Friday, December 31, 2010
We Chose One With Lots of Pretty Buttons and Dials
Friday, December 24, 2010
Merry Christmas!
I wish you all a very merry whatever-it-is-you-celebrate and hope that your day is filled with love and above all, presents. But before I leave you to go celebrate with M's family, a word of warning. Please take a moment to remember the people who train Father Christmases, and the important work they do, and please, remember these safety instructions when dealing with your Father Christmas.
*
Merry Christmas!
Thursday, December 23, 2010
Chinese Water Torture Could Definitely Benefit From This Mattress
I’m still at M’s parents’ place. When we’re here, M and I sleep in a bed that’s more suitable as a torture device than as a place made for resting. Whenever I’ve spent a night or two in this bed I come home with a herniated disc and a headache. The mattress is so soft that you’ll discover muscles you didn’t think you had just trying to get out of it. When one person moves, the movement reverberates through the mattress and will cause the other person to jump three feet into the air and upon landing find themselves deep in the belly of the mattress. Last night I lay awake for hours and hours, feeling my discs slipping from the complete lack of support. Through the mattress I could feel each tiny, and probably painful, movement M made in his sleep. The only thing that was missing was water slowly dripping on my forehead.
But apparently I did fall asleep at some point, because we woke up to another cold and beautiful day. It was even colder today than it was yesterday, and that made me realize that I desperately need these:
I haven’t been able to find a single online shop that carries these in the right size and is willing to ship to Finland without adding $150 worth of VAT and shipping fees. So, as desperation sets in, is there anyone in America or Canada who would be willing to buy me these in a size 6 and send them to me? Or better yet, find out what it would cost first. Not that I’m cheap, or anything, I’m just broke. I will repay you, of course. (Make sure you make me send you the money before you send me the boots, though, otherwise you’ll never know if you'll actually get the money or not.) *
Chinese Water Torture Could Definitely Benefit From This Mattress
Wednesday, December 22, 2010
My Career as a Weather God Was Surprisingly Short
You should probably stop calling me Zeus now.
At the moment M and I have packed all our Christmas presents and made our way to M’s parents’ house in Kristinestad. Unfortunately we had to turn back after an hour of driving when we realized that we probably needed something more than just the Christmas presents with us. Like a change of clothes and some deodorant. Definitely some deodorant.
When we arrived, the entire family was deeply engrossed in the paper. They read it like they’ve never read it before, and so, M and I decided we needed to get out of the house before we’d even spent 24 hours there. So after breakfast this morning, we dragged our asses to the car and went for a little road trip.
The most exciting thing all day turned out to be when M actually got to turn the wheel. This part of the country is famous for its very long stretches of completely straight roads.
Now, if you’re reading this, you’ve come to the end of this post. If you’re still reading, that means you’re probably a little bored, because who the hell would continue reading after the end of a post anyway, and if that’s the case, which I assume it is since you’re still reading, you should head over to Mike’s place and be bored there instead. Mike is celebrating his 51st birthday today and is throwing a party. Whatever you do, though, do not forget to bring a gift!
Go.
Seriously, go.
There is no more post.
Stop reading! *
My Career as a Weather God Was Surprisingly Short
Friday, December 17, 2010
Call me Zeus
And this is what the thermometer said 18 hours later:
Oddly enough, 39 °F is exactly the degree of my own mood swings from day to day. The weather gods must truly love me. I even made these delicious carrot-flecked dinner rolls to celebrate my climatic gift.
In order to make the weather a little warmer, I decided to change my own body temperature a little, and warmed up the sauna.
Winter should be over by tomorrow, just wait. *
Call me Zeus
Monday, December 6, 2010
Volkswagen Vento or Snowball - You Decide
In other news, I lent my car to Muschu. This is what happened.
She only had it one day! How is this even possible? We didn’t get that much snow that night. We won’t get it out of there without a shovel, and I don’t own a shovel. Our plan B is to wait for spring. It shouldn’t be too many years. *
Volkswagen Vento or Snowball - You Decide
Saturday, December 4, 2010
Ask Ziva - Language Edition
“Ziva, what are you exactly?”
