In the Summertime...

Adios, my friends, we're off to a holiday. One week of sun, good food, swimming, and sweet doing-nothing-at-all-not-matter-how-much-you-beg.

We'll collect stories,I'm sure,

Thank You for the Music

I don't think there's a person in this world who doesn't know this one's from Abba.

However, I thought that with, erm, bike I would be deprived from music from now on... don't ask for details, my own one has an in-built stereo.
But no! Actually I can still have my disco. Great. If only people would leave that I can turn the volume up...

A Sorta Fairytale

is what Tori Amos sings of, but spring seemed a bit too good to be really there...


That was on Friday, no, Thursday.
Today it's 13 degrees Centigrade and raining. Fun.

Living On My Own

as Queen sang, can have its drawbacks. In other words: I need a wife!!!!

And yes, you got got me right, a) I'm female, b) I need a wife, and c) my English is good enough to know the difference between husband and wife.

Yet behind me lies a weekend that was so stereotypically >>bachelor<< , that I think I need a woman to take care of my household.

Saturday: Sleep in. Shuffle to the kitchen. Put cornflakes in a bowl. Cover with milk. Shuffle back to bed. Totally normal... And then I found out the milk was closer to cheese than to its originally intended state. Great start.

Sunday: Around 5pm start thinking about dinner. Options: Canned potato soup, crisps, or simply mayonnaise. Make mental note: I need to go shopping. Back to the kitchen. Dispose of the onions that look like a spring meadow. Rice. Not good, means that I have to wash the pan later. Same goes for pasta. Kebab? Nah, crossing the street is too far a journey, and £2.70 too much for a second-best solution. So? Look at the can of soup long enough to make it look desirable. Look... and look... and look... what's that thing in the cupboard corner? A Spanish salsa-dip thingy. Yummy. Check date on bottom of jar. 200... 9? Look more closely. 200... 3?!? Right. Postpone mulling over the issue of " but I only came to Dundee in 2004, how did that happen?". Look around - notice the crisps again. Well, why not...?

The sauce actually was really nice. And the fact that I live to tell the story proves it can't have been too bad.

But I need a wife.

You're Still the One...

... sings Shania Twain, and oh-my-God, I feel soooooooooo stupid. *bang-head-against-wall*

I got this lovely, lovelier, loveliest eCard from the Blubberfrosch this morning, and I thought 'oh well, that is so sweet!'
Bah. It's our anniversary, and I forgot. *bang-head-against-wall-a-little-more*

I'm sorry, Blubberfrosch, I know it sounds hollow, but well, you know the usual excuses, and all of them are stupid.

I love you. Just that.

>>The Greatest Star of them all<<...

... is one of the central themes in Sunset Boulevard (yes, I listen to Andrew Lloyd Webber from time to time...), but I would like to introduce you the truly greatest star of all time:

Karl-Friedrich

The 'man' I share my flat (and my life) with - Karl-Friedrich, the Big Bear, Ursa Major, best friend, with knees, but no fingers (which makes opening honey jars a bit tricky for him *g*). Good-natured, a bit mischievous, always with a twinkling eye, the only man the Blubberfrosch has to share me with.

He's 8 years old, 1.08 m tall (and twice as broad, it seems - he fills any room), pleasant until he smells food - and I'm his biggest fan. Finding his name was a bit of a problem, as bears have names, but don't give them away easily. It took some heated discussions that Christmas Eve to figure out he is Karl-Friedrich and no-one else. I was collecting teddy bears at that time, and had wanted "a big one, one that can be hugged" - so my mother freed him from a sports shop (!) because he had knees. And so he has, and My best friend, visiting me, actually put - unconsciously, I suspect - her hand on his knee while flirting shamelessly. Because that's his secret: Everybody who meets Karl-Friedrich instantly falls in love with him, without fail. First they think 'what would an allegedly grown-up woman (which I am definitely not) want with a teddy bear??', but then they fall for him.

Actually, once, when I moved "house" (moving from halls of residence to your parents' house can hardly be called moving house, I s'pose..) Karl-Friedrich caused a real stir. My father had him on the passenger seat of a rented van, and on the motorway people started honking to greet the bear. What a personality, eh?

He's been with me ever since I got him (or did he find me?), first back home, then in student accomodation and our flat, now he's here with me in Dundee. The only time he wasn't with me was during my stay here in 3rd year - imagine taking him on a plane... But during those months he stayed with the Blubberfrosch and I think he quite enjoyed himself there. But now he's back with me, and I can't imagine being without him.

Bear, I adore you.

From a Distance

sings Bette Midler, and that brings a question to my mind.

Long-distance relationships - how does distance work, or rather, how do we deal with it?

As most of you know, the Blubberfrosch and I have one, and I know quite a few people by now who either have lived or are still living away from their partner. Some for a longer time, some only for a few months or weeks. Some seperate and re-unite (geographically) every few days, others spend a while apart and spend little, precious time with each other every now and then. And quite obviously the couples I know deal rather differently with distance. I know a couple that spends a fortune on texting each other every other minute, on top of the long phone conversations each night. Another friend assured me dryly they "communicate regularly" (which they do), but doesn't seem too fussed if for some reason a call isn't made.
I myself have a rather volatile behaviour. I don't text unless it's absolutely necessary - too expensive. But on the one hand I can spend hours on end on the phone and similar time on messenger (although I prefer the phone), and I can be without a word for days. Over all, I think we're more of the independent kind: As long as we know the other one's there, fine. I mean, as much as I need personal or "voice" contact - after all, he's in my heart, isn't he?

Which brings me to the central question: Is it easier to have a long-distance relationship today than years ago? With instant chat programs, e-mail, texts, cheap phone calls and the like? The background to this question is that the Blubberfrosch and I managed to almost finish off our relationship a few years ago by too many texts and thus too many misunderstandings and a lack of trust. We've reduced our communication quite a bit and are actually doing better - a lot better - now.
But then - I don't want to miss instant messaging or mobiles and e-mails. What if it's important? I feel I can't wait 3 days until the letter announcing that my cactus keeled over (or something really important - I'm not that superficial...) arrives.
Can you kill a realation ship by communicating too much, just as by doing it too little? And if so, does that risk increase with distance? Because one misses the partner and thus creates a 'communication overkill'?

Don't know... it has probably to do more with the inside than with the communication infrastructure... fast is good, but you have to be able to handle it... *hmmm*

It's better to be together anyway. Really together.