Revenge

I know there are a lot of people who give their pets something extra during the holidays. After all, it's Christmas for them too, right? Well, ours are on a diet. They've been getting quite enough in the past, thank you. Apparently *they* don't agree though. The night before last they took revenge by throwing a nearly full bottle of port (from one of the kitchen cabinets) to the floor. Port everywhere. And glass. Let me tell you, that crap is sticky. Yesterday they broke into the same cabinet and threw out the pancake mix. Flour-type stuff everywhere. I get the feeling we'll be finding pancake mix in the cushions of the sofa for the next year.
Thanks, cats.
And no, now you're definitely not getting anything extra.

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2007

Because everyone does it and hey, they're funny when they do it, so perhaps I'll be too.

January
I think I'm one of the first to discover Mika (yes, you bitches I'm looking at you), "H" from Steps comes out, Morrissey threatens to take part in Eurovision and The Girlfriend and I have a crush on a supermarket cashier. (We still do actually). Gay Sleeveless Supervisor approaches me about coming back to work for him, I'm of course terribly flattered.

February
I'm trying to quit bitching about my work, I blog five strange facts about myself (one of them being I can't stand it when people use the same knife to make a sandwich and to cut fruit) and we un-clog the drains. I also sew a button onto the Girlfriend's pyjamas. By the end of the month I'm bitching about work again. The Girlfriend and I are broody and I launch a request for sperm on my blog. No-one reacts. I'm already having a ball with the fact that Switzerland is sending Dj Bobo to Eurovision.

March
I worry about seeing Evanescence without throwing myself off the balcony, I blog about Eurovision again, I start being sick of temping (well, not much progress there then...) and we finally meet Lowagie face to face. Strangely enough, there's no "666" anywhere on his forehead. I start my new -old- job and immediately become a half-insomniac. I discover the art of "jumpen" and I give in to Temptation Island" (of course I blame The Girlfriend). I clean the windows, the new series of Dr Who starts and I love the search for Joseph.

April
I fall -platonically of course- in love with John Barrowman, decide to go do Werchter (Rufus! Mika!) and only bitch about work once. There's a train crash in our hometown but we notice nothing.

May
Eurovision preview/review time. The two readers I usually have run for the hills. The Girlfriend falls head over heels in love with Marija Serifovic and proclaims she fancies butch geeky girls. I take a long hard look in the mirror and well, one out of two ain't bad. Fred Phelps pickets Jerry Falwell's funeral, I get criticism for reading "gay despite the ballet" into Billy Elliot and I'm scared of two old ladies.

June
I have to go teambuilding on a fucking boat, during a fucking storm. We sleep through a fire right behind the house, we have elections (and I correctly predict the ridiculous result) and I don't kill myself during an Evanescence concert. Werchter sucks.

July
We're not impressed by the film Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix, nor are we very impressed with a lot of the fangirls at Sectus (we're very impressed by Madscot and OH though) and don't even get me started on that bloody last Harry Potter book. We do, however, buy a Neville action figure in London. For the first time in my life I have actual fingernails. Yay byte-x!

August
The Girlfriend makes me watch "Runaway Bride", the Pet Shop Boys are fantastic and I get a new red ribbon. We're still waiting for summer to start, but Amsterdam is nice. I become a gangsta in the car, Bearforce 1 arrives and Jos Brink dies. We start having a "political crisis".

September
I start another new (part-time) temp job, the cats go on a diet -again-, the Eurovision Dance Contest is ridiculous, I decide I'm the spitting image of Piper Perabo and I clean out my old room at my parents' house. I want to throw stones at Phonehouse, practise a new routine with car mechanics and hey, Eurovision will be double the fun next year: with two semi-finals.

October
I go back to Gay Sleeveless Supervisor for an additional part-time job, this time we even share an office. I decide it's time to get over my lesbian crush on him, and I succeed. I start caring about Belgium's "political crisis". The Girlfriend gives me an Ipod 20 days early for our anniversary and I fear it will jinx our relationship. I go teambuilding on a fucking boat again. Dumbledore comes out and I discover I'm agist. I discover Nantes by Beirut (yes, I'm a trendsetter, I realise) and Take That. The Girlfriend gets a new tattoo and I fall asleep during our first-in-ages date.

