Dating shows, I love thee

Yes, it's true.

I love dating shows.
LOVE them love them.
Love them like a cat loves catnip, and like MJ seemed to love prescription painkillers (too soon?).
That kind of love.

My personal preference leans towards the shows that have a good percentage of awkwardness going on, such as "Blind date" or "Elimidate", where the probability of watching a segment and not going "Whyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy!?!!!" is next to non existent.

I remember one scenario, where after being eliminated and hence humiliated this one guy in a feeble attempt to walk away with his dignity intact says to the girl (who for some reason while talking about her love for animals keeps referring to them as "amnimals". It's unclear if she believes that that's the proper pronunciation or if she has a complex speech impediment extending only to this one word. Anyway, what he says is):

"I wasn't attracted to you anyway".

Pause.
You can sense his impending attack.
He looks at the girl with feigned superiority and pity.
And then he yells:

"By the way it's ANIMALS, not amnimals you fucking idiot" and walks away.

Hahahahahaha!!! What? What just happened?

All I can say is, way to handle the situation, guy! Your reaction has completely convinced me of your non feelings of rejection.

I do hope that in the distant future when aliens are trying to understand what happened to the human race and what led to their demise, that tape will fall in to their hands. At least it would provide some hilarity.

What to do when even caffeine can't help you

Very much enjoying myself today.

Got up in time to be able to be out of my room by the time the maid knocked on the door (usually when this knock happens I'm rudely woken up from an hour and a half of snoozing. In a state of sleep sprinkled panic I will throw on whatever clothes are scattered around the bed so that I can answer the door and while feeling very rude and guilty ask if there's a possibility she can come back in an hour. If feeling very guilty I will just ask for clean towels and smile sheepishly. For whatever reason this hotel does not have those "do not disturb" signs to hang on the door, which would otherwise come in quite handy).

Once out of the room I walked in to town, had breakfast (scrambled eggs & smoked salmon and a coffee the size of my head which for some reason unknown to me came served in a bowl) and continued to read the book I've been trying to get in to for the past month.

I think the fact that getting up at the ungodly hour of 9.30 am this morning though has, despite the mentioned bowl of caffeine, left my brain with the capacity of fruit pulp as it can't seem to cling to any one thought for more than a second or so. If someone would place a mirror in front of me right this very second I'm pretty sure the face staring back at me would suggest at least partial brain damage or perhaps some kind of ill fated drug binge back in the day when ecstasy seemed like the possible answer to everything.
Ah yes.

I think what this suggests is that I should take the stairs down to the dvd rental place and after spending an anguishing 3 and a half hours deciding whether "pledge this" starring Paris Hilton was in fact unjustly reviewed and may actually be a movie I would enjoy, I will walk home to my freshly cleaned hotel room and ignore the beautiful weather outside.
I might also buy some "blast-o-butter" microwave popcorn. I figure that whatever cardiovascular damage the fake and no doubt shockful of trans fat butter may have on me, it must surely be cancelled out by all that red wine I'm also buying.
Right?

I surf the internet, isn't that enough?

I feel like people who are what one could refer to as "out-doorsy" (although I believe you have to actually be out-doorsy to feel that term is socially acceptable to use)feel that they are superior to me and that the life I am leading is an unfulfilling one.

This might all be in my head, but it's like I can actually feel them out there in the woods, in ski slopes and on hiking trails, flaring their nostrils while loudly inhaling the fresh outdoor air and exclaiming how a person hasn't lived til they've skied down the Chamonix alps.

What? What kind of superior statement is that to make? Huh?

Yesterday fiance and I had dinner with two of his colleagues. When asked what I've been doing this past week while fiance is at work, I could sense that the answers they were expecting had nothing what so ever to do with getting up at eleven and slowly walk into town to get my daily dose of internetohol, but rather; skiing! sky diving! hiking! other activity that would make sense when you're visiting a town where people come to do out-doorsy stuff!

