tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-62667200075784464422024-03-13T22:39:44.426+11:00a day in the life...but wait! there's more!Josefinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04331025054267405589noreply@blogger.comBlogger49125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6266720007578446442.post-68040833965939341842009-10-27T23:56:00.003+11:002009-10-28T01:53:51.238+11:00The owls are not what they seemBetween gaining employment, regretting doing so and getting my hands on the second season of "True blood", it seems my posting has come to a bit of a halt. <br /><br />Well, with the slightly incoherent exception that is <a href="http://everydaydistractions.blogspot.com/2009/10/drunk-woman-typing.html">this post</a> of course. <br />But never mind that.<br /><br />I was gonna write about how it made me sad when I realized that I'd watched all the "True blood" episodes available and that to see another one I'll have to wait, like a whole <em>year</em>. <br />And I don't wanna.<br /><br />But then I thought, meh.<br />It could be worse.<br /><br />Like for example I could find a rift in the time space continuum and travel back to 2003 when I, about a decade later than everyone else (oh, the curse of being young) discovered the brilliance that is "Twin Peaks". <br /><br />And then, I could continue by re-living the joy of taping every single episode that was aired at 03.00 so that I could watch it in the morning with my scrambled eggs and huge mug of drip coffee, I could yet again feel insanely creeped out by Bob, not to mention that freaky backwards-but-kind-of-not-backwards talking midget that hangs out in the black lodge. <br />I could hang out on Twin Peaks forums to discuss the meaning of the white horse appearing to Laura's mom in a vision(could it be as simple as horse=heroin? Could it David Lynch? You will never tell, and I can only guess... Bastard.) <br /><br />And then, just when things are so fehking good and I'm all like "Omg, what does "The owls are not what they seem" really mean!?!! WHAT DOES IT MEAN I NEED TO KNOW PLEASE GOD JUST PLEASE!!!!!" and my head is about to explode because Agent Cooper's evil doppelganger is gonna catch him and then what's gonna happen and the log-lady, oh my god the log-lady, and all I wanna do is curl up in foetal position out of sheer frenzied joy and anxiety... they cancel.. the show...<br />Well actually they cancelled it about 13 years earlier, but that's not the point.<br /><br />The point is that that scenario right there is how it could be worse.<br /><br />And it was.<br /><br /><em>By God, it was...</em><br /><br />So whatever, Vampire Bill.<br />Keep away for another 11 months, see if I care.<br />You might be all hot and gentlemanlike and speak with a breathy somewhat comical southern accent, but you're no Agent Cooper.<br /><br />Not by a long shot.Josefinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04331025054267405589noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6266720007578446442.post-81709773234962466132009-10-23T23:39:00.003+11:002009-10-24T00:25:55.472+11:00drunk woman typingSo this is a drunk post.<br />Be warned.<br /><br />I know that it's 11.40 pm which, considering I'm a fairly capable and socially average 26 year old, should be the starting point of my evening.<br />Instead, I seem to have chosen to embrace my inner 72 year old, leaving the party early (I didn't have tickets to the show the rest of them ere going to see. A really great thing as it was as it gives me an opportunity to sincerely moan about my misfortune while at the same time and equally sincerely feeling happy about the excuse for leaving early served up on a silver platter for me)and am currently lounging on the couch with fiancé, nursing a cup of tea.<br /><br />If time travel is ever possible, I sure hope that my 18 year old self never visits this moment, as it surely will mark my demise.<br /><br />However, tonight was a lovely lovely night, and a first at that.<br />You see, with all my travelling through the years I've never really stayed long enough to establish a sort of social circle and even less had to introduce anyone to said circle. It's always been me to have been introduced to my current beau's friends and swiftly find a way to manipulate them into liking me.<br />Tonight though it was me doing the introducing.<br /><br />And I was terrified.<br /><br />Fiancé is very likable and very socially capable, (which at times makes him very handy, especially when he's around me) but still there was a part of me worrying; wringing my hands and muttering to myself just thinking about it.<br />The friends I've made here in Melbourne are quite the bohemians I'd say, whereas fiancé is an engineering square, albeit a lovely and wonderful such. I was worried fiancé would feel out of place. I felt like a mother, worrying that her child might be the only one playing alone in the sandbox. Which, I admit, might be a bit of a creepy analogy when talking about the man I..ö you know.<br /><br />Anywho. <br />Things went well.<br />Turns out, men seem to bond around stuff cooking on a barbecue. Apparently these men don't even need to have shown any kind of previous excitement or even vague interest in cooking, when there's a barbecue involved male bonding just seems to happen effortlessly.<br /><br />Oh..<br />And yeah. Alcohol.<br />There was some drinks of alcohol involved. Which might discredit the male bonding (although one should never underestimate the power grilling equipment holds over the mysterious creature that is the man), but on the other hand will totally explain the possible lack of proper grammar and the probable presence of spelling errors.<br /><br />But you know guys, it's the thought that counts.<br />Unless it's Christmas.<br />Then that's just rude.<br />Rude.Josefinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04331025054267405589noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6266720007578446442.post-60157065809485186102009-10-16T16:18:00.007+11:002009-10-16T22:33:30.301+11:00Brothers of death metalI have three brothers. <br /><br />The oldest one precedes me by seven years and spends his time "singing" in a death metal band. <br />If you happen to be familiar with the death metal genre (which, if you're Scandinavian like me, you probably are) there's probably no need for me to explain the quotation marks surrounding "singing". However if you have yet to experience the vocally challenging joy to the ears that is death metal, I suggest you do something about that and promptly check <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=D5Hv0tsvpyU">this</a> out.<br /><br />Ah yes... <br /><br />Cannibal Corpse. <br /><br />A band appearing on many a mix tape given to me by my brother, in what was a vain attempt to recruit me to the dark side. To try and mold my eardrums in a way so that instead of hearing what appeared to be a very violent assault on one of my senses, I would lock in to the.. ehr.. raw power.. of the music..? And.. uhm... identify with the lyrics..? Mhmm.. I wasn't quite sure. <br /><br />But I tried. <br />I really did. <br />I even sported a Cannibal Corpse band-hoodie given to me as a present for a while, eager to make my brother proud.