Breasts

Your breasts are too big if you cannot find a broken necklace between them, not even with the help of Mademoiselle A.
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Long live the dicatorship (and down with democracy)

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”Det er flertallet, der bestemmer. Og flertallet er ikke klogere, så det er de mindre kloge, der bestemmer over de klogeste.”

Klaus Pagh

Love for sale

It seems that everybody in my son’s and daughter’s class got a Nintendo Wii for Christmas. But not our kids, and again they complained about belonging to the poor people. “Well kids, money isn’t important”, I lie, “love is important, and that we have plenty of.”

Then I tell them how fortunate they are;”When I was a little girl, we had neither money nor love in my family.” And this is true. In Finland people don’t show emotions, except deep hatred with knifes. So if you now think that I am bitter for my parents not showing emotions, you are wrong. I am indeed very grateful they didn’t as this could only have been deep hatred resulting cut wounds, maybe early death.

“But it would be nice to have love and money”, my daughter says.
“And if I had to choose just one of them I would take money” she adds.
“Money can’t buy you love, sweetie” I say and feel quite proud of myself.
“Not true mom. If I had money, I would buy a horse and it would love me back.”

She is right, you can buy love. Not only horse love, but human love, too. For a right amount of money I would love even Vladimir Putin.

If I were a rich man…

…or just a politician? If I were a politician, there would now be hundreds of journalists helping me to find the receipts for my taxi driving and restaurant visits. If they can find the politicians’ receipts from 2004, finding my receipts from last May and later would be a piece of cake for them.

Houston, we have a problem 2

My favorite accessory isn’t my Lancaster day-to-day bag, my genuine lizard party bag and definitely not my mobile phone. My mobile exists only for the purpose that I can make a phone call, like if I am stuck in traffic or in a shoe boutique. I hate when it rings, and if someone sends me a text message, don’t expect me to read it before a week or two. I have totally repressed the reception part of my mobile.

No, my favorite accessory is my company credit card. If I don’t have money on my own account, there certainly is money on my company’s account. I usually have a good explanation why I have used the company credit card, so good that nobody doubts my sincerity. I have always been a good story teller, even people haven’t always believed me. Like at lycée, when Mr T every Friday put us in hell’s fire for absence declarations. I did skip quite many boring lectures so every Friday I had to explain why on Monday I wasn’t on history lecture, on Tuesday on chemistry, on Wednesday biology etc. The dreadful Mr T used to say to me: “Well, now tell me why you skipped the lessons. But don’t you think for one second that I believe a word you say, your incredible excuses just have a great entertainment value.” He did have a soft spot for me and my creative mind.

Well, the company credit card is a fantastic accessory, until I have to present the actual receipts. I have no problems explaining why I have spent 4500 kr in Sheraton Stockholm, 3500 kr in a Michelin restaurant in Stockholm, 2800 kr at DSB kiosk, xxxx kr in restaurants in Copenhagen and xxxxxxxxx kr in taxis. BUT I CAN’T FIND THE RECEIPTS!

This is totally incomprehensible for people who know me. I am a very tidy person, ORDENSMENNESKE. As a lazy person, being tidy makes your life easier, never needing to search for things as “Alt på sin rette plads" (quoted from JB workbench), ordung muss sein. At work I am the example for everyone being well organized and at home the family lives under my tidiness tyranny. Only the hamster can make any mess it wants in its little rat kingdom of 40 x 60 cm. So how can it be that my company credit card receipts disappear? God, if you help me to find the above receipts I promise not to sin the rest of the January.

Back at the office

This morning I took to work first time since December. It is quite weird to wear normal clothes again, for one month I have only been wearing either jogging suit or if too lazy to take even that on, just my dressing gown. It has been a little bit like internship for being the pope. And I must say, no thanks, I couldn’t wear the same gown for the rest of my life. Though I must admit that wearing only jogging suit has its advantages; I could do my clothes shopping at the local Netto.

