Erotic dreams

Last night I had an erotic dream of Rafael Amargo. Good God, how low can I sink? Even Amargo is a wonderful flamenco dancer, he is such a clown that there should be a restrain order for him opening the mouth.

Sex is just like your salary; it is not the most important thing in your life but if it is lousy (non-existing?), it certainly rules your brain. The day I no longer write about sex, my husband should become suspicious.

Women driving 2

I once knew a guy who could drive around for a half an hour without noticing that he had the handbrake on. How is this possible? My car has a very annoying beeping sound and bright red lamp blinking as soon as I drive with the handbrake on, can’t stand it for two minutes!

Life is random

I dreamed of reading Tolstoy, Pushkin and Solohov in their mother tongue so I wanted to study Russian from the 8.th grade. Studying Russian wasn’t exactly the most popular thing to do in my youth so unfortunately (?) there weren’t enough students taking the course. As a second choice I took French instead.

What a different life I could have had if I had started my Russian studies back then. I would definitely never have become the Francophile I am as instead of going to Versailles, I had gone to Leningrad.

I never became the Jewish bride, but would have I had become the wife of a rich Russian oligarch? Instead of dying my hair blond, I would dye it yellow. Instead of having discreet and natural make up, I would prefer vivid blue eye shadows with eyelash extensions. I would buy my clothes in the same shops as Dolly Parton (no offense Dolly but you said yourself “It costs a lot of money to look this cheap”) and I would wear an excess of gold jewellery.

I would never have become this open-minded person without prejudices.

César time

Dany Boon is pissed because he wasn’t nominated for a César even Bienvenue chez les Ch'tis was the most seen film in France last year. He has decided to boycott the Césars tonight.

Dany Boon was the best earning French actor last year making 26 million Euros. Just to put a little perspective, Gerard Depardieu was the second best earning 3,5 million Euros.

Come on Dany, buy some hash and liquor with that hard earned money of yours and get over it!

Of course money can’t buy you a Cesar, but it certainly helps you to forget the fact. I in the contrary am all alone with my disappointment not being nominated. The César jury told me that the day they have a category called Pornographic Dogma Films, I am welcome to try again. They also gave me the advice of getting more actors than just myself for avoiding the monotony. But what can I do when my sex toy Vronski was the only one accepting a role in my film?

Diet 2

I thought that the best motivation for losing weight would be looking forward to a visit from an old lover. A lover who last time has seen me as what I would consider only the half of the actual me.

Now I have even a stronger motivation. The other day I went to see Vicky Cristina Barcelona and I just must get the kind of jeans Scarlett Johansson is wearing in the film! Can’t really imagine them on me at the moment, I think the awful 300 kilo lady from the horseback riding is laughing now.

I loved the film, made me dream of Barcelona. It also reminded me of my French painter, Emmanuel, didn't think that he would ever cross my mind again. I had totally repressed him from my memory as I in a moment of passion was ready to forget my commitment elsewhere and move to his addict. A friend of mine was laughing her head off as I could fell in love in 4 seconds and the love lasting 4 days. Well, it was never boring being me in those days.

It is Friday!

Friday is the best day of the week; you have the whole week-end ahead. Saturday is already quite depressing knowing that the week-end is half-ways, almost over. Sundays are just sad; already tomorrow you have to go back to work.

Well, at least I have the few hours on Friday after leaving the work to enjoy my week-end.

To my best buddy!

Kimmo, what a best buddy you still are! I so settle with only two weeks in Carelian waters, just you and me. I have to find out where to deposit husband and the kids, though…

The Finnish summer nights are light as the sun never goes down, I guess we have to drink a lot of vodka to see the stars.

PS. Thanks for taking me to Bryan Adams concert, thanks for sharing with me endless hours with BA's music. Thanks for promising ALWAYS to love me, despite the thousands of kilometres between us.

Pour l'amour d'une femme

Anna Karenina left her son for her lover, Vronski. As a mother this is almost impossible to understand, I would never leave my kids, not for George C, not for Orhan Pamuk.

