt. At ten, I woke up again, looked at my watch and got sucked back under by sweet, sweet slumber. At twelve, Boyfriend got up, woke me up and left me to make my way out of bed, which took me an hour. Then we checked the internet.
Yes, I know. At least we remembered to call for an appointment Boyfriend needed and for my package. The guy on the other end of the phone agreed something had gone very, very wrong and promised to look into it and call back. So far, he hasn't.
At a bit past two, J. came by with a letter for me, proving that my mail could most definitely arrive somewhere in my vicinity. In it, I got a loud and clear MAYBE from HUK Coburg, so there's a ray of hope shining through the clouds on the job front.
She had more news. Mousy died this morning. I clumsily offered my condolences to her and Boyfriend, who was very upset. Too upset to keep playing video games. So we snuggled a bit and he was sad.
It was four by the time I convinced him sunshine might help. He argued, sure, he needed to send packages anyway. Also, he's interested in sewing machines. He'd seen one online and wanted to check it out in real life, too. There's a sewing machine store in town.
So we made packages and brought them to the post office near McDo. McDo sucked us in with its wily charms and current offer of a miniature Big Mac for a semi-reasonable price. We nommed. Boyfriend started to feel better.
We took the least stressful road down to town and made our way to the sewing machine store. The offer was a Janome JR 1012 for 219 euros. Twice as much as Boyfriend's price range, but it looked like a good machine for beginners and average sewing needs. We asked if it'd be suitable for plushie making, and the lady in the store looked dubious. The machine Boyfriend had his eye on online was a similar model with excellent reviews, but it lacked the Janome name, so it's cheaper, but I trust it less. Give me a brand name, when it comes to expensive (or even cheap) pieces of household machinery. Give me something I can mention to a (grand)mother without having to mumble.
Anyway, if we came back this weekend, we could try out the machine, if we were interested. Boyfriend was definitely cheering up, as he wanted to make a detour to the toy store. He had a project concerning a tiny piggy bank in mind. We already have a tiny piggy bank, but he's painting Emma "30 Cents" Piggleston over my dead body. We bought a blue one on which he can do all the piggybank surgery he likes, found an insanely priced down Monopoly set and fell in love all over with a hand puppet we'd seen last month. If you've got a name for the most adorable cow hand puppet in the world, leave your suggestions in the comments.
I wanted to go hunting for a wastebasket for the bedroom in Kaufhof, but decidedI Boyfriend needed some ice cream. I even paid. He bought a milkshake to go with that and we nommed once more.
Everything was going great, until a bunch of antisocial brats decided to harass an old man in the street. Boyfriend talked to make sure he was all right. The man was, barring the fact that his shopping was covered in the bubble tea the kids had exploded when kicking his bag. Boyfriend's mood plummeted.
We went to Kaufhof, where Boyfriend's mood darkened even more when I pointed out he needed a bicycle bell. Or, more like, he mentioned he didn't have one, I mentioned it made his bicycle illegal, he'd looked at the ones costing 20 euros the last time we were there and he grumbled at spending that much on a stupid piece of metal. He double-checked his bike and came back with the news that he definitely did not have a bell and how much was this going to cost?
The cheapest model they had was three euro fifty. Boyfriend was slightly mollified. Then we discovered more expensive models which had been priced down to two ninety five. He bought one with a deliriously happy mountain on it and we went upstairs, as we still hadn't found a wastebasket.
Upstairs, there were pony models. As usual, those cheered Boyfriend up a bit. The fact that I got two and he only one didn't change that. Wastebaskets costing over twenty euros brought me down a bit, but then I found kitchen had towels for under two euros a pop. They're not my dream color, but then again, they're cheap kitchen towels, so who cares? They even fit our general color scheme of red and orange in the living room kitchen combo.
In the supermarket, we went cheer-Boyfriend-up-crazy. We bought muffins and pesto and chocolate sauce and cherry jelly and schnitzels shaped like dinosaurs. Oh, and bacon. Not only because Boyfriend loves it, but because we want to make my famous carrot-potato-mash sometime this week, and it requires an ample sprinkling of fried bacon bits.