For a split second there, I contemplated lying and saying that I've at least considered taking skiing lessons, or made friends with a talking wolf while hiking the mountains or something else just as likely to happen.

But I didn't.

I told the truth.
The ugly shameful truth full of in-doorsiness, caffeine, unhealthy amounts of wine and the fact that my fascination with Miley Cyrus's somewhat unbalanced teeth-gum ratio sometimes forces me watching a full episode of Hannah Montana.

I said that, and the puzzled looks that followed were enough to tell me that the person who came up with the whole "silence is golden" saying was probably on to something.

Mmmm, indecision

While seeming to have absolutely no difficulty what so ever with making big, life changing decisions such as choosing to re-locate to a different continent, quitting a job or other major things that one might think would take just the slightest bit of consideration or even thought, I do suffer an almost crippling inability to choose in situations where what I choose really doesn't have that big of an impact, if any.

Such choices might include which chocolate bar out of two I want (need) the most, whether I would like popcorn when going to the movies or not, or which one out of three dvds to rent.
These choices when made offer few (obvious) life altering consequences and yet when faced with them I get so confused I go into a near catatonic state of mind. I go blank. I end up staring at the items at hand, and instead of my brain going

"yeah right, like I'd ever pay money to watch "he's just not that into you', put that down woman!"

it just goes

"does...not...compute...self...termination...initiated..."

There is literally a sound of static in my head.
As you might imagine, this is vaguely infuriating.

Fiance, I suspect has noticed and consequently grown tired of this inability to choose and as sort of a counter action has put in place a dr. phil-esque strategy to deal.
Hence, instead of him deciding things so that I don't have to bother (or more likely so he won't have to re-consider this engagement of ours, which would really be more than just a bit of a hassle you see), he now will sit in the car while I, all by my lonesome and with beads of sweat gathering at my hairline, walk into the dvd rental place and pick something.
I'm not even allowed to call him. Or even, as it turns out, try and catch his attention from inside the shop and crazily wave two movies in the air while staring even more crazily at him while trying to avoid making a decision.

Where am I going with this? I don't know. They say the first step to recovery is admitting you have a problem.
And I think it is apparent that I do.

Selfish? Moi?

A lot of times when me and fiance go out to dinner, we might order a bottle of wine.
However, since weeknight are worknights and are to be followed by work mornings for mon bebe, I usually end up being the one drinking most of it. Which is totally fine with me. In fact I might even prefer it that way.

Thing is, there is no way I would ever go out with him to enjoy a nice dinner and some wine and then be forced not only to abstain from drinking but also watch while he gets a bit toasted. I just couldn't! It puts me in a bad mood just thinking about it. Which raises a question;

Does this make me

a) an alcoholic
b) a selfish bitch
c) all of the above

I'm not sure I'm willing to subscribe to any of the above mentioned options, although it must be said that they have all been suggested at one point or another. Not by fiance though, I might add. He knows better.

Today's plan was to walk in to town, get a coffee and go hang here at the internet cafe. This has all worked out well. Also part of the plan however was to locate the combination of keys that will produce the little mark thingy that should go over the "e" in "cafe". This has not happened. Tomorrow?
Yes, I can feel it, tomorrow is the day.

Like sand through the hourglass, these are the days of my internet deprived life

It seems my fiance is a horrible and deceitful man not sparing any means in his quest trying to make me a healthier person.

Despite previous statements alluding to the "fact" that our hotel does not have internet access, and being "pretty sure" about that fact, it turns out that, in fact, it does. Of course it does.

When, in a slight panic, mentioning this to fiance while experiencing heart palpitations brought on by the fact that against better knowing I left my computer at home and thus am completely cut off from the world as I know it, he simply says

"Well, this gives you a reason to get out of the house."

Whaaaaaaaat?

How rude!

