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!

What the hell is going on 2

At the moment la vie est trop belle, I am waiting for a catastrophe to happen any minute.

Patricia Kaas: Il me dit que je suis belle
envoyé par brainstorm. - Regardez plus de clips, en HD !

Knowing people in right places

I am not really afraid of NEC arresting me, I know the chief of NEC quite well, and I am sure he would risk his career to get me out of trouble. But if he really risks his career, my crime better be a good one, not just getting involved with a young boy of 35 years.

Why I know the chief of NEC? Because I am often knocking at his door with my son. Why am I bringing my son along? Because my son has a weird way of showing his love, the offer often being the daughter of the chief of NEC. So I force my son to write letters of apology, which the chief of NEC is quite impressed of. And he would of course never let me go to jail, how could he live without the entertainment value of our visits?

WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON?

First passing four days with endless compliments from Frenchmen. At home my husband trying to kiss me all the time. Then today staff evaluation with my boss where I for 1,5 hours had to listen how valuable I was for the company, how creative and magnificent I am.

Am I the only one not knowing that I have cancer and only 3 months left to live?

Or did the laboratory guys really get back to my boss and say that if they ever come to Copenhagen, it will only be because of me? I have many clients that make it impossible for my boss to fire me. I don’t definitely deliver the cheapest services in town, but if my clients once use me, they will never go to someone else. It sounds like I am a prostitute, but no, I would never sleep with a client for money, I do it for free (just kidding husband, of course I take paid, how do you think I can afford so many shoes!!!).

And as this wasn’t enough, the sweet Olivier is sending me text messages and e-mails, oh boy. I would very much love to get back to Olivier, but him only being 35…hm, I am scared that NEC will arrest me for paedophilia. I might have forgotten to tell Olivier that I was married, had two kids, and that I had passed the 40 something, didn’t seem that important at 5 o’clock in the morning sharing mojitos.

I guess that I can always write to him that I have cancer and only three months to live!

Fatigue!

My husband has no sympathy for me being tired, according to him I could just have gone to bed earlier this week-end. He has no idea what a hard work in general it was being in Stockholm;

Hairdresser (always painful to support the stupid hairdressers), sauna and hot tub at the hotel (very hot, made me sleepy), fine dining (eating makes me feel guilty), coffee with Johan (I was scared to death he will challenge me in chess), cocktails in various bars (you can’t imagine how hard it is to say “no thanks” to every second drink offered!), roof top walking (VERTIGO), zodiac ride (I could have gotten sea sick), socializing with clients (it is extremely hard to keep track on compliments; “Vous etes très charmante!”, was it the 15.th or the 16th time?) etc etc.

The only thing I must admit wasn’t hard work was laying back and listening the sweet Olivier singing Georges Brassens to me. His guitar was missing, though.

Olivier is also definitely more tired than me as he had to attend a Jewish wedding Sunday night when he got back to Paris. Grazy Jews having weddings on Sundays. Oh, Sabbath on Saturday? Didn’t look much Sabbath to me!

Hamster trouble

“Mom, Mille’s (the hamster) eye is infected; we have to take it to the vet.”

“No way, I am not paying 500 kr for a vet. Human life might be priceless but a hamster; most of the pet shops value it to 50 kr. We just flush it down the toilet and I buy you a new one.”

“Mom!!!!”

“Okay, I will take it to the vet tomorrow. When you come home from school it is cured.”

PS. If they don’t have same colour hamsters at the pet shop, I can always tell that the medicine made its fur turn from grey to brown.

Vertigo!

I had no intention to climb up to the roof tops of Stockholm, knowing that I suffer from acrophobia. But what can I do when the 5 French lab guys insist and promise to take very good care of me? I couldn't resist, the thought fainting up in the clouds and Olivier catching me, well, can it get more romantic?

How romantic did it get? One of the lab guys turned out to have so bad vertigo himself that he had to be attached to the instructor the last 50 meters.

Good God I had gotten my client away from the idea flying with hot air balloons!

Stockholm, la vraie ville de l’amour or 40 reasons for not to become lesbian, at least not yet

I have just spent 4 WONDERFUL days in Stockholm with 35 French transplant surgeons and 5 French commercial guys from the laboratory sponsoring the event, LA VIE EST BELLE! For four days I have heard endlessly “You look so beautiful tonight” (174 times), “ You are so charming (168 times) or “You have truly beautiful eyes” (197 times). I know that Frenchmen think anything blond, even if it was a reindeer walking on it’s back feet with a blond wig on, is beautiful, but the hell I care; women are always receptive for compliments!

Now you wonder how much fun can French transplant surgeons actually be? Hm, not much, they can be quite boring. But as I can be the queen of small talk, I can make any doctor laugh and find a funny story under each boring cover. You might also wonder how much fun can French commercial guys from the transplant laboratory be? Let me tell you, A LOT OF FUN!!!!!!

Networking is important; you never know what you will need in the future. So after the past 4 days networking with these mostly boring French transplant surgeons I know that if I ever need a new kidney or liver, there are 35 French surgeons ready to proceed with the transplantation. And I don’t need to get in line to wait for a donor; there are 5 commercial laboratory guys ready to give me one of their kidneys right away! It is a small price to pay that I had to manage with minimum of sleep, like last night’s 1,5 hrs. Here my boss would usually faint thinking about the bar bills, but this time I didn’t get my company credit card up from my handbag once.

Boy I am good! And belle, and charmante, avec les yeux tellement beaux!

