My back is hurting after all time spent in front of the computer, my home is a dirty mess and I haven't had time to wash my hair or have decent food (unlike my brother I don't count noodles, sandwiches and pepparkakor as decent food) in three days. And yes, I am blaming Steiner for all of this. The only thing that keeps me alive is the dream of a completely undisturbed weekend.
I will:
- get pissed
- eat
- wash my hair
- get outside my house
- clean house
- talk to someone else than myself
- get pissed
After 23.59 tonight, I will walk out of this prison as a free human being. Except the human side of me has begun to dissapear by now.
jeudi 1 novembre 2007
lundi 29 octobre 2007
The I hate dr. Steiner, part 2
"Jag tänker börja med att gå igenom varje teori och presentera dess viktigaste postulat för att sedan ställa de olika grundsatserna mot varandra och jämföra deras olika syn på människan, staten och internationella relationer. Med hjälp av detta kommer jag att göra en utvärdering med fokus på frågeställningen Bra eller Anus".
Man har inte roligare än man gör sig.
Man har inte roligare än man gör sig.
dimanche 28 octobre 2007
The I hate Dr. Steiner weekend
Getting more and more convinced that he is secretely sadistic, my professor. Can actually imagine him sitting in the privacy of his own academic library, in his old reading-chair, cutting himself with the pages of Theories of International relations while formulating the next task for his terrified students. His hairless cat is sitting beside the fire and watch him in silence. Suddenly, his wife knocks on the door.
- Honey, the dinner is ready!
- Oh, ok! I'll just finish... erhm work.
Hmm. This probably says more about me than Kristian Steiner.
mercredi 24 octobre 2007
The future
I had just managed to chill down over my books and all the other shit when it came today. The newspaper.
Picked it up and started reading in the elevator (when you're living on the ninth floor you can easily squeese in some reading time) and there it was. Högskoleverket made their annual report of wich are the hottest future jobs and wich are the schools most likely to lead to those jobs. Guess who's school or career didn't have a place in neither one of the categories?
I know. It's way to early to start fussing about this. But somehow, it will always lie in the back of my head. And it's hard to work up an enthusiasm if you know that your chances to get a job are 50-60%.
Maybe I should just approach my brother's relaxed attitude to life. When you ask him what he would like to do in the future, he simply responds: "pensioner". That way, he can continue living for his passions here in life, playing computer games and eat noodles.
It's not that surprising that his favourite song is Bidragskungen by Las Palmas.
kungen av bidrag bryter inte mot nån lag
han äter sig mätt varje dag
han får och han tar, ja han är kungen av bidrag
Picked it up and started reading in the elevator (when you're living on the ninth floor you can easily squeese in some reading time) and there it was. Högskoleverket made their annual report of wich are the hottest future jobs and wich are the schools most likely to lead to those jobs. Guess who's school or career didn't have a place in neither one of the categories?
I know. It's way to early to start fussing about this. But somehow, it will always lie in the back of my head. And it's hard to work up an enthusiasm if you know that your chances to get a job are 50-60%.
Maybe I should just approach my brother's relaxed attitude to life. When you ask him what he would like to do in the future, he simply responds: "pensioner". That way, he can continue living for his passions here in life, playing computer games and eat noodles.
It's not that surprising that his favourite song is Bidragskungen by Las Palmas.
kungen av bidrag bryter inte mot nån lag
han äter sig mätt varje dag
han får och han tar, ja han är kungen av bidrag
dimanche 21 octobre 2007
The thing Bob Dylan saw coming
He's pretty smart, Bob. I think I've underestimated him. Maybe cause I was force-fed with him my whole childhood until I learnt to hate that grumbling, whining and singing old man who was the love of my fathers life.
But today when I was visiting the new exhibit at Malmö Museum, I saw him in a new light. Some photographer had made it his mission to collect and take photos from the whole world to illustrate every single phrase in Hard rain.
There was also an explanation of the project and the song and the hard rain that Bob saw coming some years before it became fashionable to care about the växthuseffekt. We could here him sing from a tree in the yard where the photos were hanging.
Very good idea, Malmö Museum. Thanks to you I might give Bob a new chance, now that I'm older and wiser and have the ability to appreciate music that isn't collected on an Absolute Dance 1999 record.
And it's a hard, and it's a hard, it's a hard, and it's a hard,
And it's a hard rain's a-gonna fall.
But today when I was visiting the new exhibit at Malmö Museum, I saw him in a new light. Some photographer had made it his mission to collect and take photos from the whole world to illustrate every single phrase in Hard rain.
There was also an explanation of the project and the song and the hard rain that Bob saw coming some years before it became fashionable to care about the växthuseffekt. We could here him sing from a tree in the yard where the photos were hanging.
Very good idea, Malmö Museum. Thanks to you I might give Bob a new chance, now that I'm older and wiser and have the ability to appreciate music that isn't collected on an Absolute Dance 1999 record.
And it's a hard, and it's a hard, it's a hard, and it's a hard,
And it's a hard rain's a-gonna fall.
The I told you so
The sad part is that I'm not even surprised.
But I thought it was going to turn out differently, when he approached me and said hi with that ironic ghetto style handshake, to mark out how close we were.
But it didn't, so I spent the rest of the evening being wonderfully bitchy to the freak from Slöinge who misstook it for something else.
After spending a good part of the weekend with a massive hungover, I'm now going to continue my state of bitchyness and mark every single text that my classmates made for the seminar with small red commentaries. And I will bring em' all down on Tuesday. I will make them wish they were never born and I won't stop until they're all on the floor.