<br />Of course I was a thirteen year old girl, and even though the hormones running wild in my rebelling body occasionally did make me want to stab someone, I tended to identify more with the self loathing and heartache of Morrissey's lyrics than.. well <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=D5Hv0tsvpyU">this</a>. <br /><br />Much to the disappointment of my brother, it should be said.<br />Though he eventually got over it.<br />I mean we had so much else in common.<br />More important things, things like a shared gene pool and a mutual crippling fear of somehow contracting whatever it is that turned <a href="http://gfx.aftonbladet-cdn.se/multimedia/dynamic/00622/22s37-BEFORE-870_jp_622393l.jpg">this man</a> into a tree.<br /><br />Older brother I miss you very much.<br />No one here really understands the beauty that is getting wasted and watch early 90´s one hit wonder music videos on youtube like you do.Josefinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04331025054267405589noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6266720007578446442.post-55360109676947188342009-10-13T21:26:00.003+11:002009-10-13T22:24:39.439+11:00All work and no play makes Josefine a something something...I feel like I need a tattoo saying "I worked for five days and all I got was this painfully sore back. And oh yeah, some money. As if that would somehow make it all better... Whatever. Jerks". Or something to that effect.<br /><br />Seriously people, I am dying. I am so tired. I've been tired since last Wednesday. And not like a "I've been up for a solid 10 hours. Better take a nap" kinda way either. I'm tired because I am exhausted because I spend my days working.<br /><br />Yes.<br /><br />All and all I'm just another brick in the wall.<br />But that's alright.<br /><br />The crippeling state of my physique aside, working is actually ok. It makes me get up in the mornings, I get to spend my days around some really awesome (and some less awesome people), and as always, not having that much spare time on my hands actually makes me appreciate the spare time I have a lot more.<br /><br />So yeah. <br />Working is alright.<br />Until about 3 pm.<br />At which point the ripping out of hair starts.<br /><br />So happy I found a job.Josefinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04331025054267405589noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6266720007578446442.post-31716975472124010522009-10-09T19:13:00.002+11:002009-10-09T19:50:50.153+11:00I imagine his name is BruceAfter completing my third day of work I feel as I imagine a male steel worker with a mullet based in a 1980's Detroit would feel on a Friday afternoon; full of hormones, dying for a beer and having a desperate and undeniable need for belting out "Everybody's working for the weekend" while rocking a handle bar moustache and some kind of strip of fabric (very possibly a bandanna) tied around my head, Rambo-style.<br /><br />And this might also be what is in fact going on right now.<br />Oh god how I hope it is.<br />Somewhere.<br />Somewhere...Josefinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04331025054267405589noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6266720007578446442.post-45052843140139471192009-10-08T22:13:00.003+11:002009-10-08T23:14:20.709+11:00Working girlOh man, how do you people do this?<br /><br />Had my second day of work today and with that I have been reduced to an aching pile of flesh and bones, helplessly slumped on the couch with pathetic pleas for someone, anyone, to please bring more wine.<br /><br />Considering that I have been well unwound for the past six months, the need for unwinding after a measly two days of work is surprisingly big. But if there's anything I've learned from all those well spent hours watching Oprah it's that you should listen to yourself and to your body. And what both me and my body seem to agree on and loudly proclaim is that what I need is to sit on the couch and enjoy a few glasses of red wine while that vacant look spreads slowly across my face and my eyes glaze over.<br /><br />So that's what I'll do.<br />Because after all, who am I to question the infinite wisdom and knol edge that is the Oprah Winfrey show?Josefinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04331025054267405589noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6266720007578446442.post-21532258205968759662009-10-02T18:36:00.007+10:002009-10-06T01:14:25.735+11:00In Australia Burger King is called "Hungry Jack's", for no apparent reason(... well to be honest I'm sure there is a reason, I just haven't bothered googling it. If you do, please fill me in on the details.)<br /><br />A couple of years ago I watched this documentary about prisoners on death row in America. As I recall the inmates were interviewed about their background, some information was given on the crimes that had lead them to their death sentences. <br /><br />The main focus of the film however was not on these people's everyday existence or trying to understand their circumstances, but on what they, on the day of their looming execution, would choose to have as their last meal.<br /><br />Apparently it is tradition that inmates on death row can request anything they want for their last ever culinary experience (though I'm sure there are <em>some</em> restrictions. Like anything with arsenic in it. Or gun cake).<br />And while food is a great <em>great</em> love of mine only to be rivaled by my love for baby animals, I probably couldn't imagine a time when I would feel less like eating than the moments leading up to my demise.<br /> <br />But still, knowing that somebody has the freedom to order whatever they want and realizing that their choises consist solely of items you could find in any food court in any mall is quite sad.<br />No fava beans or chianti here, just Big macs, fried chicken, french fries and pizza.<br /><br />But then again maybe "foodie" isn't an adjective commonly used by the average inmate on death row to describe themselves.<br /><br />What would your last meal be?Josefinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04331025054267405589noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6266720007578446442.post-27286828580894095902009-09-30T23:50:00.006+10:002009-10-01T23:07:14.372+10:00Meeeeeeeeeeeeme!!!!Once upon a time in July, a <a href="http://utterlyunpublishedauthor.blogspot.com/2009/07/oh-my-zeus-i-forgot-again.html">Finnish lady tagged me for a meme</a>. I was awfully excited about this, but due to not having an internet connection or even my computer at the hotel where I was staying, I thought it better to complete this meme thingy when I got back to Melbourne. Which was almost two months ago.<br /><br />So shameful.<br /><br />Aaaanyway. I'm doing it now. Happy?<br /><br />The idea is to create 5 categories each containing 5 favourite items of said category but without necessarily being listed in any particular order. Did that make sense? It doesn't matter, you'll get the idea. Oh, and then you tag 5 other people to do the same thing.<br />Sort of like chain mail but without the vague threats of being unlucky in love for the next 7 years.