That’s a very good question, beautiful Rena. Mike seems to think I’m a three-armed Swede living in Finland, eating bark bread and bathing in vodka. Sadly that’s not entirely true. I am Finnish. I was born and raised in Finland and will never ever identify with a Swede, the vegetable OR the nationality. However, I was born into a minority. Much like the French-speaking population of Canada, about 5% of all Finns speak Swedish as their mother tongue. This is probably due to the fact that for 600 years Finland was a part of Sweden and a few Finns inevitably learned Swedish during that period of time. For the rest of the population, 600 years wasn’t enough time to master the difficult language, and that’s why the rest of Finland still speaks Finnish and sound like idiots when they try to speak any other language. The Swedish-speaking part of the population is also prettier.
Now, because there are both Swedish-speaking Finns (like little old me) and Finnish-speaking Finns, there are two official languages in Finland. This means that while I’ve gone to school in my mother tongue, Swedish, I’ve studied Finnish ever since third grade. And since Finns have acknowledged the importance of understanding at least a little English, we learn English is school as well. Then, after 7th grade, we can start learning other languages too. In short this means that I’m bilingual when it comes to Swedish and Finnish, fluent in English in both writing and speech, have studied French for eight years without ever understanding a word, and taken two years of Spanish and one year of German with better results than I got from the eight years of French. Damn those French and their silly little language.
So to answer your question, beautiful Rena, I’m a three-armed Swedish-speaking Finn who eats bark bread and bathes in vodka. Just don’t call me Swedish, that will make me mad. *
Ask Ziva - Language Edition
Monday, November 29, 2010
Too Cold For Correct Grammar
-17 C = 1.4 F
At least the Fahrenheit scale didn’t go negative.
Drove a popsicle to work. Dark when I got to work. Dark when I left work. The only sunshine I get is through a window. But don’t go too close, your tongue will get stuck.
Hair needs defrosting and ran out of spare toes, too.
Glögg.
Too Cold For Correct Grammar
Friday, November 26, 2010
Glögg - Try To Say That Five Times Fast
…and go to a student thing were we stay up until 3 am and walk around outside in the snow and drink glögg strong enough to pickle an elephant of moderate size and weight. It sounds weird, but it’s actually very fun. Drinking glögg in the street, not pickling elephants of moderate size and weight. If I survive the night I’ll tell you all about it after the weekend.
And some of you might remember that the last time you heard from me, I was on my way to the set of Dancing with the Stars. The show was much better on this side of the camera. I particularly liked the crazy camera men running around, and the slightly unprofessional behavior everyone was exhibiting during the commercials. And of course the dresses Muschu had made were amazing. And as if it wasn’t enough that my sister gets to sew fantastic dresses for Dancing with the Stars, she was interviewed for the 10 o’clock news today and the entire country saw her pretty face on TV. I’m pretty sure your level of success is measured in the air time you get on the national news, which means Muschu is right up there with our Minister of Foreign Affairs. If she wasn’t my sister I might be jealous. But because she is my sister, I’ll just pretend to be happy about it and smile and nod.
Glögg - Try To Say That Five Times Fast
Sunday, November 21, 2010
Happy Birthday Muschu!
Sadly, those little stories will have to wait a little longer, because I’m off. I am going to the live set of Dancing with the Stars for tonight’s show, to celebrate my gorgeous sister's birthday. I’ll probably go crazy trying to run away from the cameras and avoid being seen by a million people on live TV, but a little more crazy won’t hurt. You probably won’t even notice it. *
Happy Birthday Muschu!
Sunday, November 14, 2010
Keep the Banana Out of the Doggy Bag
Having company over was fun. We had a wonderful 9-year old red wine from Spain, and some sort of mystery meat dish that I probably should know a little bit more about seeing as I was the one who made it. I also made chocolate cake, and these:
I had every intention of serving coffee with the cake and cookies, but when I tried to make it I found the coffeemaker broken and unusable. Everything turned out great, though, because I fixed it with a fork and a sauce pan. Which reminds me, I should really send that picture to “There, I Fixed It”...
