Indecent proposals 2

The hetero guy at work is also very bored at the moment and made just a very inappropriate proposal. If he wasn’t a colleague, I wouldn’t mind at all. He is very good-looking, athlete (Ironman!) and the most important, he really makes me laugh. But I had to tell him “Sorry honey, I don’t have sex with colleagues. Look what happened last time I did, I ended up getting MARRIED!”

20 years!

I have another reason to celebrate (??) today; I have been together with my husband for 20 YEARS! My husband really surprised me and sent flowers to the office. As I just love white flowers, it still puzzles me after 20 years that my husband for the rare occasions gives me multicoloured roses. I could tattoo “I love white flowers” on my butt and he still would ignore the fact. And not that he doesn’t see my butt. As a Finn I am very relaxed about nudity (despite all my complexes) and often walk around naked in the house, for a big irritation of my husband and great fun for the neighbours. But flowers, he just doesn’t get it. But as Ane would say, just be happy I get flowers, and I am.

So 20 years together, but only 10 years of marriage. It was Un long dimanche de fiancailles. As people these days get divorced just after a couple of years, I wonder what has kept us together such a long time. A great deal of compromises. Accepting that a romantic evening means reading Mary Wesley or Jane Austen, accepting that sex is something I read about in Tidens Kvinder and accepting that also Emmanuelle (my new painting of Emmanuelle Beart) will end up hanging in the garage.

Congratulations America!

I cried of joy this morning, way to go Obama! Even I wanted Hillary to become the first American female president, the first black one is almost as good. I had put a cava in the fridge to celebrate the occasion, but came to drink it accidentally last Monday (I had to listen my husband reporting an antenna meeting, I needed some encouragement).

John McCain was not a bad guy like Bush, he was just too old (and of course too republican). He would probably have had a stroke soon after entering the White House; can you imagine Nailin Palin taking over? Sending a troop of Huskies to Iraq?

Now the Americans just have to take the last step, a black president deserves a proper domicile. The White House must be painted and called The Black House.

I am an optimist!

Nobody can accuse me being a pessimist. I have booked time for eye surgery examination even I don’t have any money to pay for the eventual surgery. But a lot of things can happen in the next month’s time. I can win in lottery (this requires though that I buy a lottery ticket, I try to remember it), a rich relative I know nothing about dies leaving a heritage to me, I get my yearly bonus 6 months in advance, I find 20.000 kr on the street while walking to work, a rich blind guy falls in love with me or Bill Gates answers my letter enclosing a big check.

The Year of Living Dangerously

When the great Spanish dancer Luis saw me doing the splits from a hop, he told me how dangerous it is without first warming up. “Hey, danger is my middle name, just f… help me up!” I answered. Yes, this line was mine; Leslie Nielsen stole it and used it at Naked gun 33 1/3 without my permission.

Well, Danger isn’t definitely my middle name anymore. The most dangerous thing I do these days is asking once a month for a salary raise from my boss. Then she calmly drinks up her coffee and hits me on the head with the empty coffee cup. But even this isn’t that dangerous anymore, now I am wearing a helmet when I walk over to her desk.

My middle name nowadays is most probably Inferiority complex. Everybody else is smarter, more beautiful, richer, skinnier and more successful. I better see a shrink. Or a plastic surgeon.

French Can Can

I had this fantastic idea to have a little French Can Can show with Mademoiselle A at the company Christmas party. There is just a little detail I had forgotten, I am not naturally supple. That I once was able to do impressing splits was indeed a result of hard training, and the only thing I train these days is my tonsils (and it isn’t opera I am talking about). I thought that maybe the extra body weight would help my legs to straighten out, but God, how they resist! I tried yesterday, and there is missing, not just a couple of centimeters, but a meter or two.

I think I need help from Luis, a great Spanish dancer I knew for ages ago. If he still isn’t in chock after I once demonstrated one of my impressing splits from a little hop, and wasn’t able to get up again. Luis became later the artistic director at Moulin Rouge, but he never contacted me to join the dance girls. Was I too short?

Mademoiselle A was quite delighted about the Can Can idea, but we have postponed it to next year. This year I just stick to the same old theme entertaining my colleagues; getting drunk and telling embarrassing stories from my past. There is enough of them until the day I retire.

Albert Camus

"Les doutes, c'est ce que nous avons de plus intime."