Bad grammar makes me more upset than anything in the world (Marilyn Manson)
mercredi 17 octobre 2007
Status- panicattack
Don´t have time for this. Gonna have scary presentation today about Sierra Leone. 50 people+ the cute guy will be watching. And it´s the worst presentation ever. It´s seven in the morning and in one hour I will be in school. Why couldn´t I just have stayed in gothenburg?
jeudi 11 octobre 2007
To have, or not have a freak-friend
I've been thinking about it for a while and today I reached the conclusion that three out of four people in my reading group are freaks. And, may I add, not in a good way. I have nothing against freaks in general. I am one myself. But I like to think of myself as an extraordinary, amusing and eccentric freak. Like Phoebe in Friends. But the freaks in my reading group are mainly just fucking annoying.
Let's start with the red-haired freak. She thinks it's completely natural for men to breastfeed ( why not? they have milk glands!) and likes difficult movies by someone polish. She talks extremely low and smiles to herself every now and then while looking down in her pashmina.
The other freak, surprisingly her friend, also likes difficult movies. Preferrably by Roy Andersson or David Lynch, because they give him a certain "emotion". He likes France because it is "dirty and people make art" and tries oh so hard to be bohemian that it's not even funny.
The third freak is a complete opposite of the two others. He is thirty years old and comes from Slöinge (no judgments). He hates difficult movies and states that he could very well erase all french movies, because they are all about the same thing "some hairy women with hanging tits". He thinks it's ok to ask a girl for her age and in the same sentence ask whether her boobs are fake or not. He thinks it's too much talk about poor Africa nowadays and say they should be able to solve their own problems by now.
The question is. Should I make friends or not with this people? Is some friends in your class better than no friends in your class?
Maybe the problem lies in me. Do I, somehow see myself as superior (ye yes yes)? And with what right? Maybe I'm just to difficult and judgemental. Maybe in one month I'll be sitting there, wrapped in a pashmina, passing the waterpipe round a second time while discussing the latest Kaurismäki- movie.
Time will tell.
Let's start with the red-haired freak. She thinks it's completely natural for men to breastfeed ( why not? they have milk glands!) and likes difficult movies by someone polish. She talks extremely low and smiles to herself every now and then while looking down in her pashmina.
The other freak, surprisingly her friend, also likes difficult movies. Preferrably by Roy Andersson or David Lynch, because they give him a certain "emotion". He likes France because it is "dirty and people make art" and tries oh so hard to be bohemian that it's not even funny.
The third freak is a complete opposite of the two others. He is thirty years old and comes from Slöinge (no judgments). He hates difficult movies and states that he could very well erase all french movies, because they are all about the same thing "some hairy women with hanging tits". He thinks it's ok to ask a girl for her age and in the same sentence ask whether her boobs are fake or not. He thinks it's too much talk about poor Africa nowadays and say they should be able to solve their own problems by now.
The question is. Should I make friends or not with this people? Is some friends in your class better than no friends in your class?
Maybe the problem lies in me. Do I, somehow see myself as superior (ye yes yes)? And with what right? Maybe I'm just to difficult and judgemental. Maybe in one month I'll be sitting there, wrapped in a pashmina, passing the waterpipe round a second time while discussing the latest Kaurismäki- movie.
Time will tell.
vendredi 5 octobre 2007
And then I studied torture
So I take up my books for the fourhundredandfourth time and wonder how come they know everyting and I know nothing, how come they they´re so smart and I´m so stupid, HOW COME I fucking chose this fucking program by my own free will????
And then I think that maybe I´m no meant to be studying, maybe I´m more suited to remain a cafébitch anyway. For one thing, it´s something I know I´m capable of. (If you dont belive me, I can bifoga my work references on my cv. On Facebook exclusive. Apparently that´s considered normal. And then you can see for yourself, that I´m a very skilled and legitimate milk-skimmer.)
For another thing, I discovered that I actually enjoy doing the dishes. It´s simple! It makes dirty things clean! And I don´t have to fuss about Critical Theory and the genocide in Rwanda while doing it!
Or maybe, I could become a cafébitch with a twist. Like, the one that only got through the first course of Peace and conflict and therefore has to spend all her working time proving that she´s actually studied. Whenever someone wants to order something, I can say: "If you want your latte by half price, you can hear me quoting something from Thukydides. Yes, no?"
samedi 15 septembre 2007
So ...Malmö.
So, this is Malmö.
Getting up early in the morning, going to school on that red bike that your mum gave you. On the motorway cause there are no biking lanes in Malmö. Hurrying to school, getting there a little to early, standing alone with a half-rotten banana and eating while waiting for someone to engage in a friendly conversation.
Finally forming a reading group with some pot-smoking people dressed in pashminas and dread locks. Yey! Promising yourself to be more open minded. After all, why would you not have something in common with them? Deep inside you, being very grateful that two of your old friends from Gothenburg accompanied you to Malmö.
Getting home to the building project in the ghetto that bears the name studenthem.
Eating alone, accompanied by the one lamp you have. Afterwards, removing the same lamp to your writing desk. Soon the darkness falls over Rosengård.
On the other hand.
Someone in school steps forward and tells you your boots are cute. Someone laughs at your joke. Suddenly, you understand a sentence in your Theories of international relations. Suddenly, you understand something your teacher says. Suddenly, it´s sunny on the campus, outside the coffeshop and suddenly you walk down a few stairs in the library and hear the school choir singing. Suddenly you understand that you are not the only one. Suddenly you go to the Stads-bibliotek and get a library card. Suddenly you´re folbokförd in Malmö. Suddenly you decide to join the cute guy and become member of that ambitious international-politics group. Maybe even join the scool magazine. Yey! I will become an aktivitets-hora. Suddenly you´re drinking wine in your friend´s apartment.
There´s two sides of everything.
lundi 25 juin 2007
I can see him! I´m gonna faint!
