Monday, November 21, 2005

God may hate me but life is still good...

I have bad karma or God hates me. You decide...

I pride myself on being fairly smooth--not a klutz am I. So what happens? I slice a finger on my left hand while wrestling with a bag of frozen shrimp, and, a week later, I cut a finger on my right hand with a razor that was in my purse. (We went to Korcula, Croatia, and I threw some overnight stuff in my bag, including razor. Stupid). Stu was just in agony. Seems like it should be the other way 'round, eh? I suppose the one funny thing with the second finger incident was that it happend at the Burger King on Camp Butmir. I totally grossed out some German EU military folk. I was bleeding all over the table. The resilient Bosnian women workers came to the rescue with towels and antiseptic. Funny that it's the same the world over. Men are babies.

Lacerations aside, so much is exciting and so much has happend! I should patiently write it all down, but I should also be doing my Bosnian homework before my teacher comes. I may not be a klutz, but I am a confirmed procrastinator.

1) No Burger King outside of Camp, but there is a "Hamby King." Oh my, that's funny.
2) I did a very bad thing. I fell in love with one of the one-eyed street cats in our alley. I just couldn't help myself...I spirited him into our basement. I thought I could hide him from Stu for a few days, but wouldn't you know it? The one day I want to be sneeky, Stu decides to come home for lunch. There I was, one-eyed cat in one hand and a litter box in the other. Oh dear. What's worse (and anyone who knows my addiction to street cats can imagine) I slept with Button in the basement for two nights. On the third night, Stu couldn't take it any longer and accused me of wanting to sleep with a cat rather than sleep with him. This, of course, should illustrate my earlier point: men are babies. Can you believe he was jealous of a one-eyed street cat? Tisk, tisk, tisk. As I write, Button is being seen to by the local (and possibly only) vet in Sarajevo. Fingers crossed. I may have to put that sweet kitty down.

Oh, I had a list of things I wanted to say, but I need to run home and get the house together for my lesson. Bosnian women keep their houses very clean, and, in that, I fall quite short. Cheers!


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