So we're cleaning our attic. For the first time in 63 years. Yep. The crap in our attic has been through a war intact. We found stuff my late grandma left there, the grandma that remarried and moved to another town in 1981. 'Nuff said.
We brought down our old school books and my diaries and notebooks with poems. I was one fuckin' emo teenager. The one with no gift for poetry whatsoever. Maybe if I stuck with the same motive, but that was so hard, considering how I was ~eternally in love~ with a different boy every other week. I even found my first fanfiction that I wrote before I even knew the concept existed. Obviously, we're talking blatant self-insert about meeting my favourite singer at his concert, falling madly in love at first sight, ad then marrying him to be living happily ever after in his castle in Ireland. What?! It could've happened! If, y'know, he didn't decide to become a monk and is now living in some monastery in France. God has come between me and my true love! *shakes fist*
Among my favourites there was a metal pipe with two holes near one end with a wire stuck through them, apparently with no purpose whatsoever, a car tyre, and an egg - a chicken egg, as it appears. Not boiled, not artificial. A real, live, albeit rotten, egg.
Another interesting thing was this... I guess it's some kind of a scrapbook with messages from 1884. 1884!! I have no idea what they say because it's pretty much all in Hungarian, with some German. It looks really pretty, though, so I took pictures.
Hot dude is hot. LOL
The absolute winner, however, is THIS:
That, my friends, is the contraception of the early 20th century. I kid you not. The woman would stick one end of a rubber hose at the end of the little thing sticking out at the bottom, pour warm water into the container, then shove the other end of the hose into her vagina after the intercourse, and wash the sperm out.
AT LEAST NOW I HAVE SOLVED THE PROBLEM OF CONTRACEPTION TO BRING WITH ME TO KRK.
We brought down our old school books and my diaries and notebooks with poems. I was one fuckin' emo teenager. The one with no gift for poetry whatsoever. Maybe if I stuck with the same motive, but that was so hard, considering how I was ~eternally in love~ with a different boy every other week. I even found my first fanfiction that I wrote before I even knew the concept existed. Obviously, we're talking blatant self-insert about meeting my favourite singer at his concert, falling madly in love at first sight, ad then marrying him to be living happily ever after in his castle in Ireland. What?! It could've happened! If, y'know, he didn't decide to become a monk and is now living in some monastery in France. God has come between me and my true love! *shakes fist*
Among my favourites there was a metal pipe with two holes near one end with a wire stuck through them, apparently with no purpose whatsoever, a car tyre, and an egg - a chicken egg, as it appears. Not boiled, not artificial. A real, live, albeit rotten, egg.
Another interesting thing was this... I guess it's some kind of a scrapbook with messages from 1884. 1884!! I have no idea what they say because it's pretty much all in Hungarian, with some German. It looks really pretty, though, so I took pictures.
Hot dude is hot. LOL
The absolute winner, however, is THIS:
That, my friends, is the contraception of the early 20th century. I kid you not. The woman would stick one end of a rubber hose at the end of the little thing sticking out at the bottom, pour warm water into the container, then shove the other end of the hose into her vagina after the intercourse, and wash the sperm out.
AT LEAST NOW I HAVE SOLVED THE PROBLEM OF CONTRACEPTION TO BRING WITH ME TO KRK.
5 spoke back:
I'm thinking the effective rate of the bucket was pretty low, but hey, at least things were kept clean.
And wet.
Wow.
I just.
huh.
LOL the first think I thought was "what ever that is it's got a softie."
It's so awesome that you're blogging again - cuz this rocks.
LMAO @ softie! You weren't even that far off!
You lie!!!
I wouldn't use that bucket to water my flowers let alone the flower!
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