So indeed here I am, out of the house and sitting in an internet cafe "downtown" where I somewhat struggle to find all the correct keys and combinations on this New Zealand style keyboard, reminiscing about my own computer and the good times we've shared.
Like the ones where he freezes up and won't let me do anything no matter how furiously I keep clicking stuff.
Or, those times when I try and log on and this process ends up taking forever and causes me to shake him like a British nanny while threatening guttural sounds escape me.
Good times. Good times.
Maybe we need some time apart. Maybe what fiance is doing is trying to salvage my somewhat unhealthy relationship with my computer.

Yeah. Not likely.

jitter bug

So I feel like bursting out in one of those "ohmigodohmigdohmigod" rants so frequent in american high school movies.
The reason?

I GOT MY VISA GRANTED!!!!
Ohmigodohmigdohmigod!!!

I am so ridiculously happy, I don't know what to do with my self...

Well, actually, what I should do is finish packing since, true to (poor) form I managed to distract myself from said task all night long yesterday and I need to leave the house in two hours.

Doesn't matter!
This is so amazing! I've been waiting for FIVE months and now it's done!

Ok, need to finish packing so I can go to airport and celebrate in the tax-free section.
New Zealand, here I come!

once upon a spa

This past weekend was spent in the spirit of relaxation and what have you, as I was treated to a spa weekend by my future sisters in law.

Now I'm not a big fan of walking around in swimwear.
This is especially true if there are other people sort of hanging out in the same area where I'm swimwearing, which there often are at say, beaches and spas.
If added to that, these people are also my future in laws, that makes for some serious feelings of discomfort on my behalf.
This discomfort can be somewhat eased by submerging one's body in a pool, or by sitting in a very steamy aroma oil scented steam room, or just by having a few drinks before even getting in the car in the first place (only one of the many perks of not being expected to drive).
Or, if anticipating some serious discomfort, all of the above.
Having tgone fore the last option, I found that lounging around in my swimwear with people soon to be integrated in my family tree is actually not that big of a deal.

Today's effort on the other hand, will not really be eased by any of previously mentioned tactics. You see, I have one (half) day of trying to do all my laundry, clean and pack before going to New Zealand. An effort which can only be described by one word:

Mmmeeeehhhh.... (sigh)

I absolutely loathe packing.
It's what my idea of hell is.
Packing, re-packing, taking things out, putting things back in...

Ok, so I guess that sounds a lot less painful than it really is but knowing me I will be on the verge of crying more than once, behaving like a 5-year old and making threatening phone calls to fiancé, all while procrastinating like it is going out of style. Yet somehow, I will pull it together in time to be able to get on that plane and fly all the way to New Zealand where hopefully I will still be engaged.

Wish me luck.

Mmmm, bread...

Today for dinner I am having veggie sausages and half a "rustic baguette". Whatever that means.

My fiancé left two days ago so if I was Freud I would probably say that the fact that I only seem to be eating phallic shaped food means I miss him. Or something to that extent.

I bought the "rustic baguette" at a place called "French fantasies" that surprisingly enough does not specialize in latex style clothing and feather dusters, but pastries and bread.
I didn't ask the French woman behind the counter what exactly made this particular baguette rustic. But I kind of wanted to.

Wikipedia says that "baguette" is french for "small cane".
But if I literally wanted a small cane, would I still ask for a baguette?
I might never know, and before posting this I will probably have forgotten about my desire for this knowledge anyway.
I'm sure it makes for a lot of good pun though.
French high quality pun.

Sounds dirty.

It's not a phobia, it's a preference

A telling sign of just how little I do every day is the fact that I experience a sense of accomplishment every time I find myself all made up and clothed in something other than black "trackies" (this is an Australian term and I'm pretty sure it refers to what I used to refer to as "sweats". Which is a grosser, more descriptive word for what I wear when looking like a successful and well integrated part of society is not an issue).

And that's what I did today. I acheived a sense of accomplishment by putting on make up and jeans and some other stuff, and then I ventured outside to do something or other.

Actually, to be honest the only reason I went outside is because last night when fiancé called me all the way from New Zealand, he asked if I'd gone outside.

And I said no.