The original plan was to get home and make the mash, but at this point we were too lazy for any real cooking, so we decided on pasta pesto 'later'. Boyfriend received some salad from his dad, who'd bought too much, and made himself a man-sized starter with some instant salad dressing he had lying around while I looked at puppies and dogs looking for a new home. We squealed and awwed. I still have about five tabs open with dogs I'd love to give a home. Somebody stop me.
I thought I had at least partially succeeded in my cheer Boyfriend up mission, until some of the dressing got spilt on his shirt. It was a relatively new shirt, and I thought he loved it, so I chucked it in the washing machine with extra water in an attempt to save the T-shirt. It announced two hours of water usage, and Boyfriend frowned at the waste of it.
So today was a bit sad. Maybe muffins will help?
For starters, I woke up at eight, realised Boyfriend hadn't gone to bed until five (he'd woken me from a deliciously warm sleep) and decided two more hours couldn't hurt. At ten, I woke up again, looked at my watch and got sucked back under by sweet, sweet slumber. At twelve, Boyfriend got up, woke me up and left me to make my way out of bed, which took me an hour. Then we checked the internet.
Yes, I know. At least we remembered to call for an appointment Boyfriend needed and for my package. The guy on the other end of the phone agreed something had gone very, very wrong and promised to look into it and call back. So far, he hasn't.
At a bit past two, J. came by with a letter for me, proving that my mail could most definitely arrive somewhere in my vicinity. In it, I got a loud and clear MAYBE from HUK Coburg, so there's a ray of hope shining through the clouds on the job front.
She had more news. Mousy died this morning. I clumsily offered my condolences to her and Boyfriend, who was very upset. Too upset to keep playing video games. So we snuggled a bit and he was sad.
It was four by the time I convinced him sunshine might help. He argued, sure, he needed to send packages anyway. Also, he's interested in sewing machines. He'd seen one online and wanted to check it out in real life, too. There's a sewing machine store in town.
So we made packages and brought them to the post office near McDo. McDo sucked us in with its wily charms and current offer of a miniature Big Mac for a semi-reasonable price. We nommed. Boyfriend started to feel better.
We took the least stressful road down to town and made our way to the sewing machine store. The offer was a Janome JR 1012 for 219 euros. Twice as much as Boyfriend's price range, but it looked like a good machine for beginners and average sewing needs. We asked if it'd be suitable for plushie making, and the lady in the store looked dubious. The machine Boyfriend had his eye on online was a similar model with excellent reviews, but it lacked the Janome name, so it's cheaper, but I trust it less. Give me a brand name, when it comes to expensive (or even cheap) pieces of household machinery. Give me something I can mention to a (grand)mother without having to mumble.
Anyway, if we came back this weekend, we could try out the machine, if we were interested. Boyfriend was definitely cheering up, as he wanted to make a detour to the toy store. He had a project concerning a tiny piggy bank in mind. We already have a tiny piggy bank, but he's painting Emma "30 Cents" Piggleston over my dead body. We bought a blue one on which he can do all the piggybank surgery he likes, found an insanely priced down Monopoly set and fell in love all over with a hand puppet we'd seen last month. If you've got a name for the most adorable cow hand puppet in the world, leave your suggestions in the comments.
I wanted to go hunting for a wastebasket for the bedroom in Kaufhof, but decided
Everything was going great, until a bunch of antisocial brats decided to harass an old man in the street. Boyfriend talked to make sure he was all right. The man was, barring the fact that his shopping was covered in the bubble tea the kids had exploded when kicking his bag. Boyfriend's mood plummeted.
We went to Kaufhof, where Boyfriend's mood darkened even more when I pointed out he needed a bicycle bell. Or, more like, he mentioned he didn't have one, I mentioned it made his bicycle illegal, he'd looked at the ones costing 20 euros the last time we were there and he grumbled at spending that much on a stupid piece of metal. He double-checked his bike and came back with the news that he definitely did not have a bell and how much was this going to cost?