<br /><br />So here goes:<br /><br /><br /><strong>My 5 favorite (random) things:</strong><br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">1</span> <strong>Breakfast</strong> - My favourite meal of the day, every day. Though I've always enjoyed breakfast, my love for it didn't fully flourish until I moved to Canada and into a culture where going out for breakfast is not only something you can actually do, but is encouraged. Overwhelmed by this new option of having someone cook me eggs and then letting me pay them for it I started having breakfast as often as I could, substituting it for lunch and dinner whenever I could get away with it. Which thanks to a high number of cafes sporting all-day-breakfast menus was surprisingly often. <br />Ah, those were the days... <br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">2</span> <strong>Finding things you don't expect </strong>- Like a twenty dollar note in your pocket or a new coffee shop that makes reeeaaally good coffee and has an all French staff or a mint condition Burberry trench for $200 in a thrift shop. Thank you universe, it's just what I wanted!!!<br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">3</span> <strong>People watching </strong>- I know it's slightly pervy, but I love watching people when they're unaware that they're being watched. It's like being at the zoo. When I was 16 I lived in this apartment that if you sat in the windowsill you could see up and into another apartment located diagonally across the road. I used to sit there for hours (yes sadly, hours) staring up into that apartment and watching all the things going on there. It was all very mundane everyday things, no one ever got shot or anything but somehow that's what I liked about it (the everyday mundane stuff I mean. And yeah, I guess the no-one-getting-shot part as well now that I think about it).<br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">4</span> <strong>Mail</strong> - Letters, postcards, care packages, or just things ordered online. I love receiving stuff in the mail. It's the only thing I can think of that still has a bit of that childhood sense of excitement normally associated with christmas attached to it.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">5</span> <strong>Puppies</strong> - It doesn't matter if my day has consisted of being deprived of coffee, sleep and food all while being punched in the face repeatedly, stick a puppy in front of my eyes and all is forgiven. Puppies make the world go round. For realz.<br /><br /><br /><strong>My 5 favorite celebrity crushes</strong>:<br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">1</span> <strong>Ricky Gervais </strong>- Because of "the Office"* season 1 and 2 and the christmas special. I have never known a love like this. <br />*<em>British, not American</em><br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">2</span> <strong>Jon Stewart</strong> - Because he makes politics sexy<br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">3</span> <strong>Andy Samberg </strong>- Because of <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NisCkxU544c">this</a> and <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4pXfHLUlZf4&feature=SeriesPlayList&p=ED9441CFC963F147">this</a><br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">4</span> <strong>Hugh Jackman as Wolverine</strong> - I feel no need to explain this one. But I will anyway: Because lumberjack shirts and massive sideburns will always hold a place in my heart. And spank-bank. Forever.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">5</span> <strong>Jennifer Connelly </strong>- Because if I ever had to have a full face transplant I'd hope hers was up for grabs.<br /><br /><br /><strong>My 5 favourite articles of clothing</strong>:<br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">1</span> <strong>My Burberry trenchcoat</strong> - We were destined for each other and as if by sheer magic, everything else I own looks great with it. Even the dining table.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">2</span> <strong>Leggings</strong> - Though always, <em>always </em>(I cannot stress the importance of this enough) worn with crotch and ass covering shirt/dress/skirt/dashiki. <br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">3</span> <strong>High heels</strong> Because I walk better in them after a few glasses of wine and any excuse to drink more wine is an excuse worth making it on a list somewhere.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">4 </span><strong>50´s style dresses</strong> Complete the look with pearls, a smile and a secret but raging alcohol addiction that is revealed in a humiliating manner after a drink too many at the Joneses dinner party. <br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">5</span> <strong>Tracksuit pants </strong> What can I say, I'm a sucker for comfort.<br /><br /><br /><strong>My 5 favourite frequent food cravings</strong>:<br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">1</span> <strong>Tuna sashimi </strong> When I was I kid I watched a documentary on Inuits, and I remember one scene where they were carving raw seal meat from a (surprise!) seal and eating it, sort of in the fashion my grandma used to eat an apple. I also remember not feeling grossed out but actually a little disappointed that I would probably never get to do that. And so far, I never have. But sometimes while eating tuna sashimi I close my eyes and pretend. <br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">2</span> <strong>Scrambled eggs with parmesan cheese and chili flakes</strong> Scrambled eggs has been a constant food craving of mine since I was eleven. I just want to eat it all the time, something I think was hinted at in the "5 favourite random things" section. And if you add parmesan cheese and chili flakes before scrambling it magically get <em>better</em>. I didn't think that was possible.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">3</span> <strong>Toasted and slightly burnt fruit loaf with insane amounts of butter</strong> As in obscene amounts. As in melted butter literally pooling and dripping of the piece of toast. Mmmm, butter...<br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">4</span> <strong>Seaweed salad</strong> I think it's the texture. Whenever I see seaweed salad I need to own it. Then eat it.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">5</span> <strong>Vanilla malt milkshake</strong> I usually and for some inexplicable reason think "loser" about people who when buying scoop ice cream or milkshake pick vanilla flavoured such. Why? Why would you pick vanilla when you can have chocolate or rum or honey dew melon flavour? I just couldn't see any reason for it. But something has changed. Maybe it's the added malt (which strangely I also used to despise), maybe it's the sign of my ever changing palette. I don't know. All I know is that I can no longer resist the siren call of the vanilla malt milkshake. And I don't want to. <br /><br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">My 5 favourite things that make my life easier</span><br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">1</span> <strong>Dry shampoo</strong>I hate washing my hair and now I don't have to and still manage to avoid smelling like a homeless person<br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">2</span> <strong>Google</strong>How did people live before google and not go insane from all the things they could not get the answer to immediately? How I ask you. But maybe I should just google it instead.