So suddenly, you´re back on track. You´re living Gothenburg again. You take a driving lesson. The instructor says you´re better than the last time. You try to smile confident but look really geeky instead and then you think "Oh, why can I never be cool?"
You wake up and hear your father yelling at someone in the telephone. It´s the people who are supposed to empty our crap from the toilets in the countryhouse. Unfortunately, they can´t get in because the road has grown, they say. My father tells them to use a tracor. My father is a little annoyed.
My beloved brother is an hour late for the first day at his summer-job (janitor for a block of flats). Of course he is late. That doesn´t surprise me. What would surprise me, would be if there was anything left of the bulding when he finished it.
And when I walk past Hotel Plaza in the centre I see a crowd surrounding a big black bus. They´re all screaming and there´s photographers and people from tv. One girl is almost crying. She is holding up her mobilecamera while screaming: "I see him! I see him! OH MY GOD!" Justin Timberlake is already in the black bus with the non-see through windows. But the excited crowd won´t move. As I walk away from them I can hear the girl screaming, now to her phone. "Yeah I was gonna work out at the gym you know, but I don´t think I can do it now, because I´m to excited!!!"
And then you smile to yourself and think it could be worse.
jeudi 21 juin 2007
The time I accidentaly smiled
As I said, Gothenburg is full of normal people. And it´s starting to FREAK me out. I go and buy groceries and people are normal. I step out on the street and people are normal. I call my bank and people are normal. I go to work and people are normal.
I observe the normal people from a distance. I see them and I think: If you only knew... MOAHAHA. I´m not normal. I go to peoples houses and leave creepy messages and do weird things with their christmas goat decorations. I decorate an entire room in order to make my roomies belive that someone new moved in. I make up stories, that this new person is a crazy sientologist who wants us to pray with her, three times a day. I talk to myself.
And today, I did the weirdest thing so far. I smiled to a stranger. Ok. First let me explain. I was standing in a crossing, minding my own business, when I saw this girl in the corner of my eye, who I rekognized. So I turned around and smiled, only to discover that the girl, in fact is not someone I know.
Oh, horror! What to do? What would she think? I, God help me, smiled to a stranger.
I turn around and hope the girl will go away. But she doesn´t. She is waiting for the lights to switch, just like me. Oh, no! We have to stand there together! And wait! And I just smiled, even thought I didn´t know her! In the back of my head I can hear the girl explaining for the police. "No, I´ve never seen this girl before. Yeah, I´m telling you, she smiled! Even though I´ve never seen her before! It makes you scared to even cross a street".
But suddenly, the lights turn green. I cross the street and, as if sent by heaven, I see Him. Him. The freak! He is a little man with long grey hair. He´s dressed in a little black dress and tiny heels. I see The normal people smiling, laughing pointing. But not me. I´m thinking: We should grab a coffe some day.
dimanche 17 juin 2007
Back in Gotham city
Ok, does this feel weird or what? This, dear friends, is actually the first blog I write in the privacy of my own house.
So how was the returning to casa Berggrensgatan? Pretty good, actually. The last week in France I couldn´t wait for Friday.
So the day of returning came and after having crap coffe in Brussels I sat down on the gate waiting to board and as more and more swedes joined me, it started to feel like I was already in Sweden. I saw all the typical swedish caracters: The bratty, blond buisssniess-men. The students, the family with three blond kids who are all slightly sunburned and the middle-aged woman in her practical clothes and Fjällräven rucksack.
When I was sitting on the plane back to Gothenburg, looking down on the coastline and the forests I could have jumped off there and then. I wanted to go down, so badly and meet my parents who I had no idea I loved so much.
And down I came, eventually. And there was a family with a father who baked kanelbullar for my arrival and a mother who had tears in her eyes when she saw me and a brother who´d grown so tall I barely rekognized him and who said: "Yeah, you´ve definetly gained some fat".
Back home I was treated with meatballs, fresh potatoes and salad and flowers on the table and a cat who ran away when she saw me. Nothing much had changed, except for the boiler-room in the basement which my weird brother had decorated in his own special way (disgusting sofa apparently bought for 5 euros by him and his bizarre friends, plus equally disgusting waterpipe in the middle of the room, surrounded by a fine collection of empty, one litre beer-glasses. It´s meant to be a sort of lounge area, my brother explained).
Yesterday, I took the first walk on town and was surprised to see that there were no freaks, nothing different, just a bunch of very normal and "lagom" people.
And suddenly, it started raining. I was back in Sweden.
jeudi 7 juin 2007
The late night fairytale
The little one is begging me. "Haina, je peux te maquiller?" I try to escape, as politely as possible. A little later perhaps... But she won't give in. She is seven years old and very determined. And she really can't understand why someone wouldn't want to walk around with sparkling glitter and pink lipstick all over her face at one o'clock in the afternoon.
Yesterday it was 35 degrees outside. Family and moi went away by car in the afternoon to a nearby village. We arrived back pretty late.
The little one starts in the car."Haina, tu peux me raconter une histoire?" I promise her to do it later, in the house. When not the whole family is listening. She holds on to my promise, even when everyone else is sleeping at 24.30 in the night. So I sit down on the floor next to her bed using the big teddybear as a cushion and start telling her the story about La petite fille que ne pouvait pas dormir. "Pourquoi", she whispers. "Parce-que... elle avait peur de l'obscurité". I continue with telling her about the little troll who visits the girl who can't sleep and who promises to give her La plus belle rève if she falls asleep.
And la petite fille next to me closes her eyes and in 15 minutes she is asleep.
End of story
mercredi 6 juin 2007
The new town and the new family
Toulouse is different. There are more cool people and less freaks. More pretty boys, less Günthers with hairstyles from the 80's. Less friends than in Annecy.
