« Tu es vraiment très drôle, j'adore! »

No, it wasn’t my mother-in-law who said it. When I am funny she lifts her eyebrows and asks loudly if I am drunk.

Still, the weirdest couples, the most wonderful duets…

Money for nothing……and chicks for free?

I have spent 2000 kr for vaccinations and malaria pills today, and I haven’t even left the country yet! I am so mad, and I let my Jewish boy feel my anger.

My Jewish boy is a pharmacist, he is very aware of the medical costs and also of my economic situation being always interested in what kind of shoes I have been buying lately. So I wrote him today that he should have warned me about the cost of the medical preparations for my Africa voyage. And I told him that knowing this, he should have given me the choice of choosing between the expensive dinner or taking the money he spent at the restaurant in cash instead. If I had known the vaccinations being a total rip off, I could have settled with eating a Big Mac and kept the 200 Euros for myself.



Gerald, adorable!!!!

Très chère...

...c'est encore moi!

Paris, la ville de l’amour or 4 reasons to go out with younger men

1) In attempt to impress the older woman, the young boy will take you to a very fancy and expensive restaurant.

2) If you ask the young boy to bring you a Statue of liberty from New York, he won’t for one second wonder why, but just do as you ask. If a lady wants a Statue of liberty, she is going to get a Statue of liberty! My son is also a young boy and he won’t for one second wonder why I bring him a Statue of liberty from Paris.

3) Young boys are tenacious. Even if he has just arrived from NYC in the morning, been at work the whole day and not slept in 24 hours, he will keep you company as long as you wish to profit his Carte Bleue.

4) You can be as serious or weird as you want, it will only be considered as funny. Though I wish that my Jewish boy for once would take me seriously when I ask him to fix me up with one of his quite wealthy uncles. I realized that the sweet Olivier after all isn’t the love of my life, but I am quite sure one of his uncles is.

PS. Is is totally impolite to ask a guy to define "quite" wealthy?

Belle Blonde aux yeux marines...

...oui, c'est moi!

Tour de….trois villages

I love biking but I have always said that I would for nothing in the world participate Tour de France. Today I changed my mind, I wished that I had been in Tour de France and not on my usual Tour de trois villages. My bicycle punctured, and I had to walk 8 km home.

If I had been in Tour de France, there had been a maintenance car right behind me fixing the bike.

Three things to do before I die

I have never driven a car in Paris, but every time I sit in a taxi around Arc de Triomphe, I feel an awful urge to ask the taxi driver to let me take over. It just seems to be such a challenge, like driving in New York or in Bangkok, and I have decided that I will face these three challenges before dying.

Next week I am going to Paris, and I count on getting down with the Paris part. The unsuspecting Olivier has invited me out and instead of meeting him at the restaurant, I asked him to come and pick me up at my hotel in his car.

Amongst all the stupid things I have managed to say to my Jewish boy, I guess nothing will surprise him any more. So when I ask him to give me the car keys as God wants so, he will immediately hand them over.

Despite the 3 billion cars at Arc de Triomphe, I am not even nervous at all. It is a company car, so who cares if I have a little accident. And even if I fuck up Olivier’s car totally, it can only be partly my fault. The circus at Arc de Triomphe is the only place in France where any accident is always 50/50.

Theories...

My French teacher said that in France it is the upper class that profits most from the health care system. Unlike her theory that the upper class is better fit to fight against the system, I could see totally different reasons for this.

According to my theory, the difference is men. We all know that men won’t go to a doctor, no matter how sick they are, it is always the wife who has to force the husband to seek for medical care. But if the woman is married to a low class, poor man, she cannot see any reason sending the husband to the doctor. Instead she hopes that the illness will kill the man so she can go and get a better husband.

But if the man is rich and successful, it is also a guarantee for a certain life standard, and of course the woman doesn’t want the husband kicking the bucket. So if the hardworking husband is showing any sign of not being able to make so much money because of an aspiring disease, the woman will definitely take care that the husband is treated immediately.

My husband is wondering about a big tumor in his neck. I keep telling him it is not a big deal.



(Please tell my husband to stop worrying, it is propably only genetic.)

I wish…

…that I was a black woman called Fatima Abdullah. Then I wouldn’t need to work, I could just say that it is impossible for me to get a job because of my skin color and the name.

Hun-Ulven-Ilsa

I guess I could make it to Guinness book of records with the weirdest nicknames; Miss Domina, Ma Petite Foie Gras and today She-wolf-Ilsa.

WHAT?

