I am not supposed to blog, therefore, I am.

Does anyone feel like re-vamping my blog in WordPress at the cheapest rate possible? Or even as a christmas present? I would hate to abuse Gordon as he he did a sterling job on this plum theme, but I have to move due to Haloscan. So I am desperate and am asking people who'd perhaps like Belgian pralines instead of cash for the job, although I could look into my Paypal account for cash payments.

Help.

Over to you, oh wondrous ones.

Oh Arse.

Things didn't go that well today - partly my fault for not having thoroughly prepared and thought through possible questions that I may have been asked. I'd like to thank all those who gave good, sound advice - and if (that's a rather big if) I get the job, I may start believing in god. Actually no.

That would be stretching things.

Will they ever grow up?

Coralie and Tatiana are now 20 and go out like 20 year-olds, do things that 20 year-olds do - all that, except grow up. Don't get me wrong, they are lovely girls, but Tatiana has been badgering me for the most part of this year to make an appointment for her at the gynaecologist. Admittedly, I didn't actually mind doing that as I had to go too, but I did tell her on several occasions that it's about time that she made these appointments herself.

On the way home, Tatiana then asked if I'd make a booking at the hairdressers' for both her and her sister. And being the muppet that I am, I did, called Tatiana to tell her the time of their appointment and also asked if there was anyone else she'd like me to call on her behalf.

Admittedly, I shouldn't have made those calls and I won't in the future unless it's some sort of an emergency, but it doesn't really stop there. Neither daughter can really cook despite having offered to teach them on numerous occasions. Just because I dislike cooking doesn't mean that I can't cook, but for a long time the only thing that they could make was a vinaigrette, the first thing that my father taught me to make.

Neither knows how to work the washing machine but they damn well know how to fill it up, so I suggested showing them where the powder goes too. Likewise the dishwasher and despite telling them to rinse their plates before putting it in, they never do. That's why the hot water downstairs was so important to me - I make them wash up now.

But things will gradually fall into place with time. Coralie will be looking for a job next summer if she passes all her exams and Tatiana still has a year to go. I just hope that I'm still not looking for a job at the same time as Coralie.

Meeep. There's one thing growing up and a totally different one leaving the nest.

Breaking a leg.

Guess what? You can't. You've read my Facebook page so you know. But if you haven't... The company where I last had an interview have got in touch with me as there is an identical position in another department and would like to interview me on Friday. They contacted me. I feel so chuffed.

But.

My hair is long and out of control so I'm going to get it cut tomorrow. I'm rather worried that although my back is slowly getting better, I won't be able to sit for long without dying. So I shall be taking my hot water bottle with me. It's times like this that I am glad that I know my hairdresser so well - most people would probably think I'm batty.

With my locks chopped, I face another dilemma.

I have already had two interviews at this company and have absolutely nothing to wear to a third interview so I'm going to wear my smart, black jeans. I hope this is not going to ruin my chances of getting the job. They emailed me last Friday - the deadline for the job was 27 November (this year) so maybe they really want me.

But.

I asked all my questions last time - shall I just repeat them? My mum said I should, especially as I won't be interviewed by the same person. I prefer to be pessimistic about it all, but it would be wonderful to end this year knowing that I'll be employed next year. So think of me on Friday - and all suggestions are welcome with regards outfit, hairdressers and the interview.

I'd like to knock them dead.

Merry Christmas, me.

Forgive me, chickadees, for I have sinned once again.

I have bought myself two christmas presents, have already unwrapped them and even had them installed by my mate Tony down the road (MMTDTR).

The joy that it is to have a shower. The joy that it is to wash up (if I could, as standing in one position for longer than two minutes is still rather painful due to the sciatica). I love to rub my hands over and up, feel the cold metal between my fingers and lift the chrome up and down on my new taps. For that is what I have divulged in, dearest people: two taps.

I was told by a professional who obviously knows bugger-all that the reason that I didn't get any hot water in the kitchen was due to a bunged-up tap. I only had to take it apart and stick it in vinegar, he said, but as it was one of the older makes, it was quite possible that 'parts' inside the tap had disintegrated. I'm not a plumber so thought "fuck it, let's get a new tap - problem sorted" and ended up asking MMTDTR if he'd get me a new tap and install it for me - and while he's at it, get a new set of taps for the bath as when I run a bath, water shoots out of the shower aswell.

