It is done!

My body is my journal, and my tattoos are my story.

Johnny Depp



I’ve wanted this tattoo for two years now and yesterday was the happy (and painful) day that the dream came true. The design is a collaboration between me and the tattoo artist :)

I became fascinated by owls a long time ago, can’t even remember how this craze got started but by now I have many owl-shaped trinkets from three different continents. My friends bring me all kinds of owl things as souvenirs from their trips and if you want to give me a present, owl-shaped jewellery is always welcome. The mythology built around owls is vast and complex and their eyes give them a very human-like expression, since they’re placed flat in the front of their face, not on the sides. Owls are also the only birds who move just the upper lid when they blink, which makes them look even more like us. However, their eyes are fixed in their skulls and therefore unmovable, so if they want to look at something that isn’t in their immediate view, they need to move their head. So the ‘moshing’ that owls do? That’s just how they get a 3D picture of what’s going on :)


Long story short – owls are cool :D

In addition to my ‘spirit bird’ topic I wanted to make a connection to Ireland and Celtic knots were just perfect for this. The sun cross on the owl’s forehead symbolises the symbiosis of old and new – it is an ancient pagan sun symbol that Christianity ‘borrowed’ and Ireland is definitely full to the brim of religious monuments of both kinds. My other tattoos are also sort of pattern-ish, way more abstract than the brand new piece but it blends in well nevertheless, I think. Anyway – the point is that I have some relatives in Ireland and when I visited them a few years ago, a piece of my soul was left behind in those lonely mountains and grazing sheep and windy ocean shores. I think I’ll probably go looking for it in April, if everything goes well :)

Oh, and the tree is Yggdrasil. I know I’m mixing mythologies here a little but they aren’t that different after all.

And yes, it hurt. The outlines were the easiest part – mostly I didn’t even feel the needle. When the tattoo artist went for the shading, I was forced to admit that pain was indeed involved. And when he told me that he’ll do the white highlights as well, I actually thought about walking out of there because damn, it hurt :D Not even the poking of the needle but the fact that he had to lean on skin that was already hurt twice. Totally worth it, though! The needlework took about 5 hours from start to finish but we had a few smoke breaks along the way.

Categories: borrowed feathers, i maed dis, yay | Leave a comment

Good-bye, granny

Do not pity the dead, Harry. Pity the living, and, above all those who live without love.

“Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows”, J.K. Rowling



My grandmother died early this morning. She would have been 89 next Saturday but I guess this time we’ll just light a candle with no cake underneath.

89 years is a lot and time definitely took its toll on her. Maybe we could still have had a celebration next Saturday instead of a funeral on the upcoming weekend, had she not stumbled in her own home and broken her hip. She was taken to the hospital and operated on but in the end it didn’t go all that well and words like “internal bleeding” were involved, so… yeah. Her mind was getting all scrambled, too, even more than before, so perhaps death was almost a kindness at this point. I know my paternal grandmother used to pray for death while she lay in her bed, completely paralyzed from the neck down. She finally died at the age of 94 but had to endure five agonizing bedridden years before that moment of release. My grandfather died at the age of 84, all alone in his apartment, and was discovered only after my mom got anxious that he hadn’t picked up his phone for two days. I never met my paternal grandfather, since he died before I was born. Both of my “step-grandparents” have also been dead for a while now, so I guess that’s that then.

I’m not terribly heartbroken, death is a part of life and it happens to all of us eventually, especially so when it comes to the elderly. I’m more worried about the implications this event has on my mother and her living arrangements – will she continue to reside in grandma’s apartment and pay for the communal charges? Will she return to living with my father? It’s a big can of worms either way. I know it’s not my problem to fix but I’m slightly anxious about it nevertheless.

Categories: borrowed feathers, dark tones | Leave a comment

Happy birthday, Flameblood!

Today you are You, that is truer than true. There is no one alive who is Youer than You.

Dr. Seuss


Turns out this blog is now exactly a year old, w00t!

Although I had the best intentions at heart when I started it, I haven’t really managed to post regularly. Hell, I haven’t even managed to write at least one post every month. Partly because as the internet grew larger and larger, it became more and more difficult to write publicly on personal topics; partly because I’m simply not used to putting my thoughts down in written form any more.