There was a telling silence on the other end which I'm pretty sure was a disapproving one, to which I said "Why would I go outside? I don't really have a reason to, do I?"
There was more silence and then what was said with a very very concerned voice was...

"Babe, I'm really starting to worry".

And I snickered. Because it's funny.

You see, although only in his thirties my fiancé and the way he thinks sometimes makes me suspect he has an ageing portrait in an attic somewhere and that the year he put it there was 1952. So the fact that I haven't gotten any "fresh air" all day is to him very unfortunate, not to mention worrysome.

To me, not so much.

This is what happens when I'm left to my own devices

* Pot of espresso + milk
* Large piece of crisp bread with butter and cheese
* 6 almonds
* 12 squares of rum&raisin chocolate
* 4 vinegar flavoured rice cakes
* 1 can of baked beans
* 2 vegetarian hot dogs
* 5 pieces of strawberry liquorice
* 2 glasses of red wine

I have been awake for approximately 9 hours. This is not a healthy diet.

Some kind of wonderful (I am)

So this morning at 5:45 fiancés alarm goes off.
He doesn't usually get up that early, but today he had a plane to catch. A plane that will take him to New Zealand where he will be working on some kind of project for three weeks.

Don't worry, I'll be going over there in a weeks time because apparently my company is that of the desired kind. How very flattering!
Also, I need to leave the country for a couple of days in order for my temporary visa to be renewed. So I guess it's not all about me. What..?

Anyway, yesterday as fiancé was in an increasing state of panic, trying to pack and not being able to find his passport I, instead of helping him, gladly took a phone call from my friend Karin and blabbed away until said passport had re-appeared and thus my helping locating it was no longer needed.

Cause that's just the kind of girlfriend I am, it seems.

Ignore something for long enough and it will work itself out/go away/force someone who is not me to deal with it. Lovely.

Then later on when fiancé smilingly talked about how nice it'll be when I come to visit, how the hotel we're staying at has been re-done, has a spa bath etc he also mentioned that this hotel might not have up and running internet access.

I laughed of course, because what kind of hotel in this day and age doesn't have internet access? I'm assuming that although in a different time zone, it is still year 2009 in Wanaka? I know we're in the southern hemisphere but what kind of bizarro world statement is that?

So when fiancé proceeded by saying,

"I don't know, but last year when I was there there wasn't any (internet)"
the way I responded was not
"Well, that's a shame, but you know what? I really appreciate you forking out all kinds of money in order for me to come stay with you for two weeks and I'll enjoy myself and have a great time because I'll be spending it with you" as it should have been, had I not been a spoiled brat, but rather
"Whaaaaa? Well what the fuck am I gonna do all day!?!!"

Because, why hold it in, right?

And reading through this post I realize that if I find myself single sometime in the near future I will not be able to say I didn't see it coming.

Probably lacking vitamin D now that I think of it...

For the past two years I have somehow managed to avoid summer.
Instead, what I have done is moving back and forth, Sweden - Australia as to live out a sort of self inflicted "Groundhog day" state of perpetual winter.

I guess this would lead you to think "Wow, I guess those Swedes really do like their winter".
Not so.
Much to the confusion of people I meet here in Australia, when asked if I ski I truthfully respond no.
The conversation that inevitably follows always goes something like this:

"Oh, so you're a snowboarder? Yeah I guess more people snowboard now."
"No, not really. In fact I've never been on a snowboard. Or a pair of skis for that matter. It just never appealed to me."
"(Puzzled pause)... really?"
"No, I'm making all this up because I take joy out of making pointless jokes about not skiing."

(That last part is silent.)

Anyway, this is beside the point. What I was getting at is that no, I don't particularly enjoy cold weather or things associated with cold weather, so why am I doing this to myself? Is it possible that somewhere deep down in the murky depths of my subconscious I loathe myself and this is the subtle yet life draining punishment I chose? If so... wow. Pretty sneaky of you, me.
It's like having an evil twin sister trying to sabotage my life for her own gain. Only more schizophrenic.

