Little donkey small and gray

We have this old custom in Switzerland called "Samichlaus", which translates to Santa Claus. However, he's not like other Santa Clauses. While he looks like them, he doesn't arrive on Christmas, but on the 6th of December. He lives in the forrest and he comes with a helper called "Schmutzli", who's in a dark robe with a black face and carries a rod made from branches. He doesn't say anything but he's kind of scary. Samichlaus carries a bit hessian bag full of mandarines, peanuts, chocolates and gingerbread. Him and Schmutzli will come to your house and they know exactly what you've been up to during the year, and if you haven't been a good girl or a good boy, then god help you. Because Schmutzli will take you into his bag and they will take you to the forrest. And you might even get your arse beaten.

At least that's how the story goes, and most kids have a cousin who has a friend, who has a sister who knows someone who's friend once got taken away to the forrest. This obviously only applies to you if you're a kid. Once you're an adult, you're fine. You can be as naughty as you damn well will and Schmutzli won't give a rat's arse. He might even like it.

If you ARE a kid, however, and you have been good, or at least kind of acceptable, then things are looking up for you. Now all you need to do is recite a Samichlaus poem to the two guys from the forrest and you will be rewarded. They will pour out the big hessian bag on your livingroom floor and you will have enough mandarines and peanuts to make you sick. They're actually pretty cool guys, Samichlaus and Schmutzli. Once you get to know them.

Anyway. While the proper day for them to arrive is the 6th of December, they usually make an appearance a bit earlier, at Christmas markets and stuff. I had to go to one of them a couple of days ago to write an article about the first arrival of Samichlaus, which is always kind of a big deal. Usually they arrive with a donkey, but this one arrived in a horse and carriage- pretty damn posh, if you ask me. Don't know how he makes the money in the forrest to afford a fancy horse and carriage, but that's not my problem. The kids went mental, of course. They all crowded him to tell him their little poems. Most of them had a mix of fear and excitement in their eyes and the really young ones spoke so softly you barely noticed they actually said something. But Samichlaus was generous and they all got a little Santa bag with goodies. Usually no kids over the age of, I guess, about eight or so would go up to Santa, because they don't believe in it anymore. They're already too cool to believe in fairy tales. So it's really just for the very young kiddies.

But when the first rush of the kids was over, Santa looked at me and then at Schmutzli and he said: "Schmutzli, you need to give this girl a bag of goodies too. She's been giving me such a lovely smile." He went to get a bag but I said: "Hang on. I know a Santa poem too." He looked at me surprised: "Really? Do you?" I said: "Yes, I do. As a matter of fact, this was the first Santa poem I ever delivered, when I was two." So I stood in front of them and recited the "Eseli, Eseli chli und grau" poem. It's about a "little donkey, little donkey, small and gray". And I tell you what, I rocked the socks off that poem. They absolutely loved it. And I was the only person over the age of eight to go home with a Samichlaus goodie bag.

I'm a fool, but I don't mind.

Well, I still love my new job. But after about 26 fairly stressful hours of work within two days, I think the honeymoon period is probably over. But it's my own fault and will teach me for absolutely having to work in journalism. Actually, it won't teach me. Call me a fool, but I'll have the interesting job over the 5.30pm finish any day.

Lousy Reputation

I don't very often steal stuff, but I stole this from Mr Jones because I thought it was funny. I'm sure he won't mind. Basically, the idea is to put your MP3 player on random and use whatever song you get as an answer to the next question.

What does next year have in store for me? Dog new tricks/ Garbage (that's right, I'll definitely intend to learn a few of those)

What does my love life look like? Man research/ Gorillaz (hahaha... I swear this came up randomly!)

What do I say when life gets hard? It's Jazz, Baby/ Rob Longstaff (And that's all that matters.)

What do I think of when I get up in the morning? Now I lay me down/ Rae & Christian (Because I'm such a lazy bastard)

What song will I dance to at my wedding? Brainy/ The National (Great song, but maybe just a touch too sad for a wedding)

What do I want to do for my career? Don't stop the rock/ Chemical Brothers (Not even at work. Damn straight.)

Favorite saying? Antichrist Television Blues/ Arcade Fire (Yeah baby, I'm dark. And weird.)

Favorite place? Mansard Roof/ Vampire Weekend (I can live with that.)

What do I think of my parents? How far/ Beth Orthon (Well, actually, not so far anymore now.)

Where would I go on a first date? King of the rodeo/ Kings of Leon (Definitely a bit different for a first date... but why not.)

Drug of choice? Atmospheric Beat/ Kerri Chandler (True, true)

How do I describe myself? Karma Police/ Radiohead (Hahaha... I can be like that, I admit it.)

What is the thing I like doing most? Slow walking/ The Avalanches (That's a lie. In fact, I can't stand people who walk really slow and take up the whole sidewalk.)

The song that best describes the president/prime minister? Pony/ Morcheeba (Well, if we're talking about the US- the last one wasn't quite cute enough for a pony and the next one is a bit too smart.)

What is my state of mind like at the moment? Puppet on a string/ The Hives (Sure... I'm a loser baby, so why don't you kill me.)

How will I die? Mental/ Eels (Yeah... thanks a lot)

Song they'll play at my funeral? Funky Shit/ The Prodigy (Love it! Remember it, people.)

What song will I put as the subject? Lousy Reputation/ We are Scientists (Thanks to you, Mr Random Generator)

I wish it was that easy.

This is serious.

You know how I realised that I'm in a state of emergency? And I mean- a serious emergency? And that the only thing that can save me now is a massive night out where I win a few dance-offs and where everyone else starts to take off their shoes and go home when the sun comes up, apart from me, and maybe my party partner? One of those nights where my mascara ends up on my eyelids and I'm kind of sweaty and my hair is messy at the end of the night, but where I don't give a rat's arse about it, because I'm dancing and my feet move by themselves?

The moment I noticed that this state of emergency has come upon me was when I was at my parents' place, in the kitchen, cooking dinner. The TV was on, and suddenly I noticed that I was dancing wildly through the kitchen to the tacky songs of the COMMERCIALS! I mean, excuse me! Helloooo! Commercials! Honestly. And they weren't even any good. Pretty bad, as a matter of fact.

The thing is, I haven't had a really big night out with lots of dancing in a little while. And I do need them kind of regularly, like other people need other things, like air and stuff. The thing is, since I have moved back to Switzerland, my weekend activities have changed a bit. A lot of my old friends here think that it's more important to have babies and stuff instead of going out dancing their arses off with me. Others again feel the need to fall pregnant or think they are too old to go out dancing. Not all of them, of course, but still, my dancing shoes have been just a touch neglected.

So, the way I see it, something needs to be done about this. Because next time, it could be found in my mum's kitchen dancing to Brittney Spears. And when I realise what I'm doing, I might drop dead. And because I think I'm too young to die, I better go and work out an emergency plan now.

Oh yeah, and if anybody feels the urge to try to dance me off the floor, please, I urge you, come forward, and by all means, do try. I WILL destroy you, but you can always try.