Monday, 31 May 2010
Anyway. This post will be much more positive, perhaps even erring on the gushy. After all the cosmic shit hit the astronomical fan, I complained to my boyfriend who was far more understanding than anyone could have expected him to be at midnight and far more able to understand snotty wails than I had previously thought. This isn't the only thing I like about him though. I made a list, you guys.
1. He goes to have coffee with me even though we have a machine that perculates coffee at home just because I feel the need to have foamed milk in my coffee. Thanks IKEA. Everytime we go to a cafe he makes sure to check he doesn't like the coffee I order. My coffee is usually a vanilla or toffee flavoured monstrosity of foam with a shot of espresso in it. It's been pretty much that way the whole time he's known me, but he keeps checking. He still doesn't like it. But he always comes to the cafe with me.
2. He gives me piggy backs, which is no small feat. I'm neither puny nor frail. Nor am I an easy burden to bear, because I find the whole experience hilarious and start giggling which doesn't make things any easier. An important thing to remember is that I can't see myself being carried, but the mental image is fucking hilarious because I can imagine him tottering around without a destination and me just cackling about on his back. Then I fail at laughing and snort, which makes me laugh harder until all I can do is flail until he puts me down.
3. Once he pretended to be a sealion just for kicks.I think I was sad at the time and the idea was to cheer me up but I'm pretty sure it was fun for him, too. In case you're retarded and don't know what a sealion looks like, or otherwise just generally need help in visualising a sealion (they look like seals and otters and shit) here's a picture. You're welcome.
4. Lastly.. well not lastly, I obviously like more than 4 things about him because I can think of 4 things I like about tortoises and chicken wings and stuff and he scores considerably higher than those, but if I told you about all the amazing sex you'd just be jealous and I'd feel mean and limbs are hard to draw. Anyway, shortly after my operation I was lounging on a sofa watching Stargate and eating a Brunnberg suukko which looks like this, when into my line of vision came something previously unknown to mankind.
He had fashioned something out of the wrapper of the suukko and used his bellybutton as a.. stand for it. The way it slowly but determinedly obscured my view of the television, and the ecstatic jubiliation with which Jukka announced what he'd done cracked me up laughing. I fell about on the floor like a carp asphyxiating (I mentioned previously I'm not good with laughter). People always feel the need to ask me why I'm doing that while I'm doing it and it's not a good time for me to answer. But when I'd recovered the conversation went like this:
Jukka: Look, look what I did.
Me: Why would you do that, though?
Jukka: But look, it's cool!
Me: Undeniably. And I can understand the need for you to sculpt things out of the wrappers, but why did you feel the need to put it THERE, in your bellybutton.
Jukka: Well I don't know, it just.. fit there.
It's like he only just found out that he has a bellybutton and his train of thought went from "whoa hey, there's this thing here...I CAN USE IT AS STORAGE AND AS A STAND FOR REFUSE ART".
But at least I didn't expect him to do it. Please don't hate me for this post. I like you.
Sunday, 30 May 2010
Sometimes the amount of sense in a situation is ludicrous in comparison to the amount of sense you should be getting. This happens a lot at the post office. Three times in 4 years I've gone to the post office, spoken Finnish to the clerk there and then suddenly out of nowhere they smack me in the face with their Finglish. Like, ohai, were you here for the last 5 minutes while I spoke fluent Finnish to you? Oh I get it. You saw my name, didn't you? That's okay, I know my name looks foreign. You saw my name and it started an override in your brain because no-one with that foreign a name could speak Finnish. Oh, hey, you aren't responding to the fact that I'm still speaking to you in Finnish. You can stop now. Please stop. This is embarassi- HEY LADY I UNDERSTAND FINNISH, I shout, in English. Now everyone in the post office is staring at me insisting in English that I can speak Finnish. Convincing. GG.
One thing that always gets me is the fact that people can be utter shits to you and then act put out when you finally get the nerve to stick up for yourself. Especially when you've just been sailing along minding your own business and then wow, someone is MEAN. What the fuck did I do to you? I apparently got the right end of the stick while you are clinging desperately to the wrong one. In such situations I always try to process in my mind what happened, what could be perceived as so heinous that it warrants the shit I'm getting from this one person and is it actually my fault and dear god, how do I make it go away, do I kill it with fire?