Today is Father’s Day. I know it’s confusing, but Father’s Day is not celebrated on the same date all around the world. Just go with it. M and I went with it and invited ourselves to my parents’ house for dinner. Mom made something that didn’t quite know if it was dinner or dessert, but M liked it. It was full of meat, cayenne pepper and bananas, of all things. Fruit should never ever be warm. Dinner should not be sweet, unless it consists of nothing but chocolate, which is okay, of course. But dinner with warm banana, pineapple, red apple, green apple, any fruit really, shouldn’t be allowed to exist. I should be struck down by lightning, in fact, just for suggesting it. I ate the meat and the sauce and threw the banana pieces on the floor for the dog to eat. Then I remembered our dog died 10 years ago. Then I remembered that even if she’d still been alive, banana was the only thing she refused to eat, even counting things such as small children and rusty nails. Smart dog. *
Keep the Banana Out of the Doggy Bag
Tuesday, November 9, 2010
Green Toilets and Japanese Perverts
Apart from visiting my very old grandfather, M and I also visited our good friends Dani and Jonas and their little boy Adam this past weekend. The food was great, the company awesome, and I got to be creative and play with Lego. I made all sorts of fantastic creations, and Adam really helped me find my inner artist by helping me with the finishing touch on every creation. Inspiringly enough, the finishing touch was a green plastic toilet every single time. I predict great things for Adam in his future.
Now, in keeping with my new series, “Shit M Says”, here’s a conversation M and I had while having dinner today. This is simply to show that it’s not just black people M has it in for. We were sitting at the dinner table, discussing camera noises, like any normal couple would, and we got a little sidetracked.
M: I know that Japan is very strict with that. If you take a picture the camera has to make a sound. It’s to keep Japanese perverts from reaching under girls’ skirts in the subway and taking pictures.
Z: I guess that Japan is the only place where the subway is so crowded someone can reach in under your skirt and you wouldn’t notice it.
M: Have you seen the pictures of those subway workers whose only job is to push people into the subway cars because they’re so crowded the door won’t close otherwise?
Z: How the hell do you survive with a baby there?
M: Don’t you know that in Japan babies are this small *shows with his hands* and can fit into your pocket for easy transport?
Z: I wonder how many baby girls are “accidentally” lost on the subway in Japan. “Oops, lost the baby, better make a new one. Let’s hope it’s a boy this time.”
M: I have no idea how they even have time to make babies. They work insane hours and have to fit all that perversity into their schedule as well. You know you can buy used panties in Japan, kinda like you can buy sodas from a vending machine here.
Z: You’re not serious. That’s just gross. Where do they get all the dirty panties?
M: I don’t know, college? And I once saw a geometric calculation from Japan about sitting opposite to a girl dressed in a skirt and how far from her you’d have to sit in order to see under her skirt, taking into account skirt length and eye height.
Z: The entire country of Japan should be put behind glass and the rest of the world could buy tickets and come watch the Japanese show from a safe distance. That’s entertainment right there. *
Green Toilets and Japanese Perverts
Thursday, November 4, 2010
Don't Take Your Cutlery For Granted
Fearlessly, I pressed “ON” and jumped behind the kitchen table to wait for the explosion. The explosion never came, and the dishwasher happily dishwashed for what seemed like two hours, but was probably closer to an hour and a half. Success!
Although, I do feel a little bad for being so spoiled. Dishwasher, washing machine... Did you know that every fourth person in the third world doesn’t even own a separate salad fork and dessert fork? A real eye-opener isn’t it? Oh well, at least my salad fork will be clean as a whistle.
Don't Take Your Cutlery For Granted
Friday, October 29, 2010
The Fashion Blog
I did a load of laundry but was still bored. Then I did the dishes, and suddenly got even more bored. Eventually I had to bring out the big guns, my nail polish. Out of pure self-preservation I occupied myself with painting my nails the perfect shade of green. I say perfect because my mom hates it and I love it.
Then I washed my hair and very quickly realized I should have started with the hair and then moved on to the nail polish. Lesson learned. And from now on this blog will focus exclusively on hair care products, nail polish and “Today’s Outfit.”