I don’t know whether it’s because the universally dreaded three-o occasion is coming up in 6 months but I’ve been thinking about putting my life in order more than I used to. There are some habits I’d love to acquire and others I’d like to kick, it’s all just up to my own perseverance. They say it takes 6 weeks for something to become a habit so that it wouldn’t require constant self-discipline any more and really – a month and a half isn’t that much for conscious effort but… yeah, I’m a lazy fucker, I’ll be the first to admit it.

Anyway – even if it’s just for the sake of dreaming – I want to improve in the following areas:

  1. resume blogging on a regular basis, even if it’s just one post per week. Even if the text I produce isn’t up to my general standards. Even if I’m busy. I like writing and I know I need practice, not just thinking about it, if I ever want to be anything more than mediocre at stringing words together.
  2. cook more Real Food which means I need to learn to prepare nomz for less than 6 people at a time. Seriously, this is an actual problem for me, unless I just dump a portion of fries and veggies on a pan. I love cooking but unless I have friends to force-feed later, I end up eating the same stuff for a week or so and by then I’m heartily sick of whatever it was that was so delicious in the beginning.
  3. draw and paint. I’ve never been particularly great at art but I’ve been told that I’m not entirely without talent, I just need to practice more. So, yeah.
  4. actually follow through when it comes to my sewing/knitting projects that are meant for myself. If I’m making a gift for someone else, it’s not a problem – this might mean that even if I’m making something for my own use, it should be possible to finish it as well instead of stashing it away out of sight together with the other unfinished attempts.

Making an actual timetable for myself would probably work – blocking out a couple of hours here and there for this or that activity (except the cooking thing, that’s something I need to incorporate into my everyday life). However, timetables work for people who have a daily routine… the only certainty in mine is that I work from 9AM to 6PM – even my belly dance classes will begin at a different time every day this year. Ah well, we’ll see.

Categories: borrowed feathers, internal inspection, yay | Leave a comment

Aaaaaaand we’re back to our regular emo broadcast

Have you ever been in love? Horrible isn’t it? It makes you so vulnerable. It opens your chest and it opens up your heart and it means that someone can get inside you and mess you up. You build up all these defenses, you build up a whole suit of armor, so that nothing can hurt you, then one stupid person, no different from any other stupid person, wanders into your stupid life…You give them a piece of you. They didn’t ask for it. They did something dumb one day, like kiss you or smile at you, and then your life isn’t your own anymore. Love takes hostages. It gets inside you. It eats you out and leaves you crying in the darkness, so simple a phrase like ‘maybe we should be just friends’ turns into a glass splinter working its way into your heart. It hurts. Not just in the imagination. Not just in the mind. It’s a soul-hurt, a real gets-inside-you-and-rips-you-apart pain. I hate love.

“The Sandman, Vol. 9: The Kindly Ones”, Neil Gaiman


Rant on interpersonal relationships ahead, yo.

I’m not sure why this is but every time I meet someone amazing, there’s always a catch. Other people seem to manage with far less drama (at least it doesn’t show on the outside) but in my case there’s always a certain amount of ‘well, fuck’ involved. Unfortunately, the more awesome that new person seems, the larger that particular showstopper is…

Goth Boy is a wonderful, smart, polite, attractive, sexy dude and we’re so alike in many ways that we began to call each other ‘clones’ pretty soon after we met online. We’ve also spent time together face to face which was filled to the brim with laughter and adventures of the sexy persuasion that were frankly amazing for both of us. However, he’s not in the same country as I am (AGAIN!) and… well, my position in his life could probably best be described with the word ‘lover’, as certain feelings are (were?) involved on both sides, though we always carefully tiptoe(d) around talking about them directly. There are other, more specific obstacles between us, which I’m not going to describe in detail but the general point is that I’m afraid this isn’t working out and it makes me really sad.

It’s much easier to let go of someone who isn’t treating you well than a person who is pretty much damn near perfect in every regard (and apparently thinks quite the same about you) but the trouble is that you simply cannot fit into each other’s lives at the moment. And nobody knows if a better time will ever come… it probably won’t anyway.

Right now I’ve been giving him time to sort his life out a bit, since there’s quite a lot on his plate and on the rational level I can understand that. However, I am getting tired of being reasonable and accommodating and undemanding. I don’t really like to pretend that I have the patience of a brick when I’m actually unhappy on the inside due to acute lack of attention. Although I really want to see him again and do all the fun things we can think of (and we both have extremely vivid imagination), I don’t think I can wait for as long as it may take him to get his shit together.