The cheapest model they had was three euro fifty. Boyfriend was slightly mollified. Then we discovered more expensive models which had been priced down to two ninety five. He bought one with a deliriously happy mountain on it and we went upstairs, as we still hadn't found a wastebasket.
Upstairs, there were pony models. As usual, those cheered Boyfriend up a bit. The fact that I got two and he only one didn't change that. Wastebaskets costing over twenty euros brought me down a bit, but then I found kitchen had towels for under two euros a pop. They're not my dream color, but then again, they're cheap kitchen towels, so who cares? They even fit our general color scheme of red and orange in the living room kitchen combo.
In the supermarket, we went cheer-Boyfriend-up-crazy. We bought muffins and pesto and chocolate sauce and cherry jelly and schnitzels shaped like dinosaurs. Oh, and bacon. Not only because Boyfriend loves it, but because we want to make my famous carrot-potato-mash sometime this week, and it requires an ample sprinkling of fried bacon bits.
The original plan was to get home and make the mash, but at this point we were too lazy for any real cooking, so we decided on pasta pesto 'later'. Boyfriend received some salad from his dad, who'd bought too much, and made himself a man-sized starter with some instant salad dressing he had lying around while I looked at puppies and dogs looking for a new home. We squealed and awwed. I still have about five tabs open with dogs I'd love to give a home. Somebody stop me.
I thought I had at least partially succeeded in my cheer Boyfriend up mission, until some of the dressing got spilt on his shirt. It was a relatively new shirt, and I thought he loved it, so I chucked it in the washing machine with extra water in an attempt to save the T-shirt. It announced two hours of water usage, and Boyfriend frowned at the waste of it.
So today was a bit sad. Maybe muffins will help?
Monday, July 9, 2012
The Queen of Gel Globs
So today has been a mixed day so far.
On the downside, my package is definitely lost and will not be sent again. 19 euros down the drain. Also, no one from job applications has replied to my e-mails and letters. There's been no interesting job offers all week, and I've been looking. There's still no cleaner fluid in the studio, so any and all gel spills on my hands have to be forcibly scrubbed off. Someone decided glitter gels were a good idea in that situation. They weren't. And I forgot to ask for brown sugar from Boyfriend, so I can't make pity party cookies. Sadness.
On the plus side, it was quiet in the studio today. And J. wasn't there for the first four hours. And when the cat's away... S. let me put gel on her nails. Not all the stages, and I'm still not being allowed anywhere near a nail file, but I managed to not mess up on the two least damageable stages of gelling nails. I got to hold a brush and everything. I am the QUEEN OF GEL GLOBS FOR SHOVING STRASS STONES INTO! Not the most catchy of titles, but apt.
Going further, my responsibilities as studio slave have been upgraded from watching and pressing buttons to cleaning stamping plates, finding stamping plates, fetching whole arrays of colorsful gels and stealing anything and everything from Sis' desk. I think it's so only my fingerprints will be found when the stuff Sis (not the studio) is paying for turns up out of place. Oh well, her stamping plates are clean as a whistle. And I get to fill footbaths, though the tap system tends to turn that into flailing as I try not to flood the studio. I also have to mentally switch gears every time I talk to a customer, since I've had the 'du' form beaten into me at university, and customers are very much a 'Sie'. I might appear a tad slow in asking people if they want a drink, but darn it if I'm not polite.
We're making spaghetti tonight, and we found all the ingredients. Boyfriend bought everything, and then some. We've got enough onions for... Well, maybe we can make onion soup? Also, a few more carrots than bolognese sauce calls for, but that only means carrot mash later this week. Enough tomato concentrate to flavor an army's kettle of sauce with, and we already have pizza in the freezer, so I'm sort of lost on that part, but the stuff keeps for a long while in the fridge. And I could've sworn I asked for brown sugar, but I should shut up and make shopping lists before two in the morning. It helps. And I can make jelly pudding for dessert, so I get to decapitate a green gelatine bear tonight.