Hm…when googling for a good illustration, I found this one. NOW I UNDERSTAND! And I tried just to be funny...



PS. But even more worrying, is the guy calling me Ilsa really seeing this kind of films?

Compliments or insults?

Someone just called me “Ma petite foie gras”. Cannot figure out if this is a compliment or an insult. Am I as delicious as foie gras or fat as foie gras?

Must be the latter one. In Berlin a German lady asked me for help finding a street and I told her I was just a tourist. She said that I looked like Berlin.

And I prefer looking like Berlin and not like a Berliner. Claudia Schiffer must have a genetic default; no German girl looked like her. Rather be almost lesbian amongst beautiful Danes than real lesbian in Germany.

PS. The guy who called me “Ma petite foie gras” thinks that Claudia Schiffer looks like a horse. Boy, isn’t he weird!

Ich bin ein Berliner!

Berlin, ugly as hell, but what a cool city! Travelling is learning and again I have learned many important things after my week-end in Berlin. Here are top 5 travelling tips to Berlin:

1. Empty your husband’s wallet for Euros. If you are lucky like me, you find several hundreds of them, and don’t need to use your Visa card while shopping. This in return will impress your husband, still not aware of the missing Euros in his wallet.

2. If your travelling buddy lands a couple of hours later than you, go shopping, use all your money, and the day after you can settle being just your friend’s personal shopper.

3. Don’t empty a bottle of champagne before going to opera, Violetta’s suffering isn't suddenly that dramatic at all.

4. Do take a double espresso at the first pause at “La Traviata”. Then you can continue straight to a techno party for the rest of the night.

5. Drink in general a lot of champagne, then you can even dance to techno music.

At the Burkinese Embassy

For years ago on holiday in Gambia I saw a funny traffic sign; “Watch out for sleeping policemen”. Today I had a déjà vu at the Burkinese Embassy, though the sign should have said “Caution sleeping embassy”.

I have never felt so transparent in my life; it is like the lady taking care of my Visa application had just smoked a joint and fallen into emotional coma.

“What should I write on this line?”

“What ever you feel like, it doesn’t really matter…”

“How about this one?”

“It doesn’t really matter either…”

“Well, here is the money; it was 240 kr, right?”

“Yeah…you get the receipt when you pick up the visa.”

“It was 240 kr right (me expecting to get some change back as I had given her 2 notes worth more than the 240 kr) ?”

“Yeah… (and putting my money, which was definitely more than the 240 kr, on top of many other western suckers’ visa applications)”

I have a feeling I will never get my change back. I have also a feeling that I will never see my passport again.

Principles!

I have a principle, I never buy plastic bags. When I do grocery shopping, I always carry around huge IKEA shopping bags which are very practical as a whole shopping chart can be fit in two big IKEA bags making the transportation very practical (why carry around ten small plastic bags when you can carry around two huge bags weighing 260 kilos each!).

Today on the way home I had to do some emergency grocery shopping but didn’t have a plastic bag with me. I simply refuse to pay 2,50 kr for a plastic bag, so I went to a shoe store, bought a pair of boots and got a plastic bag FOR FREE to go with the boots.

Then I did my small groceries and saved 2,50 kr for not needing to buy a plastic bag.



Great...guess what my in-laws are gonna have for Christmas!

Daydreaming

On my Visa application to Burkina Faso I have to sign under that I won’t do this and that during my stay, including WORKING AS AN AU PAIR GIRL.

Hm, this is a tough one, I have always dreamt of working as an au pair girl in Burkina Faso. But I guess I have to give up realizing this dream, just as the one having sex with Hemingway.



PS. Now I have a new fantasy. I am having sex with Hemingway while I am working as an au pair girl in Burkina Faso.

Girlfriend confessions

What do you know? Not very much, not even people you thought you knew. An old friend just confessed me things that would make Lady Chatterley blush.

Nothing will ever surprise me again. If my husband tonight tells me that he is a Chinaman undergone plastic surgery in attempt to escape Mao’s secret police, I will probably only shrug my shoulders.

Marital talk

After 20 years I have barely anything to talk about WITH my husband. This is a typical conversation between us during a normal working day:

Around 6 pm

“Hello husband, did you have a nice day at work?”
“Yes wife, how about you?”
“It was fine.”

Some five hours later

“I am going to bed, good night husband.”
“Good night, wife.”

But when I go out for a coffee date with an old copain, I can talk ABOUT my husband for three hours.