Don't go away, this does come in useful if ever you have the same problem as I had: hot water upstairs, but none downstairs.

Tony installed the downstairs' tap. It looks beautiful and is shiny but did any hot water come out? No.

"I'll be back tomorrow and change one of those tiny taps under the sink and see if we get any joy from that. If not, you'll need a plumber, I'm afraid."
"Bwwaaaaaaaaaaaah."

I prodded the new tap which also acts as a shower and smiled grimly.

Tony then went on to install the new taps in the bath.

Hallelujah! When you want water, not a shower, you no longer end up drenched. It is amazing how happy things that work as they should make you after months of malfunctioning.

The next day, MMTDTR came back to change one of the taps under the sink.

"There's your culprit, Zoe," he said, showing me the old tap that was filled with limescale. Once the new one was on what did I get? HOT WATER! Oh yes. I now have hot water upstairs AND downstairs and this makes me very, very happy indeed.

This post was incredibly boring unless you happen to suffer the same problem as I did. Now you know where to look - and please, think of me if it works.

Next: MMTDTR tackles the leccy problem.

I bet you can't wait.

The funnier things in life.

I have been suffering from severe sciatica since last Thursday, but managed to limp out on Friday, wobble around on Saturday and thanks to Deep Heat, Tiger Balm, Tiger Balm gel and Tiger Balm Strips (thanks to a good friend of mine), got from room to room on Sunday. I needed to get rid of the severe pain as tomorrow, I need to spread my legs for my gynecologist. This only happens once a year, but it really didn't have to happen at the same time as the 'Vag Doctor'.

But me, being me, it did.

The Twat has been very helpful; giving me painkillers when needed, pushing me over during the night when needed, and even offering an arm to get me to the loo - when needed. He's a good carer in that sense and I suppose that is why we are good together, despite the turmoil of recent. I admit to being a bit worried about his visit to Bonn this week but I can live off soup for three nights and I'm sure that the pain will have gone by then, Inshalla. My main concern is getting the shopping in, despite my 'Shopping Date' on Tuesday.

I am sure that I will survive although the pain is still bad. People suffer worse and that is my main thought - until I have to turn slightly in bed. My thoughts then turn to all the miserable bastards who haven't yet employed me; those who should have kept me on and then....

Oh fuck. It's nearly Christmas.

Moj Momak Je Tupan

This is even better if you understand Serbian.

Thanks, VEGA MEDIA.

Belgium, you have pissed me off.

After I had checked the online job sites I decided to toodle off to the dole office to hand in my blue card and in return, the lovely people there will pay me. That's a pretty decent deal, in my opinion, it's just getting there and back that has always been a pain in the neck.

It's all quite straightforward, really. I go along our little footpath, dodging the fairies and pixies and any possible form of faeces, cross over the road and wait for the number 830 de lijn bus that takes me past houses, the industrial site that houses IKEA and into Zaventem. There, I jump off, run across the road and am usually back in time for the next bus back.

This time though, I had to wait quite a bit for my bus and despite having raided every single pocket in the house for change, could only hand over a €20 note. I knew that wouldn't go down well, but the driver asked if any of the other passengers had change for my note and I was duly saved. The driver even smiled at me. On the way back to the bus stop, after having deposited my blue card at the dole centre, I needed to get out some money, so I hovered over a hole-in-the-wall, grabbed my money and card only to see my bus go by. The next one wasn't for a while so I waited next to a crowd of excited north Africans who had just been shopping, and steadily, the queue got longer.

Finally, the bus arrived and I hopped on, clutching a €5 note. It was the same bus driver - but hey, this has happened before on my jaunts to Zaventem, and I went to hand over my money.

"Do you still have your other ticket, Madame?"
"Err, oui, why - is it valid for an hour?"
"Mais oui - an hour and twenty minutes. Let's see."

And yes, I was well within my limit, just like every other time when I have offered to use the same ticket that I bought to get there but have been told that I have to buy a new ticket. I wanted to kiss the driver, but he had a moustache.

Belgium's de lijn: I feel robbed.

Todd in 3D

Todd in 3D
Originally uploaded by zoeinbrussels.