And tomorrow, I'm not required in the studio. I wasn't sure if I was going to begin with, but J. said there was very little for me to do, so I have her blessing to take the day off. So far, my plans are to hunt down a few cups of brown sugar and bake cookies. Maybe clean the oven. Oh, and we still have laundry, though that might get done today.
Another mixed thing is the veracity of Cindy's pregnancy. The veterinarian goes between PREGNANT! to 'nope, not pregnant' like a pendulum and refuses to decide. In the mean while, J. thinks she saw something heartbeat-like move in her precious puppy's belly and I am suspicious about the size of the tiny dog's nipples. Seeing as, if Cindy's pregnant, she'll most likely give birth on Wednesday, the vet is getting close to their decision deadline on the pregnancy question. I believe the last chance is today. It's entirely possible J. will get pissed if they get it wrong. In the mean while, I'm so starved for a canine companion I'm considering adopting the puppy if it exists, no matter how tiny it is or how arrogant its mother can be. God help me.
On the downside, my package is definitely lost and will not be sent again. 19 euros down the drain. Also, no one from job applications has replied to my e-mails and letters. There's been no interesting job offers all week, and I've been looking. There's still no cleaner fluid in the studio, so any and all gel spills on my hands have to be forcibly scrubbed off. Someone decided glitter gels were a good idea in that situation. They weren't. And I forgot to ask for brown sugar from Boyfriend, so I can't make pity party cookies. Sadness.
On the plus side, it was quiet in the studio today. And J. wasn't there for the first four hours. And when the cat's away... S. let me put gel on her nails. Not all the stages, and I'm still not being allowed anywhere near a nail file, but I managed to not mess up on the two least damageable stages of gelling nails. I got to hold a brush and everything. I am the QUEEN OF GEL GLOBS FOR SHOVING STRASS STONES INTO! Not the most catchy of titles, but apt.
Going further, my responsibilities as studio slave have been upgraded from watching and pressing buttons to cleaning stamping plates, finding stamping plates, fetching whole arrays of colorsful gels and stealing anything and everything from Sis' desk. I think it's so only my fingerprints will be found when the stuff Sis (not the studio) is paying for turns up out of place. Oh well, her stamping plates are clean as a whistle. And I get to fill footbaths, though the tap system tends to turn that into flailing as I try not to flood the studio. I also have to mentally switch gears every time I talk to a customer, since I've had the 'du' form beaten into me at university, and customers are very much a 'Sie'. I might appear a tad slow in asking people if they want a drink, but darn it if I'm not polite.
We're making spaghetti tonight, and we found all the ingredients. Boyfriend bought everything, and then some. We've got enough onions for... Well, maybe we can make onion soup? Also, a few more carrots than bolognese sauce calls for, but that only means carrot mash later this week. Enough tomato concentrate to flavor an army's kettle of sauce with, and we already have pizza in the freezer, so I'm sort of lost on that part, but the stuff keeps for a long while in the fridge. And I could've sworn I asked for brown sugar, but I should shut up and make shopping lists before two in the morning. It helps. And I can make jelly pudding for dessert, so I get to decapitate a green gelatine bear tonight.
And tomorrow, I'm not required in the studio. I wasn't sure if I was going to begin with, but J. said there was very little for me to do, so I have her blessing to take the day off. So far, my plans are to hunt down a few cups of brown sugar and bake cookies. Maybe clean the oven. Oh, and we still have laundry, though that might get done today.
Another mixed thing is the veracity of Cindy's pregnancy. The veterinarian goes between PREGNANT! to 'nope, not pregnant' like a pendulum and refuses to decide. In the mean while, J. thinks she saw something heartbeat-like move in her precious puppy's belly and I am suspicious about the size of the tiny dog's nipples. Seeing as, if Cindy's pregnant, she'll most likely give birth on Wednesday, the vet is getting close to their decision deadline on the pregnancy question. I believe the last chance is today. It's entirely possible J. will get pissed if they get it wrong. In the mean while, I'm so starved for a canine companion I'm considering adopting the puppy if it exists, no matter how tiny it is or how arrogant its mother can be. God help me.
