Calm down

Has everyone done that yet?

It seems like everyone already knows how to yearbook themselves! I do too!

I didn't do it with Prince Charles

There is a scene in Lost in Translation, when Charlotte walks the streets of Tokyo in the rain and she's got a see-through umbrella over her head. It is so "style-clean", so charming and goes together with the whole idea of rain, transparent, yet covering everything with a thin layer of blurriness. I loved it, wanted to have one for myself, looked all over.

Sunday afternoon brought a revelation: L's sis, a dedicated shopper and a cute-details lover said she had seen one in a shop just next to our place. I went there yesterday after work and bought one! So happy! Since I was supposed to meet L on the next corner, I was surprised to see he was calling on my mobile. It turned out he was hiding behind the corner with an identical umbrella he had gotten in another shop! How great a boyfriend can be, I wonder?

We returned one of the umbrellas and now I enjoy being an owner of this cute, unpractical gadget. Well, I was. Until now, when I saw this pic:I mean, who wants to have the Camilla-brelly?

Fridays are good! Bye bye!

A misterious candy was found on my desk at work this morning. It tasted good. I guess I know where (who) it comes from. I melt and wonder if I actually deserve to be liked that much? I hope I do. Fridays are good. Bye bye!

At ease is the city of mine

I was walking from work today and enjoyed the calm, relaxed Stockholm. The people in streets cafes sipping their lattes while a gentle rain fell on their hair. Bikers and pedestrians not caring about this rain at all. Me strolling slowly, liking every step. It was just enough warm and just enough calm and it was just enough many of us on the streets. Everything - on this lovely island of Sodermalm where I live. Which usually wakes me up at 3 am. But not today. Today it woke me up to write.

The perfect couple goes IKEA

That all Swedish couples fight in IKEA is a commonly known fact. I would even risk a statement that on Saturday afternoon the biggest Swedish IKEA (situated in a place called Kungens Kurva - all Polish readers are totally allowed to giggle), is not only the biggest shopping center for furniture, but also the place with the highest concentrate of relationship anger and regrets.

Which is not the case when it comes to L and I. We fight, sure. But not in IKEA. In IKEA we are agreeable, mild and compatible. We are respectful, mature and jolly. I don't confront, L doesn't criticise. "Of course, darling", "You couldn't be more right, sweetheart". Boring, proper, yet original and surprising. Us in IKEA.

Since we are moving to a completely new apartment in January and are kind of planning to stay there for a while (10 years minnimum, said L yesterday), we decided to look around for furniture already now.

I want it to be modern, I want it to be stylish. I want it to be colonial (India!), I want it to be Scandinavian. I want to mix styles, I want to the style to be clean. I want it sterile, I want it alive. God help me. We are off!

Sometimes I miss him

The grumpy little bastard, the stinky little brat. My parents' dog.

Elevator fobia

We hate sharing elevators with other people. The art of avoiding this stressfull activity is mastered by the Swedes, who manouver like mad in order to not take the elevator with the neighbours. The phenomenon proved to be funny and characteristic during a chat with the dear Mikaton, who told me about sharing a taxi with a Lebanese lady and her two kids. Sharing a taxi! Dear God!

Reaching the entrance to our building means a nervous looking around for familiar faces from the same straircase. A familiar face brings the threat of 30 most embarrassing seconds in the life of a Swede who is shy and antisocial by nature. A sigh of relief if we enter and are alone waiting for the elevator. A nervous smile and overly enthusiastic "Hej" - if there is someone waiting with us. The greeting has to be very friendly and kind of "Howfantastictoseeyouonthisrainyday, whoeverinhellyouare", otherwise one can be sure to be gossiped about. We enter, the one who stands closest to the buttons interviews the others about their destination (embarrassing if you are going to the same floor and not recognise each other), presses the proper ones and the ride begins. You do not talk, you try not to breath since it's too personal, inpolite, abusive, you try to avoid the eye contact for the same reasons. You simply pray for the ride to end. You reach your fifth floor, throw a thankful "Hej" behind your back and promise yourself to always take the stairs. Climbing will make your butt firmer and prolong your life by avoiding the unnecessary stress.

While in Poland, we experienced some relaxed, friendly rides in the elevator of my parents' house, the place where I was born and raised. L looked amazed and fascinated in how I transformed from a individualistic bitch into the elevator queen, sharing personal observations about Swedish men with the legendary Mrs Gozdzik (her name means Carnation, no kidding) from the ninth floor.

Back to Sweden we promised ourselves to import some of the elevator openess to the new place where we are moving in January. Or the next one, where we will move after that. Yeah.

There and back again

We are back from all kinds of long journeys. Have been to Thailand, Poland, Gotland and many other weird, unexpected places this summer. Most of all we have been scared. Beginning of August is traditionally the worst time of year for me.

But now the heat is over. There is air to breathe, there is plans to be made. There is a chance that I will start over and succeed with things that I hoped for this year.

I am back to myself, back to blogging. Hoping for the Autumn to come, to bring clear air to Stockholm and clear thoughts to my mind.

And thank you to all of you who know what I am thanking for. Luv you!