Ah well, we all have our flaws.

Conundrum

Today is a very chilly, very windy day. I know this because I briefly ventured outside to get half a rock melon and a glossy mag while at the same time forgetting to buy milk for my coffee which is what I originally left the house for. The situation resulting from this temporary loss of memory is one I find myself in all too often and the question I now have to ask myself is this: Do I want milk for my coffee more than I don't want to go outside?

I really want coffee.
I really don't want to go outside.

Ok.
That didn't really solve anything.
I think I have soy milk. Except I don't really like soy milk in my coffee unless it's coffee from a coffee place (which makes me question purpose of the soy milk in my fridge. I can't even remember buying soy milk. Is it like a back-up milk? In case I run out of regular milk? That makes no sense, why wouldn't I just buy another regular one? This is so frustrating).

...

Whatever. I'm just gonna put some kahlua in my coffee and be done with it. Who needs dairy anyway...
I remember one of my younger brothers telling me that Scandinavian people are the only people in the world who's stomachs can properly process dairy.
So you know, take that French people! You might make delicious cheeses, but you've got nothing on me when it comes to digesting them.

What dreams are made of

I'm watching Dr Phil. Waiting for Oprah to come on. Finishing off my morning pot of espresso and feeling a bit twitchy from all the caffeine. It might have something to do with the fact that I also had a slice of suagary chocolate cake for breakfast.
Oh mother, if only you could see me now...

I had a very strange dream last night, quite obviously influenced by things I've watched on tv lately:

I started out being me, and for some unknown reason that seemed very logical, I had been named the sole caretaker for Michael Jackson's two eldest children. Being their guardian my main task was to protect them from something very harmful and non descript. The way I went about this protecting business was by playing a touch screen video game, oddly enough placed in a big "witch style" kettle. The objective of the game was to string together at least three of the same coloured balls and thus make them disappear. I'm not quite sure just in what way this provided safety for Michael Jackson's children, but it did.

Then, all of a sudden I was Harry Potter, or at least some times I was. I kept sort of morphing back and forth like it was going out of style, but no one around me seemed to think anything of it. I was at a beach, a beach that in reality is located in the Swedish village where I grew up. Located on a cliff on said beach I saw a kiosk, and in it was my older brother. Sitting in front of a mac computer (one of those chunky candy coloured ones from the early 2000's) he was handing out small pieces of paper with scrambled letters on them to random people and told me they were passwords to use the internet. This made me panic and I kept thinking, "But they're gonna come back tomorrow! Everyone is gonna know the password! They're gonna use up all our 5 giga bytes in no time, and then our internet connection is gonna be really slow for the rest of the month!"
And then I woke up, all sweat and panic.

My friend Sarah is leaving for a three month trip to Europe on Saturday, and I'm kind of sad about this. Sarah and I met when we were both working at a FCUK store last year, and she has become a very good friend. I will miss her very much while she's gone. Also I'm jealous of anyone who gets to be in any part of the world where it's summer while I am currently stuck in Melbourne, home of windy, rainy stupid winter in July.
But you know, I'm not bitter. Not at all.

Time spent outside today: 45 seconds

That's alright isn't it? I wonder if there is some sort of guideline for when you can officially call yourself a recluse? And are you a recluse by choice or is it like a sort of disease inflicted upon you? What's the difference between a recluse and a hermit? Severity? Hermit sounds way classier, I must admit, but I think the fact that I'm not living alone sort of disqualifies me, no? Need to research this...

Sitting on the couch at the moment, drinking some red wine and eating a bag of Haigh's dark chocolate covered almonds that fiancé forgot in my bag. I hope he keeps forgetting, there won't be many left by the time he gets home.

