Category Archives: story-telling

alright, kids, gather round

#endmosquitoes

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yello peeps,

 

we’ve all been bitten by the odd bug or so, we all learn to live with this minor irritation.

Image result for lol nope

jk, i dunno about you guys, but i scratch every bite till it bleeds. yeah i know, scars blablabla. dont. care. absolutely do not care. its worth it.

anyway, with this less than tolerant attitude towards mosquitoes, i’m sure you can fathom how certain more tropical climates might not entirely agree with me all the time. to clarify, i’m not sure how the rest of the world is, but mosquitoes in switzerland are mostly harmless (as harmless as evil bloodsucking parasites can be), whereas the ones in the US, as an example, are horrifying. if you don’t believe me: my brother once saw a mosquito land on his leg in the US, and he slapped it, and the mosquito not only survived but proceeded to bite him anyway. it then flew away unscathed. a goddamn survivor.

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suddenly the word mosquito reminds me of mojito, but obviously if mosquitoes were mojitos the world would be a very different place. *whistful sigh*

and considering all this, i just want to say that my recent trip to portugal with my boyfriend was lovely – beautiful beach, sunsets, the works – except for one tiny detail. the mosquitoes. now you may think i’m exaggerating, but let me tell the story:

portugal, as some of you may already know, is a rather warm country. very warm, in fact. so there we are, bf and i, trying to get a good nights sleep. sweating. gasping for breath, trying to suck in the humid air. totally survivable, tbh. i actually slept rly well. we spent a few nights in these conditions, it was alright.

but then, tragedy struck. we got too confident. and we *audience has baited breath* decided to sleep with the window open. let in the fresh cool air. let a nice breeze caress our skin. it was tempting, and we were weak.

the first night like this was quite alright. we got a few bites, as expected, but it was nothing we couldn’t deal with. our plan had been a success.

Image result for success kid

“lets continue on this path”, we thought, “this seems totally livable”, we thought.

……

………

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we were wrong.

the second night was worse, and we woke up covered in bites. the annoyance really had become too strong at this point, and we decided – like any smart person would (honestly i don’t think you even have to be smart for that) – to shut the window from now on.

and wE FORGOT.

tuckered out from an exhausting day at the beach, we crashed in the bed and fell right asleep. believe me when i say that the next morning i woke up because of my itching body. because of it.

cursing and feeling stupid, we slammed the window shut and thought this would be the end of our suffering.

again, we were wrong. (i’m almost tearing up thinking about how wrong we were.)

you see, apparently our bedroom was a very attractive bedroom to the mosquitoes, and the mosquitoes, seizing the opportunity we had foolishly provided, had migrated into the bedroom. colonized the bedroom. they probably had tiny flags and celebrations and everything. not to mention further populating their new home.

and in the evening, of course, in we walked, a giant feast for everyone, with our inviting plumpness, pulsating veins, enticing body warmth (i know this description may be disturbing, but i’m trying to write in the mosquitoes’ point of view).

Image result for mosquito bite comic

we literally watched them sitting on the ceiling, doing exactly this.

the feast tried to sleep, but it was a restless sleep. every ten seconds another mosquito would help itself to our deliciousness, every time a little bit of sleep and a little bit of patience was drained from our bodies along with the blood.

we woke up miserable, desperate, hoping that the next night would be bearable. it wasn’t.

the mosquitoes were relentless! untiring!

nearing insanity, my bf and i started swatting the air at every hint of a bug, but to no avail.

eventually i was starting to feel like one huge mosquito bite, and at last, when i could take it no longer, i let out a cry of utter despair, kicking and hitting the mattress, got up, grabbed my pillow and duvet, and announced that i would be sleeping on the couch in the living room. bf followed suit.

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at about 5 in the morning, we finally fell sleep. grateful, peaceful sleep.

the next day we investigated the situation, and were forced to acknowledge that the bedroom had, in fact, become more mosquito-invested than the actual OUTSIDE.

Not only that, we also found a GIANT COCKROACH in one of the clothing drawers (even the thought is making me shudder – and i, mercifully, will not include a picture). A GIANT FU**ING COCKROACH. A MONSTER. A DRAGON. IT COULD EVEN FLY. I WOULD GLADLY HAVE PROVIDED THE FIRE EXCEPT I FIGURED IT WOULDNT BE SMART TO BURN DOWN THE HOUSE. to be honest, the cockroach deserves its own story, because the effort we had to go through to get rid of it was just. oh god. just trying to forget. #scarredforlife #worsethanmosquitobitescars #wayf*ckingworse

We slept on the couches for the rest of our stay.