Mademoiselle A’s father died this summer, so eventually we both started crying this morning. I haven’t been crying for days, but I guess this couldn’t be avoided. As we both are bitter for not having dads alive, I suggested that she will now be my dad, and I will be her dad. Turned out to be fun, never tried to be a dad before. The first thing I did was to forbid Mademoiselle A to have sex with her gorgeous boyfriend until she gets married. I can’t wait to walk my beautiful daughter to the alter!

Une dernière semaine à New-York

Is this a great song, or what!

Was it love?

My French grammar teacher from last year wasn’t gay after all; he sent a mail last week telling me that he has become dad! So the mail he sent me last summer telling about the exam results was indeed a love letter (I still show this to my husband when he calls me crazy madwoman; “See, here is a second opinion!”). And when I in the end of summer met him for exam evaluation, was apparently also a love declaration. For one hour he kept telling me how fantastic I was, heavens, I had no idea. I have though repressed the linguistics part which I apparently wasn’t that fantastic at; I just remember the evaluation being so wonderful that I wanted to book a new appointment the week after.

Maybe I should have suspected this when he proposed that we meet AFTER his and my office hours. Stupid me, I insisted meeting him in the morning; daylight isn’t good when meeting young boys.

Maybe I should have suspected this when I found out that he was the only man in the world who actually listened to what I said. He could remember every word I said several weeks after. “But you told me 3 weeks, 2 days and 7 hours ago that…..”.

Maybe I should have suspected this when I 15 minutes before the exam start told him that I needed a joint, and he almost started crying as he could see he had no time to go and get me one.

Gosh, I HAD NO IDEA!

No more complaints about sex life!

Yes, exactly, I stop now. We are living year 2009 and technology has solved women’s problems. We don’t have to menstruate, even my PMS is a 365 days a year phenomenon. And we don’t need to live without sex, no matter if you are single, married or a nun.

My sex-toy expert of a friend took me shopping as she promised, and I was so impressed of her knowledge that I have started renting her out to my other female friends. She could tell advantages and disadvantages of every single model in the market. I would like to see her closet! I would also like to see her trying to convince the airport security that her “travel size one” isn’t a bomb.

My husband was quite amused of my little toy and asked if it really could replace him. “Well honey, this one works on Duracell, you on the contrary, hmm, I would say IKEA batteries...”

(I wanted badly to illustrate this post with a picture of my toy, but I just couldn’t get myself to do it… Instead you get a picture of very happy and satisfied Juliette. )

Money for nothing

I got the metal thread removed from my toe yesterday; imagine the pain having a huge whole in the toe. Well, the pain isn’t the worst part of it, but losing the little thing that made me special. The past month I haven’t just been a nobody, I have been the lady with a metal thread in a toe. I started charging entrance for my kids' friends; this was certainly something they had never seen before.

I have always been good finding extra incomes in my tight economy, thanks to my parents who hardly never gave me money when living at home. When I went to States they just paid my flight ticket, gave med 200 dollars, and drove me to the airport; “See you next year!”

But I got money out of my parents in other ways. We had a house cat, a real house cat who couldn’t survive being outside. And if it accidentally got outside, it certainly wanted to use the sand box where the neighbour’s kids played, as a toilet, and changing the sand cost a fortune.


So I hid the cat in the closet, said to my dad that the cat is outside, I just saw it in the sand box. My dad panicked thinking about the poor cat getting driven over by a car, leaving him nothing but a big bill to pay for the sand exchange. Then I always comforted him that I will find the cat, it will though cost him 50 marks as I have to interrupt my important home work. My dad paid and I took the cat out of the closet. Not right away, you fool, first after fake slamming of the door, 10 minutes waiting and voila!

My mom was a smoker, still is. Once in a while I used to steal her cigarettes, not to smoke them but in selling purpose (I had extremely liberal upbringing, my parents wouldn’t wonder for one second why I had cigarettes in my drawer). So when my mom run out of cigarettes late in the evening, all kiosks being closed, I could sell her one cigarette for the price of the cigarette package.

Always take advantage of desperate people.