And there is a new family, with a mère and a père and two small vietnamese girls. The girls are pretty and speak fast in french and love computer-games and cereals. The mother is normal and the dad is quite strange. He refuses to talk in french with his girls because he thinks it's the language of occupation power. Instead, he talks in occitan (languge spoken by a minority of french people in certain parts of France). He's also learnt catalan (langugage spoken by a minority in Spain, mostly in Barcelona) but not spanish. He's got long hair and listens to Alice Cooper. He is a cross between a nutty professor and a middle-aged hippie. Everytime you ask him something, you get a one-hour speech as answer.
But I settled in ok although my routines have changed a bit. Instead of sleeping/going to early morning class I get up at 8.00, brush the girls hairs, give them breakfast and remind them a hundred times to brush their teeth (great for practising the subjunctive, I probably use the phrase: "Il faut que tu..." more than anything). Instead of going to Finn Kelly's/ staying in and hang with Minke, I read them a story and sing (!) until they are asleep. Instead of talking and reading in english, I talk and read in french.
And in one week, I go back to Sweden. That is so weird.
samedi 2 juin 2007
The goodbye Annecy and arriving in Toulouse
The last week in Annecy was pure joy. Birthday with pancakes, croissants, presents (wonderful dress/partytop from Louise and co.), chocolate in the mailbox (thanks again Tricia), bizarre presents from my parents and tartiflette in the evening followed by celebration at Finn's.
Wednesday night was oficially the last night for most people wich we celebrated with apero in Katreens wonderful garden juste à cote du lac and Finn's a little later, where the bartenders served the whole gang free beer and it suddenly felt like a really cheesy american high school movie.
And Friday I departed to Toulouse. I lost my jacket on the train (why? after all, I have reputation to live up to), listened to Anna Ternheim and started crying when I thought about the town I left.
Wednesday night was oficially the last night for most people wich we celebrated with apero in Katreens wonderful garden juste à cote du lac and Finn's a little later, where the bartenders served the whole gang free beer and it suddenly felt like a really cheesy american high school movie.
And Friday I departed to Toulouse. I lost my jacket on the train (why? after all, I have reputation to live up to), listened to Anna Ternheim and started crying when I thought about the town I left.
dimanche 27 mai 2007
lundi 21 mai 2007
The Monaco, Nice and Cannes
Ok, where should I start? Maybe 4 o'clock Saturday morning, when I roll out in the kitchen and discover norwegian Bendik sitting there in an all white outfit. He´s playing cards with Minke, they just got home from a night that started with dressing ugly-theme-party at Katreens and apparently finished at our house. "What are you gonna eat for breakfast", asks Bendik and follows my every movement. "Can I slice the cheese? Are you tired? Am I annoying you?"
I'm at the bus station at 4.56 and the bus leaves at 5.15.
We arrive in Monaco at mid day and it's sunny and warm and the sea sparkles along with the ridiculously big yachts in the port. Some of them are the size of Stenaline and one has the name "just another toy".
Monaco is scary. It's too clean and pretty and everything looks like it has been built a day ago. It's like a Barbie world in french. Apparently, it has 0,0% poverty and I wonder how that works. Obviously, someone has to be working to keep everything like this. But how can they afford to live here?
We spend the day in Monaco and arrive in Nice le soir. We're staying at a "Premier classe hotel" and since we left, we've all been fantasizing about white sheets and bathtubs, champagne and je ne sais quoi. But the dream ends brutally as soon as we get into the elevators. First of all, the doors takes about ten minutes to close. The journey itself seems to develop the aging process and by the sound of the elevators, I start to fear that we will never reach our goal. In the end I give up my picture of a first class hotel and am grateful if only I ever get into the fucking room. Which, as we enter, looks like a train cabin and offers a lovely view of the parking outside a Citroën shop. Since we're only in Nice for the night we only have time for dinner in town before going back to the hotel and crash.
After breakfast at the hotel (pretty much the same standard as the rest of it, unhealthy is the keyword) we move on to Cannes!
So. Cannes. Cannes is kind of the same shit as Monaco, beautiful sights,beautiful boats, beautiful people. We stroll around the film festival-area and look for stars. Plenty of red carpets, photographers and people with V.I.P- passes but not really anyone famous. Until we se him. Johhny Depp. Dressed in... a Jack Sparrow outfit, strangely enough.
Ok,so it's not really Johnny, just some random guy presumably hired by the production company, but it's as close as we get to the real thing. As we stroll around we also pass by Hotel Martinez (now there is first class for you). A lot of people and photographers standing outside looking in, so this should be something. But after a while seeing nothing but bored non-famous rich people, we give up and start looking for other things to do. We continue walking along the beach and eventually end up in the old town where we have coffe next to Brad Pitt who persuades me to marry him and be the stepmother of his children. I say no Brad, what about Angelina?, but he insists.
The wedding will be on my birthday next week. We'll try to keep it as informal and simple as possible. A small reception at Hotel Martinez. Only a few people invited. Elton John and Bono and...
Oh do shut up.
17.30 we all sit on the bus back, slightly sunburned and I'm home at 3.30 Monday morning. I could get used to this kind of living.
I'm at the bus station at 4.56 and the bus leaves at 5.15.
We arrive in Monaco at mid day and it's sunny and warm and the sea sparkles along with the ridiculously big yachts in the port. Some of them are the size of Stenaline and one has the name "just another toy".
Monaco is scary. It's too clean and pretty and everything looks like it has been built a day ago. It's like a Barbie world in french. Apparently, it has 0,0% poverty and I wonder how that works. Obviously, someone has to be working to keep everything like this. But how can they afford to live here?