PS. If my husband has left a wine prop on the table, put my bra in the tumble drier or the scissors in the wrong drawer, the daily conversation is supplemented by a short monologue from my side. I don't think my husband is listening or is he just extremely stupid making the same mistakes again and again?

How to tell a person is a Jew

I don’t’ know what this business about the Jews is in my life at the moment. First my French Jewish boy, then a friend telling he started studying French Jewish literature, and the guy I went to the DR season opening with turned out to be Jew, too (and I have known him for 10 years without knowing!).

I remember when I was an aupair girl in Versailles and told my host family about Frank for the first time. When they heard his family name, they said right away “Oh, he is Jewish!” When I got back to Finland, I showed a friend of mine some pictures of Frank, and she promptly said “My God, he is a Jew!” How could they know just by the name and the looks? I had to sleep with him to find out.

Today I am some wiser than for 20 years ago, now I could tell my concert pal being a Jew just by hearing his mom’s maiden name, Katz.

But how I found out that Olivier is Jewish, that I haven’t the faintest idea of. I must have commented while sharing mojitos with him at 4 o’clock in the morning that thank God the Jews killed Jesus so I can sit there and sin at least for one more hour.



(One of the pictures of Frank I showed to my friend)

Drop your Prozac!

Feeling depressed, fat and ugly? There is a cure right at your hand and no need to spend millions on your shrink and Prozac. Instead do just as I do, go to ALDI supermarket. People working and making their grocery shopping there are so extremely unattractive, that you will feel like America’s next top model.

And if you also feel stupid, try socializing with the employees. You will leave the supermarket convinced about getting the Nobel Prize in chemistry one day.

My first, my last, my everything

My first LP was with Elvis Presley, in fact my first five records were with the King. While my friends were listening to Spandau Ballet or Culture Club, I cried with my early teenage heart to “Always on my mind”.

Elvis is still there, not every day, but occasionally in many moments of nostalgia.

And Elvis will be there until the end. There will be no psalms in my funeral but this one:

Dear God....

...I know it is not in my hands to decide when I have to leave this earthly paradise, but please don’t take me before January. There are simply too many good things coming up!

Berlin! No clients, no family, just me and an old friend, thousands of shoe stores, lots of giggling and La Traviata! My travel buddy said that the only concern will be chasing away all the interested guys. WHAT CENTURY IS SHE LIVING IN?

Hush concert! Even I would prefer to share this one with the Jewish boy, a good girl friend will definitely do.

Paris! And I can tell all about the concert to my Jewish boy.

Sergio! Coming to see me (bringing the wife along though, can't get it all).

Mr P! Coming to fill up my chocolate storage.

Africa! Or...? Is Gianni’s wife still threatening with divorce? What’s the big deal with one’s husband sharing a tent for a couple of weeks with la bionda finlandesa. I wouldn’t mind at all if some crazy woman took away my husband and gave me two weeks sleep free of his snoring. I would even pay a considerate amount of money if the lady wanted to keep my husband.

So God, let me have all this, and then in January you can come and get me, just in time before my French exams. To be sure that I don’t die before January, I won’t open any of my French books this fall; they beat even Hanan Ashrawi’s biography with the most boring content ever. And that would be an awful way to go, to be bored to death.

Angry Palestinians, listen up!

No suicide bombings this week, my Jewish boy is attending a wedding in Israel!

In fact I thought that Olivier was dead as I haven’t heard from him for a while. When I don’t hear from people for a long time I expect them to be dead as I cannot see any other reasons for people ignoring me. So evidently I wrote back that I was happy him being alive, still at least, never knowing what happens when one travels to Tel Aviv. I did not write him about the statistical fact that Jewish wedding parties are a favourite goal for angry Palestinian willing to blow themselves in thousands of pieces.

I like wedding parties, unfortunately there is no one around me getting married. But if there were parties for divorces, I would be busy all week-ends.

PS. I am sure some people have big divorce celebrations. Like Heather Mills…well done girl, even with just one leg!

Career choices

I went to the season opening at DR concert hall last night, hm...made me think. It wasn’t Rachmaninoff, nor Liguti that made me philosophic but watching the members of the orchestra; once again I felt that I have made some bad career choices in my life. I would very much like to go through life with minimal effort still having a comfortable life, and seeing people succeeding in this pisses me off.

No, I would for nothing in the world be the hard working conductor who was jumping up and down so energetically that I expected him to get a heart attack any minute. Instead I would very much like to be the CYMBAL player. Do you know how hard he worked during the 2 hour concert? Exactly 6 seconds. I might not be fair now; it also took some time to prepare the act; take the cymbals up, wait for the fatal sign, PAM, and put the cymbals back to the rack again. So in fact the 6 times he clashed the cymbals together during the evening were a result of hard work of 66 seconds.

