Miracles do happen (a.k.a we sold the van!)

We finally sold the van, the 1994 Ford Transit. My first car.

For those of you who don't know, we bought it in February last year when we started renovating our appartment.

We really should have sold it a year ago when we finished, but someone (ahem!) was quite happy driving it to work every now and then. And let's face it, you really need a van to go to Ikea on Saturdays (so you can put the two picture frames that you bought at the back of it).

It has also helped two of our friends move house, and it's done more than its fair share of trips to the skipyard to throw away rubbish from the communal attick.

So it has been a great van, and a very functional one, apart from that one time when it broke when we were on our way to the airport and that it wouldn't start in winter.

But what a pain-in-the-bum it was to sell! I'm so glad it's sold now!

I was getting pretty tired of these weekly, sometimes daily, phone conversations with Turkish men (for some reason it seemed to attract that part of the population).
Them: "How much mileage does it have?"
Me:"Hmmmm... I don't really know because the meter has gone probably gone around - at least once!"

Them: "Is it rusty?"
Me: "Yes. But just on the surface!"

Them: "Have you done any work on it?"
Me: "Well... Er... We changed the fan belt?"

And they came to take a look at the car (always with a friend), called someone to have a Turkish conversation, and said they'd get back to me, but never did.

Some added bonuses were that:
- it still had its winter tyres on (in May!)
- the radio stopped working last month
- we hadn't washed it. EVER.

Thinking about it, it was a bloody MIRACLE we managed to sell the damn thing!

But eventually we found a buyer. He was a real handy man and has already painted the beauty (he was so cute and sent me a picture of it afterwards). I hope he'll have as much fun with the van as we did!

Can't decide if I'd rather be in or out..

Oh wow. 

I think I've found my favourite prison. Just the kind of place I'd like!

(Read this if you want to know what it's all about...)

Near-death and taxes

Everyone hates taxes, and filing them. I do, too.

BUT! This year we were super early, spent a whole Sunday in April filling out the forms, looking for old receipts, translating the cryptic tax instruction book, calculating things and so on. So everything was ready and we were done.

I was just supposed to send the letters to the tax man today.

I had the two precious letters (including all the necessary attachments) in my hand, hopped on my bike, and thought I would chuck them in a mailbox on my way home.

BUT! ANOTHER BUT!

As the letters were in the way while I was trying to ride my bike, I folded them and put them in my pocket. That was the last time I ever saw them.

The next time I remembered the bloody letters was when I came home and saw Dan's face. I remembered immediately what I had forgotten - and realised what was missing from my pocket! The letters had dropped somewhere along the way! And there was no way I would ever find them - I had just pedaled more than 10 kilometres from work and I had no idea where they could be.

(Funny how just seeing his face can make me think of taxes... Hmmm... Time for therapy, perhaps?)

And I cried a lot! And I swore too (a lot). And then we shouted at each othe, because it was each other's fault. Then I spent half an hour in the shower trying to calm down (but mostly crying still).

It was such a disappointment and so frustrating! I don't know if we can do them again in time and claim all our money back.

I was so angry at myself. What kind of idiot puts tax forms in their track suit jacket pocket while riding a bike and doesn't close the zip?! I thought it would be easier to KEEP AN EYE ON THEM if they were sticking out of my pocket. Good thinking, Aku!

Oh well. I've calmed down now. I have also realised that it wasn't Dan's fault that I put the letters in my pocket without closing the zip. I think he also realised that it wasn't quite my intention to destroy those documents.

Now we are facing the same hassle again next week (if it's not too late!!) as if there was nothing else more interesting that I could think of (such as sticking toothpicks under my nails, for example.)

You know what they say about death and taxes. C'est la vie.

A blog dilemma

I hate meta-blogging, but here we go anyway.

See, I think I'm suffering from a writer's blog block. There's so much going on with my life and so little to say. So I don't say anything.

A blogger once wrote (sorry, can't remember who it was) that it was like having been to a party: you've had a great time, met a lot of interesting people, talked a lot, maybe had a few drinks and then you wake up the next morning feeling that maybe you have said a bit too much.

