The Hausfraus: Enter Ilya

Just when you thought our lives couldn't get more complicated...



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An observation

Today I found myself pondering about what goes on in Dumpling’s head when he shits. Not a normal thing to think perhaps, but he always looks vacantly surprised when it happens. Like he’s only half aware that he is excreting certain substances. And yet the half of him that catches on to what’s going on is mortified beyond words by the whole business. He twitches and looks around the room with abrupt paranoid head movements, and when he notices that he had witnesses he gets frantic like, “how did that happen? I swear it’s the first time. Let me clean that right up. I’m so sorry!”

Only he doesn’t clean up. He never cleans up. He just goes right ahead and flutters about his cage in blind panic, chirping to himself. Until at some indiscriminate point in time his little brain resets and he forgets about the whole affair. He calms down, finds a comfortable spot on one of his perches and casually starts rearranging his feathers while eyeing off his food bowl.

He goes through this process at least fifty thousand gazillion times a day – so genuinely outraged, so convincingly rattled and so conveniently forgetful. So yeah, I am suspicious. I think he knows, and I am not above fitting him with a tiny nappy (and a top hat – for my own personal reasons) and toilet-training him.

These are perfectly sane and reasonable thoughts to have.

The purpose of my life is to get a steamer

I’ve thought long and hard about this, and it just makes sense. Here are my reasons:

1. I could steam everything in sight. Hello fitted sheets, and how are you today?
2. It would put an end to the boundless tyranny of the iron cord.
3. I would no longer need to waltz with the ironing board (unless I wanted to and the mood was right).
4. I want one.
5. The anagram of steamer and agnes is all of the following: “Me seat rages”, “Game star nees”, “eager nest Sam” and “Meager nests.”
6. All day Dumpling’s been like, “Meager nests!” and I’ve been like, “shut up Dumpling, what would you know about anything?” and then he’s been like, “I’ve found the purpose of my life, have you?” and shat just to prove his point.*
7. I haven’t found the purpose of my life. Unless I get some sort of recognition for the hours I’ve put into ear cleaning (I’m an exceptionally enthusiastic ear cleaner).
8. If getting a steamer isn’t the purpose of my life, what is? (Answer: possibly ear cleaning?)
9. Getting a steamer is much easier than writing a best seller entitled “Eat, Steam, Love.”
10. “Eat, Pray, Love” was a travesty and one of the worst books I’ve ever had the misfortune of not being able to finish (because it was so colossally bad). This has everything to do with me getting a steamer.
11. I would only maim myself a little. And only on purpose.

So yeah, go me!

*This was quite the revelation because up to that point I wasn’t sure which of the following was the true purpose of Dumpling’s life:
- Eating
- Drinking
- Making adorable bird noises
- Bathing with gusto
- Hopping from place to place
- Looking flustered
- Eavesdropping
- Showering the world with seed husks
- Fluffing
- Shitting
- Plotting our doom

A rough summary of last week

Last week was both educational and disturbing. I've put together a little animation (thanks to GoAnimate.com) to give you an insight.

Just in case this isn't clear, Simon is the one with dark hair and I'm the girl. Also, Mark is obsessed with me.

The Hausfraus

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Looking for the owner of a misplaced penis…

A couple of nights ago I had a dream that somebody had attached their penis to my upper thigh. How they managed to do this, or why, remains a mystery to me.

During my dream I was much more concerned about whether the penis actually belonged to me and felt somewhat panicked at the thought that perhaps I had attached it to my upper thigh, and then simply forgot about it.

“I am rather forgetful,” I reminded myself reproachfully.

The only way to test whether the member was mine was to er…you know…hrmm…and see whether I felt anything. Obviously.

I will spare you the details, but after putting some elbow grease into it, I happily discovered that it was not mine. I would have been much more happy about the whole thing, only I had just stroked somebody else’s penis so it was an awkward moment. You understand, I’m sure.

The up side was that all I had to worry about was getting back to my apartment (because naturally I discovered the addition to my anatomy while at somebody else’s place). Until, well, have you ever tried to slide into a pair of jeans with an engorged penis attached to your thigh? Not possible. So, being a rational person, I decided to wrap myself in a skimpy throw and walk to my place semi-naked.

“Bravo,” you’re thinking, “good call!”

No, I’m afraid not. It took about five minutes for me to realise that not only was I lost (as well as naked and in possession of a foreign penis), but also in the centre of Warsaw.

Everybody was staring at me, and – mortification beyond mortification – as I walked past a distinguished group of middle-aged people, one of them reached out and tried to rip my cover away. My last thought before I woke up was: “Not my left boob. I don’t want anybody to see my left boob.”

OMG!!!

You guys! Simon is not FAT anymore! Wait. Is 3,000,000 kilos considered fat? Okay. I’m going to have to retract my former statement; he’s totally FAT.

Also this might be a little too much information, but I imagine sex between Tyra Banks and her reflection to be a mix of this:



And this



The woman is bat shit crazy. And not sure if you knew, but she wrote a fantasy novel, “Modelland.” I say wrote but, judging from the first chapter, she just released her psycho ANTM moments on her unsuspecting computer. Here’s a few lines of her gorgeous prose:

“Go, Myrracle, go!” Mrs. De La Crème shouted. Myrracle had staggered a few feet away from the fallen tent and was standing there staring at the melee, eyes bugged, frozen in place. “Don’t freeze up! Wake up, baby. You have to do this!”

Now excuse me while I vomit.

Also, Yuri is just fine, thank you very much. He just wanted everybody to know that he’s as happy and smiley as ever, enjoys margaritas, pronounces the “rs” in “burrito” at least some of the time, and has recently acquired a BEEE-UUUU-TIFUL urn/vase.

And just in case you’re wondering about Mark; he has found a friend in jeans that fit him, though prefers his sandware for home use, is thrilled with all of the functionality and practicality of aluminium foil, and is feeling triumphant about having found an Indian restaurant which offers Vindaloo chicken.

New Year, New Blog?

One of my New Year’s Resolutions for 2012 was to write more regularly. Ooops. But before you get all high and mighty and start telling me what a failure I am (Dumpling, I’m looking at you), consider that I’ve only just gotten back from a Christmas/NYE trip and that I’m still catching up on work and emails. That’s right, valid-ish reasons.

I also haven’t had the time to arrange my thoughts or work out what I should write about first – my sister’s visit to Munich, the glorious disaster that I am when confronted with large groupings of well-meaning family members, the insanity of a Berlin NYE, what happened after I passed out (it involved somebody very nearly losing an eye to fireworks) or the smaller things like Mark’s artistic genius/complete lack of artistic talent. I’m not sure which yet. Maybe you can be the judge.

Anywaysss, lists don’t make for great reading, unless they’re lists of Dumpling’s ex lovers (in which case wow bird has gotten around), so I’ll move on.

Two important things before I go:

1) I want a baby squirrel. If you can manage to dress it in a tiny bolero that would be just swell, but if not I’ll take it too.

2) My best friends sent me flowers for my birthday. Flowers. The only other person who has ever sent me flowers was my mum, so whole new level of excitement happening right now. Every time I look at them I just about soil myself with happiness.

So yeah, another pointless blog promising more pointless blogs. I think if you look hard there might be a life analogy there.