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">3</span> <strong>Clothes</strong>When growing up in Scandinavia they come in pretty handy if you want to make it to adult age. <br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">4</span> <strong>Fiancé</strong>Kind of like google but at times more infuriating and with glasses.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">5</span> <strong>Caller id</strong>I'm not a confrontational person. So I just screen.<br /><br /><br />And that's it!<br />That's all.<br />Almost.<br /><br /><strong>Now for the lucky 5:</strong><br /><br />1 Nancy @ <a href="http://www.f8hasit.com/">f8hasit</a>: Because her blog is funny and honest, and because she posted a photo of herself in a Peter pan collar.<br /><br />2 Ladytruth over @ <a href="http://ladytruth-happilyafterever.blogspot.com/">happily AFTER ever</a>: Girl has Louis Vuitton heels and gay dates. Sounds like a good time to me!<br /><br />3 Mysterg @ <a href="http://meditations-in-an-emergency.blogspot.com/">Meditations in an emergency</a>: Because I want to, no need to know more about him. You hear me? <em>Need</em>.<br /><br />4 Not so glamorous housewife @ <a href="http://www.notsoglamoroushousewife.com/">Diary of a not so glamorous housewife</a>: She knows how to knit a robot. I give cred where cred is due.<br /><br />5 Dutch Donut Girl @ <a href="http://bookywookie.blogspot.com/">The world according to donut girl</a>: A while ago she posted pictures of bedrooms from different German brothels and claimed they were sources of inspiration in her looming bedroom make over. What can I say? I like it.<br /><br />Oh, and I just remembered. You can make up your own categories. Mix and match. Whatever floats your boat as they say.<br /><br />There.<br />I'm done.<br />Over and out.Josefinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04331025054267405589noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6266720007578446442.post-72950623926446954672009-09-29T22:06:00.004+10:002009-09-30T00:01:34.286+10:00If I were a bunny, where would I shop?There is a store I pass every now and then that I have never once entered, and yet there is something about this particular shop that makes me slow down as I pass just to try and catch a glimpse of the items being displayed inside and more importantly, the people who buy them. <br /><br />It's the playboy store.<br />Which, sadly does not retail tall, dark, handsome and financially affluent men but instead specializes in leopard print evening gowns, rhinestone everything and tennis skirt/knee sock combos.<br /><br />While I'm no stranger to watching that trashtastic reality show featuring Hugh Hefner's girlfriends who are not his girlfriends anymore, I can´t say that I have ever, not even once while watching it thought to myself "Gee, that Holly Madison really is the epitome of style, now if only there was a way I could dress like her... say a store... a store that sold "girls of the playboy mansion" type things..."<br />No, I have never had that thought. Except for now, and even then it is only to make it quite obvious that I wouldn't, would not, produce such a thought.<br />Which is why it's so intriguing that that store is there. Because that has to mean that somewhere, someone is in fact thinking this, though perhaps phrased differently.<br /><br />I'm not judging (...) I just want to know who these people are, where they're from, where they're planning to wear that pink spandex dress and if they, by any chance are the same people who when I worked at French Connection used to buy matching mother-daughter tops with a rhinestone embellished "fcuk" splayed across the chest. And if so, it's pronounced "effseeyoukay" and not "fuh-kawk". So stop saying that.<br />Please.Josefinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04331025054267405589noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6266720007578446442.post-21969150194511597192009-09-25T16:50:00.004+10:002009-09-26T00:09:11.525+10:00Old people is da shizzleIf I ever have kids, one thing I am never ever ever going to say to them as they're going through their teenage years is "be happy for as long as it lasts, cause it'll be the best years of your life".<br /><br />Uh.<br />Come again?<br /><br />I don't know what kind of messed up reversed psychology this is supposed to be, but looking back knowing that this was the wisdom passed on to me by various adults, I am surprised that I didn't just drink a jug full of cyanaid kool aid right then and there.<br />I mean, seriously.<br /><br />Maybe the people telling me this were captains of the cheer squad, sporting perfect complexions and suspiciously well balanced hormone levels, or maybe the years following high school, regardless of how traumatizing that experience might have been, were just even more disappointing and for some reason did not include you scoring a great job or you magically transform from nottie to hottie, but a rather badly timed pregnancy by some guy named Jonno who's mullet you vaguely remember brushing against your face during your Scorpions soundtracked one night stand and a dead end job that steadily eats away at your dreams and ambitions.<br /><br />I don't know.<br /><br />I just know that my teenage years were the most awkward, horrible and angst filled years of my life and I would never in a million years go back. Ever.<br />And come back in twenty five years and maybe I've changed or repressed enough facts to have changed my mind, but I truly enjoy ageing. I love getting older, getting better.<br /><br />Young people can suck it.<br /><br />Just kidding.Josefinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04331025054267405589noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6266720007578446442.post-53373882900306597902009-09-24T12:42:00.003+10:002009-09-24T13:05:36.406+10:00Just an observationMy belief is that leggings are <span style="font-weight:bold;">not</span> called pants because they're <span style="font-weight:bold;">not</span> pants and should therefor <span style="font-weight:bold;">not</span> be used as such.<br /><br />I'm sorry people, but I can't take this assault on my eyes any longer and I don't care if your leggings are printed to look like denim, the fact is they are not and it looks horrible when you pair these non pants with crop tops or really any garment that does not cover your ass and crotch area.<br /><br />So yeah.<br />Just wanted to clear that up.<br />Peace.Josefinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04331025054267405589noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6266720007578446442.post-42076794242567433552009-09-21T14:04:00.013+10:002009-09-21T22:42:51.801+10:00The bald and the beautiful*Ah, the weekend has passed, the orangeness patchily subsided and once again I find myself on the couch, waiting for the week to begin... <br />And while waiting, indulging in a little "Days of our lives"-action.