How to tell someone that you bled vagina blood on their chair and also stabbed it with a pair of scissors. Twice.

Since you last heard from me, I have moved to a small town outside of London, where I will stay for the next five months while studying at a university in the very central centre of London itself. It has all been very hectic and elating and time consuming and awesome and confusing - which does not at all explain how I have also, since you last heard from me, done everything mentioned in the title above.

I could, of course, tell you what happened and how I dealt with it and how that really only made it worse - but instead I will tell you how I told my hostess, whose chair was the victim in this horrible crime. 

I less than proudly present:

This handwritten modern day fairy tale took up three whole pages - strategically placed somewhere they would certainly be found, but not until I was well out of the house. 

This is the story as my hostess read it, directly transcribed to you:

The thing about the chair

- A true story

So. Once upon a time, a red haired girl traveled out into the world. It was a bit daunting, perhaps, but not as scary as that, because the girl had been taken in by the nice lady and her nice son.

                                          Nice Lady - Son - Weird tall man who also sometimes lived there

No sooner had the girl settled in the house than the nice lady came knocking on the door.

“Oh dear,” said the nice lady when she saw the girl sitting at her desk. “That simply will not do!”

Luckily, the nice lady was a woman of swift action, so she immediately switched the girl’s stool with a nice, green chair. The chair.

The girl really liked the chair, and while she would never say so to the nice lady, she did sit in a much better position now.

But alas! No real fairy tale has a happy ending, and thus it came to pass that the girl ruined the chair so generously bestowed upon her. See, the girl was a clumsy one, and as she was shaving in the shower, her fingers slipped and the razor cut into her skin.

Blood was dripping, but the girl felt no fear, for she knew that it would soon stop. She finished her shower, dried herself and put on her soft new pajamas pants. Not only clumsy, but also prone to early dementia, the girl had already forgotten about the wound she got in the battle of the Unruly Hair. Humming happily, she went to her room and sat down by the desk.

No no.

She sat down. By the desk.

When exactly it happened, the girl could not say. But when next she glanced at the chair, two drops of blood were staring back at her, like snake’s eyes. While both clumsy and forgetful, the girl was not dimwitted. She immediately understood what had happened, and the embarrassment alone was enough to make her consider calling it a night and just run back where she came from.

She scrubbed furiously at the stains, with anything she had at hand – hot water, cold water, soap, shampoo, facial tissues. Had the girl not been so embarrassed, she might have braved the stairs and turned off the alarm, but the girl would not risk waking the nice lady and having to explain why she needed the magical Blood Be Gone ™.

For all her furiousness, the girl’s scrubbing amounted to nothing. It only served to make the chair wet and… wait, what was that? Did the largest stain not seem a little brighter in the middle?

Certainly so. The girl had been so insistent in her rubbing cloth against chair that the very fabric of the pretty green seat had begun to give way.

“Good,” the girl thought feverishly. “This is good. White is better than red. No one will notice white!”

Spurred forward by this breakthrough, she grabbed the scissors and…

No no. She grabbed. The scissors.

…

And started scraping them against the stained area ever so lightly. If she could just damage the threads enough to make them appear white, it might even out.

However, the girl was as clumsy as she was full of good ideas – and scissors are about as dangerous as razors when she has to maneuver them.

She is really, really sorry, though, and will pay for any repairs. She does rather feel like a fool for ruining the chair x 2 and not having the courage to tell the nice lady…

THE END

Adventure time!

Remember those books from when we were kids? The ones where you could "be the hero in your own adventure"? I loved those books. I played through every single one of them, even the bad ones from the other series, the ones where the numbers didn't always add up and suddenly you were completely lost. I never worked out the whole dice system, and I honestly don't think it would have added to the experience (loose in a fight, you die, you start over. Pointless, eh?) - but the stories. Oh, the stories.