And actually, we continued to thoroughly enjoy the trip, however, we were from then on plagued by nervous, slightly crazy ticks every time we thought something other than air had touched us (and i’m sure anyone with long hair can sympathize with my situation on that one), and did have at least one conversation about how to create optimal mosquito-torture devices (we did think about the ethical issues regarding such ideas, however, we also decided we no longer give a flying eff about mosquito rights. those motherfudgers can die excruciating deaths for all i care, because i dont).

The moral of the story, basically, is that i hate mosquitoes.

But everythin’s just dandy now :D and i can also highly recommend portuguese food.

 

cheers,

penny

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p.s. writing this has made me itch all over, no joke. :P

Wolves, and Their Personal Grudge Against Me (eff you, maugrim)

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Dear peeps,

 

Ever since I can remember, my relationship with wolves has been a tedious one. Unbalanced, to say the least. To be perfectly honest, I sometimes feel a little attacked. ‘Why?’, you ask. I suppose I’d have to say that’s because they have frequently attacked me.

Don’t worry, I haven’t actually been mauled by wild beasts and I don’t have a shredded, scarred face (still as gorgeous as ever) – but once you hear the persecution I have had to endure during my oh so short life-time, I’m sure you will agree that we’re talking about some true childhood trauma.

You see, it all started when I was maybe six or seven, and my dad would read “The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe” to my brother and me. ‘Broaden their minds’, he probably thought, ‘open their eyes to entirely different, new worlds, boost their creativity.’ Innocent enough, it would seem.

the dreams and images our supportive young father probably meant to show us (but oh, the painful reality)

But do any of you remember that one, terrifying scene? The one that changed my life FOREVER?

That’s right. Maugrim the wolf.

I’m not even joking when I say that this picture still haunts me.

As Maugrim was described, from cowardly, simpering Edmund’s point of view (who is, by the by, also the reason I have a strong aversion to all names beginning in “Ed” – maybe I should look into these Narnia issues), I remember how he came to life in my mind, not knowing that this image would never, ever leave.

It started out harmlessly enough. My midnight trips to the bathroom now became terrifying leaps across the hallway, attempting not to be eaten by the wolf that – I was convinced – was guarding the doors. Probably a healthy enough fear of the unknown, or the dark, or whatever.

However, then the nightmares came.

Family members being devoured, being pursued by wolves at the supermarket, being chased by wolves while my legs hopelessly malfunctioned.

And it gets better.

We used to babysit this adorable, fluffy little dog named Spike. We all loved Spike. Spike loved us. (R.I.P. Spike. <3)

this isn’t him, but he looked pretty similar.

Well, imagine my shock and horror when Spike showed up in my dreams with rabies, started eating his own thighs, and then proceeded to bite my mother, so she had rabies too and started attacking all of us.

I mean what. the. actual. fudge.

Or how about the time this cartoon wolf turned up on our balcony: He had a bright red nose – a bit a la Rudolph – and he was trying to eat us, and my mom managed to whack his nose off his face with a spatula, and he just took a new nose out of his pocket and said “hahahaaa new nose!” and fixed it on his face and we were left helpless, about to be murdered.

Now, don’t say I haven’t tried to free myself from this situation. For years, I insisted that wolves were my favorite animals, in a desperate attempt to pacify whichever evil wolf spirits were determined to ruin my sleep night after night.

It didn’t work (just to be clear, tigers are my favorite animal, and since I’ve only been attacked by a tiger once, and that one time I had force-field powers to protect me, I’m going to stay loyal to this claim).

Even now, my frantic sprints up the stairs and to my bed after turning off lights are caused by a sense of snarling wolves close behind me. Just last night, I watched a horror movie, and instead of afterward being afraid of whatever was in the movie, I became convinced that if I left the couch, wolves would attack me.

I have a serious problem.

Oh, and to all you who don’t understand why I’m a cat person and not a dog person: This is why I’m a cat person. This is why.