Life goes on…such a true cliché

I eventually got out of the bed, even I thought I never could get up anymore.
I eventually didn’t die of broken heart, guilt or self-pity.
I eventually stopped crying and hyperventilating.

I will never complain again that my friends don’t read my blog. I will be grateful the rest of my life that the past week they have called and listened for hours my totally incomprehensible slobbering.

I got an advice from my atheist and ex-Marxist friend Vips, “Get religious, this is the time to do it”. And it is true, the thought that my dad now has wings and is playing harp in the kingdom of God is somehow easier to bear. But poor God, my father is totally tone deaf.

"Le traité de solitude" by the wonderful Lynda Lemey

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Grief

My father died a few hours ago. Suddenly there is nothing funny in this fucking, fucking world. Just deep loneliness, so awful that I can’t bear it.

Boyfriends vs. husbands

The boyfriend from the previous episode was a very romantic guy. He always bought me flowers, even jewellery, and he never complained me having too many pairs of shoes or handbags; he bought me new handbags! He took me to fancy restaurants and 5 star hotels. He took me all over the world; to Fareast, to Caribbean, to Africa, to Paris, Rome, London, to the French Alps. And not to forget the most important, we had sex three times a day.

Today I am married to that guy. So if your father tomorrow gets arrested for a three double murder in connection with a bank robbery, don’t get so surprised. It is not the same father you knew for 20 years ago, people change.

PS. I shouldn’t complain. My husband just said that when my toe is okay, he will take me to Malmö.
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(What is missing in this picture? Me, Jane Austen and a Frozen Daiquiri.)

Shubidua, burning cars and scarlet women

As there happens NOTHING in my life being home 24 h/24 h, I have really taken on a nostalgia trip without comparison.

One thing leads to another, from Moroccan Police I went on remembering the Danish band Shubidua. Not so weird as it sounds. While I lived in Morocco, Shubidua came down to give a small concert and afterwards we wanted to show these nice guys little Moroccan nightlife. The night was still young so we took them first to a very nice piano bar with live music. After a couple of minutes Michael B. took over the entertainment; soon everybody was dancing chain dance to his nonsense Russian folksongs. And my boyfriend would never forget having Michael B. singing Happy Birthday to him.

Okay, these guys can actually party, so let’s take them somewhere where they meet real Moroccans, not just these upper-class, extremely elegant girls and men in latest Paris suits. We forced us in one car, and maybe this was the reason that the atmosphere was more or less hysterical. On the way we passed a car that suddenly burst into a fire and for no reason we couldn’t stop laughing. I still don’t know how a burning car can be funny; it should be tragic, shouldn’t it? Did the poor Mohammed driving the car get out in time or did he burn to death? If he died, I have totally repressed it from my memory. But in that case I do hope that he was a good Muslim and made it to the garden of Allah.

The club we went to was known for its great music, vivid dancing and women who didn’t earn their living by selling oranges at the local souk. A totally fantastic place, I am sure the Shubidua guys agreed. But as Morocco is a Muslim country where prostitution is forbidden not only by religion but also by law, there was maybe a hint of nervousness amongst our guests. “Don’t you guys worry", I said, "I don’t think police will come here. And if they do, I am sure that the Chief of Police, dancing with the fat beautiful Fatima to your left, will certainly send them away again.”
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I am innocent (almost)

Before you people turn your backs on me, I have to tell that despite my many encounters with police force, I have never been convicted, and I don’t even have a criminal register. That the police drove me home, was because I needed a lift home (the guy who was supposed to bring me, stayed at the police station, I think).

I have never been caught. Not when covering my teachers’ houses with toilet paper, putting “For sale” signs in front of my school, hitting scissors in my big brother’s arm, staying illegally in several countries, working illegally in almost as many countries, smuggling liquor or smoking hash. Not even for my racist remarks about Danes, and how hard can that be?



PS. This is how it looked like when I showed my affection to my teachers. And despite this, the poor physics teacher kept whispering me the exam assignments...

Misunderstandings

In Kundera’s Unbearable Lightness of Being there is passage about misunderstood words, how Franz and Sabina interpret situations or things totally differently. Well, we all know this from our daily lives. How you maybe think that sex is fun but your husband thinks it is the same as running marathon; something he would never do unless he was threatened with a shotgun.