The thing is that I never thought I would say that much when I started blogging on the first of November, 2006 (I had to check the date). That was TWO AND A HALF YEARS AGO, which means that I've been blogging for almost ten percent of my life! Wow.

(Saying that, I think you know a lot more than ten percent of who I am, but nowhere near hundred. Hmmm....)

On that November evening 2006, I also didn't think I would do this more or less under my own name. But here I am, with my whole life out there for the whole world to read. My whole life and yet nothing. Most of it is pretty mundane (because life mostly is), but even the mundane things, and some not-so-mundane-things that I have said, they make a bigger picture - my life. 

Sometimes I regret sharing it with you, sometimes I don't mind at all. Or actually, I never regret it, but I wonder how long I will continue and why. Maybe you dear readers could tell me why (or if) I should continue?

I once went on a date with a guy who had been reading my blog. I was talking about something when he said: "It's so cool that I already know you!". Man, that was a horrible realisation to me. I had never seen this person before in my life and he really thought he knew me. That was WEIRD. (And he was so WRONG - he had no idea. The next day I called him a twat in my blog. That was a bit harsh of me, looking back. Sorry!)

So, I don't know really why I started this blog. I think there are many reasons for it and the reasons have varied over time.

I blog because I like writing and find it relaxing. Blogging makes me look at things from new perspectives and makes me smile, both while blogging and while observing my silly life. 

I do it for the language (which, I think, is getting worse and worse as I am getting lazier and lazier). I do it for the people who read it (I love your comments!), and sometimes it's been good therapy too. 

It's a nice way to share my life with distant friends and family, and a good way to record my life so that I will remember in the future. But to be honest, I never read my old posts, ever. 

I can't really name one reason for blogging. I suppose I blog because mostly because it's fun.

But right now I don't know what to do with the blog. Maybe I'll just keep posting irregularly (or more regularly, if I feel like it), have a proper break from blogging, or bury the blog.

What do you think? Do you ever have a writer's blog block?

Barcelona in 10 000+ words (1 picture > 1 000 words)

Time thieves

Aaaaaaah!

A week's vacation makes you wonder how you can manage your normal life.

You must make so many decisions during the day (croissant or toast? Cafe con leche or cappuccino? Tapas or paella? Red or white?) just to maintain your bodily functions. Just that takes up most of your time.

How could you possibly have time for work besides all that?! I suppose I'll figure that out again later.

Free hugs

Uuuh, I'm so tempted to get out on the streets in Helsinki and start hugging people. Everyone likes a hug!

I remember being hugged by someone last year and it was lovely.

Wonder if I'll have the guts. How difficult can it be? Would anyone like to join me? :)

"You did not expect this, did you?"

We never have anyone ringing our doorbell. You must dial a door code to get in so it's difficult and it never happens. (Saying that, I don't understand how the advertisement delivery boys get in... Little buggers, they must know the code!)

But there is one time in the world when the door bell is guaranteed to ring.

It's when you've just started your holiday, playing music out loud,feeling a little happy, dancing around in a dress that should really be worn with trousers, not with stockings, and you're in the bathroom doing little experiments with your make-up and hair. You know, trying to remember why you never use a stronger shade of lipstick or that purple eyeshadow and having a little fluffy bun on the side of your head. That kind of stuff.

Now THAT is when they ring your doorbell and want to tell you about Jesus.

Need I say more?

Not packing

I'm going to Barcelona on Thursday to visit my brother and I was supposed to pack today.

Instead, I've been surfing, blogging, cooking tofu wok, done some laundry, thought about aerobics and selected eight pairs of ear rings for the trip. And I haven't packed.

(One reason is that I would have to go to the attick to get my suitcase but Dan is not at home and I am afraid of the attick. But tomorrow I must, because he won't be here tomorrow either.)

Anyways. Then I realised that me packing or not packing does not really matter.

In two days' time, if I'm still thinking about what I packed (or didn't) only means that I have not yet bought enough new clothes. Or that I haven't had enough Cava.