Luckily M and I have promised to babysit my 14-year old brother all weekend while my parents are away. I’m looking forward to a weekend full of broken curfews, fast food, underage drinking, smoking and maybe even a break-up or two. Everything is highly dramatic when you’re 14. Come Monday I’ll be happy to be bored again. *
The Fashion Blog
Wednesday, October 27, 2010
I Still Have Nightmares About Cookies
While he’s been away, I’ve been busy visiting people. On Friday I took the train to our nation’s capital and visited my famous sister who spent the entire evening sewing a dress for the hostess of the Finnish Dancing with the Stars and stressing out because apparently famous people do that a lot. Muschu and I rented The Imaginarium of Doctor Parnassus and drooled over the pretty men and then I slept in a sleeping bag for the first time since my Girl Scout days. I remember now why I’m not a Girl Scout anymore.
I’ve also had dinner with my parents, coffee with my grandmother and a large bowl of popcorn all alone. I’ve read two books about murder and mayhem and subsequently slept about 5 hours in the past two nights. And today I realized that the ceiling light in the living room is going to explode any day now and set fire to the couch I’m always sitting on. I had to turn off the light and light some candles instead. I did this because clearly candles won’t burn down my apartment, but a light bulb definitely will. M being gone is so not good for my mental health.
I Still Have Nightmares About Cookies
Thursday, October 14, 2010
The Hunt For White October
I drew the very scientific conclusion that it wasn't very wintery, but not exactly summery either. My guess? We’re not getting any snow until November. Damn gulf stream making the coast all warm and toasty.
But apart from no snow at all, another amazing thing has happened. I have finally won something I’ve been trying to win for the better part of a year. I’ve won the coveted captioning contest hosted by the fabulous Dufus who shall not be named. This week, I be hangin' with nonamedufus. You may worship me now.
*
The Hunt For White October
Saturday, October 9, 2010
Denial Ain't Just a River in Egypt, It's a Whole Freaking Country in Asia
China actually warned the Norwegian government before the prize was awarded, and said that they wouldn’t see lightly on the matter if Liu Xiaobo received the peace prize. What China clearly doesn’t understand is that the Committee is independent. For my Chinese reader out there, that means that there is no interference by the state. Crazy, I know. Nevertheless, the Chinese government holds the entire country of Norway responsible and there will most likely be both political and economic repercussions.
Liu Xiaobo, who still doesn’t know he has actually won, was awarded the prize "for his long and non-violent struggle for fundamental human rights in China." I can see why the Chinese government would oppose that. It sounds both democratic and humane. China has gone as far as saying that many Chinese nationalists will see this as an example of the West trying to demonize China. Oh yes, the demonic human rights will soon provide everyone with the right to vote and the right to choose how many babies they have. The horror would be unimaginable.
So unimaginable in fact, that the Chinese government has exercised their self-appointed right of censorship. Very few people in China even know that Liu Xiaobo has won the peace prize. Come to think of it, very few people in China even know that there exists such a concept as fundamental human rights. TV’s went black all over China when the peace prize recipient was to be announced, searches for Liu Xiaobo on Chinese search engines won’t turn up any results. Even text messages with the Chinese characters for his name won’t find their destination.
At this very moment leaders around the world are calling for Liu Xiaobo's immediate release. China’s answer: “Liu who?” *
Denial Ain't Just a River in Egypt, It's a Whole Freaking Country in Asia
Wednesday, October 6, 2010
Happy 8th 6.825.600 seconds, babe!
I don’t like the inconsistency of time in general. One minute is 60 seconds, 60 minutes is one hour, 24 hours is one day, 7 days is one week, and 30 days is one month. Or 31 days if it’s a particularly generous month. Or 28 days if it’s February, because we all know February is a little special. Or 29 days if February is feeling particularly giving. And to get an entire year you need a very unscientific number of months, weeks and days. Crazy, I tell you. It’s like the powers to be sat down, chose a bunch of random numbers and called it time. Kind of like Americans did with weight and distance.
