More Facebook

I have now found out that Facebook is a shorthand version of a blog. Why writes hundreds of words of nonsense when it can be said only with few words: “I just had a cup of coffee and two cookies.”

I am not gonna be one of these suckers, but I guess I should write something on my wall. Many of these people haven’t heard from me in ages so I must make myself a little bit more interesting than they are. I have to remember to keep it short; people don’t bother reading anything longer than two lines. I have my plan for next week’s Facebook diary ready:

Monday: After work I went bear-hunting, shot only a baby-bear.

Tuesday: I challenged my boss in Russian roulette. Guess who lost!

Wednesday: Didn’t have change for a bus ticket, had to rob my village post office.

Thursday: Late for Scientology meeting, gotta go!

Friday: Yippee, it is the weekly swinger club evening!

Saturday: Yippee, it is the weekly S/M evening!

Sunday: Village priest sick, I had to step in and make the sermon.

Facebook

Some people have kept wondering why I don’t have a profile on Facebook, I have wondered why should I.

“Well, it would be nice to know what you have been up to, and you could know how I am doing” the friend says.

“There is absolutely nothing happening in my life” I answer, “and here I am talking face to face with you, so tell me what you are up to. If I had read it on Facebook, we would have nothing to talk about.”

But I got curious and created a profile on facebook, never say never, I understand my own behaviour as little as I understand anything my husband says. I started to trace people from my past, but I can’t even remember their names. I guess there is a reason they are not part of my life any more.

But I did find some old friends, friends I thought were dead for years ago as I hadn’t a heard a word from them. It was nice to read their news; many of them did get up to go to work yesterday, some ate breakfast today, one had taken a quiz “Which hockey player would you like to be”, another one had baked two days ago, one friend’s dog was sick and finally one who had joined “Don’t sell our country to Russians” forum.

Heavens, all these years without news, I have a lot catching up to do!

Dial M for murder

For some time ago a friend of mine was complaining about her ex-husband who made her life a living hell. As a good friend I offered to fix the ex-husband for 50.000 kr. She was not laughing at all, but got kind of excited and said that no one would wonder about his early death him spending so much time at Nørrebro.

Well, I have been thinking about this new career opportunity and I think I could be a really good hit woman. I would simply persuade the ex-husband in a dark ally, make it impossible for him to escape, and then just start talking. After 20 minutes he would be bored to death (I could always read Hanan Ashrawi’s biography loud if any special effects were required) and I had left no traces behind me.

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Yesterday I told my movie-buddy about my new career plans, and she said that I could also take care of her husband. We usually meet half an hour before the film to discuss our husbands, competing whose husband is the worst one; laziest, most reckless, most stupid and most ignorant. I could see that if her husband must go, I would also have to kill my husband. But my husband has grown immune to my babbling, how on earth I am going to kill him without leaving traces? Then my movie-buddy reminded me about her access to medicine and the problem was solved.

But…if we really kill our husbands, what the hell are we going to talk about the half an hour before the movie starts? Who are we going to blame for the misery we have to go through every day? No more e-mails in the morning starting with “Hear now what my idiot of a husband did yesterday….” What kind of life would that be? Totally empty. No way, we agreed to stick to these lazy asses, the substance of our existence.

Men driving 2

If you are waiting in a cross to make a left turn and car approaching from left will signal only 1 meter before making the right turn (and made you to wait unnecessarily), the driver of that car is most certainly a man.

If you are driving 150 km/h on a motorway, and a car behind you has only 1 meter’s distance to your car, the driver behind is most certainly a man.

Anyone behaving like an ass in traffic is most certainly a man.

Any man who denies being an ass in traffic is a liar. If he really isn’t an ass, he is not a man but a woman disguised as a man.

God made a mistake when she allowed men to drive. Men should never have gotten off their horses.
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Life at the office 3

We just had to move to new desks at the office. While I was emptying my desk cabinet I found out that if I ever get stuck here in the office in a force majeure situation, I will not die of hunger or lack of shoes in the first many years.