Today, I found a website with stories based on the same principle - only, due to them being all online and fancy, both stories and character development is allowed much more complexity. The game (I'll call it game. It's kinda like a game) remembers my previous choices, which influence's other people's opinions about me as well as my skill in various things. For example, I - the proud officer at HMS Something - almost screwed up a hostile takeover because my sailing skills were seriously bad. Luckily, I was rather good at that cannon thing, so we managed to blast them to hell anyway. But I like that. I like that if I had not paid attention to the cannons earlier, we may have lost that battle and all the advances after that would be altered.

So why am I writing this, instead of finding out what happens after I run drunkenly into an ambush (stupid me)? Because the site just went down. Which sucks. Because it was really interesting! And that is why I decided to tell you about it. Hopefully the site will be up again soon, and when it is, you should check it out. There are all kinds of stories. Sci-Fi, horror, vampire stuff (the real kind, not the glittery kind), romance (not the real kind, the Henry VIII kind) and, of course, swashbuckling stuff. You can find it all at here. As far as I have deduced, there is an app thingie too - but I just played online, which worked fine.

Aaand, by way of a disclaimer: I do NOT gain anything from you clicking that link. I have no clue who is behind these games, but I think they are awesome and they bring up nostalgic memories. Hopefully, some of you will enjoy them too. :)

*knock knock* Is this thing on?

A dwarf and a ginger were waiting for the bus...

Sounds like the beginning of a particularly distasteful joke? Well, it happened this morning. And I wasn't even the ginger in question.

I know I've been really quiet lately. I have been really busy, too. I've moved to a new apartment - it's half the size of the old one, but much closer to the city. Oh, and you can see all kinds of things when waiting for the bus. Apart from packing and ordering pizza getting settled, I have been running all over campus, trying to get the right people to sign the right papers, printing out exam results, passport photos, statements and filling endless forms - all with the purpose of seeing me safely out of the country come January. That's right, bitches. The catling is going abroad! More specifically, to London, where I'll be posting from till June. I think I'm excited, though I can't feel it right now due to all the stress and anxiety and oh-god-did-I-miss-a-deadline. Anyway, the worst of that is over now (fingers crossed), so I'll be getting back to posting here regularly. 

I promise.

Really!

This. This is the reason I am single.

So there I am. Walking down the street, minding my own business. On the other side of the road is an old lady trying to get something out of her purse. Ahead of me is that guy, you know, that guy who never wears a shirt no matter the season. Behind him, three schoolgirls are walking side by side, snickering in that way only tweens can manage. And behind them a cute guy is staring bewildered at the street signs.

My iPod isn't playing. I'm usually listening to music when I walk, but right now I am on my way to buy new headphones. I feel oddly vulnerable without my amour of piano and drums and, I admit, a little Cliff Richard action. I keep my head down low as I shoulder my way past Ugly Half-Naked Guy, the snickering tweeny trio and the confused cutie, and then, just as I think myself safe, someone calls from behind.

"Hey! Hey, excuse me?"

I turn around, all ready to say thanks, but no thanks, I'm fine without Jesus - and there is Cute Guy, looking right at me. Cover blown.

"You don't happen to know where the architect school is, do you?"

He is trying to get eye contact. But I don't do eye contact with strangers, and I stubbornly turn my gaze to the wall behind him, as I say:

"I think it's down the road and to the left. I'm almost definitely certain..."

"Ah, so that's the way, is it?" says Cute Guy, laughing. How dare he laugh, here, on the street, in broad daylight?! What kind of psycho am I dealing with?

"Yes," I reply briskly. "That is the way."

I'm already half turned around, ready to make a run for it, but Cute Guy isn't done yet.

"Did you just start studying here too?"

What an insolence! I give him the stink eye to make sure he understands just how improper it is to make assumptions about a young girl with a computer bag coming from the direction of pretty much every educational institution in the city. 

"Actually I'm a second year, up at the university."

"Oh."

There. That taught him. No naïve freshman here. I totally got that shit covered. I step backwards, clearly showing that this little rendezvous is over. 