We spend the day in Monaco and arrive in Nice le soir. We're staying at a "Premier classe hotel" and since we left, we've all been fantasizing about white sheets and bathtubs, champagne and je ne sais quoi. But the dream ends brutally as soon as we get into the elevators. First of all, the doors takes about ten minutes to close. The journey itself seems to develop the aging process and by the sound of the elevators, I start to fear that we will never reach our goal. In the end I give up my picture of a first class hotel and am grateful if only I ever get into the fucking room. Which, as we enter, looks like a train cabin and offers a lovely view of the parking outside a Citroën shop. Since we're only in Nice for the night we only have time for dinner in town before going back to the hotel and crash.
After breakfast at the hotel (pretty much the same standard as the rest of it, unhealthy is the keyword) we move on to Cannes!
So. Cannes. Cannes is kind of the same shit as Monaco, beautiful sights,beautiful boats, beautiful people. We stroll around the film festival-area and look for stars. Plenty of red carpets, photographers and people with V.I.P- passes but not really anyone famous. Until we se him. Johhny Depp. Dressed in... a Jack Sparrow outfit, strangely enough.
Ok,so it's not really Johnny, just some random guy presumably hired by the production company, but it's as close as we get to the real thing. As we stroll around we also pass by Hotel Martinez (now there is first class for you). A lot of people and photographers standing outside looking in, so this should be something. But after a while seeing nothing but bored non-famous rich people, we give up and start looking for other things to do. We continue walking along the beach and eventually end up in the old town where we have coffe next to Brad Pitt who persuades me to marry him and be the stepmother of his children. I say no Brad, what about Angelina?, but he insists.
The wedding will be on my birthday next week. We'll try to keep it as informal and simple as possible. A small reception at Hotel Martinez. Only a few people invited. Elton John and Bono and...
Oh do shut up.
17.30 we all sit on the bus back, slightly sunburned and I'm home at 3.30 Monday morning. I could get used to this kind of living.
vendredi 18 mai 2007
Off to Cannes, Monaco and Nice!
Oooh, so much to do, so little time!!! Tomorrow we're all off to Cannes, Monaco and Nice. Have to study, go to class, buy stuff to fix my useless bag, fix my useless bag, pack, update blog, write e-mails and something else, which I've forgotten. Why am I even sitting here? I should be off doing something else. Aaaargh.
dimanche 13 mai 2007
The day that started with new roomie and finished with Eurovision and charades
It was a regular Saturday. Woke up at 11, had breakfast and sat down afterwards doing stuff on the computer, still dressed in pyjamas. Then, suddenly the dorbell rings. Got up and opened and out of nowhere, there was our new roomie! A british girl named Gwen, that no one had bothered telling us was moving in this very day. We were both equally confused to begin with, until we found out that we could talk in english. Later, Minke came home and the new girl happily installed herself in the room next to her's.
The evening was spent at Manuel's place with the swedish crowd, watching the Eurovision song contest. What a joke. Please tell me that Serbia didn't win. Manuel got so upset when hos favourite (Ukraine, see picture above...haha)didn't make it that he swore he would never watch it, ever again. Finished the night playing pictionary and cherades, the perfect roundup.
samedi 12 mai 2007
The 100 days that passed and Johns last night
Yesterday, it was 100 days since we arrived to Annecy. This, combinated with John's last night called for celebration. Started at Marika's and Louise's place with dinner and cake,then continued at Munich bar and finished at Finn's.
My number one performance for the night? Dropping my keys into the river while locking my bike next to it. But don't worry,the helpful servants at the restaurant next to Munich fished them up, with the help of a long landing net.
Oh dear. Why do these things only happen to me?
lundi 7 mai 2007
The weekend of culture
Started with vernissage by one of Katreens friends. Next to the river, in the basement under a tiny bar.
It appeared as if the artist had been somehow inspired by cigarettes. As we entered, there was a tiny room filled with... cigarettes. Cigarettes hanging from the roof in shape of angels, paintings of cigarettes dressed up as Eminem, Dracula and other celebrities, photos of cigarettes, cigarettes in ashtrays drowning in crap... You get the idea.
Saturday continued in the same style, with winetasting in Beaujoulais. Tried some fine wine before moving on to Lyon, where the rainy day was spent. Met up Rebecka for a quick coffe, very nice, dicussed bitchy french people.
Sunday finished the weekend of culture with Spiderman 3. In french, of course.
vendredi 4 mai 2007
lundi 30 avril 2007
The Glasgow diaries
In case you didn't know, me and Rach visited Nicki in Glasgow over the weekend. Here's the uncut version.
The day we arrived
Nicki picks us up at the airport and drives us directly to her flat wich is situated in the centre of Glasgow. It's light, modern and cozy and we embrace it from the bottom of our hearts. The buidling used to be a hotel and still looks a bit like it + it has roomservice!
After chilling, chatting and eating, we move out to the West end, a relly nice area with loads of cafes, pubs and bars. End up in a scottish pub with a guy singing Simon and Garfunkel way to loud.
Day 2
To profit on the good wether we decide to visit Loch Lomond, one of Scottlands biggest lakes, with a lot of nature around it. We end up stuck in the middle of a big fucking grassfield with no where to escape but to take of our shoes and cross two rivers. As we finally find our way back, we meet a 70-something-old man who is out taking photos and he wonders where we're from
and says he saw us earlier, when we were lost on the wrong side of the river.
- So you're hiking, he says.
- Er, not really, says Nicki. We weren't prepared for this.
- Ha, ha, I know she wasn't, he says, higly amused and looks down on my metallic Dorothy Perkin's shoes.