 

Cheers,

Penny

missed opportunities

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i ate an entire chocolate bar

in the parking lot, standing next to my car.

no one saw, they mustnt know

and now, with an ambitious glow

the wrapper crumpled in my hand

i spy, over there, a garbage can.

i raise my arm, raise it way up high

i raise it up into the sky

the heavens gasp as the wrapper flies

across the lot, across the skies

it draws a rainbow in the air

oh what finesse! oh what flair!

the wrapper disappears in the can

i holler and yell “yeahhhh whos da man?!!”

 

 

then a tear rolls down my cheek

as i think of my future, cold and bleak

i shouldve been a basketball star

instead, i get into my car

and remember: i ate an entire chocolate bar.

guess thats my legacy so far.

*screams of horror at self* *desperate crying* *comfort eating chocolate*

 

Cheers,

Penny

Death By Toxic Throw-Pillow Fibres

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Yello peeps,

 

My mother has made a friend recently. This friend is a vegan. Now, some of us may be aware of vegans on the internet – particularly Tumblr and Twitter. You might even recognize the game “find the vegan”.

However, my mother found it extremely worrisome when this vegan tweeted, in response to “mmm bacon”, “CUNT”. Then, later, “I no longer want to live on this planet.” I’m assuming this had something to do with a hamburger or somebody thinking tuna isn’t an animal. My mother, on the other hand, was thrown into a whirl of panic and distress:

she looked up his address

texted the vegan

called the vegan

promptly decided that the vegan needed a relaxing get-together

Thus, she and the vegan were going to visit Ikea on Friday.

And, speaking of Ikea…

“Do we have extra throw-pillows?”

very loud silence

I explained that I needed them to make my bed more attractive, since I wanted to use it as a background in my YouTube videos.

My mom burst into a fit of cackling laughter. “OH THE VAPID STATEMENT”, she shrieked mockingly

“OH THE TEENAGE TROUBLES”

More laughter.

I stood there as she amused herself. 

Then, suddenly, she responded in an *almost* serious tone: “You could use your old clothing to make shreds and create more pillows.”

oh, the beauty…

I wondered vaguely if that would really be a positive addition to the aesthetic – perhaps I could film a DIY tutorial parody.

But before I could respond, she laughed again, before gasping in shock:

“What if you inhaled toxic fibres from the fabric and died?!”

I expressed some doubt concerning that possibility, teasing her lightly, but she defended herself:

“But things happen!

People kill themselves!

Ahhh we were back with the vegan.

It occurred to me that I could share this story and give people a laugh, so I asked permission to blog about it.

“About what? Nothing’s happened.”

Exactly, mother, exactly.

 

Cheers,

Penny

Paris is Next-Door

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Dear peeps,

 

When something like this happens, I often get the feeling that it is indecent to even speak of it, to even assume that we could possibly understand anything so horrible, when we haven’t experienced it first-hand. Or to talk on behalf of the people who have. But it is a necessity, so I’m going to share my thoughts here, and maybe you can relate to what I have to say.

I am not very involved in politics, I don’t always keep up with world happenings. It all just seems so irrelevant to my personal life that sometimes I just can’t be bothered. I think this is very common for young people in particular. And so yesterday evening, when my class’ group chat started exploding with shock and outrage at what was happening in Paris, I didn’t even read it until this morning.

When I realized what had happened, I was beyond ashamed. I am ashamed that I could ever feel exempt from the responsibility each person has of being involved in our global community. Such apathy is entirely arrogant.

Paris is next-door to Switzerland. My class went there on a trip last year. It could have been us. It could have been our friends or family, and for all these people, it was them and their friends, their family.Displaying IMG_0976.JPG

this is my best friend and me on the eiffel tower. it only took us three hours to get to paris.

this is my best friend and me on the eiffel tower. it only took us three hours on the train to get to paris.

I watched some video footage of people running out of Bataclan, screaming, wounded, falling, dead. A man yelling out repeatedly, “Oscar!” Limping.

Who is Oscar? Is Oscar okay?

There were people hanging onto window sills for dear life. You could hear gunfire. Shouts for help.

I have never seen anything so horrifying. This wasn’t a movie, a reenacted documentary. This was real. I cried for nearly fifteen minutes. At the same time, I knew that my mom and my brother were inside the house, safe. I was texting my friends about this, so they were safe. Obviously, they were all safe. They weren’t in Paris, they weren’t even in France. But the fear was there nonetheless.

“It is a horror.”

And then I watched François Hollande’s speech, speaking of France’s strength, the injustice, how they would overcome this evil, that they would go against ISIS ruthlessly. And my sense of fear and terror turned into rage.