Des roses & des orties

Can fixed marriages work; can you learn to love someone? Are the odds for a fixed marriage starting with indifference and ending up in love as high as for a marriage starting in love and ending up in indifference?

I was never a big fan of Francis Cabrel but last summer my husband, a big fan of Cabrel, exposed me to his music for weeks, and I grew to love it.

I guess without music I would have hard time accepting my lot on this earth.



Adossé à un chêne liège,
Je descendais quelques arpèges
En priant Dieu bout d'art que sais-je,
Est ce que tu penses à nous un peu.

Le monde est aux mains de stratèges
Costume noir, cravate beige
Ou turban blanc comme la neige
Qui joue de bien drôles de jeux.

Il y a dans nos attelages
Des gens de raison, de courage,
Dans tous les camps de tous les âges
Dont le seul rêve est d'être heureux.

On a dressé des cathédrales,
Des flèches à toucher les étoiles,
Dit des prières monumentales,
Qu'est- ce qu'on pouvait faire de mieux.

Etes vous là, êtes vous proche
Ou trop loin pour entendre nos cloches
Ou gardez vous les mains dans les poches
Ou est-ce vos larmes quand il pleut.

D'en haut de vos très blanches loges
Les voyez vous qui s'interrogent
Millions de fourmis qui pataugent
La tête tournée vers les cieux.

Sommes nous seul dans cette histoire,
Les seuls à continuer à croire,
Regardons nous vers le bon phare
Où le ciel est t-il vide et creux.

Adossé à un chêne liège
Pris comme dans les fils d'un piège
Je descendais quelques arpèges
Je n'avais rien trouvé de mieux.

Où êtes vous dans l'atmosphère,
On vous attend on vous espère,
Mais c'est le doute et le mystère
Que vous m'aurez appris le mieux.

Adossé à un chêne liège
Je descendais quelques arpèges
Par un après-midi pluvieux.

Je descendais quelques arpèges
par un après-midi pluvieux.

Death of a Daydream man

Lige børn leger bedst…Lika barn leka bäst.



Norma Jean, what were you thinking of?

Never say never

I have always said that:
- I would never travel to outer space
- I would never fall in love with a circus artist
- I would never see a hypnotizer

I don’t have 200.000 $ so there is no risk I will end my days on Mars mission. And even if I have been in love with many clowns in my life, none of them has actually worked in a circus. So that leaves me a hypnotizer. I will tell more about that if I ever wake up from my trance (my colleague still hasn’t, he saw one for two years ago).

Bowling

For some time I have been totally bored and wondering if I should do something else for living. And now I know what, BOWLING. This is my call, I am quite sure of it. I went bowling yesterday, and even if I only have bowled maybe 5 times in my life, I won easily over the 4 suckers I was bowling with.

I just have to get used to the bowling environment; being surrounded by overweight beer-bellies and learn to ignore the smell of people’s shoes and the stinking French fries.

To start with I need a sponsor. I am sure they will stand in queue when I show people the video demonstrating my victory dance every time I got a strike. Even the 4 crying suckers were smiling, together with the beer-bellies.

Who is this guy?

I bet my 500 pairs of shoes, that you don’t know. I also found out all too late, this morning. He is MORIS FARHI.

Yesterday my book-buddy Heaven told me about an Islam researcher she had met, a guy who had book shells full of Pamuk and Farhi. I have never heard of this Farhi guy, so I planned to google him up. Later I forgot all about him being too busy.

But last night I dreamed of Farhi. I was in Istanbul and had decided to visit him at his apartment. Needless to say, it was an erotic dream, but just because I HADN’T GOOGLED HIM UP. In my dream he didn’t look like that, he looked like Jean-Marc Barr (I happened to see the last 20 minutes of Le Grand Bleu when I came home from swimming).

Lesson learned, always google people up before having erotic dreams of them. My fantastic erotic dream from last night has just turned into a nightmare.

IKEA buys SAAB

I got this joke this morning, too funny not be shared...

