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...