Being a cymbal player beats even being an assistant referee in football.


PS. Go DECO (the best football player in the world)!

Schopenhauer sucks

Schopenhauer (1788-1860) was a fool without comparison; he claimed that women are by nature meant to obey and that humans shouldn’t fall for hedonism. But what is there in life if not trying to find pleasure in things we do?

No, we should definitely go after pleasure, the problem is staying in the moment long enough to enjoy it before starting to want more.

Like today. It has been a wonderful day, I have been chatting with Søren Stryger about the motivational speaker business. I should be thrilled but all I can think about is when will I get a client who can afford George Clooney.

Birthday!

Despite the 42 years disappointments, I keep believing that something wonderful could happen on my birthday. So this morning at the office, a black guy dressed in handyman clothes enters. He comes to my desk and begins to take his jacket off:

“Hello, I am David”

“My God, did the girls get me a stripper for my birthday!!

“What? I came to put up the new radiator.”

“Oh, I thought you were a stripper…”

He could see how disappointed I was:

“Come on, not so sad, it is your birthday!”

Then he sang Stevie Wonder’s “Happy Birthday to you” for me. Well, can’t get It all!!

PS. Today I have learned a very important lesson; there are things you can’t change, you might need to change yourself instead. As all the faithful readers know, I love white flowers and this I have been trying to tell my husband now for 20 years. So what did my husband send me today? Red flowers. From now on I will hate white flowers and love any other colour.

Germans…

I am not the only one thinking that Germans aren’t very attractive people. Even Germans themselves don’t find other Germans very desirable.

I just saw a statistics about the number of sexual partners one has through the life, and while Finns have 12,4 and Danes 9,3 partners in average, Germans find each other so repulsive that they settle with 5,8 partners.

Finding a man

I have a female colleague at work, a 37 years old single, a pretty girl, who just doesn’t seem to have any luck finding a man. She complains about never meeting anybody, and wonders where I always meet the guys I am talking about (but only talking as I am married and not promiscuous). It is a fact that one most often finds a partner through work, and even this is not possible at our office as we only have girls and gay guys, I must say that amongst our clients there are always many handsome rich guys; a very good potential for boyfriends and maybe future husbands. And for promiscuous married women, good potential for global lovers.

So why doesn’t Miss B find a man amongst the clients? Is the answer her having the German market? I agree that Germans are weird and not very attractive, but there are exceptions. I remember having 30 gorgeous German architects in Stockholm a couple of years ago. So gorgeous that I didn’t need any sleep in four nights but preferred to entertain them with Miss K at Café Opera, Berns and Spybar until early morning hours. Gosh how I sometimes love my work!

But if Miss B doesn’t want a Nazi* guy, there are still men all over the places in the fairytale land of Denmark! You find them when you are paying for your latte at a café, when you are waiting for the red light to change, when you are queuing at the supermarket. Just the past week I have met three very attractive guys, guys that could have been quite perfect for Miss B or any single girl looking for a man.

First I met a terribly handsome acupuncturist in my very own little village. He was so hot that if there was a world championships for the hottest acupuncturist in the universe, he would win without doubt. He gave me his phone number and told me to call him as soon as I find out a defect I want to be cured.

Then the other day I met an awfully nice architect, so nice that if there were world championships for the nicest bla bla bla….. I don’t usually pay attention to guys’ eyes but Mr Architect had such blue eyes that I couldn’t help wondering how blue eyes our kids could have had as I do too have BLUE eyes. He also had the weirdest business card ever; I had to ask him to buy me a new bag where his business card could fit in.

Yesterday while paying for a book in a book store, there was a very cute guy behind me in the queue. It took me exactly two minutes to find out that we had some common interests and to get him to introduce himself.

God is evil, this we know, putting a lot of cute guys on my way, me not being available, but not giving a single one to Miss B. So I should help her, yes, I must pass on my three new contacts to Miss B right away. I can’t stand her coming over and wanting my Jewish boy; I have told her that if I cannot have him, neither can she. There is a limit to my sister solidarity.

But Miss B, how about an architect with world’s biggest business card?

*No offense Germans but you did kill quite many Jews during WW2. And now the Jews are beating the hell out of Palestinians. Join my Facebook group “Give Lapland to Palestinians!”