Those cannot be humans behind those masks! Those are monsters! This is pure evil.

I want to be able to help, but the most I can do is like and share facebook posts, change my profile picture to the French flag, and be sad and angry. Believe me, I’m happy to do that. It’s important to show support, for every person to be there for the victims of these attacks, but we should strive for more.

facebook’s movement

I started this post by mentioning indecency vs necessity, and I want to come back to that now: I have often considered the idea of becoming a journalist, and frequently, the financial prospects (and yes, the “irrelevance” – the irony of this is not lost on me) put me off it. But the helplessness I felt today made me realize that I owe it to myself and to society to be one of the people who ties us together by ensuring that people are informed, that people understand the very real happenings around them, so that we don’t lead disconnected, oblivious lives.

This isn’t meant to be a life-changing post or some sort of instruction, but it’s the impression this event has made on me, and I wanted to share it with you.

Lastly, I want to say that I am so grateful for all of my friends and family, and my heart goes out to all those who have suffered through these attacks.

 

Sincerely,

Penny

 

Links to the main articles I read, not including the more recent updates (one is in French, but the footage is comprehensible all the same):

Le Monde

BBC News

 

what’s the opposite of a pedophile? – woes with party penny

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Dear peeps,

 

This little tid-bit is actually rather old, but I just realized that I never got round to telling you about it.

But because it is a golden piece of humiliation, here goes!

So I was at my friend’s birthday party, and we were playing some sort of drinking game.

Das right. I be a bad girl.

And we had a questions round, which obviously is a great way to get to know each other better. Too well, perhaps.

The question was:

At what age are men most attractive?

So, without hesitation, everyone yelled “nineteen!” “eighteen!” “twenty-five!” “fourty-five!”

Guess who that last one was.

I received some concerned stares. So to improve my situation, I said: “I thought that’d be obvious.

Apparently, it wasn’t obvious. But we continued with the game.

I think some people see me in a different light now.

But I would like to have a chance to explain myself: I am not attracted to fourty-five-year-old men, I swearrr! I do, however, stand by the claim that men who have kept themselves in good shape look, well, the “manliest” at age fourty-five. For the following reasons.

Save me, doctor #ineedhelp

Also: suits. For realz.

Imagine if not all superheroes were gorgeous. Would people still want them to save them? (Don’t answer that. I’m not sure what I’m talking about.)

So, judge me all you want, but I’ve had this opinion since I was fifteen and there’s no swaying me.

 

Cheers,

Penny

After Bedtime Adventures

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Good morning peeps!

 

First, I would like to start off with a fun fact you might not be familiar with:

Did you know that sleep deprivation can have the same effect on you as inebriation?

Therefore, I would like to blame the following story on science, rather than my less than excellent judgement:

I’m on fall break right now, so as nature would have it, my sleeping patterns have of course gone to hell.

And, unfortunately, we all know how motivation tends to strike us in the dead of night, when everyone else is sleeping, giving us wonderful ideas of change and excitement and whatnot. Y’know, like going for a short run in the forest, ordering half of Ikea in an attempt to beautify the house, planning future broadway performances…

Now, the problem is that when one has transformed into something that could be described as “nocturnal” at best, “vampire” at most acurate, these ideas like to jump into our heads almost constantly.

So there I was, lying on the side of my face, scrolling through Pinterest, greeted over and over by pictures of smiling, laughing, cool, gorgeous girls, posing in cozy sweaters, grinning seductively into the camera. At first, I continued to lie on my face, unphased, scrolling, drooling, like the sad creature that I was.

After all, why waste time sleeping?

But then, I began to recognize a pattern: Many of these girls had bangs!

Well, I sighed, I guess I’ll never be that stylish. For my mother had often advised me against getting bangs, insisting that they wouldn’t look good on me.

Then, however, a wave of rebellion suddenly hit me: I could rock bangs! I could pull them off! And I would!

And so began half and hour of careful measuring, brushing, snipping, scrutinizing, and eventually, realization.

As I stared into the mirror at this

The beauty.

The beauty.

the gravity of my actions finally dawned on me.

Needless to say, a large variety of profanities followed, as well as a few tears, until I managed to fall asleep, accepting that I was probably going to have nightmares.

I did go to the hairdresser the next day, and look quite human again, but shall we just say: I have learned things.

Heed my warning.

 

Cheers,

Penny

le new look :)

le new look :)