November
Gala rules, we still don't have a government, I go through an illness-induced Nintendo DS Supermario-phase and both Rufus and Undercover Lover are fantastic.

December
True to my pseudo-wiccan-womyn sapphic self I put up a pagan Christmas Tree, Junior Eurovision is blah, I mention Gay Sleeveless Supervisor an awful lot (it's my last month with him after all, my contract ends this month), fancy Siska Schoeters and slip on a patch of ice. Oh. And as of December 20th we have an "interim-government".

That was 2007.
Bit depressing when you read it isn't it.

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Silver lining

Just slipped on a patch of ice in the do-it-yourself carwash (yes, the carwash because this foggy, freezing weather and the salt they put on the roads means that I could hardly see through my side mirrors), and while gazing at the beautiful white-covered trees I found out that said beauty is caused by minuscule cancerous dust particles that hold on to the frost.
Cheerful!

But, can I point out that from today on, the days are getting longer again?
And that I'm not due back at work till January 3rd? (at which point I'll be -gasp- a year older)
Fantastic!

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Music for life



Ik heb een crush.
Op Siska Schoeters...

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Oh yes.

For the first time in my working career I actually don't have to work only have to work one afternoon with Gay Sleeveless Supervisor between Christmas and New Year's. Wahey!

"Piglet! Piglet! How did do do on your mini-week off" I hear you scream and wonder.

Well, I survived dinner with The Girlfriend's colleagues and -a lot more hazardous- my parents. Barely. But still.
We also put up our Christmas Mini-tree, only to have half the lights die on us 30 minutes after we put it up. The Girlfriend glared at me: "don't think for a second I'm undoing all this crap to fix the lights".
The day after, she fixed the lights (she's a sweetie really). Only to have them die on us again after a few hours. They're still not fixed now. I'd do it, but I always end up with all the lights on one mini-portion of the tree and none whatsoever everywhere else. I'm kinda crap at it.

We also did some household chores, no zoo (too cold, girlfriend sick and train strikes), some mind-numbing Christmas shopping (this time of year brings out all the crazies, I swear), quality time with the Girlfriend, finished Season Two of Dexter (OMG! OMG!) (read: bothered Spikey) and held a Dark Angel marathon.
And speaking of Dark Angel, why does the Girlfriend always act scandalised when I point out a lady has nice boobs?

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Want

No babysitting tonight, which is nice. Though here is me expressing my feelings: just because we don't have kids does not mean we can just drop everything and go help them out. Or not help them out for that matter. How did I find out my presence there wasn't required? Because I sent this afternoon, asking if I was to pick the kids up from daycare at 6pm. The phone rings "oh yeah, I was going to call but something came up... I'm off work for the next ten days so you don't have to come". He knew since Saturday. Right. Nice. How about letting me know a little sooner? I actually have better things to do then sit around waiting for you. Twits.

Now I'd much rather sit on my lazy arse on my own sofa tonight (or more realistically: work from home (Gay Sleeveless Supervisor is fab, but he sure likes to leave things to the last minute. I'm bored half the time I'm there, then one workday before the deadline he goes and springs me a new assignment) or do some ironing). Since The Girlfriend is out of the house tonight I can also play Rufus Wainwright as loudly and as often as I want. Though perhaps not too often, I might end up depressed by the time she gets home.

In other news, The Girlfriend and I have the rest of the week off. The Girlfriend is talking about going to the zoo tomorrow, Friday we've got to go bowling (I'm not kidding) with her colleagues, and on Saturday... we've got a faaaabulous Birthday Dinner with my parents. My mum already quite sternly (and passive aggressively) told me it has to be "fun" for her too. Cue the Girlfriend and I grinning like Cheshire cats throughout the evening. But hey, it's my dad's sixtieth, so I will try to make it work.
I'll just picture Tim Gunn looking over my shoulder.