Todd was showing us what he's going to wear for an oral exam this week and then saw the Twat's 3D glasses on the table. When he put them on he looked so 'cool' that I got Q to take this photo of him.

Very Madness.

Incapacitated.

Recently I seem to have been sleeping in an odd position and waking up with a stiff arm so this morning I did the usual and positioned myself under the shower so that the stiff area would get a good blast of hot water. As I passed the soap over that area it really hurt but thought nothing of it until I got out of the shower and caught sight of what looked like a burn.

How could I have burnt myself in one specific area only under water that isn't hot enough to burn? Realising that I wasn't wearing my glasses, I checked again, bespectacled, and it was the same, just rather less blurry. The 'burn' mark is right under the pathway of my bra strap so I've been swinging around knocking things left, right and centre today. It is amazing how much my massive bosom gets in my way; it's a good job that I don't own anything expensive. I'd be like a bull in a china-shop were I to visit my parents.

Bra-less.

Having said that, I was looking at the photo of me and my daughters. Where did my waist go? I appear to go up from my hips like a tree trunk whereas my daughters have such lovely waists.

I must do something about those glasses too. They are dreadful.

Sisters are doing it....

8-8-09 the girls
Originally uploaded by zoeinbrussels.

There are my daughters, on August 8, 2009. A later photo than I had hoped for and one that looks like I am falling through my chair. The damn slats are giving way and I happened to be sitting on the first one to fail us all.

So that is a picture of me and my daughters. I know I look so much younger but there again, cameras are so deceptive, don't you think? Looking at the photo, it is Tatiana, moi, sans tiara and Coralie. I think that both my daughters are incredibly beautiful - Tatiana in her sporty way and Coralie in her smaller, thinner frame. I love them both to death.

And finally, I have put up a picture of my book translated into Serbian (I formerly thought it was Latvian - I'm going bonkers). I am thinking of changing my name again.

How does Zoi sound to you? Original, methinks.

Saint-Verhaegen.

Some 'hats' or pennes. I couldn't find a larger picture.

I've decided to stop being a miserable cow for the time that it takes me to type up this post which is all about Belgian history. You can't wait, I know as I get the feeling that fewer and fewer eyes are reading this.

Over the past few weeks tourists have been baffled by young students wandering around Brussels wearing a white coat covered in grafitti and a really stupid-looking hat with a huge 'beak'. If you've been in Brussels recently you may have been hassled by these students begging for money in huge beer glasses. But why are they begging for money?

Because they are students.

And what is the money for?

Not Children in Need, believe me, but for...beer.

Oh yes, for today is Saint-Verhaegen/Sint-Verhaegen, a day that the students celebrate the founding of the Université Libre de Bruxelles/Vrije Universiteit Brussel by Pierre-Théodore Verhaegen. (At the time it was one university but split in 1970 because Belgium has some linguistic problems, it appears.) He wasn't really a saint or anything but anything is good enough to go out on the piss, and that is exactly how the students celebrate this day.

Very often, the students start the day by going back to their secondary school and pelting the children still at school with eggs and flour during their morning break. Each time my daughters would come home on 20 November, covered in eggs, flour and whatever, my first reaction was to put them in the oven as they were covered in enough ingredients for something to cook.

Then the students start a long procession towards Verhaegen's tomb and monument in his honour, although there is more concentration on drinking in the streets than anything else.

I remember blogging about Coralie going through le baptême last year although after walking into a tree and ending up with a black eye, she decided that it wasn't worth it. Neither Coralie nor Tatiana have been 'christened' and are therefore not 'allowed' to go around in a white coat and silly hat. The baptême is performed by the older students who basically do nothing but humiliate the younger ones. If you can survive it, you end up with a daft-looking penne, all of which are different according to which faculty you are in, and a white coat.

And that's a very brief lesson about Saint-V.

Gone for a walk.

I'm not sure when I'll be back - soon, I hope, but I have had to attach wheels from one of my roller-blades onto Hermie as he can be a bit slow, especially if he starts getting hungry.

There's bound to be something to post.

Moving on.

It may take a while but the clues have been there since the summer. I'm not going to give up just yet, but give me time.

xxx

It's over.

And that's that.