According to rumors, IKEA is taking over SAAB which is in deep financial crisis. IKEA’s product development has released some draft photos of the new concept:




PS. And if you thought that you would end up in divorce after putting a closet together …

The meaning of life

I have often wondered what the meaning of life is. It can’t be just working, eating and singing in the shower. There must simply be more to it. So I asked God:

”Dear God, what is the meaning of life? Why am I on this earth?”

“All people have an assignment to carry out for me” God responds.

“And what is my assignment then?”

“People get assignments after their capabilities. You are a simple person; you cannot handle anything too complicated. Let’s say that your assignment is mocking Bernadette Chirac.”

Okay, I settle with that and stop searching for any deeper meaning with my life. If God says I am here to make fun of Bernadette, let that be so. But some time ago Satan came to me and whispered:

“I think God has mistaken, you are an intelligent and smart person. You deserve better, don’t get settled with Mrs. Jacques Chirac. I have a better person for you to mock, what do you say about Naser Khader?”

Dear God, Satan is really tempting me big time.

Viva La Vida

To my wonderful daughter, my partner in crime, my mate in tears and laughter, the one who makes me to get up from the bed and pushes me back to the dance floor.

And husband, the more you complain about Coldplay, the louder we play it. Viva La Vida.



I hear Jerusalem bells a ringing
Roman Cavalry choirs are singing
Be my mirror, my sword and shield
My missionaries in a foreign field

For some reason I can't explain
I know Saint Peter won't call my name
Never an honest word
But that was when I ruled the world

Lingerie shopping

As I now have found out my real measures for bras, I decided to go for some more lingerie shopping yesterday. I went to a special boutique again as I had decided never again buy bras in a supermarket. I once saw an interview with the Danish model, Renee Toft Simonsen, and she claimed that she buys all her lingerie at Føtex. I thought that if she can do it, why cannot I. Well, I am not Renee Toft Simonsen with perfect measures; I have no business in Føtex. After trying 300 different bras and ending up with two liters of milk; it can only be considered as awful waste of time.

At the Change boutique the girl asked my measures and I proudly told my round dimension but I lied about my cup size. WHAT THE HELL DID I DO THAT FOR? The girl would find out after two minutes that I had lied, and had to go and get a bigger cup size. I guess I am in need of several years’ therapy to work out my breast complex. And with a therapist I don’t mean a self-righteous psychologist who tells me to accept myself as I am. I mean a therapist who likes big hanging breasts and makes me feel desirable.

I ended up buying one romantic white bra and two very sexy black ones. At home I showed my new underwear to my husband. “Nice”, he says without paying any attention. “Nice? You are supposed to say sexy!” “What ever, sexy if you say so” my husband says, still not paying any attention to my new underwear. Well, JB wrote once in his blog that men don’t give a damn what women are wearing under their clothes. He said that it wouldn’t matter if we women were wearing a bison skin or an oilcloth that was kept on place with a garden hose, the only interesting thing is how they can get it off.

Quite disappointed about my husband's lacking reaction, I went on showing him the rest of my shopping. I had picked up my new eye glasses, just an extra pair to have in the car. “My God, you look just like Tina Fey (a blond version though). Bedroom, now.”

I give up, I understand nothing about men. And if my husband still claims he doesn’t have sexual fantasies, I can prove him wrong by just taking my new glasses on.

Compliments when you least expect them

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Yesterday a business associate had invited me and my colleagues out for dinner. This guy sat down accidentally just next to me, and as it wasn’t a client, but a supplier, I saw no reason to hold me back (still, as Mademoiselle A says, I need no booze to entertain myself).

Later a colleague said to this guy, that poor you, didn’t know what he went into when he sat next to me. The guy said that he in fact had never been so entertained in his life during a dinner.

Today he sent me a mail telling how fortunate he was that he sat next to me last night. SEE HUSBAND, always falling asleep when I talk to you, here is a second opinion and I have it on print (I also made copies to my colleagues and friends who also always fall asleep when I talk to them)!

But...

...I could have become Angelique!

Breast depression

I just found out that I am not getting back any tax money; instead I have to pay almost 5000 kr, ARGHHH! I usually get 20.000 kr back every year, but my accountant (=my husband) has really fucked up this time. He is so fired!