Categories: borrowed feathers, I am disappoint, moving pictures | Leave a comment

A bedtime story

It’s been a long long time since I wrote any stories or poems or even blogged, by the looks of things. However, there’s this lovely goth boy who asked me to write him a bedtime story and I gladly obliged. So I’ll post it here as well because I quite liked the way it turned out, even though it was written in just a couple of hours and I had no idea how the events would unfold when I had put down the first sentence :)

* * *

Once upon a time there lived a little boy. He was quite ordinary in looks and if you saw him play with the other little boys and girls, you would have had trouble telling him apart from the other little savages on first glance. He was ten years old like most of the kids in the neighbourhood, roughly the same height as his playmates and even his freckles looked like everyone else’s. His name was Tommy and that was very common as well – one of his closest friends, Bartholomew, was called Tommy for short just like him (although our Tommy’s full name was Thomas Albert) and another awesome buddy was named just Tom because his parents strongly believed in all things simple.

One hot summer day Tommy was walking down the dusty streets of his small hometown, kicking little pebbles out of his way. He was sulking as his best friends had both been grounded the day before since they had thought it would be funny to play yet another joke on the old lady who was rumoured to be a witch among the kids. She was very, very old, her loose skin hung off her birdlike frail figure like yellowed parchment and she was always dressed in black. Her wispy white hair was long and often tangled because it was difficult for her to brush it properly on her own due to her arthritis. Add to that the fact that she lived alone in a small house on the edge of the town – it was all the kids needed to be convinced that she must be an evil old crone, just like in fairy tales.

Lately the children had invented a new way to pass the time and amuse themselves. They’d ring the doorbell of the old lady, wait until the shuffling of slippers was nearly at the door, then yell “DING DONG, THE WITCH IS DEAD!!!” and laugh their heads off as they dispersed quickly. Tommy didn’t like this kind of jokes because he felt a bit sorry for the old lady. He didn’t really remember much about his own grandmother but something about that thin white hair brought back a dim memory of a warm lap where he loved to sit and play the clapping game. Even though he did not participate in this “doorbell fun”, he never found it in him to tell his mates off for bullying the old woman either.

In any case his best friends had been caught red-handed by Tommy’s mom last afternoon as they were about to take flight from the old lady’s front door. Tommy’s mother did not find any of this amusing either and took the boys home, making sure their moms and dads learned all about their behaviour as well. When she got back to her own house, she scolded Tommy, too, even though he protested that he had never ever done anything to the woman in all his life… but that’s moms for you.

So there he was, walking down the street and brooding because it was difficult to have fun all by himself when he could have been racing his friends on bikes up and down the street or go swimming together or at the very least play some football with them, if only they had not been stuck at home. He wasn’t really paying much attention to where his feet were taking him until something made him look up. He was surprised to discover that his absent-minded walk had taken him right to the cottage of the so-called witch and that was definitely the last place he wanted to be at the time. He was about to turn around and leave when he suddenly noticed the old woman leaning on her fence and looking at him intently. Tommy was not a chicken by any means but at that moment he felt his heart skip a beat.

The wrinkled old woman beckoned him with a gnarled finger and as of their own volition his feet began a hesitant trip across the street. The journey which usually took only a blink of an eye seemed to last an eternity this time, all the while his heart was thumping rapidly in his chest like some wild bird thrashing about, trying to break free from a cage. What would she say to him? Would she yell at him because she had seen him with his friends and therefore think that he had come to taunt her on his own?

When he had made it to the fence in what seemed like a whole other lifetime, he finally gathered up the courage to look the elderly woman in the eye. To his utter amazement she was smiling at him! His shock was even greater when she opened her wrinkled mouth and quietly asked: ‘Would you like to come inside? I have tea and biscuits. I think we should talk.’

Tommy was so dumbfounded that he could only nod in response. His knees were shaking like aspen leaves in the wind but his curiosity got the better of him. None of the kids of the neighbourhood had ever even been in the witch’s hallway, never mind being offered tea with biscuits!
Sent 3:19am

The old woman tottered inside, holding out the door for him and smiling encouragingly. Even though thoughts of gingerbread houses and hot ovens for cooking children were flashing through Tommy’s head, he decided to follow her. He was even further astonished to find two steaming cups of tea on the living room table, next to a cookie jar. They could not have been poured out more than a couple of minutes ago and yet everyone knew the witch lived all by herself!

