Archive for January, 2010

I know I said I was over Christmas, but now that Christmas is actually long over, I’m ready to think about it again.

Let’s talk Santa.

For the sake of argument, let’s assume that you have at least one child old enough to have conversations with, you celebrate Christmas, you’re living in a culture where Santa-belief is normal in children, and you don’t feel the need to explicitly tell your child that Santa isn’t real. I realize that not all my readers fall into those categories, but it’s not the first time I’ve asked you to pretend, right? So we’re pretending.

These are all things that I can understand, and my point is not to debate them. What I want to know, is if you’ll go that step further to actively and explicitly lie about the existence of Santa, and if so, why? Why is there this whole battery of tools designed with no other purpose but to convince children that Santa is real? And I don’t mean vague junk like the “Yes, Virginia” letter. I mean things like NORAD Santa and paying money for fake pictures of Santa in your living room. I get going along with it when your kid declares there’s a Santa. But I don’t get spending an hour putting “reindeer prints” on the roof so you can point to them the next morning and say, “Look! Reindeers really were here!”

So, I just want to know, what’s the point? Anyone?

I’m a day late again, but I’m posting. So yay!

I don’t know if men have this problem, but every woman who’s ever shopped for clothes in any place where the clothes were already made and not tailored for your body knows that it’s an extremely rare thing for a pair of trousers to fit and look good in all dimensions. Typically you have to decide between the ones with the right length, the ones that fit at the waist, or the ones that fit at the hips, or maybe between the one that highlights your pot belly and the one that highlights your flat rear.

I never realized that this problem started at birth.

Dagmar has two trouser options: highwaters, or showing-off-the-diaper-label. This is one reason I use BabyLegs whenever possible. They always fit since the waist measurement is irrelevant, and the leg length can be anything from newborn to however long the whole BabyLeg is. We even have some of the extra long BabyLegs, so I think she’ll be covered for a while.

The downside to BabyLegs is that BabyLegs + onesie leave exposed skin, and in a Scandinavian winter, that just doesn’t work. So even with BabyLegs, I still have to put trousers on her. Trousers that don’t fit, and never will.

Maybe it’s time I go shopping for tights and skirts?

I don’t mean labels like words you use for people. I mean literal LABELS like these manufactured by Avery.

I’m getting back into FLYing. So far so good. It feels great and the flat is looking great. I spent two 15-minute sessions in the foyer, and was inspired to add labels to the drawers in our hanging organizer.

I put pictures on them because that’s fun.

It remains to be seen if they’ll get wet or hit a lot and thus become useless. But at least until Thomas comes home from work, they are making me happy, and considering how cheap they are, really that’s good enough. Any extra time is a bonus.

And yes, I know it’s Tuesday. I’m not quite FLYing all the way yet, but hey, I didn’t post at all last week, so one day late isn’t so bad.

One of the things that has been going around the internet, apparently, is some junk to do with Jennifer Love Hewitt and vajazzling. If you haven’t heard about this yet, it’s probably highly googlable. Anyway, it bothers me, but probably not for the reason you think.

I don’t care what Jennifer Love Hewitt or anyone else does to make themselves feel better or happier, as long as it doesn’t affect me. Few things could possibly affect me less than the nether regions of a celebrity I have never met, will never meet, and isn’t even associated with any TV shows or movies that I enjoy watching. So, whatever.

I also hate the miserable excuse for a word vajayjay, and I’m not even sure if that’s better or worse than calling it her “precious lady.” But that’s not what I’m ranting about either.

The first syllable in vajazzling, and the entirety of vajayjay refer specifically to the vagina, and she’s not bedazzling her vagina. I know it’s a stretch, but let’s just assume, for the sake of argument, that genital bling, in general, is not pointless. I’ll pause while you attempt to wrap your head around that.

*elevator music*

With me yet? Oh, all right. I’ll give you some more time.