After last week’s bra shopping humiliation I had planned to use the expected tax-back money for breast reduction operation. When my husband heard this, his usual “My God how your breasts are hanging” suddenly changed to “My God how your breasts are just perfect”. Never trust a man. That I found out already when I was 10 years old, sitting on the big rock in the woods behind our house, waiting for Robert Hussein to come and get me away on his horse (I was very much into Angelique movies back then). Well, Robert Hussein never came, he never made me to Marquise des Anges; lesson learned, never trust a man.

My accountant will also learn a lesson. I will sue him for 27.000 kr for doing a bad job. This amount corresponds accidentally with the money he is getting back from the taxes.



(This is the reason I couldn’t become a model, my breasts were simply too big!)

Measuring my husband

“Well honey, I promised to put the result of your equipment on my blog today.”

“If you do that, I will divorce you and leave you penniless.”

“I am already penniless.”

“Then I am going to tell everybody about your hanging breasts and your nude walking.”

“Everybody knows.”

“Okay, then I will tell your boss, your mom and my family about your blog.”

“Shit!”

PS. If my husband divorces me, I will get married with this guy. Yesterday I went to buy a Kundera book and what happened? I came out of the bookstore with no Kundera but with three Pamuk books. Is this love or what?

Life at the office 2

If you wonder how I get by my boring days at office, well, I try to solve a lot of real and imaginary problems. The other day I came up with a wonderful business opportunity for Mademoiselle A, a Tic Tac addict, and always a little short of money. She was going to this big techno party and I told her to pack her Tic Tacs in small individual plastic bags and around 02.00 am begin to sell them as ecstasy. Nobody will notice that they are just Tic Tacs, everybody is by then so drunk and wasted. And if she gets arrested, she will only be convicted for fraud, not for drug trafficking.

Today’s problem is Michel Houellebecq. Boy isn’t he weird. I am very anxious to meet weird people so if God hears this (he normally ignores my spam, just like my husband) and arranges a meeting with Houellebecq, I am wondering what on earth I am going to talk with him about. Does he still smoke Camel? Then I know a very funny joke with the cigarette package;“How do you know if the camel on the package is male or female?” I love it, it is witty and frisky; it should lighten him up a little bit.

I stick to this plan, a problem solved again. Back to work, or finding more problems to solve?

Measuring

After getting a very relevant question in which state the man’s equipment should be measured, I think we should go for the “shrinkage” state. Tonight put your husband without clothes to the terrace/balcony, and after half an hour measure the humiliation.


(She is talking about Bush.)

Labels on people

I have often wondered how come grades and labels on people can make that big a difference. Like the IQ test; I would never take the IQ test, what if it says that my IQ is 25? I am still the same person, as intelligent or stupid I was before taking the test but having put the 25 on paper would really depress me.

As a woman we are also labeled by our breasts. The other day I sought professional help when buying a bra and I found out that for years I have been wearing too big dimension on my bra but with far too small cups. It was very depressing to hear it loud; there is not enough letters in Latin alphabet to describe my cup size, the Cyrillic alphabet was taken in use.

Why are we women exposed to this humiliation? How about the guys? Nobody is measuring their equipment in public. In the name of sexual equality, I demand scaling for men, too. Men’s underwear should also be categorized as A, B, C, D, E etc. Not cup, but tube. Is your husband wearing an A-tube (1 cm) or a T-tube (20 cm)? This will be an interesting subject to chat about with your girlfriends.

I will measure my husband tonight and tell the result on my blog tomorrow.

Eating dogs

I believe in fate, in God’s anger and in his need to teach me a lesson.

Making the joke about eating the blog-lady’s dog the other day, was paid back by God yesterday. I went to the hairdresser, and what did I get? A dog-eating South Korean girl to fix my hair. Was this the punishment? No, it was just the hint what I was punished for; never make fun of eating anybody’s pet. The punishment itself was LA LENTEUR.