<br /><br />The love/hate affair I have with daytime soap operas is not new but seems to come and go in waves, forever ebbing and flowing, pulling me in and releasing me from it's hypnotizing and possibly incestuous embrace. <br /><br />At times (not all that surprisingly these times often coincide with the times of paid employment) I have not the slightest hint of interest for them, scoffing at the outlandish intrigues at hand and rolling my eyes while changing the channel and letting out a patronizing "puhleeze" under my breath.<br /><br />And then there are other times, the less productive (and much more recent) times spent on the couch, where the windowless and apparently time warped existence of the Brady family casts me under it's spell and has it's way with me. <br />Then usually I have a little nap.<br /><br />I do realize that I am but one pregnancy away from waving my hand in my child's face while yelling "Be quiet Lula-Mae, mama's watching her stories!!"<br />And as horrifying as that may seem, at least I'm not married to the half brother of my daughter.<br />At least not that I know of.<br /><br /><br /><em>*This is what my fourth grade English skills lead me to believe was the title of that famous soap opera. It made sense to me at the time, but then again, so did over sized hypercolour t-shirts.</em>Josefinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04331025054267405589noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6266720007578446442.post-33692992465391339222009-09-16T23:22:00.002+10:002009-09-17T13:28:02.832+10:00It is I, the Oompa loompaDear readers,<br /><br />The person writing this is not the Josefine you know and are so very fond of, but a slightly more Hollywoodized and much more orange version of her.<br /><br />Yes people.<br />I've done it.<br />I've had a spray tan.<br /><br />Now, before you avert your eyes in disgust and mime sticking your fingers down your throat contemplating my vanity, I will say in my defence that this was a first (and quite possibly a last), and that it was done as a favour to a friend who's learning how to, ehr, spray tan people.<br /><br />It should be stated that with the exception of my rather thick and very dark eyebrows and my dire need for some serious IPL, I do display the stereotypical traits of the Scandinavian. My hair is dark blond (or, roughly and literally translated from Swedish "rat coloured"), my eyes are blue/green and my complexion is very very very fair. With a sort of pinkish tint to it.<br />An unflattering tint, and one that despite years of trying to condition my skin into thinking otherwise, does not tan well. <br />Or at all.<br /><br />So when I got a call yesterday asking me if I would be at all interested in having somebody practising spray tanning technique on my pale and very unready for bathing suit season body, I of course said yes.<br />I could picture it in my mind; me on the beach, all tan and <i>glowing</I> and somehow through a diet consisting only of wine chocolate and cheese, seem to have lost 5 kilos. <br />It was glorious.<br />And, as I believe I disclosed, a figment of my imagination.<br /><br />In reality it turns out that Scandinavian complexion + spray tan = a look most recently sported by Magda, Cameron Diaz's kooky landlady in "There's something about Mary".<br />Or in the loving words of fiancé as he walked in the door:<br />"Wow. It makes you look... <i>older</I><br /><br />Yeah.<br />On the bright side, I won't be made fun of at work tomorrow.<br /><br /><br />You know, cause I'm unemployed.<br /><br /><br />The end.Josefinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04331025054267405589noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6266720007578446442.post-19312649399827770052009-09-14T22:43:00.003+10:002009-09-14T23:39:00.645+10:00There's a mucus party in my head and you're invitedOh how glorious it is to wake up only to realize that your body has betrayed you and decided your skull should like totally host some kind of phlegm themed festival. Which then, in the way festivals do, escalates to the point where it's completely out of control and the phlegm has nowhere else to go but out my nose, and from the feel of it, soon out my eyes and ears.<br /><br />It's also a beautiful feeling when this betrayal of the flesh coincides with the annual coming of spring and the glory of pollen. <br />Which for me means allergies.<br />Which, you guessed it, means phlegmfest '09 is one gift that will just keep on giving.<br />Oh joy of joys.<br /><br />I feel like somebody has implanted one of those instant towels in my head and then left the water tap on and it just keeps expanding and it's not stopping and my eyes are bulging out from the pressure and I can't hear anything cause all the sounds are muffled and OH MY GOD, MOMMY JUST PLEASE MAKE IT STOP!!!!!!<br /><br />My eyes are so itchy and my nose is all raw and irritated and whenever I walk past the mirror I wonder who put that poster against domestic violence up in my apartment.<br />Not cool.<br /><br />So now, without further due, I will go drug myself into a coma and hopefully wake up looking a little less like I'm dating Chris Brown.Josefinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04331025054267405589noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6266720007578446442.post-3450059139945224142009-09-10T17:03:00.005+10:002009-09-10T18:31:48.185+10:00Coffee, of all things I thought I could trust you...No one drinks drip coffee in Australia it seems. It's all posh espresso machines and the cleverly named <em>nespresso</em> machines and stuff.<br />Which is fine. I love coffee and that love is of the kind that does not discriminate.<br />However, I have noticed that drinking a pot of espresso doesn't seem to affect me very much, and I can easily have more coffee during the day with no other side effects than my urine smelling suspiciously like a latte (too much information? I'm sorry, I just find it quite interesting how that happens... Maybe I should have my kidneys checked? I've never heard anyone else having this happen to them, but then again maybe most people don't find it necessary to fill people in on what their urine smells like. Unless they've had asparagus recently, which seems to be an acceptable excuse for talking about what you did on your visit to the lavatory).<br />Nothing else. No twitchiness, no extra energy, no feeling nauseous. Nothing.<br /><br />What's up with that? I thought to myself. <br /><br />And I'll tell you what's up:<br /><br />Apparently drip coffee has <strong>more</strong> caffeine than espresso, for the simple reason that the water spends a lot more time hanging out with the coffee grind in a drip coffee maker than in an espresso machine. <br /><br />I am so confused right now.<br />I mean it makes sense, the way most things do once you have them explained to you, and yet I feel as if I have been deceived. <br />How is it I didn't know this? <br />I feel ashamed.<br />I feel like if coffee was a person I would look at it with a hurt and puzzled look on my face and say something like "It's like I don't even know you anymore".<br />That's what it feels like.Josefinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04331025054267405589noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6266720007578446442.post-525567100533824032009-09-08T22:50:00.002+10:002009-09-08T23:34:25.410+10:00On children and not having them. At the moment.A while ago I read an article in the paper, stating that couples without children are generally happier and enjoy way better mental health than couples who have procreated.