I know you’ll be wanting of stories… and more than stories of my move, stories of my crazy friends. Well, let’s see…

Ski Guy is finding the joys of custom-made clothes. I was smug. “I told you so”, was used.

My Friend With Huge Boobs is in mourning. Someone had left the fridge door open and her entire jar of Snickers ice cream was ruined. Melted beyond the state of edible. We’re all wearing black.

Apparently I am the imaginary friend of Gambler. And even then she has to pay me to be her friend. At least, if you ask her co-workers.

Perfect Morning-After Voice is no longer together with the annoying girlfriend of his. I’m a happy little elf. Of course, I didn’t tell him that. But I am, nontheless.

There’s most probably going to be a whole new person to my stories. My friend E, whom I’ve known since high school, and whom I love dearly. We are now reunited, in terms of geography, and should be getting into all sorts of trouble together. Or at least, into games of hockey, basketball and football. And to the theatre, to ballet, to art galleries and to afternoon coffee’s. Oh, and extremely drunk. Of course. This should be an interesting fall.

It’s First of May celebrations in Finland, so new situations arise. I just received a text message from a friend:

Can I drink champagne that’s four years old? It’s going to taste bad anyways, but am I going to die?

My Friend With Huge Boobs wants to make a complaint. Apparently every time she comes over and visits me time flies by and she ends up slightly drunk.

Weird thing, no?

I promise.

So, in order to look presentable tomorrow I’m not doing my nails and writing a typical nail polishing post. “What is a nail polishing post?” I hear you ask. Well, mon petites, a nail polishing post is a post you write while you wait for the layers of nail polish to dry. You would be surprised what one can write during three tracks on CD. (three for the first layers, five for the last one, everybody knows that!)

Let’s see… I bought a new dictionary yesterday. Unfortunately they didn’t have Le Petit Robert de poche, so I had to get the pocket version of Larousse. It’s a perfectly respectable dictionary! And I still have the big Le Petit Robert. Okay, that just sounded so weird.

I am dying to taste the new flavor of B&J I found, Bohemian Raspberry. First off, I think that name is just hilarious! Second, I like raspberries. And I sure like B&J!

I can’t for the life of me decide what to wear for the school seminar-y thingy tomorrow. I need to look smart and credible and like ‘I know what I’m doing and it’ll blow your mind away once I’m done’, while naturally looking pretty (not sexy) and having that distinct “ii”-factor that people have grown to expect from me. And while I’m an excellent dresser-upper (erm..?), even I have to admit that that is a long order for one outfit. I think I’ll just have to go with… I’m thinking sky-high stilettos but with a bit of a good-girl thrown in for good measure, like… mochasins, only with crazy heels? A pencil skirt in cream… what on top? And what do I do with my hair? Troubled, I am, indeed.

Ooh, that reminded me! I’m using the iGoogle front page for my internet, and as I was playing around with it I found this application that turns random sentences into Yoda-speak! How cool is that?! Which reminded me of the funny game of M*A*S*H, which I love. Okay, I love it, because it promised I’d end up living in a beautiful apartment in Paris with George Clooney. No kids, no wedding rings, just me and George and Paris. I do believe that’s what you find when you look up “paradise” in a dictionary. In fact, let me look at my brand new Larousse…

paradis nm 1. RELIG Lieu de séjour des âmes des justes après la mort. 2. FIG Lieu enchanteur. 3. Galerie supérieure d’un théâtre; poulailler. 4. Vivre avec George Clooney dans Paris sans enfants.

See? I told you!

It’s a good thing George is such a… how should I put this nicely… won’t spit in the glass, as the Finns say. Because I think I might be getting a drinking problem. For example, I’m hungry, but instead of getting food I opened up a bottle of chardonnay. I’m planning on getting rather wasted on Friday (school party, it’s a tradition that one should not be able to get out the taxi stumble-free). That should be a good evening, by the way! I’ll try to post about it later, as I’m sure loads of funs stories are made. Especially since My Friend With Huge Boobs is going to be there.

Byt the way, this was written over several more tracks than three. I’m not that fast.

I had a (big) glass of nice Italian Chardonnay, and got an urge to write my thesis. Luckily I caught myself before I acted upon this clearly brilliant idea.

On a side note: I make really really really good cupcakes, even if I say so myself. These ones had gingerbread cookies in them. And no, I don’t drink and bake, I had the wine after the baking.

First of all, I think it’s only fair to warn you all: I’m slightly drunk. My Friend With Huge Boobs * came over for some homemade lasagna and wine. The lasagna was very good. The wine was very very good. I sometimes surprise even myself at how good I am at picking wine. Anyways… I’m slightly drunk.

We somehow got into a discussion that included me replaying the whole “I’m ugly and you’re not a very good boyfriend because you agreed with me” -conversation I had had with BF. And we realised, that the only reason why I’m still even letting BF have his face (I know some really nice folks down at the Marines. Handy bunch of guys, actually. Besides, due to my cheerleading past I’m more that capable of doing my own ass-kicking so it wouldn’t even be necessary to call in the Marines.) is that I know I’m not really ugly. And on that thought, ugly people never complain about their looks!

Seriously, they don’t.

Naturally, this led to a lengthy discussion of whether it’s because they know they are ugly and have gotten used to that. They’ve given up. They’re ignoring the aesthetics of human nature. Or… are they just in denial that everyone has an external appearance and that theirs isn’t just so attractive?

Why is is that the only ones you hear complaining about their looks are the actually pretty ones?

Maybe it’s because you have to be shallow enough to care about looks in the first place to pay attention to them enough to care. And then to do something about it. You know, if you’re so shallow, that you notice you’re ugly, you care about looks enough to do something to your looks. Ergo, you’re no longer ugly. But if you’re not shallow, you don’t give a damn, and then you won’t complain about it either.

I resent that.

I refuse to believe that you can judge a persons shallowness by their looks. That’s prejudice. And we all know how well that works out, just think of Elizabeth Bennet. No wait! She got Mr. Darcy. A.k.a Colin Firth. Hmmm… there’s something wrong here… Hmmm… Which weakness of personality gets you George Clooney?

*remind me to credit this to TAB. It’s all her idea. I stole the nickname from her. She’s brilliant!