He takes some photos of the stupid tourists before we head back to the pub where Nicki parked the car. The pub is about 300 years old and apparently Rob Roy used to eat here. Explains the large collection of postcards saying: "If it was good enough for Rob Roy..."
You can stay over night at the pub, and a friendly, kilt-wearing guy takes us upsatirs to show us the Deluxe-suite. It's the scariest thing I've ever seen, with heavy, dark furniture and tartans from head to toe. And in the middle of it all: a huge jacuzzi.
- This place looks haunted, says Nicki.
- Oh, this one isn't, says the kilt-wearing guy. The room above it is.
As we head out in the corridor he points out a family picture from the 1800-century and presents them as The haunted family.
After a big pubmeal we depart out to the car and a guy in his sixties, strolling around with his wife greets us.
- Hello, how are you ladies doing this lovely day?
- Not to bad, and yourself, says Nicki.
- Enjoying the view, enjoying the view.
- You like the view?
- Aye, the view I'm looking at now, I like!, he says before his wife starts giggling and pulls him away.
Day 3
Rach gets to do what she desires most in the world: getting a toured visit of the Celtic Stadium. Meanwhile, Nicki and I stroll around Glagow, indulging in some Urban Outfitter's shopping.
Later in the afternoon, Rach leaves for Edinburgh, to visit her friend Rory. Nicki and I start the evening in a restaurant, where the friendly waitress treats us with Amaretto and cholcolate after dinner and sits down, chatting while having an espresso. I get the impression that she knows Nicki very well, but apparently they've only met twice before when Nicki' s been there eating.
We continue the night at Guru, a nearby nightclub where they serve drinks in plastic mugs and some of the people seem to be my brother's age. I start chatting with the nicest-looking guy I've seen since I left Gothenburg (there's Annecy for you: pretty landscape, not so pretty people) while Nicki stands in the bar, being wonderfully bitchy to every guy who steps up, offering her a drink. Later, she shares some of the higlights from the conversation:
Random guy: Hey, can I get you a drink?
Nicki: No, I have one.
Random guy: So why don't you have another one?
Nicki: Okay, I think you've mistaken me for someone who's easy.
(Turns around)
Random guy: I want to kiss you now, but I think I probably shouldn't.
Nicki: I think you're completely right.
Random guy: So what do you want from me?
Nicki: What do I want from you? I want you to fuck off. So why don't you take a walk, loose a couple of pounds, age another 10 years and then we can talk.
Meet my friend Nicki.
Day 4
Okay, you're probably tired of reading by now, so I'll just skip through the day and go straight to the night, when Rach and I jump between six different bars and finally end up in Guru, for some reason. As you can imagine, I was quite merry. After bluffing us into one of the bars,
(Me: Hey, we know Ewan who's working here tonight.
Bouncer: Are you on the list?
Me: Yeah, It's Anna+1. We were more people from the beginning, but we kinda dropped of, so it's just the two of us now.
Bouncer: Ok. this way, have good night!
Me: Cheers, mate!), I molest the security guy at Guru (if by molesting you mean picking up the cushion from a sofa, carriyng it to the bar to demonstrate that it's loose, then as security guy approuches you, telling him that you did it because you were bored and then asking him what would happen if I took his headband and ran. Apparently, I would get thrown out).
The returning day
Wake up, still drunk 5 hours later and within 2 more hours, find myself sitting on the plane back with Rach, next to a group of loud, scottish/ indian guys, going to Amsterdam for a bachelor party. But they're not yet drunk, says the guy sitting next to us, kindly offering chewing gum before the whole group bursts out singing.
Yeah right.
Okay, you're probably tired of reading by now, so I'll just skip through the day and go straight to the night, when Rach and I jump between six different bars and finally end up in Guru, for some reason. As you can imagine, I was quite merry. After bluffing us into one of the bars,
(Me: Hey, we know Ewan who's working here tonight.
Bouncer: Are you on the list?
Me: Yeah, It's Anna+1. We were more people from the beginning, but we kinda dropped of, so it's just the two of us now.
Bouncer: Ok. this way, have good night!
Me: Cheers, mate!), I molest the security guy at Guru (if by molesting you mean picking up the cushion from a sofa, carriyng it to the bar to demonstrate that it's loose, then as security guy approuches you, telling him that you did it because you were bored and then asking him what would happen if I took his headband and ran. Apparently, I would get thrown out).
The returning day
Wake up, still drunk 5 hours later and within 2 more hours, find myself sitting on the plane back with Rach, next to a group of loud, scottish/ indian guys, going to Amsterdam for a bachelor party. But they're not yet drunk, says the guy sitting next to us, kindly offering chewing gum before the whole group bursts out singing.
Yeah right.
The end
dimanche 22 avril 2007
The table dancing- preparty
Sometimes actions speak louder than words.
At one point, our neighbour actually knocked on the door. Since I was the closest to the door (unfortunately also the drunkest) I FOCUSED, thought for a while about the best to open a door and, here it comes, opened. All I remember saying was "Oui, biensur. Pardon".
Biking to the park was also harder than it seemed. So was walking. But I actually managed to, and sat down in the grass without as much as stumbling. I was so impressed by myself. So were the others. Bendik actually went as far as complemementing my walking skills.
"Well done", he said.
mardi 17 avril 2007
The bikewoman
Ok, in case you were wondering, I haven't died, just been busy enjoying the wonderful weather and freaking out over my applications to university (if there was a record of changed applications I would have it).
