It's all good.
I'm officially an advanced språker of the advanced språk.
Check me out. I'm even certified to use the fancy vowels: språk, høyre, lææææære.
I think the 'æ' is my favorite of the fancy vowels. It's kind of a hyper-flat, short 'a' sound, and I can't seem to stop myself from over pronouncing it every time I use it: lææææære, bææææære, ææææære. Annoys the shit out of Elder Miss, which makes it even more fun.
I needed 450 points to pass. I got 600 out of a total of 700 points. I'm told this is respectable, and that I should be proud of myself.
But I don't know. I tend to think it means bupkis. I mean, I flew to Rygge (in the East of Norway) yesterday to pick up my new puddy tat and her sister. The dialect over there.....sheesh! Everytime someone opened their mouth to speak to me I was all like, "Wa-huh?"
The breeder who delivered the puddy tats to the airport spoke an extra special form of the dialect called 'breathless rapid-fire'. That was fun. I think she was telling me stuff she thought I needed to know. Something about vaccines which they need more of, and ID chips which need to be...hell, I don't know...but there was definitely something about ID chips. I just nodded my head, fondled the kittens, and signed whatever she handed me to sign. Seems to me that someone who scored a 600 out of 700 possible points on a language test should be capable of more advanced conversation than that.
The kittens, by the way--cute with a capital Q, if you know what I mean. They made me take them out of the travel cage and carry them through the security check point. Everyone around me agreed we made quite the adorable tableau. Then, naturally, the machine singled me out for a random search. Just imagine: me, two kittens, and a rough pat-down by a uniformed security guard (a rather large, dark one, at that). The stuff of fetishes, I tell ya'!
Alas, the puddy tat is not home with us. As I think I've already mentioned, we're leaving for Salt Lake next Wednesday and the woman who bought Cindy's* sister offered to take both kittens for the summer. We delivered them there late last night. Both of them exhausted and terrified from their journey.
And such is the news from JEDA this week. Time to start gathering my wits about me, and preparing myself for the trip home. Funny, yesterday's quick hop to Rygge didn't phase me at all, but the prospect of next week's trek acorss the Atlantic just freaks me out. Is it the distance? The water? The fact that the kids will be with me, and that they too could fall out of the sky from 35,000 feet? I don't honestly know. But I'm not looking forward to it. Not one bit.
Home, on the other hand, home will be bliss. Can't wait!
*You read right. It appears that Mister and his 'Cindy' campaign won out. Fucker.