I think I have misinterpreted my boss, I suspect she is in love with me. When I now think about all the things she has done for me, sending flowers, paying for my expensive dinners and my French studies. And when I told her that I want to have Fridays off, she said “Okay”. Then I told her I want to work at home on Tuesdays, again she said “Okay”. Then I added that the days I am at the office I want to leave at 2 pm. “Okay”, she says. “I also want a considerable salary raise”, I add. “Don’t push it!”

I told my boss about all the things I have been selling on dba.dk (people buy ANYTHING!), and my boss suggested that I also sell my husband. Yes she did. What else can this be that she is in love with me? Does she know about my lesbian fantasy, Juliette Binoche? Impossible. But maybe she got that impression at our company Christmas party. It is not my fault that we have no hetero guys left, I had to kiss the girls instead. Just for fun though (and Heaven this is your fault, you started). Well, it was fun until one of the girls REALLY kissed me back, that scared the hell out of me. Even I at this point was very affected by vodka, thanks to the sweet & shy IT guy, there was something telling me that the only person allowed to kiss me is George Clooney. And this girl wasn’t George Clooney, but someone George would probably date (I have many beautiful colleagues).

What can I do? When I get back to the office, I must convince my boss that I am a hetero woman, she has no chance. I know! When the IT guy comes by, I persuade him to come to the storage room with me, he can’t refuse when he sees the handcuffs and the whipped cream. I tell a colleague to send my boss over to “surprise” us, and won’t she just get the message? But what will I do if she asks: “Can I join you?”?

Houston, we have a problem

I have loads of work, but I just cannot concentrate! I have fallen in a nostalgic pocket, thinking about all the funny and embarrassing things from my past. All my encounters with police force, in many different countries. Never been to jail though. Even a certain police officer in a small village in Greece loved to come by my office and threaten to put me in jail as I obviously didn’t have a working permit.

He didn’t put me to jail. Neither did the Cuban police after I was a little bit large in my mouth, nor the Moroccan police after driving without driver’s license (more than once). And Italian police just shouted if my car was a bus as I was driving in area strictly reserved for buses.

But I have been to many police stations in my life. And once I got a ride home in a police car, my mom was very proud of me.

Hurdles & sports

JB had this picture of one of our ministers on his blog. It is funny, but a bad trick picture; a person running hurdles would never smile. I know, I am an ancient hurdle sprinter! Until I for 30 years ago in West Finland’s Championships final fell and hurt myself quite badly (but made it to the finishing line and got the important point for my team; this is Finnish SISU). After that, I would never run hurdles again. I had plan B, an eventual career as shot putter (kuglestød, kuulantyöntö) ahead. Even I was thin, I was very strong, made it as number two once in some other province competition, beaten only by a girl four times bigger than me.

That I was very strong is thanks to my brothers who both were wrestlers. My big brother was quite good, once silver medallist in Finland’s Championships. He still doesn’t acknowledge it, but it was thanks to me, challenging him every single day we lived under the same roof. We both have worked out our traumas; my brother the phobia being locked in small places, and I have learned to live with a left arm that doesn’t get higher than my breasts.

I was in fact so strong that I could beat all the guys in my class in wrist wrestling, all but the hockey guy. This was quite stupid of me, and I have told my daughter not to beat the guys in her class in wrist wrestling. This would result only the real weirdoes to be attracted to her afterwards. Learning from mistakes.

But my ancient coach would be very surprised today. I have also worked out my phobia for the hurdles. When running to the bus in the morning, I sometimes don’t have time to run the normal way. Instead I jump quite elegantly over the hedge on the backside of the house. Very concentrated, not smiling.