If you have wondered what inspired Kundera to write Slowness, I strongly suspect it was this South Korean girl. Suk the Buddhist was so determined to fight the hectic life of 21st century that she has made slowness to her life philosophy. For her it made no sense doing a thing in two minutes if you can as well use two hours for it. I struggled to understand Kundera’s fascination for slowness, but with no success.

Until I imagined the pleasure of strangling her, very, very slowly.

Men are from Zoo...

“A man is like a cat; chase him and he will run – Sit still and ignore him and he’ll come purring at your feet”

Helen Rowland (1875-1950)

“A woman is like a dog; chase her and she will play with you – Sit still and ignore her and she will find someone else to play with.”
Anna Karenina (1966-)

Obtaining Danish citizenship

Aliens wanting to obtain Danish citizenships must take a test that no Dane could pass. Why cause so much administration to reject the unwanted Muslims? It would be easier if every Muslim wanting to become Danish was ordered to eat ½ kilo flæskesteg (roast pork) instead. The Muslims not being willing enough to integrate would fall off right away.

Blogging 2

I understand nothing about the human nature. Period. And I am about to shoot myself in the leg.

People have blogs for different reasons, I guess mostly because they love to write. One could also write in a diary but the thought that there are maybe just two friends who share your humor and love to read what you write about, makes it worth blogging.

Last weekend I suddenly got curious about other people’s blogs. I only read JB’s blog because IT MAKES ME LAUGH (and that I read JB’s blog is a funny result of 6 co-incidences, just as Tereza’s appearance in Tomas’ life), but I had no idea what other people blog about. I can tell they didn’t make me laugh; I had no idea that there are so many people having even more boring lives than mine. GODT SÅ, fair enough, urge to write bla bla, I get that. But the most incredible thing are the people commenting. Like on one blog the lady writes what she is going to have for dinner and ends the post with “What are you going to have for dinner?” 22 people commented her post telling what they are going to have for dinner. I also commented telling her that I will eat her dog if I find out where she lives.

I will not torture myself with these blogs ever again. Somehow I feel this promise is easier to keep than the one not eating chocolate. Or maybe I will read them the day Taleban really abducts me. I might have forgotten all the unpleasant work assignments and could feel sorry for myself. Then I ask Mullah Omar if I can just have a quick look at these blogs again; after two minutes I will be begging Taleban to go ahead with the torturing. Not with these blogs but with the bone crushing instrument.

Swimming with whales

I went swimming with the kids this afternoon, very early when it is not crowded yet. There wasn’t practically anyone else in the warm water pool but us and JESPER CHRISTIANSEN AND JESPER GRØNKJÆR (yes, the football guys from FCK!) with their kids.

As this is the second time in a very short period I pop into Jesper Christiansen, I thought that God might want to tell me something, it can’t just be a co-incidence. Unless JC is stalking me. Well, my fantasy was already making up the greatest stories of fate, but then the fact that I was wearing a swimming suit and not an astronaut costume (never had one, but I am quite sure I would look very petite inside one) caught me up.

No, God, why do you hate me this much? Why do you expose the true me to Jesper Christiansen? I decided to drown myself in the children’s pool, but God wouldn’t let me go. I woke up when the 17 year old life guard full of acne and with bad breath was giving me mouth-to-mouth. Jesper & Jesper were looking on the side and shaking their heads.

Enigma of the day

My husband just asked me if I prefer to change the windows at our house or go to South of France for three weeks this summer.

This is a hard one, gosh, God help me to make a decision I won’t regret afterwards.

I made up my mind. WHAT THE HELL DO I CARE EVEN IF THE ROOF WAS FALLING OFF? I would always take three weeks in France, even if I had to live in a trailer the rest of my life. Which I probably very soon have to anyway; I just had a look at my bank account.

Men driving

My husband had a little accident with the car side mirror when he was backing the car from the garage. This was obviously my fault as I had driven the car in the garage in a wrong way (????).

