Just give me the string, godammit.

Two years after I’m done paying off housing loans, I get a letter from the people who billed me saying that I paid them ten crowns too much. Which is nice, more money for me. Sure, it’s only ten crowns, but say what.

The problem here is that to cash my glorious check that is sure to place me in financial heaven for about five minutes (burger, no cheese, Mc Donald’s), I need to pick it up at a place that charges thirty crowns per cheque. This is not what gets to me though. What gets to me is that an institution sends me three pages filled with small print to tell me that "you are getting money, but wait, no, you can’t get them."

Takes you back to the days when some kid tied a twenty to a piece of string, left it lying on the street for you to find, then pulled it back into the bushes where he’s hiding. Except this time you can’t beat the kid up and take what’s rightfully yours, string inclusive. The best you can do is blog about it. And that’s sad.

I heart me.

Happy Valentines to all I know and love, to all people I like, and to all people that I like not so much since meanies deserve a bit of happiness as well. For the latter, let happiness come plentiful, and in many forms, like the clamydia.

But -in the tradition of Andreas and Jenny, Andreas bought my valentines day present two weeks ahead and managed to keep it a secret about an hour before he surprised me with it. I on the other hand, decided not to fall into this trap and thought it better to wait till now buy him his valentine's day present, but seeing as how I have no money, he's not really getting anything. But the way I see it, I'm the gift that keeps on giving, so I'm not feeling too bad about it.

Happy Valentines.