"Du siehst, wohin du siehst, nur Eitelkeit auf Erden."

The other day I Googled my newest invented alias, Tsubo-chan, just to see where it'd been used before. Must be a rarer name than I thought since Saturday's journal entry was already the second hit! Then, out of curiosity, I Googled "muckefuck" and found--to my surprise--that this journal is the fourth-ranked hit. (The first two are Wikipedia and Wiktionary, respectively, and the third is the website of German skateboys.) How did that happen? Who the hell is linking to this sad little excuse for a web presence?

Name of the Day

Karl-Theodor Maria Nikolaus Johann Jacob Philipp Franz Joseph Sylvester Freiherr von und zu Guttenberg

(Courtesy of bengt via niemandsrose)

"The worst kind of bourgeois twat."

For most of the my life, having maid service seemed like an inconceivable luxury. It took bunj and e. to convince me that it was an affordable one, and several years with monshu to convince me that it would be a necessity for living together.

So since the New Year, we've had a couple of meticulous Polish women visiting every other Tuesday to give the place a thorough scrubdown. Well worth eating out a couple times fewer each month, I say; monshu and I still haven't tired of rushing home each time to spell the ammonia-scented air of divine cleanliness.

Of course, having strangers come into your home and put it to rights takes some adjustment. At first, we were conscientious about tidying up the evening before their arrival. "If they can't see it, they won't clean it," e. warned us. Obviously, she never met these ladies. The first time I walked into the den, I was surprised to see the few books I'd left lying out arranged in a neat stack. But this was nothing compared to walking into the kitchen trying to figure out where they'd hidden the dish-scrubbing supplies.

There's a place for everything, and Anna and her team have a definite idea of what that place is for each and every object. In some areas, such as the pantry or liqueur tray, we've surrendered to their organisational instinct. But elsewhere, we hold firm. I want my toothbrush where I can see it, thank you. And since my name is not "Charles Foster Kane", I just as soon sit elbow-to-elbow with my better half rather than gaze at him across the length of the dining table.

I confess, now, the whole little game has begun to intrigue me. Last night, I was about to neaten the pile of books on my nighttable when it occurred to me that it might be interesting to leave everything as it was. How would they enforce order on my motley assortment of texts? And, for the first time, I didn't tuck away all my toiletries underneath the sink. How often can you say that you're anxious to see what you'll find when you go to brush your teeth?