<br /><br />Reading this article, all I could think was: "Well, duh.."<br /><br />Despite my mother assuring me that I was a very good child, and a very good teenager, I can remember quite a few instances of being a complete asshole to my parents. A spoiled brat, whining and screaming and slamming doors, sulking and more often than not responding to the question "how was school today" by throwing a tantrum. <br />As you do. <br /><br />It is obvious that in an effort to keep from feeling hate and resentment for her child, my mother has repressed memories of any such incident.<br />Which is kind of great news, since I do prefer her to keep loving me.<br /><br />Being a parent a lot of times seems to mean putting up with all kinds of abusive behaviour that in any other kind of relationship would be pretty good grounds on which to tell the person in question to piss off.<br />That is however, in most cultures not considered good or even acceptable parenting technique, though I'm sure the children of Joseph Fritzel might have some objections to that statement.<br /><br />Anyway.<br />I'm sure I will at some point in my life at least attempt having a child, considering fiancé's aversion to indoor pets and all, but a process that starts with not being allowed coffee, wine or soft cheeses for nine months only to be followed by being ripped apart from the inside by a small persons head?<br />As tempting as that sounds, I think I might have to pass.<br /><br />At least for now.<br />But who knows, maybe it's like how I used to hate olives and now I really really like them?<br />Maybe all that stuff will seem like fun and exciting in a year or two.<br />Until then, I will continue to gorge myself on cheese and wine and maybe I'll throw in a bit of mercury laced salmon just for the thrill of it.Josefinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04331025054267405589noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6266720007578446442.post-26865905145094334402009-09-02T20:57:00.003+10:002009-09-02T23:38:51.799+10:00Excuses excuses excuses.....I know I haven't been the most frequent of posters lately, and for this I apologize.<br /><br />However, I actually do have a reason for this seeming lack of devotion, and a valid one at that. <br /><br />As fiancé's mom is in the hospital for surgery, his dad is staying with us. This, I know, doesn't seem like a reason at all, and even less so a valid one, but just let me finish. Ok? OK. <br /><br />Fiancé's parents had him quite late in life, he was what I suppose you'd call an accident if you wanted to be funny about it, which I often do. Fiancé's dad was 46 at the time of birth of his youngest son, which according to my calculations makes him a 78 year old man today. This is another useful piece of information as this enables me to make funny jokes about fiancé's parents obviously having <em>relations</em> even after 14 years of marriage and suggesting that this might still occur. <br />Iam aware that this is not so much a joke as it is deliberately making fiancé uncomfortable, but it's funny none the less.<br /><br />Anyway, I digress.<br />So fiancé's dad is 78, and Italian and has pretty much worked his whole life while fiancé's mom has run the home and taken care of children and still managed somehow to be a successful artist, which is weird since I have no job and no children but still seem to only ever manage a pot of coffee and watching the occasional "the bold and the beautiful" episode before the day is over. <br /><br />But that's besides the point.<br /><br />What I'm getting at is that fiancé's dad, when faced with such tasks as grocery shopping or cooking, seems puzzled and confused, much in the same way I would if someone suggested I'd change the oil in a tractor.<br />I could probably do it, given enough time and instructions, but if given the choice I would gladly hand over the assignment to someone more capable than me. <br />He's never had to do these things, and it's easy to see how he is just a little bit lost without the woman who's been his wife for 48 years close at hand. They've come to depend so completely on each other for all those tasks they're each assigned, to the point where it's not only emotionally but also practically difficult to live without the other person.<br /><br />Which is kind of lovely. And a little bit sad, somehow.<br /><br />So anyway, that's the reason I'm a little bit absent at the moment.<br />I'm trying to prevent my father in law getting scurvy caused by a salami-only diet.<br />Thanks for understanding.Josefinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04331025054267405589noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6266720007578446442.post-52601113972015118722009-08-29T16:04:00.005+10:002009-09-01T00:15:00.219+10:00A rare breed indeedDespite many an attempt to suppress the fact that I will sometime very very soon need to begin planning a wedding, this insight keeps making itself known.<br /><br />Much, I have to say, to my dismay.<br />Because, ugh. <br />I don't wanna.<br /><br />Don't get me wrong, I really <strong>really</strong> want to get married. <br />The marriage part isn't what's making my neck twitch nervously. It certainly isn't the reason I feel like taking a nap anytime anyone has questions/opinions about it.<br />And although I can't definetly rule out that that isn't what's causing me to break out in some rather stubborn hives, I'm almost a hundred percent sure that it's not.<br />It's something else.<br /><br />It's the wedding. <br />Or, in my case; the W-E-D-D-I-N-G.<br /><br />I know that being a female, living in a first world country and having obsessively watched Disney's "Cinderella" growing up, I should (in theory) be able to perfectly execute this whole bridezilla routine that's become so popular with the kids. You know, the crazy-eyed obsessive compulsive bride-to-be reducing waitstaff to tears and throwing temper tantrums over the fact that "these napkins are ivory! I said egg shell! <em>EGG SHELL</em>!!!!" .<br /><br />I'm supposed to be overjoyed by the thought of picking out colour schemes and centre pieces and wedding cakes and thank you cards, and apparently I should be keeping some kind of scrap book containing an over all "theme" for the wedding.<br /><em>(What?<br />What do you mean "a theme"? How bout "we're getting married"? <br />Is that theme enough for ya?<br />No? That's not what it means?<br />Oh, ok. Right.<br />Sorry.)</em><br /><br />But, as you might have gathered, something has gone horribly wrong somewhere, and all these things added up make me feel the opposite of excited.<br />So, "not excited" I guess.<br />I mean, all I want is to wear a pretty dress and marry the loveliness that is fiancé.<br /><br />In Vegas.<br /><br />With Elvis (or someone vaguely resembling him) conducting the ceremony.<br /><br />Is that so much to ask?Josefinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04331025054267405589noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6266720007578446442.post-45266633663096846792009-08-27T13:00:00.004+10:002009-08-27T17:46:12.693+10:00Desperate houswife and why I shouldn't have childrenThe past few days I have been channeling the life of a house wife. <br />Or, according to a few people that shall remain nameless, "doing stuff kind of expected of you since, you know, you're unemployed".