The lady of the house gestured towards the couch for him to take a seat and he obliged immediately. She pushed one cup towards him and passed along some cream and sugar as well. His hands were shaking badly but he managed to pour the cream into his mug without spilling any of it and was secretly proud of himself for this little victory.

“My name is Marian,” said the wispy-haired woman suddenly. It broke the silence in such an abrupt way that Tommy almost yelped and dropped the spoon inside his mug with a loud clatter.

The woman smiled again.

“Don’t be afraid of me, I’m not going to put a spell on you. I think your name is Tommy, is that so?”

Tommy gave an almost imperceptible nod, then immediately scolded himself in his mind for being such a coward and coughed to clarify his voice. “Yes, I’m Tommy,” he admitted bashfully.

“I know you’re not entirely like your friends, even if you look a lot like them,” the old woman continued. “For example, you have never rung my doorbell or broken a window of mine and that is definitely commendable. However, I want to ask you something.”

Tommy took a gulp of his tea and realized too late that it was still way too hot for such a big mouthful. Trying to suppress a grimace of pain, he looked at the woman next to him and motioned her to go on.

“Do you think I am a witch?” Marian asked him suddenly.

“Err… uh… I… that is… I don’t know… I think so,” spluttered Tommy. “Are you?”

She smiled again. It was a funny smile, as it made her look a lot younger than she was. Tommy reached for a biscuit and decided to concentrate on eating it in order to appear less nervous than he really was. Everything was silent for a while, except for the ticking of a large grandfather clock on the wall. Tick tock. Tick tock.

“Well, what do you think?” came Marian’s voice but something about it seemed to be a bit… different. Tommy raised his eyes and dropped his biscuit on the floor. The smile that had made her look younger before was no illusion – she really WAS younger! Her hair was thicker and darker, though still light and straw-coloured. Hundreds of cobweb-like wrinkles on her face had been smoothed out, so that only a few remained. Her posture had straightened and her eyes seemed to sparkle with suppressed mirth.

“Oh my God, you ARE!!!” was all Tommy could manage to utter on the first attempt. “But how… why… how did you do that?”

“That doesn’t matter right now. What’s important is that you thought me an old hag and yet you were brave enough to come inside my house, alone, not knowing whether I have gingerbread tapestry or not!” She was still obviously amused at his confusion but Tommy did not share the sentiment. He felt deeply embarrassed instead.

“I’m not brave… I never thought it was funny to bully you the way my friends did but I never said anything to them about it and I’m really sorry!” He hung his head in shame, as he felt the burning blush creep across his cheeks and forehead. The feeling was genuine, he had never been more sorry about anything in his short life, not even the time when he accidentally broke his little sister’s favourite model airplane and she cried inconsolably for two hours straight.

Marian had stopped smirking and turned serious. “Apology accepted,” she said in a sober tone. “However, as luck would have it, I can see inside people’s hearts sometimes. I can peek inside yours as well and it seems like you’re in need of more company, especially now that your two best buddies have been locked up until further notice from their parents. In due time I might even teach you a bit of what I know about the world and people therein but for now – would you like to come visit me once a week to drink tea and have a chat? You can ask me about anything and I shall see if I can answer as truthfully as I can. I like you, Tommy, you’re a good boy.”

Tommy felt the need to secretly pinch himself on the thigh. This was bordering on the absurd! Why would she want to hang out with him, a ten-year-old kid? And why did she choose to look like an old hag if she could change her appearance at will? He decided to ask the latter out loud.

Marian smiled that dazzling smile once again. “That one is easy,” she said. “I can only change the way you see me, not the way I am. Take my hand!”

Tommy was hesitant at first but still decided to go through with the experiment and touched her outstretched hand. What seemed to his eyes like slightly plump, normal fingers, were bony and dry to his actual touch.

“Wooooow,” was all he could press out.

“As for your other question that you did not mention aloud – I don’t have many people left who care much about my presence and since you currently seem to have a bit more free time due to your mates being grounded, I thought we might see if we could become friends. So, what do you think?”

Tommy thought about it for a moment and came to the conclusion that he had nothing to lose but a lot to win. He nodded fervently, albeit a bit sheepishly. “Will you teach me how to look some other age than the one I really am?” he asked self-consciously, not wanting to come off as impolite.