"Are you single?"

For a moment I am completely flabbergasted. What? What did he ask me? The smile he is sending me assures me that I heard correctly, and I manage to snap out of it just long enough to give him the full elevator treatment and snort out a haughty "A-bye-bye."

I spin around without waiting for his reaction and storm off. 

End scene.

America, you sexy bitch!

Tonight I am going to write a post that’s a little different. You see, about one and a half months ago, I received a very special package in the mail. In was sent all the way from America to tiny little Denmark and inside it was my very own copy of America, you sexy bitch, a collaborative work by Michael Ian Black and Meghan McCain. It was sent to me by The Well-Read Wife who is hosting a book club on her site. As per my vow when I signed up for this book, I will post a review of it here. If you want to read reviews written by other participants or just roam around Mandy’s wonderful place, click here.

Those of you who have been around for a while might know that I have been raised part-hippie, part-communist, and as such, it is basically in my genes to hate all things American, and especially all things American politics. And that is exactly why it seemed important to me to read this book.

“Three thousand miles, two strangers, one filthy RV. One fine summer, Meghan McCain and Michael Ian Black, total opposites and virtual strangers, went on a whirlwind, cross-country, political cannonball run across America. They hoped to find out what Americans are thinking about. After talking with strippers, senators, soldiers, anarchists, Mormons and Muslims, they ended up learning that the country they love is both more confused and more hilarious than they ever thought possible.”

That is the text on the back of my – by now rather ragged and filthy – copy of the book. It has been with me everywhere this summer, and as it is a very light read, divided into short passages, I was able to dive into it whenever I had a moment.

I was promised hilarity and politics – and I got both, in its own unequal way. Of course you can’t ask a politician’s daughter to upstage a comedian when it comes to jokes, just as you can’t ask the comedian to discuss politics with the same ease as the politician’s daughter, but it still seemed to me that the good miss McCain got a lot of opinions across, whereas Black was waddling around in the grass somewhere, telling his little anecdotes. He brought a smile to my lips time and again, no doubt, but having finished the book, I find that I have a clear view of what America means to Meghan McCain – and a clear view of what Meghan McCain means to Michael Ian Black.

Even so, I definitely took something valuable from this book. I think the most interesting thing is to get to know these people beyond their opinions. They made me furious time and time again – I come from a country where the mere thought of civilians with guns seems utterly absurd the entire firearms discussion in the book made me bristle. Wasn’t it exactly what my father told me? Giant, evil America, killing its people and denying them health care. Yes and no, I suppose. My opinion of American politics as a whole is unchanged, but I have been given the gift of nuances. One person does not make the cruel, crude America of my childhood. In truth, I suppose, none of them does.

I would recommend this book to anyone with an interest in America – politics or not. It is an easy read, perfect for vacations – and it even has picture pages in the middle. I love picture pages in the middle!

Please cease your fucking while I listen to this intricate harp play

There are two people fucking on a terrace right next to my apartment.

I just thought you should know that.

Now, I am not a prude by any means - but I must say I was a teeny tiny tat surprised by their complete lack of inhibition. And I stared. Of course I did. If two people are having sex right in front of you, you stare. Unless you are the Queen and on live TV, in which case you might do everything in your power not to stare. But that is irrelevant.

If I didn't know better, I would have thought they were making a movie, though of course in a movie the soundtrack would be added later. But how could anyone willingly have sex to porn music? I thought we all agreed that porn music is bad music? I mean, obviously you wouldn't want the music to take attention from the hardcore action with a tantalizing pianoforte. Right? Porn music has to be bad, because if it wasn't we wouldn't be able to ignore the unnervingly high-pitched screams coming from Sugar McTitty.

But really. How can anyone bump uglies to the soundtrack from WILLIE WANKER AND THE FUDGE PACKING FACTORY?

This is it. This is the end of music.

Seriously.

Listen to these 12 songs that sound EXACTLY the same!