Birthday party

I was raised in Central Europe where the attitude to women mixes the two approaches. In Italy women are to mess with the household and to be cute, well groomed and stuff. In exchange they're rulers of the family, their hands are kissed and stuff. Up in the North, they don't get their hands kissed and lunches paid but they can be happily independent and no-one says anything. In here we combined it. Women should be decorative and entertaining, take care of the household and have a career for which they aren't the queens of the family, they do not have their hands kissed or something and their professional abilities are commented along the lines of She must be neglecting her family.
I am aware of this, I hate this.. but I've grown up in this so it is in me although I'm fighting. So this morning I had a clash with Juha who started washing up. I told him to let me do it, after all it was my party - and his response was You think I'm not able to wash up?
Well, obviously. Somewhere out there guys can do things without asking them. Somewhere out there the girls are not taught that all the household mess is their business. I still have a lot to learn. Things like sitting and being relaxed when someone else does things, first of all.

Anyhow, I wanted to make myself a cake. I like cakes and the candles and all the stupid childish stuff and since I strongly dislike bought cakes, I just buy the readymade dough and add somce cream to my preferences and whatever might be the fancy of the day. I couldn't, however, find the damn thing in the Tesco, the lady who was sorting out something in the shelf was of no help (well, she was pretty impolite for that matter but I guess that all the personnel in the supermarkets has to go thru some special frustrations test and those who are calm and nice aren't employed there. You know, to keep the atmosphere). I met Juha-the-perfect-flatmate there so he helped me with the heaps of food I bought (not for the party, for me. I need to eat too and I was running out of anything), I decided to make tiramisu instead (did I tell you the story about tiramisu and doctor boy?), I needed to do some cleaning and I decided to use up all sorts of forgotten veggies from the bottom of the fridge so I made a nice heap of mushroom soup, the birthday tiramisu and cleaned the whole place and i even managed to dress up (including finding the right bra under my new top and doing my hair. The eyeliner refused to cooperate again. Maybe the smartasses at Dior's could invent something smarter than the stuff that always dries in the brush between two uses... or maybe I'm supposed to use it every day? sigh)
Anyhow, we dran two bottles of wine and I got three and a bottle of sambuca, the Swedes brought their own beer (I still haven't got used to the habit of drinking beer from the bottle. I know people do it but I've grown up in Central Europe where even in the suburb pub one uses a glass for it. Beer is drank from the bottle when digging your well on a hot summer day or when you're homeless.... in my kitchen it makes me nervous).
So this is Juha-the-perfect-flatmate and my good old friend Iva, guessing from her face, she's communicating with the cat. She loves cats and it's thus pretty odd how cat hair makes her nervous. It wasn't visible on her skirt anyway. Practical pattern:)
I am fat even on this pic. Note my famous triangular plates. One more reason people think me weird. They're probably right.


Blow it and make a wish... Hm, I'd like to get somewhere interesting for my Ph.D. Just the other day we had a discussion with one guy, that our shared art history nightmare is ending up in some municipal museum in Anytown, sorting out trilobites. I'll go work on it, I don't want to live a nightmare.