Yesterday Tricia came to visit and is staying with us until Friday. Verri nize, decided to skip class today in order to learn more important stuff, like playing frisbee. Had to leave the park in the afternoon to go and re-rent my bike. Also to fix some stuff, like the broken bell and the parcelcarrier wich has fallen off. Unfortunately, the new bikeshop-manager (old, grey woman) is not at all as friendly or easy-going as the flirtacious guy before her. As I entered to pay my monthly rent she inmediately told me that I had to show her the Ifalpes-student card, something the other guy never bothered about. Ok, off to the school to get the card, then off to nearest photo-station to get the two photos required. The bikewoman didn't look too impressed when I thriumphantly returned an hour later with the studentcard. "Vous devez faire une photocopy aussi".
When I came back with the photocoy she seemed to lighten up. I took my creditcard up and waited for her to start the examination of the bike, wich usually takes 5 minutes. "Bon, Vous pouvez retourner apres une heure".
Returned after one hour and the dorbell was fixed but the parcelcarrier was still the same. She didn't have any more of those, she explained. I should really be more careful with my bike. I tried to explain, as politely as possible, that the broken stuff was more due to crappy bike-quality than my way of riding it. Almost everyone at shool had had some problem with their bikes; chains falling of all the time, broken bells etc. This didn't seem to convince her. There is no problem with the bikes, she said. The quality is excellent. No fence, but she knew how the students from Ifalpes drove their bikes. Exhausted after spending the afternoon dealing with bike-stuff I finally surrended. "A la prochain fois", she shouted threatening as I walked out, leading the bike. "Looking forward to it", I shouted back. Not.
mardi 10 avril 2007
The day we went to the gym
Huh, what a weekend. First Easter, then applying for university for the fall (Uppsala first, Malmo next, will probably add some more alternatives along the way), then forgetting my brother's birthday, then call from Sanny telling me we have to book tickets for Italy, then big chock finding out how much money I spent so far.
It all felt better when I finished cleaning the house (God, can't belive I just said that, am actually turning in to my former roomate, The-crazy-german-lesbian-bitch any day soon). Later in the afternoon Louise came over and we finally went to The gym. With a big T. Bought gym cards, oh yes we actually did. For one month but the very friendly gym-guy gave us an extra month for free. After getting my ass kicked on badminton by Louise ( pretty embarrasing considering I used to take classes. Well, I guess you can't be best in show on everything) we made a pathetic attempt to make sit-ups.
And now, just sitting here in the privilige of my own bed. Room is cleaned, the sheets are smelling fresh from the washing machine and the door to my balcony is open. I'm all alone at the house, rest of the gang is at Finn Kelly's but for once it's nice to take a night off and just enjoy your own company. Forgot how nice I was. The tea and chocolate beside me also helps.
dimanche 8 avril 2007
The big Easter lunch
Some days, everything is just perfect. It was a Saturday blessed with sun. The big easter lunch, which we had been talking about for weeks, finally took place in the park. The swedish crowd (+Louise's twin brother and friend who drove down from Stockholm thursday) + 2 americans, 2 brits, 1 dutch all gathered together and shared eggs, cooked potatoes, meatballs, salmon and suspiciously big strawerries. Top 5 topics dicussed:
1. Norwegian guy Bendikt's skinny pants
2. British guy Simon's cute bum (according to british gay guy John)
3. Brats in Stockholm (No names, but some people present served as perfect examples)
4. My stockholmska
5. The freks in Annecy
We stayed in the park all day, then left for Katreens house to preparty before Finn Kelly's. And apres, Rivers. Naturally.
mercredi 4 avril 2007
The new group and the new roomie
Ok, for the second time an amazing roomie left the building and us in tears. Sunday morning the lovely Nicki ("If I go to hell I might as well make the most of it") departed back to Scottland. Why? You never seem to get used to people walking in and out of your life just as quick.
Nicki, we miss you already and can't wait to visit you in Glasgow the end of april.
The very same day, another roomie walked in. A dutch girl named Minke who seemed totally ok and nice, but if anything, experience has taught me not to rely on my first impression. I mean, it took the crazy german lesbian (x roomie, left us the week before) two weeks to climb out of her nutty shell and show us her true self (cleaning and food-obsessed were only two of her dark secrets).
We're actually expecting a new german (yey, can't wait to meet another one from the country of the socially handicapped) but she hasn't showed up yet.
This Tuesday: new schoolstart after springbreak, new group and new teacher. Another invasion of asian people to the school. My homies in group 5: Suoqui and Angqui made a pact against the japanese ( apparently the chinese and the japanese don't have that much in common).
And now to something completely different. Finn Kelly's and aprés: dinner at Katreen's. Oh! and am going to cheese testing tomorrow. Think might wear baggy jeans.
Nicki, we miss you already and can't wait to visit you in Glasgow the end of april.
The very same day, another roomie walked in. A dutch girl named Minke who seemed totally ok and nice, but if anything, experience has taught me not to rely on my first impression. I mean, it took the crazy german lesbian (x roomie, left us the week before) two weeks to climb out of her nutty shell and show us her true self (cleaning and food-obsessed were only two of her dark secrets).
We're actually expecting a new german (yey, can't wait to meet another one from the country of the socially handicapped) but she hasn't showed up yet.
This Tuesday: new schoolstart after springbreak, new group and new teacher. Another invasion of asian people to the school. My homies in group 5: Suoqui and Angqui made a pact against the japanese ( apparently the chinese and the japanese don't have that much in common).
And now to something completely different. Finn Kelly's and aprés: dinner at Katreen's. Oh! and am going to cheese testing tomorrow. Think might wear baggy jeans.
dimanche 1 avril 2007
The state of Lyon
,
Lyon, Lyon. So close to Annecy, yet so different. No, not really, but it was really nice to escape for just one day and breathe different air and see different people than the freaks who usually walk the streets of Annecy.
