So I was happy about the future trip to Albania. Nice looking hotel booked, and flights ready, just waiting for the vacation.

Two days after booking the flights, the airline went bankrupt.

So, I called my bank, explaining it. The bank can’t do much, just told me to send them some papers so they can look into it.
Contact the credit card company, they said.
So I called the credit card company. They can’t do anything, the money is already transferred.
They asked me to contact the travel agency.
So I contacted the travel agency, SuperSaver. It says on their site, that sorry dude, but if you didn’t get our insurance you ain’t gettin’ shit back.
I sent them a message.
So, then I contacted my travel insurance office, asking them if there’s anything that could be done. Insurance company says this isn’t reimbursable.

It seems now that I just lost 280 euros. Three times, because I booked the flights for two other passengers as well.

Well, that’s the trip part of my Pure Shit post today. Let’s focus on the car now.

It needed service. Timing belt, break pads, engine oil. I called the place where it was being fixed the previous time, and they told me it’d cost some 1300 euros.
I was amazed, thinking that’s some salty price from that. So I called another place, and they said it would be 1500-1700 euros. I wasn’t happy.
So I called one more place, and got an estimation for 1200 euros. I took that offer.

I brought the car there this morning.
Didn’t take too long ’til the car mechanic called me, telling there’s something weird about the tightener roll of the timing belt. It wasn’t… straight. He said that I’m damn lucky that it hasn’t broken yet (one thing to get lucky in, yei). He gave me two choices – either there’s some mounting broken inside the cylinder (at this point I felt sick) or the bolt is broken. Luckily, he found out later that it was the bolt. So, in the optimal case, he only needs to install a helicoil in the oil pump to get the bolt back on, and it’ll be okay. If that fails, I need to buy a new oil pump too.
I suppose it’ll be more than the estimated 1200 euros now.

…And just in case this wasn’t enough, our waterpipes at home were frozen for two days.
And my family has gone mad again.

…If I got the time.

Noticing some pretty amazing photos in the web, I thought why not make a list of places to see or visit before I end up in the grave. And add photos as teasers.
Might actually make a second page about that. Yea. Why not.

Yea. Good thinking.
Saves some time while pondering the next place to see.

As I downloaded (after thinking about it for years first, of course) the Skype, and created my very first contact there, I started to wonder… How funny it is, that the first name I learn to know the person with, will stick. It could be changed, I bet, but it wouldn’t be easy.

My sister changed her name. Well, not officially, but took her second name in use. I still call her with the first name like I always did.
I still call my oldest game-friend Odin. I know his real name, and it’s not Odin (altough it could be, he’s equally super), but I keep calling him that. Even IRL.
Same thing with this Skype contact. It’s still Agafiya for me. Aga the funny bird, sitting in an arakkoa nest. Altough, I didn’t have an other name for the person in a while so that might be justified…
Then I have this friend from my IRC times. He’s been in my life (on/off) for 15 years. I still call him by his IRC name… I’m not sure he knows

In case this is the pattern with others too, I may need to be more careful with the nicknames I pick… Or not.
It’s too late now anyway.

Signed by bubblefaerie.
Aka TheBomb.

><

So I booked myself a time for a doctor, to get the mole in my face and in my neck removed.
…Because I’ve hated them as long as I can remember.

But then I thought.
The liability for the body to produce keloids runs in the family.
Would I rather live with a small ugly mole in my face, than take the chance to get a growing, rotting, large red scar instead?
I’ll cancel the meeting.

The doctor also told me that I should avoid tattoos on my chest, and piercings in the upper ear (gristle) area.
So there goes my hopes for the earspikes.

Sometimes I hate to carry bad genes.

So, I got to keep my job.
I’m still not sure if it was a good thing or a bad thing, but it’s how it was decided. I don’t know whether I would’ve got kicked out or not if I would’ve kept my head about wanting to leave.
What this all teached me, is that the next time they kick people out, I want to be one of them who are leaving.

I already regreted giving up my very first thought, the same day I heard about my staying.

I suppose I forgot I live for the change, when I paniced and let the rational part of me to take over for a short while.
It doesn’t happen often, the rationality.