But people do strange things for love. I have some good examples:

A French painter Emmanuel told me to pick up which ever piece of art pleased me the most. I took the only one he had a realistic chance on selling and paying the next month’s rent with. But he was very talented, he would get famous one day and be able to sell the rest (I still haven’t seen any of his works at museums).

My Jewish lover drove whole night from Paris to Biarritz to be with me just for few hours. On the way he run out of gas and had to walk 30 kilometres to the closest gas station, but he made it.

My husband missed once a flight on purpose to be able to spend one more night with me and this was before there was anything called discount flights. He keeps saying though that it was only because there was Pelle the Conqueror on TV. Never heard anyone missing a flight for Max von Sydow before.

But I beat all these guys. I got married with a POOR guy for love, how pathetic is that?

One of my favourite Garou songs, sorry for the poor quality...



Quand j'ai croisé son regard
Il était déjà trop tard
Elle avait le sourire étrange
Que les peintres donnent aux anges

J'avais l'impression bizarre
De l'avoir vue quelque part
Par quel "appeal", quel appel
M'a-t-elle attirée vers elle
Je l'ai suivie comme une ombre
Dans ses nuits d'entre deux mondes

{Refrain:}
Pour l'amour d'une femme
Je tombe à genoux
Je vendrais mon âme
J'irais jusqu'au bout
Ainsi je suis né
Je suis condamné
Condamné à vie
A payer le prix
Que devra payer
Un homme qui se damne
Pour l'amour d'une femme

Autre part une autre histoire
Au hasard d'un "cruising" bar
Encore une qui me séduit
Et m'invite dans son lit
C'est dans une chambre d'hôtel
Que je m'éveille avec elle

Pour l'amour d'une femme
Je tombe à genoux
Je vendrais mon âme
J'irais jusqu'au bout
Pour l'amour d'une femme
Pour l'amour d'une femme

Longs couloirs de ma mémoire
Vous ne menez plus nulle part
Vrais diamants et faux miroirs
Vous m'avez mis sur le trottoir

{au Refrain}

Vive La Lettre!

E-mail is an awful invention. One’s stupid ideas are just one click away becoming common knowledge.

In a very stupid attempt to be funny, I might have scared the hell out of someone. I am very sorry; I keep forgetting that people don’t get my humour. I in the contrary think that I am very funny.

From now on, I will not send one single e-mail ever again. I will only put down my stupid ideas to a real letter. Then there is plenty of time regretting and eventually not sending the letter. Time that it takes finding an envelope, to fold the letter to a suitable size fitting the envelope, going to the post office and buying a stamp. When I after two weeks carrying the letter in my handbag finally find a mailbox (why didn’t I post the letter when buying the stamp?), I might regret and not post it at all, never letting anyone know my stupid (read funny) ideas.

To be sure that I keep my promise, I will join the Amish people.

Whatever

Mademoiselle A has lately been borrowing my company credit card very often. And I must say that it sits quite lose in my wallet, I just tell her also to order me something if she gets herself a nice handbag.

My boss will deeply regret putting Mademoiselle A’s apprentice under my wings. If she ever wakes up from the coma caused by my Stockholm travel account; in three days I managed to spend definitely too much money. But I did have fun with my French gay guy. Me, with the incredibly beautiful eyes.

PS. I am in fact not that sure anymore that my French client is gay (was this only office gossip?), not after the mail he sent me yesterday.

PSS. But even better, my maybe gay guy will bring me 50 rich French doctors in June to Stockholm. Then it is just pick and choose the best possible one inviting me every week-end to Paris. Last time I had 50 rich French bank directors, but they had dragged their wives along. Only one guy had left the wife in France, but he was from LIMOGES! Hell no, I don’t want a lover in Limoges! But I let him pay all my drinks, Tchin-tchin.
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Oscars and serie killers

How come this Japanese guy winning the Oscar is still walking free? I am talking about Kunio Kato who won the Academy Award for Best animated short film. Didn’t anybody hear his murder confessions?