Conversation with a German client

“I need a motivational speaker for the evening, a sportsman. I think the famous football player Søren Lerby would be great.”
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“Søren who? Cant’ be that famous, I have never heard of him. How about Laudrup the younger? Or the racer guy Tom Kristensen? No, now I know! I will get you the handball player Søren Stryger.”
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“I don’t want a handball but a football player, I want this Lerby guy.”
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“I am sure Stryger can also play football. A ball is a ball, a Søren is a Søren.”
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“I don’t want Stryger, I want Lerby.”

Googling……

“Heavens, this Lerby guy lives in Holland, how the hell am I going to track him down? No way, I am not gonna waste time on him. You get Søren Stryger, he lives close by my house.”

“I want Lerby!”

“Jesus, can’t you hear how irritating you are, you Nazi….”

“What did you say???”

“Oh, just how incredibly NICE you are….”



She is right, Søren is not just a Søren!

Vibrators are only for women!

My husband is sick at home, and as this is very rare, I was quite worried this morning at work. I tried to call him, but he picked neither the normal phone, nor the mobile. My God, is he dead? Should I call the neighbor to check him up?

Maybe he for once listened to what I said and went to the doctor. I kept calling his mobile, and suddenly there is no connection at all, no ringing what so ever.

He is most certainly dead. I call his insurance company, find out how much his life insurance is worth, start looking for houses north of Copenhagen and book a cruise to Caribbean. But then my husband calls.

“Husband, why the heck aren’t you picking up the phone?”

“Wife, I am very sick. I was sleeping.”

“Why is there no connection to your mobile?”

“Because you called my mobile too many times it being on vibrator so eventually it fell off the table, and went to 1000 pieces.”

Guys, never use vibrator functions, it is a woman thing.

SÅ KAN HAN LÆRE DET!

In love…

It is no secret that I fall in love easily, but being a married woman I resist all the temptations that cross my way. Until for a couple of weeks ago. I met a man I simply couldn’t resist; it was love at first sight, wow what a guy! This Icelandic Jòki is a man who just knocks your feet away. Sweet, good looking and tender; everything a woman dreams of. I had to tell my husband that I have no intention to leave my family for him, but he has to accept that Jòki from now on will be a part of my life.

My husband isn’t a jealous man, but finds me loving someone else that strongly somehow very unconventional. The time I will be spending with Jòki is also time away from the family (from the cooking facilities), but he is now settled with the situation. He said that he is okay with that, but for the family’s sake I should be careful and think about the safety in my new relationship.

And showing that he really is okay with this, he even bought me a birthday present a couple of weeks in advance:



So Jòki, all fit and safe, counting for days to see you again:

Forbid burkas?

In the liberal state of Denmark we now want forbid women to wear burkas. Why? Because they are oppressive for women. I guess that we in that case should also forbid mini skirts, deep cut t-shirts, big breasts, net-pantyhose, high heels and heaven knows what.

Burka is in fact a very practical costume in many ways. In the morning no need to fix hair or to put on make-up, and no need to worry about the extra kilos on your hips. And if you are born very ugly, cases where even make-up and hair spray don’t help, then you are also considered polite wearing burka.

Join my Facebook group “I demand Susan Boyle to wear burka!”
.

The most important man of your life

It is not your dad. Your dad eventually dies taking that unconditional love with him to the grave.
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It is not your husband. He will grow indifferent during the years and only consider you as a cook. .

It is not your son. He might love you most in the whole world until he gets Playstation 3, Wii and a girlfriend.
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It is not your lover. He will forget you as soon as you are out of sight.

No, the most important man of your life is the man who is never tired of hearing about your real worries; about all the awful things that can happen to your shoes. He is the one who will comfort you when the worst happens; when the heel of your favourite boots breaks.

The most important man in every woman’s life is her cordonnier.

Jealousy

Jealousy is sick but the lack of jealousy is even sicker. My husband has never been jealous and I guess he never will be. He wasn’t jealous when we were working at the same office and a crazy psychopath (a very good looking psychopath though) was sending me flowers and calling me all the time to invite me out. No, my husband just laughed and said “It’s good, honey, that someone pities you.”

My husband isn’t jealous when I in the wintertime get in a snowball fight with my neighbour, my neighbour Jens sitting on me on and giving me a snow wash. My husband just thinks it is extremely embarrassing, especially when we start rolling down the sledge hill looking like two sumo wrestlers.

My husband isn’t jealous when I go to coffee dates with male friends or out for dinner with old lovers.