*soft jazz*

OK, so we’re pretending it’s not pointless, right? Well, if it’s in your vagina, it would be. The vagina is inside. No one can see your bling there. I realize we’re not talking about something with a large audience in the first place, but when I say “no one” here, I really do mean “no one.” There would be too much work involved and not enough reward for your sig other to go hunting for your vaginal rhinestones.

If you’re doing something to the bits that are actually visible without a flashlight and spelunking expedition, you’re doing it to your vulva. Saying vagina when you mean vulva is like saying mouth when you mean face. I know they both start with the same letter, but they’re not the same thing. Really, it shouldn’t be that hard, and we don’t need people like Jennifer Love Hewitt trying to blur the lines and make it even more difficult to accurately describe one’s anatomy.

It should be vuljazzling. Or nonexistent. One of the two.

I mentioned previously that I got some clothes for Christmas that I wouldn’t have picked out for myself, but look good on me. Then I never posted any pictures. So here you go… a self-portrait in one of my new tops. I think this one might be my favorite. It’s no secret I like colors and patterns.

I wanted to write today about how happy I am with my new mugs. But I don’t have any new mugs.

*cue sad violin*

We got some nice, big, sturdy glass mugs as wedding presents. At least we thought they were sturdy, which is why we registered for them, and we still thought they were sturdy as we used them for the first 2 and a half years of our marriage. Then it all began to change.

*cue dramatic crescendoing horns*

Within the past month or so, four of our eight mugs have cracked. Not in any sort of oops-I-dropped-it kinda way, but like in that, I-justed-poured-myself-a-drink-and-brought-the-mug-to-my-lips-and-noticed-in-my-periphery kinda way that makes you want to stop using the mug before it’s in that unexpectedly-shattered-into-your-face kinda way. So we’re left with four mugs, which isn’t a lot, even when only two people are using them.

Our mugs are our only drink-holdery bits. We have no tumblers, wine glasses, champagne flutes, water bottles, or even shotglasses to supplement. If we’re drinking something, and we’re at home, we’re drinking it out of a mug.

So we need more mugs.

For some reason, perhaps because they have always provided me with all my needs before, I thought IKEA would be the answer. It was not so. We showed up at IKEA and found our choices were really small mugs, really ugly mugs, really small and ugly tumblers, or large but completely unadorned and uncolored tumblers.

I don’t do plain, clear glass. I just don’t.

So I’m holding out for better options, and we’re living with just four mugs. We can do it. Oh yes, we can.

*cue inspirational orchestral arrangement*

Tuesday was my first day back in Danish classes after Christmas break. The way my language school does things is every student gets a letter in the mail telling them what room to go to on what day and who your teacher is. That’s pretty much it for communication.

Several months ago, I asked my teacher if I could switched to online courses. He said he’d look into it, and then a couple days later, I got a letter in the mail.

When I realized the “online courses” actually have absolutely nothing to do with online learning at all, I emailed the school asking if it was possible to switch back. They didn’t reply to my email, but a couple days later, I got a letter in the mail with a room number.

You might be wondering what other communication I might want. Isn’t that enough? Well, imagine my surprise when I show up to my first day of evening courses again after that letter and realize I’m in module 3 instead of module 2. I would have liked to have known that, for example.

Well, it happened again.

I passed the module 3 test with flying colors in the beginning of November. The module 4 class didn’t meet for the next two weeks, for reasons that were never explained to me at all. My first module 4 class wasn’t scheduled until the Tuesday before Thanksgiving. I remember, because I was debating whether I should plan to be absent on Thanksgiving, but then on Tuesday I got an email that class was cancelled. I decided I should probably go to my first day, especially since we weren’t actually planning to do anything on Thanksgiving Day anyway, so that was my first day. When I show up, I’m informed that I’m one of about 4 people in the class that AREN’T taking the module 4 test the next week, so we’re going to spend all our time preparing for the test. You know, the one that’s a full module ahead of the one I just took. The one I’m not expected to take for another six months. This is not the best use of time for me. I understand why it happened, but I’d just as soon have stayed home.