“I sank the academy
I sank my family
I sank my team
I sank everybody who inspired me
I sank everybody in my home town.”

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PS. Hugh Jackman….wow! I guess I am one of the one billion women who completely fell in love, without ever seeing a film with him.

How to guard yourself against unpleasant surprises

If you have unpleasant work assignments, put them under all the other papers on your desk where they will grow to even bigger and more unpleasant jobs for every day that passes by.

Then when Taleban one day abducts and tortures you, it will not feel like a tragedy but as a great relief.
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Fast food

Someone sent a funny joke about how Michelangelo’s David looked like after being borrowed to New York Metropolitan Museum, kindly sponsored by Mc Donald’s.


Before



After

For rare occasions, I take the kids to Mc Donald’s. Though after seeing Supersize me there is longer and longer to these fast food visits.

I don’t eat fast food myself, I usually only take a salad. But my husband and the kids take a hamburger.

“Son, can I taste your hamburger.”
“Okay mom. God mom, you took the half of it!”
“Daughter, how is you burger?”
“Here mummy, have a bite. Not that big bite!”
“Not that bad. Husband, is your Big Mac good? Let me see.”
“Wife! You could have left me something!”

When we get home, my husband asks what’s for dinner.

“What, we have just eaten at Mc Donald’s!”
“Wife, I and the kids had a half burger each, you had one and a half. Plus the salad!”

Fastelavn, er mit navn…

It is Shrovetide time and my daughter was dressed in last year’s Disco Queen costume. It was hopelessly old-fashioned, this year one was supposed to be dressed as a cheerleader from High School Musical. I promised to make her a cheerleader outfit for next year, she already has the Pom-Pons.



To make her the perfect cheerleader for the next Shrovetide, I wanted to teach her a “cheer”. I can only remember one from my high school year in the States, so that will do:

“Five percent beer
Makes you wanna cheer
Hot roast duck
Makes you wanna
f….fight fight fight”

Needless to tell, my husband didn’t approve at all, despite my fabulous choreography.

New hetero guy

We have a new hetero guy at work and it only took me three days to make him completely embarrassed. It started with a colleague telling during the lunch that she was invited to a masquerade at ANALIENBORG. I suggested that she would dress up as a dildo and then I demonstrated how she should move around.

This morning I had ice cold hands and I just had to put them on somebody’s bare stomach, this is an urge I was born with. No, I didn’t choose the hetero guy, I chose Heaven sitting just in front of him. Heaven screamed of lesbian pleasure, and then we went on discussing Ang Lee’s failed film, Lust Caution. How the only good thing were the erotic scenes, very advanced erotic scenes. Oh Tony Leung, we would very much like to try these advanced positions with you.

The hetero guy fainted.

Good news, bad news

Good news:

Mr P is coming to visit me. God bless the e-mails and fast communication!

Bad news:
Mr P is coming to visit me all too soon. Now I cannot eat anything for a month. Good timing, the Christian fast starts today, I will just join them.

Mr P sent me earlier a recent picture; he looked as cute as for 20 years ago. I was very tempted to send him in return a 10 kilos old picture, one where I am lying on a hanging palm tree on Maldives, all tanned and with no cellulites. Good God I didn’t, that would definitely have been misleading product declaration.

I will send this picture instead; then he can only get positively surprised.

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Youth is wasted on the young

This old proverb is so true; I don’t think we appreciated the things we had. When I was young, I was totally penniless. I had no money to buy records, so I had to tape music from Mr P. I had no money to buy clothes so I had to sew my clothes. I still remember the long red winter coat I made to myself, one that the guys at schools called for moose hunting jacket. That I sewed my clothes is today as hard to believe that I used to be at the school’s basket team (I try to hit the lamp-posts with snow balls every time I pass one, but I haven’t manage to break a single one yet, not this winter, not last winter, nor the winter before…). Mr P wrote that I even sent him letters without stamps (can this be considered romantic, first complaining that he must pay the postman to get my letter, but then admitting that he would pay anything to hear my news?).