My husband isn’t jealous that I am planning to go to Africa with 5 Italian guys this winter (if there is space for me in one of the jeeps, and the jeeps they left in Burkina Faso still are there...) My husband doesn’t mind at all me spending two weeks with Gianni, Rafaello, Ricardo, Piero and a Treviso guy in African desert and he doesn’t mind that I have to share tent with Gianni.

I guess he wouldn’t even be jealous if he knew that I have replaced the picture of my imaginary husband Søren Stryger at the office with a guitar playing Olivier (and yes, all the girls and gay guys keep on coming over and slobber over him).

I bet even a camel is more jealous of nature than my husband. La vie est vraiment plus facile pour une chamelle!

PS. But I am sure Søren Stryger would be jealous if he knew he has been replaced by a Jewish boy.

Forbid fighting dogs?

These days there has been again a lot of discussion about prohibiting fighting dog breeds. I agree, but I would like to add, forbid any dogs! I am sick and tired trying to avoid stepping in a dog shit every time I put my feet out of the house.

I don’t get the thing about having a dog. It is pervert, a pseudo friend that totally depends on you. Do people get dogs just to be able to control someone in their lives? Why bother having a living creature that has so many needs and gives you so many obligations, why not buy a Barbie doll? The Barbie doll can also be good company, but you don’t have to feed it, or take it out. When you go for holiday, no need to get space at the local Kennel for 3 weeks, you can just put the Barbie back to the drawer or on your bookshelf. You can even take it with you at all times.

Don’t get offended, any friend having a dog and reading this. Just ask yourself why you have a dog when you have me. You can take me out for a walk, give me food and something to drink, and I will show my appreciation in better ways than just waving the tail.

Torture by words

I had planned to stop this nonsense as I shouldn’t have time for blogging anymore. My friend Vips hasn’t given up and found a maybe interested publisher for my great idea of children’s travel books, again. I should be excited, but have I proceeded with my book? No. How have I settled with my urge to write then? Writing plenty of obscure e-mails.

I figured I cannot go on with this anymore. I have eventually a need to write stupid things, but no one has sinned that badly they deserve my personal mails.

First offer was Olivier, being a part of my survey “What does it take to turn a guy off”. I have written him a couple of stupid mails, but little have they helped. So I decided to tell him how I didn’t really believe in his Jewish God, and introduced him instead to my philosophy of life, shortly put as La vie est plus facile pour un chameau (Life is easier for a camel). To spice it up a little bit I mentioned about my obsession of naked women and ended my mail calling him an apple pie, "Je t’embrasse très fort, ma tarte aux pommes". Well, if this doesn’t work, I guess I can always invite him to accompany me on the yearly Nazi ball.



Then I found out that I had run out of Finnish chocolate, and had to get in touch with Mr P, too. While inviting him over to bring me some chocolate, I wrote him how women should always have younger lovers as young guys are physically tenacious and grateful for older women’s experience. First of all, what could I possibly know about that, and secondly, why would Mr P care???? It is like telling an Eskimo about the importance of taking malaria pills. Unless Mr P has gone through sex exchange operation, and this in fact I couldn’t know. First turning from world’s best kisser to a gay guy, so stepping to another sex isn’t maybe that far away after all.

Today I got a mail from my ex-favorite hetero guy at work, the one who left us in November. He was complaining about how it was hard to get the ends to meet his new work being so far away. I suggested he turned into escort business instead, then he could decide himself how much and when he wants to work. Thinking about how easy it would be to get clients with his good looks, I offered to manage his calendar, and we would both get rich and happy. I guess I will never hear from him again and this even without mentioning of (only thinking about) offering myself too if any beautiful female client would request threesomes.

So I guess it is better to blog. I could also start writing my children’s books or use the time at office for actual work. Yes, the last sentence was a joke.

Happy birthday, blog!

Yep, it is exactly a year ago I started this nonsense. As I am still in my Italian mood, I celebrate it with Eros.

Un emozione per sempre
envoyé par bidou-eros. - Regardez la dernière sélection musicale.

vorrei poterti ricordare così
con quel sorriso acceso d'amore
come se fosse uscita di colpo
lì un'occhiata di sole...

Hush!

I went once accidentally to a Hush concert as one of my clients wanted to go, and I have been a fan ever since. A good fan gets new fans; now there is also a French Jewish boy loving Hush...



" My brain is soft from last night..."

Oh la la...

How the cruise control was born

I guess it happened when a woman was driving with her flip-flops on German highways 160 km/h, trying to keep up with the Porches. The flip-flops got constantly stuck in the carpet under the clutch and once in a while she lost the flip-flop totally from her right food which was on the speeder, while having a Porche in front of her and a Ferrari just behind. Then this woman thought it would be a good idea not needing to use the feet at all, and came up with the idea of cruise control.

