Maintenance Product

Apparently, this is what used to be called 'toothpaste'. When did this happen?

Snow Chronicles - the Christmas appendix

This is down the street from my house. In case you can't quite make it all out, there's a full nativity scene on the roof made of plastic, that glows, at least 4 Christmas trees, a collection of snowmen and penguins riding on a ferris wheel, about 8 candy canes, and Santa.

Just out of the shot on the left is an inflatable merry go round, and on the side of the house is a big banner that says "Happy holidays from the (can't remember their name)s".

Hmm.

Snow Chronicles

I got home safely, albeit a tad frosted! Thank goodness I bought rubber boots the day before the storm (they're truly hideous, but they were on sale) because they came in handy for the trudging and such...

Once Martha and I had conquered winter by getting home to our nice warm flat, we decided to go out for a drink, down in Davis Square.

Martha started the night off right by completely missing the bottom step, and face-planting into our nice fluffy white front yard. Still, she's hardy stock so we dusted her off and continued into town.

We had a lovely time, did a bit of bar crawling, quaffed some average wine and some very fine beer, and then headed home. The snow was piling up, so we spent about 20 minutes shoveling it onto the verge, and trying to find the front steps.

I just got up, and guess what? It's been snowing all damn night, and all that back breaking shoveling was for nothing because it looks like we didn't bloody touch it! BUGGER.

To cheer me up, Martha said we could let the cat out to see what he thinks of having cold paws. What do you think? A happy face?



Ha ha! She drew the line at my proposal that we biff him into a big snow drift and watch him "phooooof" and disappear.

Here's the current view from the front door.



It's STILL snowing! I'm glad I have vege bacon and the Internet. All will be well.

Blizzards and Butt Munches

Well, there's a massive snow storm about to hit Massachusetts. As in, in about 45 minutes. The rich, important, overpaid and snooty employees have been allowed to go home early, so that their precious carcasses aren't trapped in their nice cars as they battle back to their homes.

I, on the other hand, have to stay here on the front desk and answer the phone until 4. With nobody to cover for me, even if I need to use the bathroom! Getting the feeling I'm slightly disgruntled? You're very astute.

A story:

One of the many couriers came in this morning, and noticed in our brief transaction that I am from somewhere else. We had this conversation...

"Where you from? Ireland?"
"Um, no actually. I'm from New Zealand."
"Ohhhh! Eh! Eh! Eh!"
"What?"
"I went to Canada once, for two weeks."
... (This is me, being completely nonplussed.)

To Quote The Locals...

I'm soooo excited!

Yesterday I bought my train ticket to Washington D.C., for Obama's inauguration weekend! Even if I don't get to see the actual ceremony (tickets are impossible to get at this stage) I'll be there on the ground and hopefully watching it on a big TV. And that's about as good as it gets for this little Kiwi.

From Culture to Smut in 6 Hours!

Sometimes, a day is going so well. You're out in sub-zero temperatures, admiring lovely buildings that you can barely see through your streaming eyes, attempting to take fetching photos with frozen fingers.



You snicker at hilarious T signs for destinations that are, shall we say, fanciful?



The company is superb, of course! Especially when it's willing to pose with a large tin of Milo while sitting on a turtle.



Where would the turtle be without the hare?



Can't remember who this guy is. Quincy? Adams? Washington? Boylston? Not important. It's me, Stef, and a large tin of Milo!



Ah yes, going so well. This was the more civilised part of our day. We were frozen so bloody solid that we decided to ditch the sights of Boston, and drink ourselves warm.

So we went back to my 'hood, and propped up the bar for a few hours. Met this hilarious guy who used to (according to him, anyway) be a professional hockey player and wrestler, who spent most of the time talking our ears off about his fabulous life.

It had its moments. I liked when he tried to get Stef to arm wrestle an old guy sitting at the other end of the bar, and when he went to great lengths to assure us that he's not gay. I'm not sure why this was in question, but there you go.

The day was rounded up nicely by the very drunk, possibly homeless man outside the Davis Square T station, who asked us if we would like to "make love". Now, doesn't that just warm your heart?

Meeting People

Usually, when I meet new people, it goes like this. They do that super-saccharine "Oh hi! Nice to meeeeet you!!!" thing that Americans do when they're being polite. Then I say something appropriate back. Then they get the Look. The one that says "She's not from around here...".

Questions ensue, and my ancestral roots are traced back to New Zealand, which invariably gets a response of "Oh! Nooo Zeeeland! I hear it's beautiful".

But yesterday, I met this guy at a temps office party who immediately informed everyone around us that New Zealanders may look prim and innocent (while he waved his hand in MY direction!) but they're actually hard-core party animals and can drink anybody you care to mention right under the table.

I felt peer pressure! I felt the burden of civic pride in our achievements, no matter how dubious! I felt that maybe it's the Americans' fault that we drink irresponsibly. If they're going to keep admiring us for it, how can we not play along? Before you know it, I was agreeing to meet up for a couple of bottles of wine to prove that I am, in fact, an Antipodean Booze Bitch.

Brilliance Abounds

Got stuck on the train for quite a while this evening, because the driver overshot Davis Square station, and we had to BACK UP. Lame.

Bostonians are not shy about sharing their disgust with bad service. It was quite the bitch session in my carriage!

ew

So, last night I was innocently dreaming in my little bed, snuggled up under my beautiful quilt, when something interrupted my slumber.

A fast and uncomfortable-sounding squeaking.

Yep, my loser bastard inconsiderate idiot upstairs neighbour, who consistently comes home around midnight to play some ridiculous base-pounding computer game that reverberates through my room, seems to have gotten laid.

It was all over in 2 minutes flat, and there were no discernible sounds of appreciation.

I hate sharing houses.

Thanksgiving

Spent the weekend up in Essex with C's family. These people.



It was kind of cold! This is everyone on one of the gut-reducing walks we went on. They're standing in front of a quarry lake. Very beautiful, but freaky as well.

A fun day, minus the killer wave that tried to snatch Caroline and her brother Dan!