Dinner dilemma was put to rest last night after fiancé called and was told I still had no idea. His proposal was that he'd call and order pizza from Pinocchio's and then pick it up on his way home. It almost brought a tear to my eye. Pinocchio's has beautiful pizza, my favourite is called "Genoa" and comes loaded with pesto, roasted peppers, goats cheese and (if you want) proscuitto. Lovely. Today however I'm not counting on such luck. Due to my not-leaving-the-house-other-than-to-get-mail stint I haven't really picked up any groceries, so it looks like today is pasta-bake day. Yes. Very exciting. Watch this space...

Dinnah time!

Well, not quite yet, but there is a smell of burnt cheese slowly taking over the apartment and that made me realize that the time for cooking is now.

I watch "Master chef" a lot, and it always amazes me how they manage to come up with stuff to cook from some random ingredient on the spot. Not to mention "Iron chef"! Ohmigod, I had almost forgotten about the genious that is Iron chef until I stumbled across it while channel surfing aimlessly a dark night some time last year. Need I mention it's the Japanese version and not the American one I'm referring to? I hope not. While living in Canada I used to watch it all the time on the food network (oh, how I miss thee), and the inventiveness and sheer skill of the iron chefs never seized to amaze me, as well as the randomness of the main ingredient. How to make a delicious tasting 6 course meal, every one of those meals containing abalone I might never understand, but I guess that is sort of the point.

So, what to make for dinner?

Commitment

I'm very impressed with people updating their blogs religiously while also working full time jobs, taking care of their children, travelling the globe or whatever it is other people do. I'm unemployed and I still manage to be "too busy" to post a single update in four days.

Ok, I just lied to you.

I'm probably the least busy person (not counting comatose people) on this planet right now. As I am writing this I have just finished my second cup of coffee for today, washed my breakfast dishes and realized that today's "The view" is in fact a re-run that I have watched before. Normally this just means I change the channel and watch Oprah instead, but today's Oprah means watching musically "gifted" children singing their little hearts out to a live audience that probably curses under their breath as they realize that today is not the day Oprah will give everyone in the audience a new house. It's too painful.

Yesterday, my dear dear fiancé dragged me out to go running. I'm not fit in any way shape or form. I'm not fat, but that's more of a welcome surprise than the result of regular excersice. Running to me seems pointless unless to catch a tram, a hundred dollar bill blowing in the wind or escaping something that will more likely than not physically harm you if you're slower than it. Judging from my performance yesterday, I stand no chance against most predators, or tram carts on the move for that matter.

Thursday...

...means "Thor's day" and comes from Norse mythology. All the names of all the days of the week carry names from Norse mythology, in English as well as Swedish. I like that for some reason. I guess for the same reason I like it when I find Swedish words incorporated into the English language, such as "smorgasbord" and "ombudsman". It fills me with excitement when I hear these words used by native English speakers and I always make a point of explaining that these words are in fact Swedish, as am I. I explain it feeling a sense of pride and smugness, as if this proves or even means something. Which of course it doesn't. Or at least not to the people I explain it to. They just tend to nod distractedly at this linguistic fact thrown at them, not really knowing what else to do with it.

I had lunch with my fiance's cousins wife Katy yesterday. I do consider her a friend, but the family tie seems to make it impossible for me to introduce her as that, I guess because she was my fiance's cousins wife before she was my friend? That would be how it works, wouldn't it? Hmm.. Anyway, it was a lovely lunch, and I very much enjoy listening to Katy's British accent. Somehow it makes everything sound more witty and intelligent, even if it is just ordering broccoli soup with red onion marmalade. I am always and forever being told I have an American accent, which I think makes for the opposite. I don't mind that though, it lowers people's expectations.

I continued my day by going home to change shoes. The idea was that I would then walk to the art shop 20 minutes away and buy some more red paint, maybe stop by Borders and read some mags, have a coffee and then walk back home. I should have known this would not happen as unless I have an appointment somewhere or someone to go see, I find it incredibly difficult to leave my apartment. So instead of getting the paint I need, I stayed at home watching double episodes of both "Bewitched" and "I dream of Jeannie". Well done!
As for now, I think I'm gonna go check the mail. Oh, the excitement!