Marian laughed again. “No, not just yet! However, I have a neat little toy I can give to you as a present. Come back in a week and tell me what do you think makes it work!” With these words she placed something small in his hand. He had to raise it close to his face to realize what it was. When he finally did, he was glad that he was sitting on the couch as he almost dropped the tiny thing out of shock. It looked like some kind of intricate clockwork mechanism, he once had seen a movie about that sort of stuff… only it couldn’t have been! There was a tiny dotted egg, out of which came a bald little chicken who grew in size rapidly and also spurted fiery feathers outside its skin. When it was looking the most magnificent and majestic, it suddenly burst into flames and the ashes were compressed into a tiny dotted egg.

Tommy then looked Marian straight in the eye and stated boldly and loudly: “I think you’re an awesome witch!!! I’ll be back next Wednesday with little George here!” With that he gestured to the ever-changing phoenix in his hand.

Marian smiled her mysterious smile again: “Thank you, Tommy. I’ll see you in a week then. Oh, and George, as you named him, likes warm places but don’t leave him too near to anything flammable, please.”

With these words she showed Tommy out of the house and locked the door behind him. Tommy looked back over his shoulder, then at his palm where George was doing his cycle trick, shrugged and decided to go home. In a week’s time he’ll have lots and lots of questions and then he’ll see how much witches really know!

Categories: i maed dis, yay | 2 Comments

Mmmmm as in ‘massage’

To give pleasure to a single heart by a single act is better than a thousand heads bowing in prayer.

Mahatma Gandhi


Yesterday evening was sooooooooooooooooooo nice :) Since my back has been aching for 3 weeks now, I finally agreed to go visit a teammate of mine who has been trying to convince me for ages that I should let him give me a massage. He’s studying to become a masseur, so he knows what he’s doing with his hands. Although I’m somewhat reluctant when it comes to letting random people touch me, I was also getting really fed up with this pain in my lower back. And, well, he’s not THAT random any more, as we’ve been playing D&D on a weekly basis at his place since late autumn.

It was so relaxing, I almost drooled all over his mat :D The lights were off, soothing music was playing quietly and he’d lit a huge scented candle as well. All I had to do was lie there and let him jiggle and press and pat me from head to toe for an hour or so. It felt incredibly awesome to go completely limp and give away all control over my body and limbs. Even my mind was drained of all cognitive activity, so the brain was rested as well. I’m still surprised I didn’t simply fall asleep right there :)

I think we need to do this again some time soon.


Categories: borrowed feathers, yay | Leave a comment

Real estate is not what it’s cracked up to be

Blessed is he who expects nothing, for he shall never be disappointed.

Alexander Pope


Why is it always so that just when you’re getting your life in order, someone politely taps you on your shoulder and when you turn your head to see who it is, they slyly piss on your foot while you’re looking the other way?

Long story short, the neighbours (or at least one neighbour, who may or may not have tried to set the others against me) of my hometown flat are suddenly extremely pissed off at me that I still don’t live in my apartment nor renovate it and sent me a rude and threatening e-mail. I’m pretty sure this has to do with a certain news article that stirred passions around here a few weeks ago, as to my knowledge nobody gave a damn until now. Since several people there have my phone number, I stupidly assumed that someone would, you know, give me a call if something was bothering them. Apparently I was gravely mistaken and instead received an e-mail under which all the people in the house had ‘signed’ and which demanded that I immediately take action regarding the apartment. Else they’ll sue me and maybe even force me to sell it against my will because they are convinced that my carelessness will cause the house to fall to pieces.

What the fuck, people? What happened to saying ‘yo, there’s an issue, what are you going to do about it?’ first, like normal grown-ups do? My apartment is insulated well enough so that the temperature does not drop below 0 in any weather and there is absolutely no water usage there, which means no moisture either. Every time I’ve been there it’s been as dry as in a pyramid, for fuck’s sake. And as for the heating – Jesus Christ on a tricycle, people! – it’s March! Where were you in November, or even January?


Apparently there have been no meetings of the apartment owners’ association – or so I was told – but amazingly they all decided to contact me all at once, channeling their thoughts through this one individual. If it turns out that I was lied to and there actually have been meetings in the past few years or so, I will be extremely miffed, as that would mean I have all the obligations but no rights, since I have not been informed of any such gatherings at all.