<br /><br />Huh. What a curious thing to say.<br /><br />Anyway. <br />For example, I cooked a nice mushroom risotto for dinner last night and had it ready, with the table set and drinks poured, when fiancé came home from work. <br />However, I was not cooking and serving said risotto dinner dressed in a full skirt and pearls but hey, if there's one thing reading Cosmopolitan has taught me it's that as a woman there are always things about yourself you can change and improve. Yay! <br />How wonderful it is to be told I will never be good enough!<br /><br />Also I've spent a whole day doing laundry, hand washing things (note to self: start looking at the laundry tags of garments before buying them. If laundry tag says "cold hand wash only", gently place garment back on hanger and move away from the cash register. I repeat, MOVE AWAY FROM THE CASH REGISTER!), hanging and folding and what not.<br /><br />Realizing that I have agreed to let fiancé's two little nephews stay over night with us on Friday night I have promptly broken in to a nervous sweat and, going about it like I have a severe case of OCD, tried to come up with activities and meals and treats that will translate to nephews telling their parents about what a great time they had staying at our house.<br /><br />Because yes. I, a 26 year old woman, am scared of the potentially disapproving judgement of two small children who's collective age is less than mine divided in half (and apparently reminicent of a fourth grade math problem). <br />Why is this? And also, if it comes to the end of Friday night and it's apparent that nephews have had a less than incredible time, will slipping half a roofie in their warm milk help with wiping those memories out of their pliable little minds? <br />And more importantly, is this something that will go on my permanent police record if discovered? <br />Cause I really can't have that.Josefinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04331025054267405589noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6266720007578446442.post-21711160911268861972009-08-25T13:55:00.007+10:002009-08-27T22:54:12.947+10:00My brain needs a defragI woke up to find that <a href="http://omchelsea.blogspot.com/">this lovely lady</a> will let me have one of her precious books after I enquired whether it is read worthy or not. I guess this means it is. Or, she's just pawning some of her unwanted stuff off on me. But I'm ok with that.<br /><br />Something I'm not ok with is knowing that when Alanis Morrisette sang this little gem of a line: <br /><em>"...is she perverted like me, would she go down on you in a theatre"</em> <br />she sang it to and about <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRBcZfHDNJ8YXYtidx10vh4lHUPNafmcEWdb7pccmPEsbYkQPhxtE61qYat9qR5a4c_EmyRhF8O6wm0V2XrOdAM301_P1R8RlkX9u8FzJO2PvfoHScs-6207Rz9HRO7A9BCklRpBWtTTgW/s400/Dave_Coulier.png">Dave Coulier</a>.<br />Yes, that is "Uncle Joey" from "Full house" which I watched religiously everyday after school when I was nine.<br /><br />This information is really causing me some anxiety here, and there is no apparent reason for my brain to, completely out of nowhere bring this very disturbing information to my attention, especially since I've gone to extensive lengths trying to forget. <br /><br />Ok, maybe not really "extensive lengths"... <br />Actually probably no real conscious effort on my behalf has been made to forget said information but that doesn't change the fact that I was still pretty happy having it stowed away somewhere in the murkier depths of my subconscious, leaving it to cob webby canoodling with grade nine maths and an incident in a tent when I was 15. <br /><br />The thing that really gets me is that because of this Dave Coulier bullshit I'll probably forget something else, something way more important.<br />Like turning the stove off or taking the bullets out of the gun before fiancé and I joke-play Russian roulette.<br />And seriously, I'm not super excited by that idea.Josefinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04331025054267405589noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6266720007578446442.post-25127531569723332522009-08-24T23:51:00.001+10:002009-08-24T23:52:52.675+10:00My brain has turned to mushThis morning I was rudely awoken by the sound of what I’ve now managed to identify as a Kookaburra. <br />Which, as some of you might know, is a bird. <br />I, on the other hand didn’t, and in my hazy and very annoyed state of mind thought the sound molesting my ears to be that of an equally annoyed, and perhaps lethally so, monkey.<br /><br />What a business an angry monkey would have to go about in a tree outside my bedroom window I’m not completely sure, but then again I’m told Kookaburra’s don’t usually hang out in the city either. So yeah.<br />That’s the very exciting story of how I was woken up by a bird, though at the time thought to be a monkey.<br /><br />Whoever said I don’t lead an exciting life just got proven wrong, right? Right? AM I RIGHT???<br />Oh lord, mommy’s on the drink again…Josefinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04331025054267405589noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6266720007578446442.post-40528336785920340852009-08-21T12:50:00.005+10:002009-08-21T22:46:28.465+10:00Going to the movies just got a whole lot more appealingIt seems Melbourne is caught in some sort of mini hurricane (for about three minutes there, I couldn't remember the word "hurricane" but instead my brain kept suggesting the word "trombone" as the proper term for what dictionary.com defines as "a violent, tropical, cyclonic storm of the western North Atlantic, having wind speeds of or in excess of 72 mph". Yeah, not sure what's going on there). <br /><br />And for a good part of the day I just saw that as a convenient excuse not to have a shower, get dressed and go see "the September issue" like I'd planned to do. But then, after realizing that I was in fact watching an episode of "Days of our lives" (and not the first one this week I might add...) and having the words "crazy cat lady" flashing before my eyes (why does it keep doing that?) I decided that having a shower might not be such a bad idea after all.<br /><br />So now I'm back home after an hour and a half of watching Anna Wintour & co and stuffing my face with hand made chocolates (it's a documentary about Vogue, I couldn't very well eat buttered popcorn now could I?) and wine. <br />Yaha, wine! <br />Cause apparently cinemas can serve alcohol in Australia. <br />How, I ask you, is it possible that I did not know this? I did after all receive a "Welcome to Australia"-pamflet when my visa came through, one would think that this information would have been in there somewhere between the national statistics and the helpful tips on how to maintain an acceptable level of personal hygiene, no?<br /><br />Well, no.<br /><br />Obviously someone, somewhere, in a governmental writing-of-pamflet type job has a somewhat askew list of priorities.