I surrender

I surrender, Hanan Ashrawi is back on the book shell, unfinished. I have instructed my kids and my husband that if I ever get paralyzed after a stroke and only my left eye lid is functioning, 6 blinks means that I am ready to try again.
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World Outgames

My company is handling the World Outgames (the gay Olympics), in Copenhagen this summer. Not a bad word about gay people, but tell me how it is possible to have a discipline called SOLO SYNCHRONIZED SWIMMING?
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I, princess Leia

Working home is a real party for the kids; I have plenty of time to play with Barbies and legos. Parents often have guilty conscience for not playing enough with their kids, for me it works the other way around. I play with the kids to avoid cleaning the oven or the garage, vacuuming the car or whatever obligations there are waiting.

When playing with legos, I am princess Leia, period. Yesterday I got into a fight with my daughter as she wanted to be princess Leia. I told her to get her own kids, THEN she can decide who she is going to play. Now she must settle being Queen Organa.

Carrie Fisher wasn’t much of warrior, I am. My princess Leia is always on a mission, single-handed with a laser sword, and beating the hell out of Darth Vader = my son.

“Princess Leia, please return to the base, hurry up”, Queen Organa = my daughter is calling.
“Okay, I will be there in 17 nanoseconds, permission to land please.”
“Permission granted.”
“So what’s the rush?” princess Leia = I ask.
“Nothing particular”, Queen Organa says.
“What? Did you make me travel 16 millions light-years for nothing particular?” I ask, very annoyed.
My daughter, Queen Organa, tries to find a reason for calling Leia back to the base;
“Well, it is just to tell you that I am in love with Han Solo”
“What? He is my boyfriend; we are getting married as soon as I find R2-D2, he has disappeared with the wedding rings. You bitch….” (I used a more decent word; bitch just looked very good in writing)

Then I and my daughter, alias princess Leia and Queen Organa, get into a cat fight. My son, who has to put up, not only with my very aggressive princess Leia, but also her constant urge for romance (she is indeed always trying to find Han Solo, just to have a kiss or two, even when Han Solo is lying in coma after being hit by Darth Vader’s deathly laser sword), has gotten enough.
“Get the hell out of my room!”

Can’t win every time, I guess I must finally clean the oven.

Bezzerwizzer

I have just been to our company kick-off, where we played Bezzerwizzer. As I like Trivial Pursuit, I was sure I would also like this game. I was also certain that my team will win, but no, this turned out to be the challenge of my life. How can that be?

Politics. I know many common things about politics; I just made a test and beat my husband by one point knowing all the Danish ministers. I actually time to time read newspapers. How difficult can that be?
- Which letter was the symbol for Fælles Kurs at the 1987 election?
What the hell is Fælles Kurs?? But even more important, who really cares?

Litterature. This must be something for me, I read books. Besides the Russian classics I also like popular literature. I like John Irving, Isabelle Allende, Fay Weldon, Graham Greene. I even know who wrote Da Vinci Code even I would never touch the book. So hit me, I can’t go wrong on this one:
- Who created the cartoon Far Side?
What? My literature knowledge doesn’t include cartoons (with the exceptions of Tintin, Lucky Luke and Asterix), I can see that I have a huge hole to be covered.

Film. Oh, my knowledge of film is wide. I know all the great Hollywood directors like Billy Wilder, John Ford, John Huston, George Cukor. I know the great French ones; Chabrol, Tavernier, Blier, Godard, Truffaut. And actors! I know the works of Barbara Stanwyck, Gary Grant, Daniel Auteil, Jean Gabin, Simone Signoret. What can I possibly be asked that I cannot answer at?
- Who played the main character Nico in a film “Nico - Above the law” from 1987?
Hmm…the right answer is STEVEN SEGAL. I have to get updated on my film knowledge, too.

While the game went on, I was getting more and more depressed about the questions. I had apparently no knowledge of politics, films or literature. The rest of the questions were only for people having Danish inside information, information that no foreigners have access to. And then I remembered Dansk Folkeparti’s election campaign:
“Do your country a favour! Invite your foreign next door neighbour for Bezzerwizzer evening; after the total humiliation they will be ready to leave the country!”

I have started packing.

The Palestine Question

I feel great sympathy for the Palestinians, not for Hamas, Fatah, PLO or PIJ, but for the ordinary people. Palestinians who struggle to carry on, daily humiliated by the Israeli.