Yes, I was penniless but I can see from my old letters that I had awful many people loving me, missing me, looking forward to hearing from me, my letters making their days.

And I just took all these people granted. Knowing what I know now, I would immediately exchange my 500 pairs of shoes to having all my friends and lovers loving and missing me again, just like they did for 20 years ago. I would exchange all my one hundred handbags for a best buddy who wrote: “I want for always to be on your top priority list, preferably as number one.”

PS. I promised never again to complain that my friends don’t read my blog, but I just don't get it… If people loved reading my letters, how come my blog can be so boring that they don’t bother to read it?

Guys, if wondering what your chances are...

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In the mood for murder

I was very close to committing a murder today. Every Saturday when I take my daughter to horse back riding, I have to listen to this awful woman and I just feel like killing her. Half of the time she screams at her totally frightened and crying daughter, and the other half she babbles without a pause and makes me crazy. I try to ignore her, but she just keeps on babbling. How she wants to buy a horse for the whole family as she also used to ride when she was younger. I said to her that then she should buy the tiny little pony her daughter is riding, a real family horse. As this awful woman weighs about 300 kilos, the same as the pony, I couldn’t help laughing when imagining her on the horse.

But she just didn’t get it, she asked if the pony really was for sale! I was just going to strangle her, but then my daughter’s horse threw her off in full gallop. Now I had to go and kill my daughter’s horse instead. When trying to strangle the beast the instructor told me that I have to pay 100.000 kr if it dies, well, couldn’t see that on my bank account so I let go.

And it is good that I didn’t kill the awful woman either. It is comforting to know that there is at least one person fatter than me in Denmark.

More nostalgia

My dad was never a man with many words. That he did not say a word when he was lying there in his coffin was no proof that he was dead, only his body temperature convinced me.

I found a letter my dad had sent to me in Sweden for 25 years ago;

“Hello,
Can’t find your sports bra, have been looking for it for 50 minutes.
Dad"

Nostalgia

As I for once took the car to Finland, I decided to bring some old belongings back with me; books, photographs and letters. I never found Mao’s Little Red Book, but I found all my old “Puk” books. Can’t wait to read them again.

Today I have been reading some of the old letters, heavens, brings back so many memories.

Letters from Tomeo
If a guy starts a letter with “Hi you”, he deserves to be dropped. And if the guy only considers you as “Hi you”, why on earth there was need to embarrass me in front of so many people?

Letters from Aurelio
“Porque no escribes?” My Spanish, hash smoking lover still didn’t get it. After smoking a joint I might have agreed to go to South America with him, but I am quite sure I regretted as soon as I was sober. Maybe I never really spelled it out, though. The sex was great.

Letters from Mr P
I really looked forward to reading Mr P’s letters. He has written me thousands of pages and I was sure I would get that romantic fix I needed. But no. There was not one word of romance anywhere; did he really deserve my love? Yes he did, he was so funny. I was laughing, probably just as much as I did for 20 years ago, not only what he wrote at, but he really took the trouble to illustrate all his letters with funny drawings. Are you still funny? You promised to come and visit me in February, but I haven’t heard a word since Christmas. I shouldn’t have told you about my blog.

Letters from Kimmo
If Mr P wrote me thousands of pages, you must have written millions. What a best buddy you were! I would give anything if we two could just take a month off and sail on your boat to the warm waters, lie hand in hand on the deck and look at the stars.

You ended one letter with: “Either drag my feet back to ground or take me with you on the clouds”. What a best buddy you were!

PS. I found no letters from my Jewish lover (have I burned them?), but I found a letter from another French guy. He writes: “ …je prends mon stylo pour souligner quelques mots qui representent notre amour.... » What, which love? There is something he had misunderstood, but who cares, the letter is just SO romantic.