That I sin so much is Jesus’ fault. If he hadn’t died for our sins, I couldn’t be so sure that God forgives me.
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Spelling

God maybe created the world but Satan created the Danish language. Danish seems to be so difficult that not even Danes can spell it. I am not talking about typing mistakes like when your left little finger types s instead of a or when sometimes your right hand is faster that the left one and you write Klaingrad instead of Kalingrad (happens to me all the time, specially with the word Kalingrad). I am talking about real mistakes, using hyphen (bindestreg, väliviiva) binding words that are supposed to be written as one word, insisting writing separat as seperat etc.

I am not Danish so I cannot spell Danish either. Being quite fluent in Swedish I often adapt Swedish spelling to Danish, but what the hell, most of the Danes can't tell the difference. But I can at least spell the word mareridt, three of my Danish colleagues couldn’t. And I certainly can spell perfect Finnish (no Dane can control that!).

My kids’ teachers (not sports teachers but DANISH teachers) send home the homework assignments and they are every time full of spelling mistakes: øve-ord, børnene syndes (instead of syntes). I don’t feel very comfortable with the fact they are the ones supposing to teach my kids to write. I try to get my kids to read instead; the books must have passed some kind spelling control. But I don’t let my kids read Danish newspapers as Danish journalists can’t spell either (just ask JB, spelling control is not allowed at newspaper editing in Denmark according to a media law from 1942).

At school I try to be diplomatic and say to the school principal:

“I think it could be a good idea to send the teachers to in-service training for spelling, Danish is a difficult language and it has to be updated all the time.”

“Do you imply that we teachers cannot spell?”

“Well, some teachers seem to have difficulties…”

“If you are not satisfied with the school system in Denmark, just go back to Siberia where you come from.”

I can’t really figure out if he has problems placing Finland on the map, or if he skipped 1917 in history lessons:

“Hm, maybe you should also consider some in-service training in geography and history…”

PS. Is this a dictation from one of my kid’s teachers or an extract from my 7-year old daughter’s diary (I promise to stop reading it when she turns 18):
“Nå i Dag va Jeg ud at Ride Men så skulle vi Jem Da vi VA komd Jem”

Lessons in Finnish culture 2

When I lived in Morocco, I once went to see a film about Finland at the local Hotel de Ville. In the film they showed a family leaving for work and school in the morning, and each member of the family put hay in their shoes to keep the feet warm (it was winter time).

I was very flattered being considered as such an ecological native. And not to disappoint my Moroccan friends I started to put hay in my high heels.



(Picture of me sewing my clothes in my younger days.)

Seduction

JB wondered why we women disguise our messages instead of saying things straight to the person. I claimed that the pleasure seeing what the guy misses being thickheaded is bigger than the guy getting your message. Or is it the fear of being rejected? Guys are born to be rejected but for a woman it is a disaster.

There is also another angle; saying things too straight spoils the seduction. Some years ago a friend of my husband’s said to me during a dinner that he would very much like to have sex with me. I was totally shocked, not because he was my husband’s friend, but because he just blew it like “Can you pass me the salt, please.” No flirting, no compliments, nothing but this vulgar line.

I guess the only kind of woman who would have sex after this kind of invitation, is one who gets paid for it. I was definitely too expensive for this guy.

Lessons in Finnish culture

Warning: this post requires more imagination than normal human beings possess.

I took a wonderful hot bath yesterday and asked my daughter to wash my back, a sudden impulse I didn’t know my ancestors had left in me. When Finns go to sauna, they always ask the person they go to sauna with to wash their back. What’s this big deal about washing the back? If your back needs special attention I think you have a problem with personal hygiene.

So I have been wondering what the explanation for this special back-washing business is. I think I know now. In the old days when people in Finland were still wearing birch bark shoes (in the 1980’s) and didn’t have toilets, they had to go to the woods to empty their bowels. As you can see on the picture, the birch bark shoes are not exactly rubber boots and people didn’t want any accident to happen when being at the nature’s loo. To avoid the shoes being disturbed, people decided to stand on their hands instead, shoes well safe in the air. In the process the back might have gotten little dirty, but it was easier to wash the back than making new shoes.

As Mademoiselle A says, I need no booze to entertain myself.