So why is that one year is the appropriate time to celebrate? I think M and I are going to be a little original and celebrate every 100 days. Or maybe every 6.825.600 seconds. Yeah, that would be good. I would get diamonds much more often. *
Happy 8th 6.825.600 seconds, babe!
Monday, October 4, 2010
Note to self: must start doing my Kegel exercises
I’ll be back with more inspired writing once I can breathe again. *
Note to self: must start doing my Kegel exercises
Tuesday, September 28, 2010
Things I Learned Today: Midgets make funny noises when they have sex
I’m going to blame my latest period of absence on my lack of addiction, because I can’t really blame it on boredom. On Saturday M and I went to a wedding, danced very badly, drank too little wine and talked to almost no one. It was a beautiful wedding and the pouring rain didn’t really bother anyone. Neither did the freezing temperatures of 32 degrees once the rain stopped. It sure didn’t bother me, even though I was standing outside in a short skirt and nylons, because my legs are extremely weather resistant. Well, at least they are now after the amputation due to frost bite, and subsequent prosthetics.
As if the wedding wasn’t fun enough to last us an entire month, M and I went to see Pablo Francisco tonight. It was a fun show, even though he was clearly traumatized to be in Finland where it apparently is “so cold he can’t get an erection.” I dunno about that; Finnish men do just fine. But Pablo taught me many things tonight. Like for instance, cock blocking is not cool. Especially not if you’re doing it to yourself by buying a Smart Car. Also? It’s totally fine to say “nigger”. You heard it from me first. *
Things I Learned Today: Midgets make funny noises when they have sex
Wednesday, September 22, 2010
Golf Is A Four-Letter Word
Miniature golf is just about the best sport in the world, right after cockroach racing. It’s like golf, but for people who are in a little better shape and don’t mind walking from green to green. It’s affordable, easy to learn and contrary to popular belief, doesn’t require your own set of balls.
One thing that bothers me a little, though, is the date. Who the hell had the bright idea to make September 21st Miniature Golf Day? I bet they had never actually played miniature golf, because usually it’s done outside. I don’t know what September is like where you live, but over here it’s 50 degrees outside and it’s been raining for a week. I wouldn’t mind playing miniature golf in this weather, but I’m pretty sure the ball might float away. And I think that’s cheating. Or just good luck.
I’m a great miniature golfer. I’m short; that’s got to count for something. And I once played miniature golf in America and won. But I learned that it’s not called miniature golf over there. They’ve given it the very manly name of Putt-Putt. I actually don’t think Americans take miniature golf very seriously at all. Just take a look at this American miniature golf course:
There are all sorts of castles and shrubs and water and stuff that’s fun and nice to look at, distracting you from the game at hand.
Meanwhile, the Swedes know exactly what miniature golf is all about:
No nonsense, serious business. I’m inclined to agree with the Swedes; a sport that’s important enough to warrant an entire day dedicated to it must be taken seriously.
Happy Miniature Golf Day!
Oh, and happy International Day of Peace too. *
Golf Is A Four-Letter Word
Tuesday, September 21, 2010
And After All the Sweat, Blood and Tears, It Still Says "Made In China" on the Back
One person who hasn’t been low on motivation lately is M. He’s been practicing his karate day and night, spending days and weeks and many more days and weeks away from me to reach enlightenment. And finally, after another weekend away from his sweetheart, M finally came home with the holiest of dark textiles.
M + karate = black belt
I’m living with a karate master. Suddenly Monday doesn’t seem so bad after all. I’ll just have M kick its ass. All the way to Friday… *
And After All the Sweat, Blood and Tears, It Still Says "Made In China" on the Back
Friday, September 17, 2010
334 Words About Something You're Tired of Hearing About
Opponents argue that the building of a mosque near Ground Zero would be insensitive. I’m having problems figuring out who exactly it would offend. Who is so offended by the building of a mosque at Ground Zero that the Muslim community’s freedom of religion and freedom of assembly should be violated? I can only assume that people are comparing Muslims to Al-Qaida and feel that building a mosque at Ground Zero would be a kick in the face to all of America.