Sunday, July 8, 2012
The 30 Days
So my plan was to make this a 30 day challenge to myself. Write one thing, every day, for at least 30 days. They passed without me noticing. I had fun, and I'll keep writing.
It's a nice things to do. It makes me at least try to find one good thing that happened each day, or look at the less good things in a more positive light. No one wants someone moaning and complaining each day.
Writing this thing is a good exercise in self-contemplation. It makes me take time for myself, at least a few minutes each day, and think about what happened and how I want to place them in my life. It sounds all deep and philosophical, but it doesn't feel that way. It's just good thinking, the way my therapists like me to think.
See, worrying and thinking in circles is bad, because it's unproductive. I do it a lot when I'm off my meds, but with a little chemical push in the back, I learn to not do it that often. Writing down what happened each day is productive thinking. What happened, what is on my mind, how do I do something with it? I've been writing each day. I now find myself thinking more about 'what should I put in my blog' than about things further in the future. It's a kind of brake on my mind.
Sure, I worry about never finding a job and being kicked out of the country, but I can rationalise it. I still have over two months to find something, and I look each day. In the mean while, I take it one day at a time. Well, future-wise, I do plan ahead. I've got things I want to do when I get a job, there's a vacation I might or might not be going on and I've got other things that I need to think about. Things like dinner and groceries, and laundry and dishes that need doing.
Boyfriend and I share the chores, but we often do them together. I'm good at sorting colors for laundry, for example, but Boyfriend knows how the oven works. He doesn't want pink T-shirts happening, and I turn the pizza soggy if I try to bake something. So we work together and make it work.
And we try new stuff together. Things like biking and fixing bikes. Munzees. Finding out what happened to mail. Peanut butter. Boyfriend discovered the joy of meatballs in the last month, but the ones he found in the store hadhis arch-nemesis mushrooms in them. Boyfriend doesn't like mushrooms. I wonder if I should tell him how easy it is to make meat balls. Sure, I'm not a sauce wizard, but maybe he is. Or maybe J. can tell us.
We'll see. In the mean while, let's try this for another 30 days.
It's a nice things to do. It makes me at least try to find one good thing that happened each day, or look at the less good things in a more positive light. No one wants someone moaning and complaining each day.
Writing this thing is a good exercise in self-contemplation. It makes me take time for myself, at least a few minutes each day, and think about what happened and how I want to place them in my life. It sounds all deep and philosophical, but it doesn't feel that way. It's just good thinking, the way my therapists like me to think.
See, worrying and thinking in circles is bad, because it's unproductive. I do it a lot when I'm off my meds, but with a little chemical push in the back, I learn to not do it that often. Writing down what happened each day is productive thinking. What happened, what is on my mind, how do I do something with it? I've been writing each day. I now find myself thinking more about 'what should I put in my blog' than about things further in the future. It's a kind of brake on my mind.
Sure, I worry about never finding a job and being kicked out of the country, but I can rationalise it. I still have over two months to find something, and I look each day. In the mean while, I take it one day at a time. Well, future-wise, I do plan ahead. I've got things I want to do when I get a job, there's a vacation I might or might not be going on and I've got other things that I need to think about. Things like dinner and groceries, and laundry and dishes that need doing.
Boyfriend and I share the chores, but we often do them together. I'm good at sorting colors for laundry, for example, but Boyfriend knows how the oven works. He doesn't want pink T-shirts happening, and I turn the pizza soggy if I try to bake something. So we work together and make it work.
And we try new stuff together. Things like biking and fixing bikes. Munzees. Finding out what happened to mail. Peanut butter. Boyfriend discovered the joy of meatballs in the last month, but the ones he found in the store had
We'll see. In the mean while, let's try this for another 30 days.