So I take a deep breath, try to remember self-defence moves just in case and say "Hey, you know, I reserved this time on the list for the washing machine and you've stolen it and now I have to go to work Monday in shitty clothes because you stole my turn." and the laundry THIEF is all up in my face about it not being my turn. Laundry Thief is ANGRY because I came to do my laundry at the time that I reserved. But I have the LIST. So now Laundry Thief has to admit that she is either illiterate, too stupid to read the list, too stupid to figure out how the list works or simply an arsehole for stealing someone else's laundry turn. None of these are favourable for Laundry Thief. Surely justice, fear of humiliation, the list, and possibly even God are on my side!
Nope. The machine is already running. I'm going to work smelly. God and justice are AWOL. Laundry Thief waltzes off. I briefly consider stopping the machine and pissing in her laundry but I appear to lack the balls. Seriously Laundry Thief, does it not bother you that I now (admittedly quietly) dislike you due to your having seriously inconvenience me? Do you not care that you are horrible? Don't you feel bad? This is unjust! I am aggrieved!
It wouldn't be so bad if that was the end of it but noooo, you spend the next few hours thinking of all the really witty, crushing insults and remarks you COULD have said.
But you didn't. You politely asked the person if they could possibly stop being such a twatface. You desperately want the situation to happen again so you can use the brilliant insult you've thought of, but that's never going to happen in a way that you turn out looking suave and off-the-cuff. You're going to think of a blinder of an insult when no-one else is around to appreciate it and save it until the minute the person comes into vision which will probably be far more socially embarassing for you than for the target of your frustration. This situation is also accompanied by selective amnesia on part of the annoying person who now, mysteriously, cannot recall any of the event which has aggrieved you.
Sadly I suspect that this is like when someone is wrong on the internet. You're always outnumbered and there's bugger all you can do.
On a lighter note, I have a new contraption on my leg now. It's a splint rather than a roboleg. Here's a picture.
THERE ARE NO SUPERPOWERS IN THIS? It's like the tamest, cutest splint anyone ever invented. It even has my favourite colour in it. I need help with this one.
Monday, 24 May 2010
Guess we did.
Anyway, I now face a dilemma. To be more precise I face dilemma v.2.0 because I found out a long time ago that without belonging to some sort of online social network none of my English friends will talk to me. You could say I brought this upon myself because it was me who decided to bollock off to Finland, but whatever. At first I was reluctant to join facebook. Myspace was okay, but all my friends seemed to do on facebook was send me eggs that hatched garden gnomes. Now they ask me for bricks because they're building a farm or something but the point is still the same. I don't need your bricks or your garden gnomes, just say HI or something. That was dilemma #1.
Dilemma v2.0 is this:
Facebook went all creepy and nosey on us and went trigger happy with the linking and people can probably find out about other people's haemorrhoids through the information it passes on about you. Luckily I don't feel the same urge to broadcast my sex life or bitch about people on facebook as some of my facebook friends, although detailed pictures and updates on gruesome leg-wounds are a must. But I'd still kind of like to quit facebook. But if I do this I'm pretty sure that out of most of my English friends perhaps two will still keep in touch with me outside of facebook. And that's okay, I know that the people I went to school with are now more like ”Ohai I went to school with you lol” acquantainces but actually giving them up via giving up facebook makes it official that same way that changing your facebook status from married to single has more social impact (the e-whoomph factor) than signing divorce papers.
So what to do, give up evilprivacyinfiltrating facebook or see if my ego can take realising how many of my friends are serious about keeping in contact?
And another thing. Imagine that I am waggling my finger as I write this. Yes you, people who bullied me in primary school. What do you try to add me as a friend for you silly beggars? Maybe this escaped you when you were young but picking on someone for ages doesn't encourage them to friend you years later. Besides, I still think you're a nobhead. And zen :)
Friday, 21 May 2010
Broarr. lol. Merr. Jukka and I tried desperately to think what new abbreviations or internet slang my mum had picked up but no, we couldn’t find anything that would explain broarr lol merr. Sometimes parents use the wrong phrase like instead of maximising a window they ”call something up”, but this was obviously way beyond semantics. We tried saying it aloud, but that didn’t help either. We read it left-to-right, right-to-left and upside down. We googled it. How could it be that my mother had found something on the internet that I hadn’t? I’m a goatse, tubgirl, 2 girls 1 cup and lemon party veteran. I’ve seen blue waffle. (Mother, if you are reading leave those sites alone. Or show them to Brian. He might approve.)