But I still can’t quite grasp why a mosque where Muslims worship would reflect the actions of one extremist Islamist group. Muslims are simply people who adhere to the religion of Islam. Islamists are people who add a political agenda to their practice of Islam and are by no means even comparable to Muslims. Should the entire Muslim community be held accountable for something a few extremists did? And if that’s the case, does it mean that it’s bad taste to build a Catholic Church next to a kindergarten? Because the Pope knows the Catholic Church hasn’t got the best of reputations when it comes to young boys. I’m just saying.
Everything isn’t always black and white. In fact, it never is, we threw out the black and white TV’s ages ago. In today’s world we should be able to see all the nuances, and frankly, if we can’t, we need a new set of attitudes. And probably a new TV. *
334 Words About Something You're Tired of Hearing About
Wednesday, September 15, 2010
The Curious Case of the Little Evil White Mushroom Penises
For the past month I’ve been in charge of watering the plants, sorting the mountains of mail she gets and making sure that the apartment doesn’t burn down. And this is where the penises come into the picture. I thought I was doing a good job; I sorted the mail alphabetically, never left any matches out and watered the plants, about a gallon per plant. That should be enough, I figured. And it was. It was plenty. I’m almost starting to think it was too much, because tonight when M and I went to water the plants we found that one of the plants had been invaded by a whole pack of evil white mushroom penises about an inch tall. I have no idea where they came from, I just know that they’re here now.
Let this be a cautionary tale; don’t ever make me take care of your things unless you really like little evil white mushroom penises.
I’m sorry Muschu. *
The Curious Case of the Little Evil White Mushroom Penises
Monday, September 13, 2010
Feeling Lonely? Don't Worry, Berta Is Here For You
She’s a loooove ewe. She’s soft and cute and anatomically correct. If by anatomically correct you mean that she has a rear opening for a sound box that makes her go “baaaah” when you press up against her behind, and another rear opening that’s big enough to fit something more or less penis-shaped. Can I say penis on this blog? I’m not sure. I didn’t hear that annoying biiping sound they use on TV, so it’s probably okay. But if you’re below the legal limit of being allowed to handle a penis you probably shouldn’t read this. Or below the legal limit of letting others handle your penis, if you fall into that category. Anyway, Berta sort of followed me home. She now sleeps between M and I in bed, which is awesome because now I can divert M’s nightly advances and let Berta deal with him.*
For those of you who are now wondering why Ziva’s Inferno suddenly seems more like Ziva’s House of Love, I can explain it all. M and I attended Turkkusex (not safe for work, unless you work in a sex shop, in which case it’s perfect for work), an erotic exhibition that takes place in Turku every fall. We attended the exhibition last year as well, and decided that it was just the right thing to keep our delicate sensibilities from rusting completely.
We saw a number of more or less famous porn starts and performers, including Tera Patrick, Scandinavian Hunks and Bobbi Eden. A male group called the Candymen were hilarious and made me relieved I wasn’t the poor girl who had been dragged up on stage to "assist" them. I didn’t take any pictures because apparently that’s a big no-no when it comes to people performing sexual acts on stage. Imagine that. But if you click on the link up there you'll probably be able to navigate the site and find the official photos. While I was busy not taking pictures, M and I perused the wide selection of toys, blow-up dolls, leather and lace clothing and various torture devices. Speaking of which, in the Dungeon of Secrets you could get tied up and receive a good spanking for the ridiculously low price of 2 euros. What a bargain!
I didn’t get particularly dolled up for the exhibition, just a pair of stilettos, a dog collar and my trusty panda costume, but other people certainly got dressed up. We saw naughty nurses, firemen, police officers, librarians and women wearing only shoes. They were great shoes, though.
We had a great time, but I’m still happy it’s a once a year sort of thing and not more often. That panda costume is hot.
Now I'm off to hide the porn magazine we won under M's side of the bed for M's mom to find when she comes to visit us.
*N.B. this was a joke. M doesn’t do sheep. *
Feeling Lonely? Don't Worry, Berta Is Here For You