When I replied to that e-mail and asked why was I being threatened with court from square one, the response was ‘this is not a threat, this is a warning!’ Well, I don’t know – statements that end in ‘…OR ELSE!!!’ pretty much classify as threats in my book. I am yet to receive a reply to my last e-mail in which I explained why this sort of approach is not very profitable if the goal is to find a solution to the problem and wanted to know what it exactly is that they want me to do then, as this was not pointed out neither before nor after the ‘warning’. Unfortunately I only have this one person’s e-mail address but I asked her to share my latest response with the whole house. I’ll wait for a while and then I’ll probably call my next door neighbour and ask about his point of view on the matter.

Yes, RDN – if you’re reading this you’re welcome to happily go ‘I TOLD YOU SO’ all over the place.

Oh well. I was planning to sell my car and use the $$$ as a down-payment for a new one but it seems that I’m going to have to use it for renovation purposes instead and learn to live without four wheels again for a while. To be honest, I can’t carry on like this forever – owning two flats I can’t live in and paying rent for the third, so maybe this was a kick I sort of needed… but there are the friendlier kind of kicks and then there are kicks in the teeth.

Well, my New Year’s Winamp prediction *did* describe my relations with neighbours this year with ‘Count to 6 and Die’. *le sigh*

And for some reason I’ve been playing this song over and over and over tonight:

They say that I’m a clown
making too much dirty sound
they say there is no place
for little monkey in this town
nobody like to be
in my place instead of me
’cause nobody go crazy
when I banging on my boogie

Categories: arrrgh, I am disappoint, moving pictures | Leave a comment


The Wise-Woman spake:
14. “Home ride, Othin, | be ever proud;
For no one of men | shall seek me more
Till Loki wanders | loose from his bonds,
And to the last strife | the destroyers come.”

Baldr’s Dreams


I saw a strange and action-packed dream last night. I can’t remember it very vividly any more but I was with a few rebellious guys. We attacked some larger group late at night and then fled to an abandoned house afterwards. We were, however, chased and some of the avengers followed us there but we killed them one by one. It was clear that this was just the beginning of the conflict and the next day forces would be gathered and shit would hit the fan for real. In the house where we took refuge there was also a wolf and a shape-changing snake. The wolf was clearly used to these guys and acted calmly around us, almost like a dog who just doesn’t care much about what’s happening around it. I was anxious that we would be killed before morning but I was assured that this won’t happen and we all went to sleep.

Which meant I woke up in my bed and soon afterwards clicked on a link in my FB news feed, namely this one:

As far as the Vikings are concerned, the world will end on Saturday.

According to Norse mythology, Ragnarok or “Doom of the Gods,” has been brewing for about 100 days. On Saturday, all the gods including Thor, Loki, Odin, Freyr and Hermóðr, will fight in an epic battle. Odin will be killed by Fenrir and the other creator gods will fall.

“The legend of Ragnarok tells of the fall of the Norse gods and the birth of a new world, but, of course, if we wake up to the same old world on the morning of Sunday, February 23, we’ll have no regrets – our celebrations also mark Jolablot, the Viking feast to hail the coming of spring, which to many people is the annual rebirth of the world!” Danielle Daglan, director of the 30th JORVIK Viking Festival to celebrate the apocalyptic event, told the Yorkshire Post in England.

Legend has it Ragnarok will begin when Fenrir the wolf breaks free from his imprisonment. This sets off a chain reaction of events where Jormungand the Midgard snake rises from the sea and a wolf eats the sun. This will culminate in a titanic battle among the gods, men and all the races of the nine worlds.

I must say I was a bit shocked, seeing how well it all fit together :D Clearly I was with Loki and the gang (if you mention anything about these atrocities called the Thor movies, I will cut you), I just didn’t know it at the time.

Categories: through the looking-glass | Leave a comment

New horizons ahoy!

Let the past hold on to itself and let the present move forward into the future.

“Mostly Harmless”, Douglas Adams


Tomorrow is going to be an interesting day :) On Friday I waved good-bye to my old job and had a few drinks with the cool kids in the evening, despite being in ailing health (hardcore sneezing and coughing) but hey, mama needed booze!