Reluctantly I typed back.
-Just some noises I've learnt on facebook.
And that is why I've compiled some reasons the internet is dangerous.
1) There is always at least one person on the internet who is WRONG. Moreover, this person doesn't know or CARE that they are wrong and you thus feel compelled to correct or enlighten their retarded world view, no matter how much you keep telling yourself it's the internet and probably a troll and that you can just rise above it, be mature and turn the computer off. You know you can't. They have formed a dangerous (and WRONG) opinion of their own and it must be quashed.
2a) It maeks yu iliterit imediatly frm da point u get on line but lol u dun care
This phenomenon is both outrageous and worrying. People I know who have degrees r ritin liek dis. It seems that the internet dissolves the part of the brain that secretes caring about spelling hormones, and you're probably next. Perhaps in some social circles it's cool to replace th with d. Think how you'd sound if you used d instead of th in real life speech. Jamaican. And then Jamaicans would want to beat you up because you're so pasty you reflect UV.
2b) There are (native English speaking) people on the internet who think they're good at English and possess unbridled hatred towards people who "don't know there spelling or grammer". They are self-proclaimed "grammer nazys" and make groups on facebook like "learn to spell, your so stupid". Witty irony, you say? No, they're serious. The Alot (www.hyperboleandahalf.blogspot.com) helps in these situations, but it still doesn't comfort me in knowing that there are so many people who don't know or care about the difference between they're, there and their. Sniff :(
3) O hai I herd u liek internet memes so I explained an internet meme in internet meme speak. If you start lolspeaking irl then according to ceiling cat it can lead to epic fail and social exclusion. I personally think it's an epic win.
4) Think of the weirdest, most disgusting thing you can. Got one? There’s a sexual fetish based on it and the internet contains at least 3 message boards or forums about said fetish. Isn’t it great that people interested in peeing and vomiting on each other can find each other? No, seriously. The easier they find each other the less likely they are to find me.
5) Got a headache? You might just be tired, but it’s probably a brain tumour. Lucky for you, the internet undoubtedly knows about at least one person whose head dissolved after a slight pain around the temples and has mastered the ability to turn your curiosity into paranoia. Sneezed lately? H1N1. I’ve even heard something about EBOLA STOMACH AIDS (hyperboleandahalf again). The internet also knows the minute you’ve thought about looking up your symptoms, making it impossible to resist. Lupus, here I come.
You know what? Once you’ve decided on the disease of your choice, there’s always Google image search so you can find high quality, extremely detailed images of whatever gross affliction you’ve self-diagnosed yourself with. Yay!
We're now trying to find a use for broarr lol merr, but this is still in the experimental stages. Suggestions are welcome.
Thursday, 13 May 2010
It would be nice and relevant to my interests to get my master's to an acceptable stage by August because then I could spend Autumn fiddling with it and graduate by December. Which means I would have finished my degree in an acceptable amount of time which means 30% of my student loan repayments get chopped off and I only have to pay a few thousand euros back instead of many thousands.
I can has?
Yaaay I can start a new life not living in 10 metres squared of space and having to put up with an annoying roommate and I can live independently and do what I want when I want however naked I want. But then adult life walks up and smacks me in the face:
I am planning on moving myself from Helsinki to Kuopio, which means that I can't just carry boxes next door, I need a VAN. Those are bigger than cars and I can't drive. I need someone to drive. Okay, that's fine, I'll bribe my best friend. I guess I have to live somewhere in Kuopio, I need an apartment. Owning an apartment requires that I pay rent. Although in Finland it's legal to pay rent with sex provided it's agreed upon in the contract, I think I'll go with the money option. So I need a job. I want to work as a translator, particularly as a freelancer, but how do I know how much money I'll get every month? What if I don't get enough money and I get booted out of my flat after 2 months? Okay, so I need to be an authorised translator, that will help. But that exam costs 200+ euros and is apparently HARD and it still costs all that money even if I don't pass. By this point I've gone so deep into a kind of trance I have yet to notice that suddenly my food, travel and medical bills will rocket. It seems to me that independence is not worth all of this stress and it hits me that people who tell you to "grow up" are actually just sadistic bastards. THANKS GUYS. So I employ my backup plan. I'm going to buy a dog, because obviously that will immediately erase half of my stress, even if the problems don't go away. Obviously. I'm not joking. Dogs are the business.