The crazyness started on the train. Louise and I were getting bored and since Nicki was sleeping (bitch) we decided it might be a good idea to wrap a lot of pink toiletpaper around her shoes and see if she would notice. She did. But she actually found it so amusing that she kept it on to see if Henri (friend of hers, met us up for lunch and showed us town) would notice. He didn't. Wait, this actually gets better.
We spent the whole day strolling around in Lyon and ended up in a really fancy bar, that according to Louise looked a lot like Cafe Opera in Stockholm. After getting a little merry we managed to arrive to the train station literally two minutes before the last train would leave. At this point, Nicki thought it would be a good idea to buy a bottle of wine from a really tacky bar at the station, to continue our state of drunkedness. Sitting on the train, drinking cheap wine out of plastic mugs took 'classy' to a whole new level. Arriving at the the station in Annecy, we decided to continue the party at Finn Kelly's with champagne and shots. We also recreated the the toilet paper around Nickis foot to take a picture of it (as shown above), and of course she forgot about it and walked out of the bar still wearing it, just in front of a swiss guy she met a couple of nights before.
The night ended at Rivers and in order to survive in there, your only option is to continue being heavily drunk. "Drink them beautiful", I told Nicki. "You mean drink them possible", she responded.
Aah, the charming life of Annecy...
Lyon, Lyon. So close to Annecy, yet so different. No, not really, but it was really nice to escape for just one day and breathe different air and see different people than the freaks who usually walk the streets of Annecy.
The crazyness started on the train. Louise and I were getting bored and since Nicki was sleeping (bitch) we decided it might be a good idea to wrap a lot of pink toiletpaper around her shoes and see if she would notice. She did. But she actually found it so amusing that she kept it on to see if Henri (friend of hers, met us up for lunch and showed us town) would notice. He didn't. Wait, this actually gets better.
We spent the whole day strolling around in Lyon and ended up in a really fancy bar, that according to Louise looked a lot like Cafe Opera in Stockholm. After getting a little merry we managed to arrive to the train station literally two minutes before the last train would leave. At this point, Nicki thought it would be a good idea to buy a bottle of wine from a really tacky bar at the station, to continue our state of drunkedness. Sitting on the train, drinking cheap wine out of plastic mugs took 'classy' to a whole new level. Arriving at the the station in Annecy, we decided to continue the party at Finn Kelly's with champagne and shots. We also recreated the the toilet paper around Nickis foot to take a picture of it (as shown above), and of course she forgot about it and walked out of the bar still wearing it, just in front of a swiss guy she met a couple of nights before.
The night ended at Rivers and in order to survive in there, your only option is to continue being heavily drunk. "Drink them beautiful", I told Nicki. "You mean drink them possible", she responded.
Aah, the charming life of Annecy...
mercredi 28 mars 2007
London baby
Just back from my London weekend. Really nice, but full of mixed feelings. Great to see Anna again, noticed that she is still the same old, crazy human being from school. She lives in Edgware road, in what could possibly be the most filthy apartment in all London (and I've seen some ugly places, including my own). When I arrived Thursday night, there was no water in the bathroom. In order to flush the toilet, you had to fill it with three big bowls of water. When the water finally came back, I was thrilled over the possiblility to take a shower ( Anna told me they usually visit the swedish church for that). But then of course, the showerhead didn't work. So I had to use the same bowls that I used for filling the toilet, to pour hot water over myself, sitting in the bath tub. Welcome to London...
The weekend was spent clubbing at Hoxton bar & kitchen ( apparently the new "it"-place), visiting National gallery, Notting hill, Spitafield market, the old apartment in Shephards bush and my old job at Montignac. Wich is no longer called Montignac, but The Hungry olive and is taken over by former head chef Ian. Ernest is gone with the wind, but his spirit is still there...
To sum it all up, London is still lovely and I'm so going back, baby.
The weekend was spent clubbing at Hoxton bar & kitchen ( apparently the new "it"-place), visiting National gallery, Notting hill, Spitafield market, the old apartment in Shephards bush and my old job at Montignac. Wich is no longer called Montignac, but The Hungry olive and is taken over by former head chef Ian. Ernest is gone with the wind, but his spirit is still there...
To sum it all up, London is still lovely and I'm so going back, baby.
lundi 19 mars 2007
The rainy day that turned into snow
Ok, was just out for a run and it started of a little chilly, then the rain began dripping, then more rain and just like that, it started snowing. Yeah. Just when you started to get used to the sun; bought cute shorts, sunlotion and shaved your legs it strikes back. Reminds me of this swedish proverb, which I am unable to translate (well I could, but it would sound relly weird): "Nej, sa roligt ska vi inte ha".
Anyways, Rachel turned up today at 10.00 o'clock this morning with dark rings under the eyes, looking like she just spent the weekend in Dublin, celebrating St Patricks. She came home yesterday but literally went straight to the pub ("Dude, I needed a pint of beer"). Apparently she ended up in an IRA bar on the day of celebration. "So I told my friend Bess, we have to leave now, and she's just like: No, don't wanna leave, its nice here and I'm like: Honey, trust me, we have to leave. And i knew I couldn't explain to her why, cause she would just go: Rachel, who's the IRA"?
dimanche 18 mars 2007
The task
Best St Patrick's day EVER. Not that I ever celebrated it before, but hell, this was good fun. Don't know if it was the fact that I swept two tequilashots and one glass of champagne within 15 minutes or that everyone else was just as drunk, but it was such a good night out! My task for the night was to steal some guy's hat/+ wig and put it on another guy's head. It's funny cause my only memory from yesterday was stealing the hat and the wig. Talked to Marika today and told her how sorry I was for not completing the whole task. She just looked at me. "But... Haina, you did. Don't you remember stepping up to the other side of the bar and placing it on this unknown guy's head?"
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