PS. If you ever wonder whether you are able to know when you meet the love of your life, let me tell you, you just know! Amongst the commercial guys was Olivier, “l’homme de ma vie”. I have NEVER met such a charming guy before; totally mignon, witty, intelligent, romantic, the most sympathetic person in the whole world and very interested in me; just too good to be true. I had to tell him that he simply entered my life 20 years too late, but I could also see that for 20 years ago him being only 15 I wouldn’t definitely have been interested. And I guess it couldn’t have worked out anyway, me loving shellfish and him being a practising Jew.

PSS. No, Olivier isn't blind, but just as I said, too good to be true!

Abracadabra

Yesterday I received a package from Mr P. The Clash-listening Mr P had sent me a Jamie Cullum CD. Obviously turning from hetero to gay doesn’t only affect your sexual preferences but also the music.

Now I will stop making fun of Mr P’s sexuality, coming out of closet is a serious thing. Instead I am enjoying the Jamie Cullum, I am all set to a western smoky piano bar in Istanbul…

More mind travelling...this is how I would like to live my life.

Florent Pagny - Le mur
envoyé par levingston76 - Découvrez plus de vidéos créatives.

alors j'ai détruit
les murs de ma maison
le toit antibruit
l'abri en béton
alors j'ai détruit
pour garder la raison
les portes en titane
et puis j'ai construit
un mur anticon

There are definately too many cons in my life, I really need that "mur anticon"!

Ghosts from past

One would think that I’d write anything on my blog, but the other day I removed an entry I had posted just after one hour. I was simply afraid that Janni Spies will sue me.

A ghost from past found me on Facebook, and I suddenly remembered that summer very well. It is kind of funny, but I have something in common with Janni Spies, this guy. He was extremely unromantic, but GREAT fun. Later that summer Janni found him very entertaining, too (this she cannot sue me for, I guess). I remember also kicking him out from my apartment in favour to a female room mate, but being always positive, he took that remarkably well.

I thought it was fun to find old acquaintances on Facebook, but I am not that sure I am so keen to be found myself. Either I have to remove my profile from Facebook, or kill myself very soon.

PS. But without Facebook I will have nothing to write about!

Danish

There are some weird expressions in Danish, like “tisse af” (=to pee). Instead of using simply “tisse”, especially the kindergarten and primary school teachers always tell children to “tisse af”. As far as I know, you can practically only pee in one direction; where does the “af” come from?

Some Danish teachers must have been on educational trip to England, where they heard teachers telling the children “Piss off”. Proving that they had learned something, and didn't waste tax payers' money, these teachers now tell Danish kids to “Tis af”.

Vive la lettre… or maybe not?

In a yet another moment of madness I decided to write Mr P a letter. No text message, no mail, but a good old-fashioned paper letter. I haven’t written a letter since my grand-ma died, around the year Finland got independent, and as I really am someone making something from nothing, I managed to write two pages of nonsense. My purpose was simply to make Mr P happy; this was thanks for the good old times together, for the two days he spent in Copenhagen, thanks for the chocolate, thanks for the champagne.

I could not know that his secretary opens his mail, and as Mr P wrote back, according to the expression on her face, she also had read my letter. He wasn’t referring to rooftop walking in Stockholm, neither to my adventures in Chichen Itza in Mexico (my minds travels, one thing leads to another) but to a small innocent sentence: “And I would always prefer kissing with you for one hour to 20 minutes of sex”. This was just to point out what a wonderful kisser he is.

.

Now the secretary is chasing the poor Mr P; can he really be such a wonderful kisser? She won’t leave him alone, she does anything in attempt to get Mr P to kiss her.

Why doesn’t he just confess to her that he is gay?

PS. Don't climb to the top of Chichen Itza if you suffer of acrophobia. I wish someone had warned me!

IQ test of the day after

1. How many bottles of champagne I managed to drink last night:

a) 50
b) 100
c) 150

2. When my hot date asked after the party if I would like to go and drink one more bottle of champagne at a nearby bar, in addition to the 50 bottles I already had had, I answered:

a) Hell no, gotta go home.
b) Okay.

3. How many aspirins are needed to cure today’s headache caused by 51 bottles of champagne:

a) 300
b) 600
c) 900

Before answering, please notice that if you get no correct answers, you are more stupid than Tennant the time-traveller. If you get one right, you are as stupid as TTT. If you get two right, you are slightly more intelligent than TTT.

If you get all the three answers right, you will be able to work at pharmacy.

Party!

I have just had an exam on translation today, HAVE NO IDEA HOW IT WENT! It looked very Danish to me, but I don’t always agree with the Danes.

Fortunately I am going to a party tonight, with a hot date (my husband still doesn’t read my blog). So I can either celebrate that it went well or drink to my sorrows that I will flunk. Either way, I am going to have fun!



She will also be at the party!

Exactly my words...

You will do foolish things, but do them with enthusiasm.
Colette (1873 - 1954)

Stupid guys?

I saw once a documentary about David Beckham. He was sitting in a car on the way to Parkinson talk show, very nervous: “I am sure he is going to ask me something that I don’t even understand the words of, gosh, I am so stupid.” Victoria the wife tried to comfort him and said: “You are not stupid, would I marry a stupid guy?”

Exactly, we girls don’t marry stupid guys, we wouldn’t even have stupid boyfriends. Or…? I guess I have to admit I once had a total idiot as a boyfriend, Tennant the time-traveller.

I answered Tennant’s mail if I remembered him, that well, he kind of left an unforgettable impression. He wrote: “Hopefully a positive impression, drop me a line and let me know what you are doing now, would love to catch up”.

Is there something called "minus IQ"?

.

PS. David Beckham stupid? He certainly is no rocket scientist, but he has made awful lot of money...