While I lived in Morocco, I studied German for a half year with a Palestinian teacher. I guess my sympathy for Palestine dates from these days. He was a very sweet, older gentleman, I really loved him. And he loved me. Not because I was the only blond girl in the class, but because I was the only person without beard and moustache amongst the Arab girls and boys.

But why is the Palestinian conflict so hard to solve? Now I know. It is not because either Hamas or the Israeli government didn’t want to compromise for the peace. It is because in the peace making process all the reasonable people on both sides were bored to death by Hanan Ashrawi’s biography. Only the illiterate wackos survived.

Working from home

Because of my toe condition I am working at home at the moment. Fun. Or is it? I noticed I miss my colleagues, I even miss my boss. I miss my boss ending every sentence with “I hvert fald”, she doesn’t do this on mail. I miss laughing with my next desk buddy, a girl at my age, weighing double as much as I do and having a 10 years younger virile police officer as a boyfriend (this must be the ultimate proof that God does NOT exist).

I miss listening to my colleagues talking about exciting TV programs like “Paradise Island” and “Bonde søger brud” (something about farmer dating). It really fascinates me that they talk about these programs with an intensity as they were negotiating peace with Hamas. This fascinates me just as much as when I hear someone defending Sarah Palin with a total poker face. Did Sarah Palin really say: "...there is hope and opportunity in our neighbouring country of Afghanistan”? I wouldn’t doubt for a second. When I was exchange student in the States, a girl at school once asked my host sister where I was from. “She is from Finland”, my host sister answered. “Oh, from Venus”, the girl said. I don’t know how you can mishear Finland to be Venus, but the hearing problem is the least of her problems, I guess.

So not much collegial small talk these days. Fortunately people keep me updated once in a while; I got this mail yesterday about the office situation:
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“Office is so cold…I am feeling very sleepy in this temperature. But in all the mountain/hiking disaster movies, the man always tell the woman not to fall into sleep, otherwise they will die. In cold weather/in the cave full of snow or whatever, man always shouted: wake up, wake up, don’t fall asleep….woman says: but it feels warm, oh, Eric, Eric…. Then man will take off his clothes and her clothes, clue their bodies together to get body heat.”

Thank you for your quote, Heaven (though without asking for copyright). Working at home is indeed very boring compared to office gossiping!

Christmas presents 5

My kids always make the Christmas presents themselves; these are the most wonderful and personal gifts. My son isn’t that organized in present making, he usually hurries to make a couple of strange drawings (aliens shooting each other) on the Christmas eve morning, gift wraps them and puts under the tree. My daughter is a little bit more creative and starts making the presents at school already in November; everybody gets at least twenty of them.

And again this Christmas I got from her a lot of homemade things; a candle, a bookmark, Christmas decoration, a calendar etc. But there is one thing I still don’t know what to use it for, not even after two weeks’ hard thinking; a ceramic dog bone.

I guess I can always hit my husband on the head with it. If I for some strange reason would feel for it.

Learning from mistakes

Every day I learn something from my mistakes. Today’s harvest:

1. Don’t polish the windows outside when it is minus degrees, unless you want to make the house look like a polar adventure. Tonight the kids’ bedtime story will be how we survived being captured between ice bergs on our South Pole expedition. Just one look at the windows and here we are, captured behind an ice block. Well, at least the kids will be thrilled (and they believe me when I say that I made the windows to look like that on purpose).

2. Don't try to stand on your toes in attempt to reach something if you have a metal thread stuck in your toe.

Fur and ethics

I have a wonderful long mink fur coat which I once bought cheaply from Vips, the former Marxist, current capitalist. Unfortunately the weather in Denmark doesn’t allow me to wear the mink too much, but as soon as the thermometer shows less than 5 oC, like now, my mink leaves the closet. I take it on to work, to grocery shopping, to pick up the mail, even to go out with the garbage. Though having at the moment a walking radius of 50 meters from the house, I keep it to the two last ones.