I’m getting better already and can’t wait to start with the new job, which is going to look a little something like this:

no idea

I got a brand new work laptop with ridiculous battery life (Lenovo ThinkPad T440s) and could also get a work phone if I wanted to. Am still not sure whether or not to apply for it… on the one hand – free awesome new gadget :D On the other hand there’s the obligation to pick it up at all hours, although the possibility that I will actually be needed outside office hours is quite small. Man, I can’t help but get excited when it comes to getting my greedy little fingers on new techy stuff :3

On Friday I’ll be taking part in the team event with the new guys. It’s going to be me and 18 dudes in a spa :D There’s two more persons of the female persuasion in the department besides me but they won’t be attending. Oh well, seeing as all the rooms that have been booked are twin rooms, it probably means I’ll get one all by myself :) I was kind of hoping we’d be going to shoot stuff but I guess a spa with bowling tracks will have to do… :P I hope we’ll have enough sober time there so I can go and hang around in the pools, would not mind splashing around in warm water in the slightest.

The second half of next week is going to be quite hardcore, actually. My liver is weeping already in the certain knowledge that it will have a tough job to get through. On Thursday we’ll go out and celebrate Miss R.’s birthday with just a couple of closest friends, Friday is the team event day and when we get back on Saturday some time in the afternoon, I’ll have a few hours to make myself look pretty and then go to UG to celebrate the double birthday party of Arcanar & Miss R.

And then Sunday morning will arrive, as heavy as original sin, when I have to be at my volunteer organisation’s compulsory yearly meeting at 11AM and read out the audit which I still haven’t got because some people think it better to just disappear instead of letting me know they have trouble getting their part done in time. *le sigh*

Ah well, busy times ahead :) We like busy times.

Categories: borrowed feathers, toiling | Leave a comment

Sometimes it sucks to be attractive

“I ask people why they have deer heads on their walls. They always say because it’s such a beautiful animal. There you go. I think my mother is attractive, but I have photographs of her.”

Ellen DeGeneres


I had a rather creepy experience today when I was going to the centre and thought I’d take the bus. Seeing as I mostly either drive or walk due to my strange working hours, I haven’t bought a 30-day card yet (probably will get one in February, once I jump on the Mo-Fri bandwagon). Anyway – there I was, smiling at the bus driver and asking for a ticket. He was not exactly ugly but definitely nearing or already in his 60s.

The dude took one look at me and his face lit up while he instantly switched into perv mode. He proceeded to bombard me in an oily voice with statements like “Do you have a tongue piercing as well? That lip ring looks awesome!” I’d have shrugged and laughed it off if he had just left it at that but no, he deliberately kept fumbling with the tickets in his hand and talking to me non-stop about how pretty I am with all those piercings and whatnot. I didn’t even register half of what he was saying, as he caught me totally off-guard but in the end, when I’d been waiting for my ticket for over a minute (maybe even two, it definitely did seem like an eternity), I finally glared at him and said quite loudly “Ha ha, can I get my ticket now, please?”

He then simply had to give it to me because the situation was getting really awkward and he was running late on the schedule. And yet he managed to squeeze in one last remark: “You’re quite the wild kitty, aren’t you?” *wink-wink*


All I wanted was a goddamn €1 bus ticket :( What I didn’t bargain for was an unshakeable urge to shower because he was just so… sleazy. It’s none of his goddamn business if I have a tongue piercing or 5 nipple rings on either boob! If I had an euro for every time I have been asked by men I don’t know whether I have any more piercings in other places than my visible face area, I could go to a bar and get shitfaced. Only I wouldn’t, because you see, there would probably be yet another guy who’d feel the need to approach me with the exact same question.

It’s like women with visible tattoos and piercings are automatically space aliens or sluts who deserve no respect. Not saying that all guys have this attitude, thankfully there are still some normal ones left in the world, but those who do… hooo boy. Technically, the whole do-you-have-a-tongue-piercing-as-well-seeing-as-you-have-a-lip-ring thing wouldn’t be so bad, if only it didn’t end with “Will you suck my dick then?” so often. But it does.


Oh well, on a lighter note – I stumbled across a meme today:


This was my result:

Robin had waited ten minutes, to make sure Strike was not about to come back, before making several delightful phone calls from her mobile phone.
– ‘The Cuckoo’s Calling’ by Robert Galbraith (J. K. Rowling)


Categories: arrrgh, borrowed feathers, memes are good for you | Leave a comment

Create a free website or blog at The Adventure Journal Theme.


Get every new post delivered to your Inbox.