…And it’s christmas soon. Don’t feel a bit like it.
It’s like one weekend just like the others, with the only exception that I’m required to remember to send gifts around the country before it’s too late.
The good spirit is sort of missing.
And no, it doesn’t have anything to do with the job.

I hate the thing some people do.
They stay in your life for a while – then they disappear.
After years they contact again, and then they disappear again.
I don’t know how some people are capable of doing that, but for me it feels irritating. Once I let go of someone, I rather not hear anything of that person anymore. But in case they contact me again, they should be ready to reply for my reply! Argh!
I wish I could just forget some people. Sometimes I… Just dislike my memory.

I don’t remember ever making one… But I think this situation cries for a promise.

I got a new wardrobe (HUGE, beautiful, old!) yesterday, and I’ve been spending most of this day going through my clothes – the ones in the previous wardrobe and the ones that are left in the plastic bags for a reason (ugly/too small, mainly too small). I found some awesome clothes I didn’t even remember having! But those clothes are the size 36-38. And I’m the size of fuckin’ 40. It’s not much to lose, but it’s enough with my self-discipline, when it comes to sports or food.

I already dropped the wine, that has to be a good start. (I’m writing this while I sip my last glass of wine from the leftover winebag… *COUGH*.. But I passed my first test and bought nothing for me while buying a bottle of whiskey for a friend!)
And I promised to do a daily walk… … .. Which I haven’t done. I’ll start tomorrow, we should finally be having some snow.
(…Altough, I’m not counting on the snow too much when it’s +2,4 degrees still…. On November 19th! I don’t remember ever seeing an autumn this warm!!)

I’d be happy to fit in my leather pants next summer. I wonder if that’s long enough a period, to make this -10kg really happen? Or will I be whining about this next year too?

Listening while writing

Since my “don’t spend on anything” month seems to be ruined before it even properly started, I’m planning to put myself in a new test.
I’m a wine addict.
I’ll be not buying any wine before xmas, and I’ll also be not drinking any alcohol before that.

But of course, like in all the best promises, there’s a tiny “but”!
(this promise should also help me getting a tinier butt. Ehehe.)
I still have an amount of a few glasses left in my winebag. I can drink those.
And the 8th of December is an exception too, ’cause I’ll be going to a gig with my sister, to see Wednesday13.
(aaaand I might need to have some drinks with the Belgian friends, too…)

Why does it feel like there’s more “but not this day”:s in this than the “don’t drink”-days?
Might extend this to apply for the whole January as well.

So, let’s take a hypothetical situation here to think of.
If a woman, hypothetically, would have her (imaginary) skeleton hoodie hanging in the toilet rack.
And the imaginary skeleton hoodie would dissapear without her moving it anywhere – in theory, of course.
After a while, the hoodie would be found in the room of the teenage boys, that are hypothetically visiting for the weekend.
And then the boys would pretend they know nothing about it, even after being caught for stying to steal it.

In theory, the woman would then feel there’s nothing safe in the house anymore.
She thinks she knows who took it, the eyes would reveal it. But because this is just a theory, there’s no real punishment.
They have moved from breaking her things into stealing her things. Well brought up!

After the biggest anger is passed, she starts to think if there’s something to be fixed in her style, if teenage boys are stealing her clothes.

In the mirrorland,
The only way to get rid of your fears is to face
Them precisely as they are in your own
Imagination,
In the mirrorland
Every word you say is about yourself
In the mirrorland
There’s always two in one in everyone
In the mirrorland

____________________________________________________

It’s not like this is news news… But it’s different to know about one’s roots than to actually Know them.

On my father’s side, there’s been a shaman/sage not too far in the family tree. I knew it before, in a way, but now I actually took some time to learn about him – as much as I could from the internet.
The unfair thing is that now that I’m 30, I learn about my roots. By myself. I have a feeling that my grandmother has been trying to tell this before, but for some (obvious) reason my parents never told me, or explained the thing properly.
Smötky’s Riiko, also known by many other names like Grigor Kallijeff or Risto Tapionkaski, for example, was my grandmother’s grandfather.
I’m still not sure whether he was claimed to be a shaman or a sage, or whether the thing runs in the family or not (he wasn’t too willing to give his spells even to his son), but I find this very intesting.
It brings me to my roots, and perhaps opens some sort of an explanation to my beliefs…

One way to get to know yourself better, is to know where you come from…