Two Tidbits.

1. Boothlife will be reduced to two days a week every other week. The stares, the "You bitch!"(-es), the stream of empty faces and blank stares, the forced smiles, the unwanted attention, the lonely taxi-drivers who think that standing as often and close to the window as possible makes you their pretend-girlfreind, the lonely-everyone-elses, the loonies and the hours have finally gotten to me. Bon Jour, Au revoir, and thank you for the fishy stuff.

2.Andreas. Whose love makes me want to learn to walk pretty.



The love just never stops oozing.

I need another Roommate like I need teeth in my ass

I had been planning on leaving July blank for the sole satisfaction of saying "Whoa, where did July go", but no.

So here I am, in the new apartment.

Finally, finally, living the bachelorette dream, except I'm not, because I've gone and fallen madly and completely in love. In a big way. In a best freind. The Jesus walked on water, no reason that The Jenny wouldn't get some. So here I am, snapped juust beyond your reach.

Well don't you feel sorry now.

Well. Considering the fact that anyone reading this blog is probably a freind, and that all my freinds are two steps ahead of me and halfway down the aisle, my leaving the life of the simple singleton will not be mourned. Instead, rejoice! And send gifts of food and money if necessary. Preferably food. And money.

Having lived on my own for two whole days has brought with it some new enlightenment:

The Toilet.

You can take the biggest dump known to man without closing the bathroom door. You DO NOT DO THIS when you only have 24 cubic meters in which to breathe.

The Banana Boxes.

Banana boxes multiply while you're not looking. If you acquire two before moving, by the time you've moved they would have multiplied into many many many, and be filled with many shameful and needless things. Stephen King books to feed an army. Dog figurines that stare at you with their doleful glassy eyes from the coffee table. And Doilies! Always these doilies. You may start to meticulously unpack these boxes putting books up on their rightful shelves and doilies in the bin, but no matter how quickly you do this, banana boxes will sneak up behind you and barf their contents unto your bed before sneaking off into oblivion. And suddenly you're sitting there, struggling for breath in a sea of junk asking your god or buddha "Why doilie why?!", but will receive no reply.

The Gloating.

Your biggest source of comic releif is gone and currently residing in Östermalm, in a fritter box of an apartment. Har Har Har. And he's got no internet connection, and a toilet that you could drink out of if you happened to stumble across it in some Namibian desert and you had half an hour left to live anyway and you've bought into this whole circle of life crap and it's made you want to offer the vultures something juicy as opposed to, say jerky. How delightful. The Dan continues to amuse even beyond his uptake into High Society.

The Remote Control.

When moving, make sure to get your remote control with you. These blasted shows where you have to unscramble four letter words to get your shot at winning ten thousand (if you can find the three hidden logos) are the only thing that air on the one channel that your tv spits out without control. No, it doesn't matter which channel that one channel happens to be. Ring-in Shows targetting the people with the least money and the most hope & shows about how to improve your thighs so that you can kick as ka-pow high as Chuck Norris who, as far as I'm concerned, does better as the before picture in any given physical modification program.

The Flashing

Is not so much as fun in the new apartment as in the old one. While in a three roomer, you have three separate sets of windows in front of which to streak, three families who have to crash course their kids on the matter of birds bees and not to look into the apartment across the street while the lights are on. Now you only have one window, because you only have a one-roomer. Plus you can only run so far, before having to run back to the othe end of the narrow hall of a room again. Back and forth, back and forth, same lady with rollers gaping at you, same lady with rollers gaping at you. The novelty wears off fast. Real fast, till you collapse into a little pile of defeat. Or till lady with rollers calls pest control. I haven't examined the latter yet, but in time, my pets, in time.