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Junior Eurovision

Don't worry, I won't blog a song-by-song commentary this time. I'm saving that for the *real* contest, not for this travesty of a mini-soundmix show. Oh no, no decorations at Casa Piglina last night. We'll watch, we'll laugh, but that's where our involvement ends. We do have some standards here.
Another reason for not posting a song-by-song commentary (apart from the legions of people screaming "nooo! not Eurovision again!") is the fact that we're probably too rude. Laughing at the expense of fully consenting adults making arses of themselves on a too-bright stage, yes, fabulous. But laughing at the expense of kiddies who are making idiots of themselves... well, obviously we did it, loudly, but I won't admit to it. I wouldn't want to come across as uncaring, rude or well, completely evil and beyond redemption.
Even if Draco Malfoy was obviously taking part for FYR Macedonia (and legions of Slytherin fans voted for him). Or if some of the girls taking part looked at least 25. Or if -for the fourth time in the five years of this stupid event (everyone but Maria Isabel)- I do not, in any possible way, understand why the winner is the winner. Or the runner-up is the runner-up, for that matter.
Incidentally, my favourites were the camp Minnie Mouse-outfits of Romania with the eloquent song "sha-la-la". Of course they scored pretty low.

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Christmas tree

I'm sick and tired of our Christmas tree. There, I've said it. And don't get me started on Father Christmases climbing in or out windows. Oh, I love the symbolism of the evergreen, and the lights to chase the darkness away (I always fancy myself a tiny bit wiccan this time of year. It goes with my sexuality.), but when you think about it... How utterly ridiculous is it to put a fake plastic tree in your living room, adorn it with a pink boa, a string of lights (some of which are broken) and plastic (not glass, not with our cats monsters) silver balls. Seriously! Who does that kind of stuff?!
On the other hand I do want to put up something to celebrate the winter solstice (there I go again, fake wiccan-me), but what else is there. The Girlfriend has vetoed all modern tree-substitutes and we don't have any big plants we can torture with strings of lights (see: cats, dietary habits).
Unless someone can give us a great tip, we'll just have to get out the old tree again. And then there's the issue of when to put it up. The earlier we do it, the more we have to chase the cats away from it -and the scruffier it will look at Christmas-. But if we leave it too late, well... what kind of fake-wiccans are we anyway?

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Sanssouci

The candles seem to all have been blown out
Cupid's wings have cobweb rings and no one's about
Could it be I came to the wrong place?
But I swear I saw them climb the stairs, that sweet master race
Who will be at Sanssouci tonight?

It's only when you're outside that you notice
Only through the window you can see them
Once the door is open, all will vanish
Ain't nobody at Sanssouci tonight
Tonight, tonight

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Conversations at lunch

"Remember? (insert gay man's name here)'s wedding. And our husbands who didn't want to use the loo with all those kinds of guys there!" *hysterical laughter* "Oh, what fun we had." Your husbands, ladies, are butt-ugly. They couldn't get cruised in a toilet with a paper bag over their heads.
"But they're always so handsome aren't they"
""Oh, but yesterday at the restaurant there was this couple there and you really couldn't tell that they were, you know, but both very goodlooking. But then they started talking about wrinkle creams so yeah, I knew they were gay. I mean, no normal guy would have a conversation about that, would they."

Maybe I've got PMS, but the urge to ostentatiously leave was enormous.
Bunch of idiotic neanderthals.
They actually thought they were paying Ze Gay Community compliments. "Cos they're always so handsome".

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Oh yes

Apparently Belgians are so sick of being without a government they now want one they didn't vote for.
Excuse me while I collapse in laughter.
According to my father-in-law's paper (a rag, but not the worst) slightly more people now think Verhofstadt should be Prime Minister, rather than Leterme.

Well, I can't blame them really. I think a dog on a stick would be better prime minister, but hey, you voted for him and his empty impossible promises.

Is anyone else up for the job? Anyone? Come on! Make the bridge between the regions. Invest in more jobs in Wallonia (or tell the regional government to), invest in more jobs for *me* and pose for pictures with world leaders.
Anyone?
And what if I throw in Sebastian?

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The survivors

Look around
Picture what's in store
Is this the final edit
or is the subject now a bore?
Don't shrug your shoulders
-it's always easy-
You can't ignore

The survivors
Our heads bowed
The survivors
At memorials
for other faces in the crowd



Watch them all fall down,
Domino dancing.

(PSB, obviously)

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