Yeah, right, I shouldn't be drinking just because other people do - my hangover dutifully reminded me of that when I got up yesterday morning to go to a friend's birthday brunch - but it was soo nice. Really. Oh come on, just the one... two. Just give me the bottle, will you?
So, Friday was a really nice evening - rather: the part that I remember was great. The rest I do not... well, remember. I must've gotten home somehow, and the fact that 10 Euros are missing from my purse either means that one of my friends is a thief or that I didn't manage to find the right tram and got a taxi. Benevolent and trusting as I am, I hope for the latter. Anyway, it was a nice evening and it was for free, so I shouldn't be bitching. The only not-so-nice part was that one of my pals hit a friend of mine - female. I guess she sort of provoked him, but that's no good reason to go hitting people (else I'd be doing it all the time).
Why exactly did I emphasize she's a girl? Maybe because this 'I don't hit no woman, man'-thing is still lurking somewhere in the depths of my subconscious. Or, I just thought it important - which is probably not true. I, for my part, do hit women. When they deserve it (Means: when they hit me). I have to admit, though, that when I was younger I used to hit men, too. Lashed out at them occasionally for saying something stupid. Occasionally’s perhaps not the right word now that I think about it. In these days, I wouldn’t do that anymore. Turned out the guys are a lot stronger than I am, and besides, it doesn't stop them making silly comments. Only thing it did for me was that everyone at school believed I were a lesbian. Whatever.
My friend's birthday was nice. Breakfast turned into lunch into supper. It was superb, though I missed the 'warm' aspect of food. What really had me worried, though, is that I constantly find myself in social situations and feel forced to make small-talk. Or have others talking small at me. Problem is: I can't do that for shit. I'm abysmally bad at keeping a conversation going when I couldn't care less for the topic. Unfortunately, neither the weather, clothes, food nor recent movies count as interesting in my book. Maybe more so other people's mistakes, families and private lives (words which can mostly be used interchangeably). Theory, maybe. Even talking about computers is more compelling than the food-talk.
Food-talk: Oh, it's so delicious! (Better than the bean-salad, anyway.) How did you do that? (What on earth am I eating here?) Could you, oh please do, give me the recipe? (My mother-in-law's coming for a visit next weekend.) No! That's just potatoes, sweet corn and mayonnaise - really? (So that's why it looks as if it'd been already eaten) Mar-vel-lous. Do you use prefabricated mayonnaise? I never do - except for when I'm in a rush. (As I always am when you're expected - should maybe get yourself a watch, lady). My sister's doing a gorgeous potato-salad, too. She uses gherkins, soy-sauce and marshmallows. I always thought that a bit posh, but then that's just her... (She is a spoilt brat, after all.) But it's not too bad, really. (Still better than your bean-salad). Oh, and my mum finally gave me her recipe for her famous cherry-pie. It's so lovely. Family secret, you know. (I know yours is definitely not a cherry-pie.) Blah blah blah, gaag gaag. (Grrmph.)
Yesterday, as I came back, I went to our kitchen to fetch something to drink - and nearly caused collateral damage. Yes, I am at war. With the ants that have invaded our kitchen. Look, I come into the kitchen and nearly step on some thirty small brown insects. A frigging ant-trail, right from one wall through the dining room to the kitchen, where - they disappear into another small hole in the wall. I guess they've been living there for quite a while, but now decided to take a shortcut. Eh eh, no one, not even insects, lives under my roof and eats my food if he doesn't pay rent. That understood?
I spent some two hours cleaning the kitchen, hoping that the cleaning fluids wipe out the scent marks that mark their trail. It helped - for about three hours. I killed hundreds of them - it decimated their numbers, but won't do in the long run. My flat-mate told me they've been having the same every summer, but sorry, I won't have that. The stuff they're using is pointless: instead of the ants taking the poison to their nest and feeding it to their queen, they get stuck in it and die out of boredom. How in the good God's name can you make sticky bait for tiny little insects? How are they supposed to carry the stuff away? Rent a lorry and buy some gloves? Pointless.
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