The next week, my teacher had to administer the text to most of the class, so we had a substitute those two days. I can’t say I didn’t learn anything, but again, it wasn’t the best use of my time. The week after that, we actually had one day of normal class on Tuesday, and Thursday was a Christmas party. So I’ve had two weeks of module 4, and 75% of that barely counts.

The teacher said everyone would be getting a new teacher after the break, so when I got my letter in the mail, I wasn’t surprised. What surprised was showing up on Tuesday and finding out I’m in a module 5 class.

Before I could protest this, the teacher said we would be talking soon about my situation. OK, fine. I’ll wait. We didn’t get a chance to talk that day, but we talked yesterday. I asked why I was in the class, and he said he thought it was strange too, but it must be because I’m taking the final test in June. I said I didn’t want to take it in June, and he said, well, then you shouldn’t be in this class. It was that simple. I was relieved I didn’t have to explain myself or argue about it, but I’m still a bit confused as to why I had to say it at all after the conversation I had with my previous teacher just a few weeks ago. Whatever.

So I grabbed my bag and my coat and went straight to another classroom. Now I’m in a module 4 class with module 4 people.

I liked the module 5 teacher. I had him for module 1, and I think he’s a really good teacher, and a nice person, and I’m a bit sad I left his class because of that. Also, I understand him really well. I don’t know what it is, but some Danes are just easier for me to understand than others. He doesn’t talk slowly or annunciate like mad or anything obvious like that, but I never have any problems understanding him. My new teacher, on the other hand, drives me crazy because I never have any idea what she’s saying even though I’m sure I know every word. So on the one hand, it’s frustrating to have her, and on the other hand, I need to be able to understand whatever Dane I encounter, so it’s probably best that I have the more difficult one.

I also liked the module 5 students. They were more confident and had fewer mistakes. I felt like I was more on par with their proficiency in Danish. The module 4 students don’t like answering questions in class, and when they do, I often have a hard time understanding through their thick accents and problems with grammar and usage. On a long-term, practical level, it’s less useful to be able to understand them. It might help me learn to be patient though.

I still think I made the right decision. I want to really learn this stuff, and really know it. I want it to be second nature. I want to be able to think in Danish. If I rush it and do just enough to get through the tests, that won’t happen. I know I could pass module 4 now, but then I’d miss out on all the lessons that go with that, and if I want lessons later, they cost me money.

So here’s to module 4. May I begin to understand raspy, mumbly Danish women more easily, and to put my adverbs before my verbs in subordinate clauses without thinking about it. Skål!

I used a 12-inch iBook for a long time and I didn’t think it was too small. I got a 17-inch iMac and I didn’t think it was too small. I have a 15-inch MacBook Pro and I didn’t think it was too small.

We had mentioned to each other in passing that it would be nice to update our 17-inch PowerPC iMac, but it certainly wasn’t a priority and there were never any serious discussions about it. Then Thomas came home and said that his work was offering computers at cheap prices. I said something along the lines of, “yeah right, like we need another computer.” He told me how we’d “save” if we bought a 27-inch iMac, and I thought he was joking. As if we need a 27-inch iMac. I laughed and said we’d save 100% by not buying one. Then I figured out he was serious as he made his case for getting this computer. We struck a deal that if he did some stuff I’d been asking him to do anyway, then he could order it, and so we both got what we wanted.

Here is our new iMac, Sol, next to the old 17-incher, Alderamin.

(If there are any Mac-ignorants left in my readership: those are the whole computers, not just the displays. There is no separate box or tower. People still ask about this even though iMacs have been all-in-one units since their inception over a decade ago. )

I have to admit, it’s a thing of beauty. It’s awesome for watching TV and movies on, since we have no TV, and with the wireless keyboard and mouse, I can basically use it from across the room. And it’s not just a huge screen. The resolution is ridiculous (2560 by 1440) too.

What can I say? I’m glad we have it. You win, Thomas. You win.

Anyone in the greater Copenhagen/North Zealand area interested in a 17-inch PowerPC iMac with built-in iSight, let me know.