And no, I have no conscience issues wearing a mink coat. None. People have worn fur for thousands of years; it is nature’s law that we people cover ourselves with fur and skin. Not wearing fur or skin but eating meat is such hypocrisy. And I have never seen anyone using a belt made of lettuce.

My friends know how I feel about animals, they would never let me take care of their family rabbit while they are on holiday. They know I would make a rabbit collar out of it right away.

But wearing fur and skin goes only for animals. I would never wear leather pants made of Somalians. Or Ethiopians.

Weight problems?

Ten days with no jogging, no biking, no swimming; it was time to see if I am getting close to the 200 kilos.
But what? When I weighed myself this morning, I had lost one kilo! After all the diets I have tried the past many, many years, and finally one that works; lying on the couch and eating chocolate.

Is this because I have burned fat by fussing the family around or have I lost muscle weight? I don’t know, but one thing is sure. If I find out how this works for other people, I will live out my American dream. I am going to be rich.... $$$$$$$$.

Gentlemen...not at my house!

“Husband, why didn’t you bring me coffee, you just got yourself tee?”

“I didn’t know you wanted coffee.”

“You are not a gentleman, I have always said that. When I was an au-pair girl in Versailles, the father….”

“Wife, not that gentleman story again.”

“Well, you are not a gentleman. Yesterday when I wanted a glass of wine...”

“Wife, I think you confuse a gentleman with a waiter.”

Lost in oblivion

Somebody asked me why I blog, and I told her that it is a way to share my thoughts and happenings with friends. Well, this isn’t true as I have found out that my friends, with two exceptions (TWO!!) don’t read my blog. “Oh, I would love to read it, but I am just too busy.” Busy? How busy can one be, it takes 20 seconds to read the few lines I put down almost daily. But can I blame them when even my husband doesn’t bother reading my blog?

No, it isn’t for my friends, it is for myself. I do this to fight oblivion, glemsel, unohdus… Oblivion is a word that both scares and fascinates me. I already begin to forget who I was for twenty years ago. I was definitely thinner, great deal more creative and had most certainly more sex.

So the blog is my diary. In some years I can read my blog and see that something did happen in my life. Exciting things. Like a Pakistani guy coming over and buying the kids' beds. Or seeing a documentary about WW1 and getting stitches removed from my toe. Okay, nothing exciting maybe has happened in my life, at least the past 10 years. This is since I moved to Denmark; can I sue the state of Denmark for a boring life?

At the doctor’s

Yesterday I went to my doctor to get the stitches removed from my toe. I had to go to the open consultation as there were no free appointments to book, and when I arrived, there were at least 20 people waiting. Great! Luckily I had taken a book with me (well, I never go anywhere without a book); I could have brought the Bible along thinking about the three hours I have to wait. But for my big surprise and for even bigger irritation of the 20 other patients waiting, the doctor took me in almost right away.

I had saved a morphine pill for this occasion, but as I hadn’t expected to get in so soon, I hadn’t taken it yet. I hurried to take the pill, but of course it didn’t work right away. I have a very very low pain limit, but having all the people in the waiting room, I tried to control my screaming.

“So here we go, the first stitch.”
“Aaaaaaaahhhhhhh…….”
“Good girl, the next one.”
“Ooooooooohhhhhhhhh…….”
“Still a good girl, not crying at all. The third one.”
“Oh, oh, oh, aaaaaaahhh……..”

In the end of the session the morphine begun to work, and I started to breathe normally. This wasn’t that bad; I hadn’t fainted or strangled my doctor. When I left him, I was smiling big time as I didn’t feel anything on my foot. People in the waiting room were looking at me very curiously and the doctor’s secretary asked:
“Everything okay?”
I could only think about the wonderful effect of the morphine:
“Yes, yes, just what I needed. And Doctor Thomas was very gentle, as always.”

New year’s resolutions 2

«Husband, we should really try to quarrel less in 2009.”

“Yes, you are right. “

“So, please try to irritate me less.”

“How can I do that, me just being present irritates you?”

“True enough, is there any way you can make yourself invisible?”