Mother’s Got A Dot Com

It’s been a busy month so far. Getting #1Brat home from school, hubby starting his summer work-marathon (6 or seven day weeks, 10 hours a day), May 17. (National Day), planning a surprise-party for my uncle’s 60th birthday on the 21st, a confirmation to go to tomorrow, and trying (to no avail, as it turned out today) to figure out why the **** the water-heater can’t stop gushing water all over the place. It probably won’t stop until it’s electrocuted someone, and as I’m usually the one standing bare-foot in water, scratching my head and touching all sorts of knobs, I’m the likely candidate.

Oh, yes, and we invited 8 people over for a barbecue this evening. I hope they won’t need a shower, because I’m planning to turn the **** thing off as soon as I’ve had mine. We thought we had it sussed, you see. But that only worked until the next time plumbers took a day off (today). I wonder what plumbers do the rest of the week? Nothing ever breaks or leaks on Monday – Friday. Not in the houses of anyone I know, anyway.

And now it’s clouding over. As if we haven’t got enough water indoors… Never mind, we’ve barbecued in pouring rain before. It’s just a question of taking a stand, and sticking to it. Your back gets drenched, as the parasol has to cover the actual barbecue, but whatever – it’s summer in Norway. Gotta love it.

The following is a surrepticious link – mesothelioma. Not something I like to blog about – or even think about. Yes, we’re all going one way or another, but I think I’d rather be electrocuted by a water heater. If at all possible though – not this week, Ô Grim Reaper.

We’ve had quite a controversy in this country lately, regarding gay marriage/sperm donation to lesbian couples/kids growing up in gay families.

The reason was that some christian philosopher took it upon herself to publish a book where she, among many other things, put forward her belief that kids growing up in gay families had a severe handicap, and that everyone should have the right to a father. For this, she received a prize – the “Free Word Prize”, that’s given to people who dare put forward controversial thoughts.

Commendable, I’m sure. It’s just that most members of the gay community here took this prize as an endorsement of the woman’s opinions. And who can blame them.

Everyone is entitled to an opinion. There are, however, no restrictions on empathy or good behaviour. When you’re on a state payroll (which she is), can put “philosopher” in front of your name, and your words carry some weight in certain circles, you should know better than to stigmatise a whole group of children. (The adults can take it. They’ve been taking it for generations. But their children have deserved better).

I’ve never understood, though, that gay sexuality is something that everyone needs to have an opinion about. What I do behind closed doors is nobody’s business, as long as it doesn’t involve kids or animals. My straight sex life is supposedly harmless to my kids. If I were gay, and had a loving partner, it would be different, for some reason that I can’t fathom. In that case, everyone would have the right to peer between my sheets, or at least have an opinion on what they think happens there, and how it (negatively) impacts my children.

I’ve been hit on by lesbians on numerous occasions, and have had to decline. Every time, I’ve felt sad for them. Being straight, looking for a partner is difficult enough, but dead easy, really. We can safely assume that close to 50% of the population is a candidate, if gender is the only criteria. Gay people face obstacles that I would have found terribly hard to overcome. And, contrary to popular belief, gender/inclination is not the only criteria.

When I first heard about gay vacations, I thought: whatever for? Why do they have to stigmatise themselves? Why can’t we all live and let live? I don’t have the answer, but I’m guessing that a lot of gay people have to live with the condemnation of their neighbours on a daily basis. Whether it’s being expressed or not, there is a staggering amount of homophobia about. People in general don’t live and let live. Going on holiday with people who face the same problems that you do, and who don’t judge you, is probably what it means to get away from it all… Also, going somewhere where there are only gay people, must increase the chance of finding someone, someone who might be partner potential.

I’m quite certain that being gay means just the same as being straight, when it comes to love. I wish the judgmental bigots would try to remember that. All most straight people want, is a partner who loves them, whom they love back, and with whom they would consider spending large portions of their life – if possible the rest of it. Most gay people want exactly the same thing.

Done with the research. Boy, was that enlightening. And very, very scary.

My first thought when I saw the words Colonix reviews, was: A new Asterix comic book!

Great! I’ve got them all. Ever since my childhood in France, I’ve chuckled at the names of the characters. In French, they all end in -ix. Assurancetourix (All risk insurance), Aplusbégalix (a+b=x), Panoramix (Panoramic), and so on and so forth.

Colonix, however, was a new one… A Gall with Irritable Bowel Syndrome, perhaps?

What’s more, I was way off the mark. Try googling it, and see all the scary stuff that turns up. With pictures. One guy recorded his experiences during weeks of using the stuff. With pictures. And we’re talking colonic cleansing here, people.

Is the poking and probing compulsory? Or is just flushing the normal way acceptable behaviour? I don’t think I dare find out. By the way – the review isn’t very good.

It seems that my partner in blogging, who provides me with a regular flow of keywords to blog about, has got a spasmodic problem.

This is not a) a medical blog or b) a diet blog. I only very casually touch on health issues – and I mostly do it to complain. You know – about aching joints, saggy skin, other saggy things – whatever my ever-increasing age throws at me.

Dieting is of very little interest to me. I can stretch to nutrition, but I don’t want to get too healthy, as the homes for the elderly are such undignified places in this country, that I really want to kick the bucket before anyone feels the need to put me in one.

The spasmodic problem of my blogging partner? The ever recurring best diet pill. I could probably just pop the keywords in anywhere, and go about my ramblings as usual, but I have this thing about delivering the goods. So now I’ve done it. Please excuse me now, while I go and do some research on the next weird word constellation.