The Audience
I look at how many views I get. Seriously, I do. I check the stats and know stuff that the website keeps track of for me.
Like, for example, last month I had 360 pageviews that weren't me. It's a nice, round number. But I don't get twelve pageviews each day. It'd be cool if I did, but you readers aren't that average. You go up and down with the days of the week. Some days I get one, other days I get twenty-something. Something here seems to be interesting, but my main source of feedback is Boyfriend giggling to his screen and me having to ask what's so funny.
Most of you, so far, come from Aptratings. If I know what it was, I'd wax poetic about it, but I honestly have no clue. Then there's you who came here through Stumbleupon. I don't know this one either, but I think I understand the concept behind it. If you return after being jettisoned here by the wily internet, I thank you.
7% of you use Macintoshes. Who are you people? I come from a clan of Windows-fanatics. Well, mostly I come from a clan who grew up with Windows and is slightly fearful of this OS spawned by this company that wants to be associated with fruit. Some of you even use Linux. Props to not conforming, but you make me wonder.
Geographically, you're mostly German or Belgian. Which makes sense. I know my family reads this, to keep from having to call me in the middle of the week to demand why they're not hearing from me. I know of trusty cousins who even relay the information here to their parents, so that the family grapevine stays informed. And as to Germany... Well, it's entirely possible somebody apart from Boyfriend keeps track of my moodswings through this channel. What's confusing me is the Americans and Russians who read this. Seriously, how did that happen? Let me know what's interesting you all about reading stuff about somebody not getting talked to by the companies she applies to for jobs. I mean it.
And that goes for the rest of you as well. Elly is the only one who leaves comments, when she feels so inclined. And I read comments. Even when I might overlook them, google has a system in place to assure comment awareness. The appreciation for them is all mine. So everyone, even if you're not Elly, leave a comment. You don't need to have a Blogger account. Your e-mail is safely kept away from prying internet eyes. I think even I can't see it. Blogger doesn't send you spam and doesn't bother you outside of the comments you post.
So go ahead. Let me know what you think and how you got here. I'm curious.
Like, for example, last month I had 360 pageviews that weren't me. It's a nice, round number. But I don't get twelve pageviews each day. It'd be cool if I did, but you readers aren't that average. You go up and down with the days of the week. Some days I get one, other days I get twenty-something. Something here seems to be interesting, but my main source of feedback is Boyfriend giggling to his screen and me having to ask what's so funny.
Most of you, so far, come from Aptratings. If I know what it was, I'd wax poetic about it, but I honestly have no clue. Then there's you who came here through Stumbleupon. I don't know this one either, but I think I understand the concept behind it. If you return after being jettisoned here by the wily internet, I thank you.
7% of you use Macintoshes. Who are you people? I come from a clan of Windows-fanatics. Well, mostly I come from a clan who grew up with Windows and is slightly fearful of this OS spawned by this company that wants to be associated with fruit. Some of you even use Linux. Props to not conforming, but you make me wonder.
Geographically, you're mostly German or Belgian. Which makes sense. I know my family reads this, to keep from having to call me in the middle of the week to demand why they're not hearing from me. I know of trusty cousins who even relay the information here to their parents, so that the family grapevine stays informed. And as to Germany... Well, it's entirely possible somebody apart from Boyfriend keeps track of my moodswings through this channel. What's confusing me is the Americans and Russians who read this. Seriously, how did that happen? Let me know what's interesting you all about reading stuff about somebody not getting talked to by the companies she applies to for jobs. I mean it.
And that goes for the rest of you as well. Elly is the only one who leaves comments, when she feels so inclined. And I read comments. Even when I might overlook them, google has a system in place to assure comment awareness. The appreciation for them is all mine. So everyone, even if you're not Elly, leave a comment. You don't need to have a Blogger account. Your e-mail is safely kept away from prying internet eyes. I think even I can't see it. Blogger doesn't send you spam and doesn't bother you outside of the comments you post.
So go ahead. Let me know what you think and how you got here. I'm curious.
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