<br /><br />Does Ruddy know about this?Josefinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04331025054267405589noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6266720007578446442.post-35233317600883541152009-08-18T13:31:00.004+10:002009-08-19T22:51:19.610+10:00Sweet dreams are made of cheese?Arrgh, my subconsious is driving me insane lately!<br />This past week I've been waking up several times per night from either laughing like some kind of crazy person or being on the verge of tears, whimpering.<br /><br />The dreams causing this very unwanted behaviour have been various and has included some real gems, such as:<br /><br />The one where I hang out on a meadow by myself, and after getting a surprise visit from the Jonas brothers I and one of the lads belt out a beautiful duet while standing under a cherry blossom that showers us with pink flower petals. <br />Yeah...<br />Yeah.<br /><br />In another one (and I'm pretty sure that even just admitting to having a dream of this rather violent nature will put me on a watch list somewhere), I run around a house, sweaty and panic stricken, tracking down and shooting people (not the Jonas brothers though. I think.) Every once in a while this switches and all of a sudden I'm one of the people being shot at. It's all very confusing and it's all taking place in a vacation home in Palo Alto. <br />Just how exactly my subconsious knows about Palo Alto I'm not completely sure, especially since my consious self doesn't. Or at least I didn't until a quick Wikipedia search informed me that Palo Alto is indeed an actual town, located in northern Silicon Valley, California. <br /><br />Which sort of makes me wonder:<br /><br />Is this the point where, through a series of seizure inducing flash backs and strangely familiar dreams, my past as a murdeous CIA agent unravels? Will I discover, as someone tries to steal my purse, that I have the reflexes of a feline and a level of martial arts skills even Bruce Lee couldn't keep up with?<br />Is that what's gonna happen? Will I discover that all my memories are not mine at all (and if so, can I just say "Good riddance, memories of puberty and general teen awkwardness!") but inplanted in my brain to... uh... protect the... uh... secrets of the CIA..?<br /><br />Wouldn't they just kill me for that?<br />And where in all this does the third dream, the one where I binge eat wheels of cheddar cheese, fit in to all of this..?Josefinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04331025054267405589noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6266720007578446442.post-20245692502119463732009-08-16T15:35:00.003+10:002009-08-27T22:52:56.802+10:00For the love of sports (or fiancé)As might have been hinted at in this blog before, I'm not overly excited about sports. <br />This lack of excitement also extends to sporting events, sports related tv shows or really anything with the word sports attached to it.<br />Physical exercise has always failed to appeal to me and much like me during gym class in the glory days of high school, it seems that in my genetic setup the gene that constitutes competitiveness has gone awol.<br /><br />Which is fine with me. I don't pretend to be concerned with my lack of physical fitness and I figure that the amounts of money I'll need in order to unclog my arteries and replace this in red wine marinated liver of mine sometime in the perhaps not too distant future will balance out nicely with all the money I've saved on gym memberships, sports bras and protein shakes through the years.<br /><br />So until recently, sports and I co-existed in a mutual understanding that we not bother each other. Sure, there were times when I felt sports overstepped the line, deleting episodes of Grey's anatomy from the tv-guide in favour of some ice hockey semi final (just how important can something with the word "semi" in it be anyway?), and sports in turn I'm sure wrinkled it's nose in disgust at my rare and flawed attempts at spin cycling or (worse), anything requiring hand/eye coordination. <br />But for the most part, we got on, leaving each other to do whatever it was we were doing.<br /><br />I say until recently because it turns out that the man I'm marrying has a rather passionate and loving relationship with sports in general, and Australian football in particular.<br />At this very moment I'm sitting on the couch in the lounge room with head phones on and music turned up to a potentially lethal volume. <br />On the floor to the left of me is previously mentioned man banging his fist on the floor and shouting things like "Go Blues!!!", "Ball!!!" and "Bastard!!!". All of these with no less than three exclamation marks. Hence the ear phones.<br /><br />Which I just now took off because I saw some rather wild hand gesturing going on out of the corner of my eye. Turns out, they came with a rather colourful audio commentary.<br /><br />Again, that inside voice chanting:<br />"This is the man I choose, this is the man I choose..." and the realization that my relationship with sports has been altered against my will and now more resembles the one of a wife and her husbands mistress. <br />And knowing that this particular mistress is of the sticking-around variety I will turn a blind eye. <br /><br />Cause that's just the kind of of wife I'm gonna be.<br />Apparently.Josefinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04331025054267405589noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6266720007578446442.post-10511394732323476732009-08-13T19:01:00.004+10:002009-08-15T00:13:59.002+10:00Soon to be a respectable part of society..?Knowing myself and knowing that before 11 am, even at the best of times I move with the speed of a sloth, I decided to get up at 6.35 am this morning in order to be ready to catch my 8.32 am train and make it to my interview while not also resembling a sloth in matters of physical appearance.<br /><br />As a result I have felt nauseous and had a blinding headache all day. I believe this to be my body's way of telling me "what the fehk you wanna job for when you can just laze around at home eating cheese all day? huh?" Which just goes to show exactly how well my rather eloquently gifted body knows me.<br /><br />I hear you body.<br />Loud and clear.<br /><br />Anyway.<br />Interview went well.<br /><br />Or, at least I think it did though I really can't be too sure about the accurateness of this statement since the man interviewing me looked like he could be Simon Baker's long lost and even more handsome twin and for some reason the somewhat rose coloured memory of the interview is strangely distorted by a loud voice in my head chanting "must not forget I'm engaged, must not forget I'm engaged". For all I know this can also have been said out loud in which case I'm pretty sure I won't be getting the job.<br /><br />Turns out, acting like a big pile of crazy isn't on most employer's list of desired qualities in job applicants. I'm saying most, because really, who knows? If I was a British production company specializing in making documentaries about sexually deviant behaviour that will then be shown on a weekly basis on basic cable in Sweden for example, a certain amount of crazy probably would be on the desired qualities list.<br />I'd say.<br />But hey, what do I know.Josefinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04331025054267405589noreply@blogger.com3