But the dog can't pay the bills or translate for me so I just stop thinking about what a GREAT LIFE THAT IS GOING TO BE and concentrate on living here and now.
Speaking of which, I have noticed that my apartment is a fascinating bioexperiment. One of my roommates is apparently content with living among old food and mess on a larger scale than my other roommate and myself. See below:
Ex. 1 Ever wondered what happens to carbonated orange drink when you leave it for months?
That's what happens. I wonder what it tastes like. Did all the flavour go to the bottom as well, or is that just colouring? If I open it, and it fizzes, will the colour diffuse so it will look normal?
This one is interesting on two levels. The first is that what happens to eggs when they go bad in their shells? Do they smell? Do they crumble and does smelly yolk come out? The best before date on those eggs is 17.03 and it's now 13.5. Could you still eat those? The second level is that WHEN will my roommate realise that they are there, and that they are old? Will she ever? Who will throw them out?
I'm not throwing them out, by the way. Because I'm a scientist.
There is a pile of stuff in our living room which probably conceals a hidden doorway to Narnia or something, but I've noticed that it goes through a cycle, kind of like magma under the earth's surface. New (as in so old it came full circle) stuff sometimes appears on the surface. Today this caught my eye:
There will probably be more updates on this one.
Sunday, 2 May 2010
When I got there, three other girls were in the ward and I was told I'd be operated on about 12, during which time I had to listen to girl #2 talk about every operation, medical procedure and illness that she's had. She seemed to have had the misfortune to contract EVERY DISEASE IN THE WORLD and then had it misdiagnosed or made worse by every medical professional there is.
In contrast to what I thought, having known myself for a good 22 years now, I was far less a wimp than I expected. I wasn't nervous before I got my pre-operation medication and definitely wasn't nervous afterwards. I've never felt so comfortable and relaxed as I was just before I was about to have my leg mauled. I had an injection in my spine and then they let me watch the operation on a screen. For some reason the insides of my ankle reminded me of an underwater nature documentary. No longer will I believe that I have "torn a ligament" or "sprained an ankle" because now I know the truth: something has disturbed the seaweed.
Halfway through the operation the doctor decided he needed to reattach a ligament as well as just removing two pieces of bone from my ankle. It was originally thought I had one piece of bone in my ankle, but it appears that the first one had brought a friend. This means that I have to wear this contraption on my leg for a month.
Unfortunately, although it looks cool, the AIRCAST is disappointingly boring. I have to increase or decrease the pressure with a small pump depending on how swollen my ankle is. To make this seem more fun I have decided to think of the robotic terminator leg as a turboleg. The pressure gauges on the side are not actually pressure gauges, but JETPACKS.
Yes, that is a missile that it fired. And the skull and crossbones float above it constantly. It is so hardcore at helping to heal my leg that every now and again it bursts into flames just to prove it. Of course, it doesn't do this all the time, because people would get jealous and try to develop their own orthopaedic ailments just to get their own turboleg.
In actual fact I'm hobbling around my apartment looking like this:
Notice the smile, which is a result of codeine (and my shirt), and the hair, which is a result of the "I can't leave my invalid-unfriendly apartment so why should I even bother" mindset. As you can see, the iodine from the first picture has spread from my left leg to my pyjama trousers. It's also on the top of my right foot, the palm of my hand and all over my bathroom floor. It spreads to everything but simultaneously refuses to leave my left leg. And it looks like pee. Every time I try to shower or get rid of it, it looks like I had an accident on the floor. I have now changed tactics and am planning to wait for it to slough off with the rest of my skin. Yum.
So here I am at home with four weeks' sick leave and dangerous stairs to conquer if I want to go outside. This means I need to find something to do. Sure at the moment I have Jukka as my butler but he has to leave tomorrow and I need to find something to do with my time. I could write my master's, but I think there's an unwritten rule that you aren't allowed to do ANYTHING useful on your sick leave. Suggestions? :)