Compliments

I hardly ever get compliments, or…? My big brother wondered why my thighs aren’t that big me being so fat. I can’t figure out if this is a compliment or an insult.

But while in Stockholm, I was having dinner with a guy in a romantic cave restaurant in the old town. In the candle light the guy looked at me deeply in the eyes and said that I had truly beautiful eyes. I buy that one, totally.

I just wish the guy hadn’t been a 60 year old French gay guy.

More travelling

Whenever I am in Stockholm, I like to exercise my masochistic side; I visit my friend Miss K. As I am an extremely boring person with boring life and boring job, I am the total opposite of Miss K. She is something from a Kundera novel; she is a photographer living an exciting life with lots of erotic adventures with her young, younger, youngest lovers. I can’t even pick up a hundred years old blind guy, what’s wrong with me (you are too fat, my mom would say)?

Knowing that I would need some comfort after spending an evening hearing about her latest conquests , I had decided to bring Vronski along to Stockholm (yes, I guess my sex toy is the closest I ever get having a lover). And folks, now I don’t need my sex toy expert of a friend to tell me how she convinces the airport security that her sex toy isn’t a bomb, now I know how to do it myself.

I thought I would just die of shame but the situation turned out to be very amusing as the security officer got very embarrassed. The lady checking the monitor told the security guy to investigate the suspicious object in my luggage closer; the poor guy was all red on his face, he was stuttering like the French count from my younger days and his hands were shaking like a sky scraper during a 11,5 Richter scale earth quake. He excused that he had to investigate the object-you-know-what-I-mean (this is exactly the words he used) so to complete his embarrassment I said:” Well, I am from Finland. It is a huge country with a small population so a girl might have to walk hundreds of miles without meeting a guy. Therefore it is always good to have the object-you-know-what-I-mean handy, don’t you think?”


(I am still not brave enough to bring a picture of my sex toy so you get Fred March as Vronski instead. I have never seen the film though, I don't think even GG can live up to the book.)

Travelling on business

I had to go to Stockholm on business and realised that it is impossible to please everybody.

My boss at the office:
“In these times of financial crisis, please don’t use your company credit card unnecessarily. If you feel like spending, use your private credit card instead. And remember, no champagne from the hotel minibar.”

When I arrived at the hotel, there was no champagne in the minibar. Obviously my boss didn’t trust me and had asked the hotel the remove the champagne from my room.

My husband at home:
“In these times of financial crisis, please don’t use your credit card unnecessarily. If you feel like spending, use your company credit card instead. And remember, no new perfumes.”

I apparently need a third, home and work neutral credit card. Where are you rich, blind lover?

PS. I found a fantastic perfume from Moschino’s “Cheap and chic” series. Where the hell does the word “CHEAP” come from? It is just as misleading as calling me a thin Asiatic man. But I paid the perfume in cash, my husband will never know.

Suomi Finland Finlande

I thought that after one week in Finland I would have a plenty to write about, but no. My fellow citizens simply left me speechless.

Conversation 1

« Mom, can you please pass me the salt. »

“For 15 years ago I got a terrible pain on my right shoulder. I went to the doctor who sent me to further examinations at the hospital. Three weeks later I got the diagnosis and the doctor gave me very good pills for the pain. Aren’t you getting quite fat?”

Conversation 2
" Mom, I am going to bed, good night. »

“For 11 years ago I got a terrible pain on my left foot. I went to the doctor and he wanted to amputate my leg. I refused so I paid for private hospital to find out what was wrong. Two weeks later I got the diagnosis and the new doctor gave me some pills. The pills didn’t help, I still feel the pain. You are getting really fat, aren’t you?”

Conversation 3

« Heavens, you have lost a lot of weight! When I saw you last time for 20 years ago, you were so fat. »

“No Auntie Wacko from Kingdom of Dementia, I used to be thin, I am fat now. Just ask my mom.”

Conversation 4
“Dad, you are really so dead now, lying there all peaceful and calm. I feel sorry for myself, no one is ever again gonna love me with that unconditional parental love that normal parents feel for their kids. I can’t ever again be 100% sure about anyone’s love the rest of my life.”