PS. If driving with flip-flops, never park next to a German police officer at a Rasthouse. Driving with flip-flops is forbidden in Germany and with the fine you get, you could have bought some more decent shoes.

Driving on German highways

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“Wife, you are driving too slowly.”

“Husband, I am driving 150 km/h!”

“But wife, all the Germans are overtaking us.”

“Husband, poor man, the Germans are driving Mercedes, Porches, BMWs and big Audis. We are driving a French car!”

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« La vie est belle” followed by “La vita e bella” followed by “Life sucks !”

After two weeks in France and one week in Italy, the awful truth always hits me. For some reason God loves to show me for 3 weeks every year how my life could have been if I had made some smarter choices in my life. Instead of going through 3000 boring mails at work now, I could be sitting on the piazza Bra, drinking prosecco and waiting the second act of Carmen to start. Life sucks big time! If my darling Olivier hadn’t also sent me a mail (there were in total 3001 mails), I would probably have committed suicide by noon.

This is also the time of the year I wish I had a cow. After 3 weeks' absence the garden looks like a rainforest, the cow could have kept the grass and the bushes down. And the fridge being empty, the cow could have taken care of the milk for my morning coffee and the kids’ cereal.

The kids were delighted about the empty fridge though. Yesterday morning I asked them if they wanted ice cream or frozen peas for breakfast. They wanted to have frozen peas. Sure. Just as sure as I want be in Denmark right now.



(How could I exchange the endless summer nights here to this f.... boring life?????)

New ways

I have spent the Saturday with some French guys, a lovely day, enjoying life and laughing. But even these guys think I speak fantastic French, they just can’t get me over my disappointment with my exam yesterday. This is the reason I don’t take IQ tests. I might be for Olivier une femme intelligente but as soon as the IQ test shows 25, I don’t give a damn for Olivier’s sweet words.

But no exam is getting me depressed ever again, I have decided to drop my French studies. Instead I will join a needlework course. I am sure needlework will be much more useful on my journey to Buddhism, reaching Samadhi.

My boss will also be happy that I replace my expensive French studies with a definitely cheaper needlework course. She will be so delighted that she won’t wonder for one second why on earth she should pay for my needlework!



(This is me with backwards rebirth)

Look forwards!

There is a reason why the car windshield is 50 times bigger than the rear view mirror.

I Buddhist, escaping from dukkha

Why can’t I just be happy over a 12 in one exam but let a fucking 7 in another one depress me totally?

Why do I let one annoying client ruin my day when I have lots of grateful ones?

Why do I cry over one friend letting me down while I have so many who love me?

Why do I get upset of a husband who ignores me when I am for Olivier une femme geniale & très belle, when I have lots of guys to make coffee dates with, and when Kimmo year after year offers me his shoulder to cry on?

Because I am always flying too high and God dammit how it hurts my butt to fall down. But now God, I will leave your Via Dolorosa and join Heaven on her Buddhist journey. I will no more crave anything! Except maybe a little bit champagne once and a while...

Lessons in seduction 2 (or I am so easy 2)

Now listen very carefully, all the LAZY unromantic guys in the world. You might not be able to write as poetically as a French lover, but straight talk à la Swiss guy will also do:

“Meine Liebe, coffee at 10 o’clock?”

And right away I throw all the important work assignments from my hands (like reading, re-reading and re-re-reading Olivier’s mails and afterwards giggling stupidly bla bla bla…).

Raymond, I am all yours, me so Italian under my Finnish cover!

Lessons in seduction

Now listen very carefully, all the unromantic guys in the world. It doesn’t turn a woman on saying things like “Move a little bit, you fill too much on the couch” or “Exercise would do you good, can’t you get up and get me a beer?”

This is what turns a woman on, I totally surrender:

"Donc oui, je te ferai des caresses, je te prendrai dans mes bras, je te ferai l’amour. Je pense avoir beaucoup de choses à donner et quand je rencontre une femme comme toi, je donne tout."

Oh la la…….

How to test if a person is an organ trafficker

Write him something stupid and he will discover that you have no brain. Remember also to mention how you liver and kidneys are useless after too much partying in your youth. If the person is still interested, he is not an organ trafficker.

So let’s see, dear Olivier, was it nervous laughter in the early morning hours when I suspected you to be an organ trafficker?

