Preferable to packing

I certainly hope not too many people will read this blog. I'd hate to feel obligated to be entertaining and such. Well, to everyone who expects me to be funny and sardonic, scat. Go read Hyperbole and a Half. You have a whole internet to pursue, in search of funny things. I recommend typing cat into an image search. You'll be set for life.
Well, you've been warned.
For those who remain, welcome to my first ever blog, where I intend to post witty and sarcastic commentary on my adventures abroad, it being preferable to any of the other numerous ways you can keep the world constantly updated on your every passing thought. Yes, snob points, three paragraphs in!

Today, I will give you a brief ramble to inform you about me. (average height, blondish, 1/2 german, 1/4 scandinavian, 1/4 Vaettir). Ostensibly, I suppose, it's so you can decide whether or not you want to obey my command to go has cat pictures. Actually, it's because the alternative is packing and I've been successfully avoiding that for this long, and why break with tradition?
 My packing was very successful when I was in the "pile" stage. I subjected all my clothing to  close scrutinization, tossing it right or left into "take" and "keep" piles with the reckless power of a minor deity. A deity optimistic that she can bribe her sister into folding the clothes afterwards. It works sometimes.
I even did pretty well with Phase 2: put all the piles into plastic baggies. I am actually very taken with this strategy of packing. It's how I fill my framepack when I go hiking, and I thought since I'm going to a tropical climate I really might appreciate having all my clothes in discreet water proof containers. It's wonderful for other reasons as well. All your clothes are easy to find, in their labeled baggies. You can be sure you packed everything. You can pretend you're an astronaut, because once you've squished the air out it looks freezedried. Not that astronauts freeze dry their clothes, the point is that it looks really cool.
Well, I'm stalled from packing now. First, I lost my gray sweatshirt. Utterly inconceivable that I should be expected to pack without it. Better go read Patricia Briggs until it can be found. Then, I uncovered the pennywhistle I'm taking with me (alas, the fiddle must stay at home, and I'm going to miss it miserably). Well, it looked lonely, so I entertained it for a few hours until my sister came and took it away so that she could play it instead of doing chores.
If you have not met my sister, imagine the most wonderfully sweet and naive anime schoolgirl you can. Now imagine a stealth ninja who tosses out smoke bombs and absconds with the schoolgirl's outfits. Now imagine a dark mastermind who doublecrosses the ninja at the last second and banishes him to certain death while capturing the contraband, ie, cute japanese outfits. The mastermind, that's my sister. If you've met her and you aren't aware of this, you're playing one of the other two roles in my little story.

Don't be fooled. Those are skulls ornamenting the enormous bow on her head.
We get along very well my sister and I. I don't interfere with her plans to conquer the world, and, well, who am I kidding. I'm totally the double crossed ninja in this relationship.