Back from Valhalla
But not via the easy road. Bit of a griping rant ahead- I couldnt think of anything more knitterly or entertaining. I apologize as time has not materialized to take those lovely posts I have been in anitquitated fashion hand writing and speed type them into a functioning computer. Nor to mention the photo issues. They are most likely to continue for the rest of the season, but I am going to try. And I will do it (this is reason #1 why I never attach dates to my promises I keep them… on my schedule :) but for now you get another installment of the NO TINK ONLY YOU Series. And a small amount of knitting content. As some of you know there are things that happen in my life and everytime I ever ask if something like this happens to anyone else the answer is immediately NO TINK ONLY YOU. So I have become resigned to living my life and well being entertaining for everyone else as I am of the firm belief that someone ought to get to laugh at this shit. Even if it isn’t me. See how I am magnanmous and all that! So I in some inadvertent way, completely unbeknownst to me, have transgressed egregiously against the Swedish God of Transport (Thor, Sven, Olaf, Karl Gustav… shit I think those are kings). And boy was yesterday’s transport a doozie. I flew Ryanair, really I think the lesson is: you might irritate a Swedish god of Transport by not knowing his name but you will fucking piss him off by flying Ryanair. I normally avoid them like the plage; not just any old plague of locusts but like the bubonic rat infesting plague. I have a beef with them calling certain airports as certain cities. Beauvais is the airport and Paris is NOT the town. The same could be said about Skavsta and Stockholm. When my ass is on a bus for an hour and a half it ain’t no shuttle either. But when the price difference initially looks to be 40 euros v. 180-220 euros you suck it up. And then bend over, cause trying to cut corners is asking to have currency hemmorage from your eyeballs in gushing spurts. Anyways I decided to use the time to knit my way into some Christmas cable hats. Two were almost completed, until I got so aggitated by the following that for the sake of the lovely Cashmerino aran yarn and it's recepient, I put the hat down. All was going well. I figured when I heard the pilot say we were going to land 35 minutes early, I had repented sufficiently for the trangressions on the way in and at first while in Stockholm. Boy was I wrong. 5 minutes later he pipes up that there is bad weather (prompting a “Mauvais Beauvais” rhyming commentary from yours truly) and we were going to circle. You know we all do the Yippeee dance in the prohibited aisles when we hear that announcement. But 5 minutes later he intones again, and this time it’s significantly worse. He says we are rerouting to Brussels. Kicker being it’s not Brussels its Charleroi. Another field hanger airport constructed of corrugated metal siding that you get to hear whack around as you wait to board your flight. And an hour away from Brussels. Then comes the barrage. The flight attendants don’t know a damn thing about how we are going to get home. There is going to be a shuttle we are told- to where or with/without connections they don’t know. Goodie. Again my (getting older means getting more motion sickness) ass sitting in a bus for 4 hours screams- not a fucking shuttle. Semantics it means something when I am irritated. Flight Attendant makes the large mistake when someone asks something as we got off the plane of answering with of course there will be representatives on the ground to help you (there were NOT). And says the following stick your ass in a frying pan phrase. “Now you don’t think we’d just leave you here do you?” I the eternal smartass looked him straight in the eye and deadpanned- is that a rhetorical question or do I get to answer honestly? He didn’t know what to do. So I proceed to recuperate my luggage, and shuttle myself over to the bus. Once there we find out that the bus is going to take us straight to Paris. Which was a relief for most of us as we all were actually wanting to go to Paris. And those who had people waiting at Beauvais charged up the mobiles and adjusted accordingly. Then start the “manifestations,” two people make a fit and ruckus. But they do so quietly and out of the whole buses sight. Next thing we know bus driver is screaming about how we are ungrateful idiots that in direct translation- make him shit himself. And we are now going to Beauvais. Thanks to the smirking frenchman. There is one in 20 like him but he gives the external image and I want to kill him. Violently. Stick appendages on pikes on the four gates of the village violently. The rest of the bus stage an uprising/riot and our “I hate life and you” bus driver tells