Long silence from my dad. But silence is the sign of consent, isn't it?

Raindrops on roses and whiskers on kittens

Our car radio broke down on our trip to Finland (obviously the French cars can’t take the Finnish winter) so on the way back I had to entertain my husband. To avoid any conversation (what the hell can we talk about for 8 hours?) I suggested that I sing, but after I sang the same Patricia Kaas song 23 times, my husband finally agreed to answer my stupid 4.th grade questions; “What is your favourite film, comedy, book, actor, actress, song, country, city etc.”

He answered all my questions until I asked him about his sexual fantasy. This he just wouldn’t tell, he said he hadn’t any. Come on, as soon as my husband sees Tina Fey on television he starts slobbering incomprehensibly and if he sees Diane Ducret presenting coronary diseases from 16th century France on “Histoire”, his tongue falls between his legs.

What’s the big deal telling about sexual fantasies if it doesn’t include your neighbour or a colleague? I have lots of sexual fantasies, besides the lesbian one with Juliette Binoche. Amongst others, I dream of sex with Hemingway, this is very safe as he is dead. Even I am in love with Orhan Pamuk, he is still alive so I try to exclude him. What if he is a really bad lover? Would all his books lose the magic knowing that he only can perform for 15 seconds? I can’t take that risk, he might really be the love of my life and one day I will meet him. Then it is best not to have any expectations. There are a lot of men who can disappoint me but by doing that not taking anything with them, like George C. Yes, George is always a good choice.

I would also like to experience a male orgasm, just once before I die. Of pure curiosity.

JJG

Jean-Jacques Goldman is definitely my favourite composer. He has made some of the very best songs in the past years, and I can hear his signature miles away, no matter who is singing the song.

For some weeks ago I discovered another great composer, Sam Brewski. After some research I could see that in fact quite many of favourite songs were written by him. Who the heck is this Sam Brewski and how on earth could I have totally ignored his existence for so many years?

After further research I found out that Sam Brewski is pseudonym for…JEAN-JACQUES GOLDMAN. What do you know…

I, tsuhna

I was raised to despise the Soviets; it was the big bad eastern wolf that would as soon as you turned your back come over and make our capitalistic Finland to a communist hell. All the Finns knew what an awful life the Soviets had, and we have always felt us superior to our eastern enemy. Just as much as we always have felt inferior to the rest of the world.

But I just learned that the Russians in fact call us Finns for “tsuhna”. Tsuhna are people who are intellectually inferior, living in woods in their smoke cottages, and their only occupation being churning the butter.

Well folks, having no one to feel superior to anymore, I better get back to my butter churn.

Me trendy?

You might think that I am hopelessly old-fashioned, something from another era. And it is true concerning many things in my life. I have no idea what 24 hours or Lost is about, but I haven’t missed an episode of Upstairs, downstairs. Romantic comedy for me isn’t a film with Jennifer Aniston and Ben Stiller, but one with Katherine Hepburn and Spencer Tracy. And if someone asks if I am in the mood for action film, I am sure he is talking about Akira Kurosawa.

I listen to Michel Jonasz from 30 years ago, Patricia Kaas from beginning of the nineties and in a moment of nostalgia I put on Dire Straits. Dan Brown doesn’t get me excited but I could read Hugo’s Miserables again and again.

But the other day I read in the newspaper about new trends in these times of financial crisis and one of the new trends turned out to be day-dreaming. So I am definitely trendy, they can’t take that away from me.

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PS. By the way, I don’t know if you can call the free papers like Metroxpress for real newspapers. But TV2 also calls their reportage of a woman from Jutland collecting pens or a guy from Als collecting beer cans for news, so honestly, I have no idea where the line goes.

Bonne chance!

Wishing Karabatic and l’Equipe Francais Good Luck at Handball Worldchampionships Final later today…

PS. Good luck to Danes, too.
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