Advantages with blogging 2

I haven’t seen my chess teacher Johan for 23 years, and now the past 10 days I have met him twice. On our second date yesterday the café latte was changed to beer and rainy Stockholm to sunny Nyhavn.

It is funny how you can laugh with an old friend, the humour will always stay. And it is funny how by just telling people about your blog you don’t waste time on indifferent small talk. You go right in to the essential subjects, your marriage and sex-life!

God bless all the guys without problems of intimacy!

I am so easy!!!!!

In my village there is no fish shop, so the fish van comes by once in a while on Sundays. I buy my fish in Metro, en gros boutique where I pay only a fourth of the supermarket price, and I had no intention in the first place to buy fish from this van. But what can I do, when they don’t just ring a bell on the streets, but knock on your door? I could always say no to an old wrinkled fisherman, but this fish van is run by two totally cute young guys. It is impossible to say no to them!

Normally I try to hide myself when they come, but yesterday I fell asleep on the couch with Houellebecq (I guess I have grown immune to him, I don’t vomit anymore reading him but fall asleep instead). The fish guys could see me from the window; impossible to escape.

Later that evening my husband asked what’s for dinner.

“Well, 2 kilos salmon, 3 kilos lemon sole, 5 kilos cod, 6 kilos shrimps, 8 kilos tuna….”
“God wife, one day they sell the van to you!!

My husband hasn’t had a look at the garage yet.


(This guy could sell me the government of Nigeria!)

Suck it up!

In my job I often have to suck up both clients and suppliers. I have learned that it most often pays back being nice to suppliers; you get them to do the impossible things when just asking nicely. How ever, there are two kinds of people where it doesn’t help talking nicely to; Michelin chefs and Hell’s Angels. You just have to yell at them so they get the message.

Last week I had to make a Michelin chef feel my anger, and I promise, he will NEVER fuck up with my clients again. Problem with Hell’s Angels is that you don’t want to yell at them. But as long as you don’t know they are Hell’s Angels, it works perfectly.

For years ago we had a nice guy, let’s call him Mr R, to renovate our bathroom in Copenhagen. He fixed it well, but there were some minor things I wasn’t satisfied with, so I called him and asked him to come and fix them.

“I don’t really have time…” Mr R answers.
“You just better get your ass over here, NOW”

Mr R came, fixed the things and I was happy.

When we moved to our house, we had again a bathroom to renovate, and of course we contacted the liable Mr R. He came, fixed the bathroom, but again left a little thing undone. I called him:

“You didn’t cover the pipes under the sink!”
“It wasn’t included in the price.”
“Bullshit, you better get you ass over here NOW and fix it!”

Again Mr R came, fixed the pipe cover and I was happy.

A couple of years later we found out that there was something with electricity that Mr R hadn’t done quite after the book. Meanwhile a colleague of my husband has also engaged Mr R to fix his bathroom and told that one evening Mr R had forgotten his HA jacket in the bathroom he was working at. So now we had to call Mr R and ask him to fix the electricity;

“Wife, you call Mr R, won’t you?”
“Hell no, I am not gonna call him, you do it!”
“No I am not gonna do it, you do it…”
“No, you do it…”
“No, you do…”

One million and one reasons to divorce your husband

My husband doesn’t bother reading my blog, but he reads “La Mom”, a blog about an American lady living in Paris.

I will now pack my belongings and accept some of the very tempting offers I got in Stockholm.



(I will start with the invitation sailing in the blue waters of Mediterranean)

Olivier, Olivier or….(O)liver?

Of course I have been wondering why a very handsome, romantic, intelligent 35 year old Jew with a successful international medical career would be interested in a 40 something, overweight, simple girl like me. I also remember asking Olivier in the early morning hours, if he was an organ trafficker or a psychopath. He said he preferred to be a psychopath.

So now you know.

Happy birthday, boss!

Someone at the office was stupid enough to give me the assignment of buying a birthday present to our boss today. First of all, I am very annoyed with this kind of obligations. She wanted a CD with Pet Shop Boys (no, she is neither 6 years nor 60 years old!), but it was sold out (the 6 and 60 years old had obviously bought them all!). I had no time for further research, I had more important things to do at the office. Like reading, re-reading and re-re-reading Olivier’s mails, and afterwards giggling stupidly with my fat colleague.

So what did I do? I bought her a fart on internet. Yes, Folkekirkens Nødhjælp has a campaign where you gan give a fart, “Giv en prut”, a biogas project to help poor people in Honduras. My boss was delighted. And no one is never asking me to buy birthday presents to anyone at the office ever again!