I couldn’t resist these:

They’re in a hurry, too, cos this is where they’re going:

- A personal favorite:

(The white text reads: There’s always room for more.”)

And the good advice/clear instructions section:

I’m at loss on that last one. Is it “No swimming”, “No kicking” or “Do not fall asleep with one foot in the bowl”???

How about this one, varieties of which can be seen in this country: “This is where Herv parks. Herv has a crowbar. Any car found obstructing this space wil be taken apart and sold to Poland.”.

We had 10 sheep that were going to be mothers. 9 of them are now mothers – the last one died inexplicably yesterday, after having given birth to a pretty little lamb. There is an explanation, actually – there was very likely a second lamb stuck in there. The breed of sheep that we have (Norwegian wild sheep) very rarely have two lambs, but this one did, or so it would seem. Several of her colleagues did so too this year, but they usually pop them out like champagne corks, so when she’d had her one, we thought she was done.

We hadn’t really planned on hand-rearing a lamb this year, and maybe we won’t have to. One of the other lambs was “forgotten” by its mother, and was denied acces to all the udders around. She rose to the challenge, and took it upon herself to survive, against all odds. So, she trots around, and steals milk from all the sheep – a little here, and a little there. She looks as if she’s going to make it, and is almost as well fed as the others.

We’re hoping for another tenacious one. If not, we’ll just have to get her one of those pet beds in the bathroom, name her Mary’s, and feed her from a bottle.

Yes. Will take pictures. They’re adorable little potential barbecues.

According to both legend and recent research, fat girls are happier overall than skinny girls.

That is: overweight women are more satisfied with their lives and themselves than their skinny sisters. Does that mean we can let everything slide, and indulge like mad, because it’ll make us happier?

Of course not. I’ve got my share of excess kilos, and I’m a happy soul, but I don’t think the two are linked, except for this:
1. Food is a basic commodity. If I were to deny myself everything that my body craves for the basic need of survival, I wouldn’t be very happy at all. Some of us are made that way: we look at food, and it sticks to our hips. All that wobbles isn’t chocolate and crisps… So – maybe part of my happiness is that I allow myself to eat enough.
2. I don’t think I would be very happy if I always felt inadequate, and that I needed to change things about myself constantly. To me, happiness is linked to being content with the way things are. I’m not saying one shouldn’t strive to better oneself, but if this turns to self-depreciation, it’s a waste of valuable time.

So: I’m happy per se., and not because of the fact that my BMI is above average. One could argue that I’m happy despite of it, of course, but I really don’t think BMI matters much. I’m sure my health would benefit from losing a few kilos, but I won’t subject myself to starving again, and I certainly won’t subject my family to a cranky, sour Mum, just because I’m denying myself the basics… The best diet pills are the ones that make you slim, fit and beautiful without a change of lifestyle, and they don’t exist.

I don’t think starving myself is consistent with quality of life. If this encroaches on my quantity of life, so be it. I may live longer with a few kilos less, or I may fall and crack my scull tomorrow.

“Especially large moose population”, the sign says. No wonder, with moose porn posted all over the place…

And now, a warning sign, that gives new meaning to the word screwdriver:

Now, that’s an eye-catching heading, if ever there was one.

Well, my water heater lives it’s own little life. Near the bottom, there is a pressure valve. The reason I know this, is that some time ago, this valve started leaking. No, not your nice, little dripping sort of leak. It gushed water. That’s when I learned that this was a pressure valve. I also learned how to stop it, by making several panicked telephone calls to manufacturers and plumbers. After having been put on hold for about two years, while the experts were pondering, and water was still gushing.

I also learned that there is another valve, that you can use to turn the water supply to the heater off, thus making it empty itself, rather than being an ever-gushing source of water. They told me this after the pondering, and the being put on hold. Finally, they worked out that I needed a plumber and a new valve.

That was sorted. Now, 3 months later – same problem. From time to time, the valve is gushing. I now know what to do as an immediate measure, but it’s a bit like peeing in your pants. It gets cold after a while. And I have to start all over again. The valve was probably not the problem in the first place, but even the manufacturers couldn’t come up with a better idea.

Now – I don’t really know why I’m telling you this. Actually, I do know. I was given the phrase Hansgrohe faucet, and this is what came to mind – directly from my domestic fount (pardon the pun) of everyday woes. It’s probably a very bad idea to install a faucet on a pressure valve, unless you’re into in-house explosions.

Does every household appliance known to man have a little chip installed, that makes it pack it in two days after the warranty period runs out, or am I just being paranoid???

I’m lucky. My hubby is not into sports.

He’s not glued to the TV screen 24/7 on weekends, he couldn’t care less if there’s a football match on, or skiing, or whatever. Sport is flicked over in our household.

Now, in my sister’s life, things are different. She has a football fanatic hubby, and three boys. Guess what they’ve inherited? A lifetime membership in the Manchester United (or perhaps Liverpool FC) fan club, that’s what. She’s a patient soul, and grateful for small mercies, like the fact that her hubby sometimes takes all three boys to football matches. In England.

As for me, I don’t get it. I quite like swimming, but not to the point of watching other people doing it. I’ve also been known to enjoy a game of badminton. Actually playing it. Badminton or tennis on TV is like watching paint dry. Skiing, or running? Come on. I know one of them is going to come in a fraction of a second before the others, and I don’t care which one it is. (Don’t try to explain. I still won’t get it).

I’m just eternally grateful that whenever we do manage to travel a bit, there’s no mention of sports events. I know that if we ever manage to make it to USA, New York Yankees tickets will not be on the agenda. We might catch a rodeo though (no, probably not in NYC), to experience a bit of local culture…