everyone get off the bus we can walk to Paris. Now mind you the problem wouldn’t have “manifested” if they hadn't arbitrarily changed their minds from the initial assessment but WAR has broken out and I am in the protesting bus. The one that has smart protesters, one does a survey of the bus, one goes to get the local people, and 5 others stand in front of the other bus blocking it. Great we are all back in the bus- its fucking cold out people! So much for democracy- bienvenue to autocracy, despite our organization we are going to Beauvais... Beauvais that is fogged in like pea soup and has iceicles hanging from the trees. We get to Beauvais at 12:45am, our plane was supposed to land at 7:50pm. Great so we then do the fun bus migration and I restrain myself to only calling the smirking Frenchman names in English. Really good creative ones too and out loud. I hope he understands English. Sorry I lost my buddhist zen by this point, impure mind and all. Lovely, so after the great bus migration where we all get out of one bus and take our luggage over to another bus and then wait and wait and wait, we finally go back to the auto route we came in on to continue to Paris. Only adding an extra hour delay. At least they didn’t charge us for the bus to Paris- Golly gee willikers that is nice of them Goober. Now the first bus at least had heating, the second bus was cold. And when I say cold I mean “I don’t feel my toes” cold. Thor, Baldur, Gunther- what the hell did I ever do to you??? Please just TELL ME. I will be so sorry you wont know what to make of it. But no... So I kindly ask the nice gentleman driver to put on the heating. Cold air shoots out at us and continues to do so for the next 45min. Really I have a hard time convincing him that cold air is air conditioning, warm air is heating. This was NOT heating. Finally he turns it off, which was better and an hour and a half later (as we all know those of us who have lived in foggy land that driving 40 km/h on a 120km/h autoroute with your brights on is the way to go when you have mild fog and visibility for over 70m). We finally get to Paris where the large part of us are screwed as- hi it’s 2:30 am, its 6 hours after arrival time. There is no public transport and this isn’t exactly prime taxi time or location either. I luckily have offered to make an altar and atone at it every day for my transgressions and this must have appeased Thor (hey I had to chose a name, even if it could be wrong). I got a ride to my flat saving me teh raping of a taxi at that hour and that distance, from one of the other nice passengers who had someone waiting for her. But the story wouldn’t end there... no if it did it would not be worthy of an installment in the NO TINK ONLY YOU series. So I get home, and dude did I PISS Thor the fuck off, cause he has sent an internal memo to the Swedish God of Sleep and Dreams (Drömmen). When I get home at 2:45am I find out what goes on at night in my building. First I find out that even though I left the windows open, the idiot who patched the hole in the ceiling of the shower, closed them. Welcome home- you are dehydrated (therefore already have slight headache going), exhausted but on the brink of your second wind, and hey have a toke of those fumes and a spackle spatula too. Awesome! Having paper walls and all I get to hear too. Hey it is the night of the senses- no feeling in the toes, no smelling thanks to fumes and no silence either. See I sleep like a rock, and normally 3am is well past sleeping time. So if these are regular occurances- I know nothing about it as I don’t hear these things. But last night I was honored with the experience, it’s a real adventure ride let me tell you. No theme park I know of has anything close to this. Turns out I have a super fantabulous multi-orgasmic neighbor with vast amounts of stamina or impressive levels faking power (I am guessing numero dos). I spent the next two and a half hours wishing there was some way short of plugging my ears with the cheese I forgot to throw away before I left to avoid hearing it all. And hear I did- moaning, groaning, bleating, panting, shrieking and every other kind of vocalization you can imagine. Until finally at almost 5am I took a cue from a story of a friend and I threw all my shoes at the wall. It stopped them thank god and I finally fell asleep, for three all too short hours before having to recycle to face a day of filing. See you get to laugh, me I can't wait to get home and crash with some Fern or hat knitting and my warm blanket- cause all of a sudden Jack Frost is all about nipping parts that well would be much more pleasurably nipped in warmer weather- or with a bath of Cashemerino Aran (trying to make this knit relaterd. Trying.) More knitting content and photos tomorrow.