Friday, December 31, 2010

We Chose One With Lots of Pretty Buttons and Dials

Christmas was hectic, but lovely. M's family got to enjoy our company until Christmas Day, when we got in the car and drove down to visit my family. I received the most Christmas presents of anyone, but still felt I needed one more.

M and I bought a camera, not more sheet music. Although, sheet music would be great too.

Yep, I took a picture of a flashlight. That's how excited I was about the new camera.

This huge crane lives right next door to us. Whoever works up there has a very pretty Christmas tree.

Turku by night.

View from our window.

This old brick building also lives next door to us. They have ice.

Conversation held over this very dessert:
Z: I think I might have a brain tumor. I constantly use the wrong words when I mean something completely different. I even do it when I think.
M: You're probably just stupid.

Remember how I let my sister borrow my car? Remember what happened to it? This is probably the stupid in me at work, but I also let her borrow my bicycle. Want to take a guess as to which one is mine?

Friday, December 24, 2010

Merry Christmas!

Today we celebrate Christmas in Finland. I have a huge pile of Christmas presents waiting for me that my mom sent with me to Kristinestad, and in just a few more hours I'll get to open them all and marvel at how incredibly nice I've been this year.

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.


Thursday, December 23, 2010

Chinese Water Torture Could Definitely Benefit From This Mattress

Yesterday was the shortest day of the year on the northern hemisphere. I happen to live in the northern hemisphere and that means that yesterday we had 5 hours of sunlight. Today it’ll start to get lighter again, and I have to say, I really enjoyed the 5 hours and 1 minute of sunlight we got today.

We decorated the Christmas tree today. While it was still light outside.

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:

Boots that won’t mind if it’s cold. Or wet. Or cold AND wet.

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.) *

Wednesday, December 22, 2010

My Career as a Weather God Was Surprisingly Short

Remember how I told you I would turn winter into summer, much like Jesus turned water into wine, simply by affecting my own body temperature using a sauna? I thought it was a foolproof plan for sure. Apparently it wasn’t.

-17.5 °F

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.

6.5 miles of straight road. It was fascinating.

Then we almost ended up in the ditch when the road suddenly made a sharp right hand turn without signaling first.

It was light out when we left, but at 2:30 pm the sun slowly started sinking lower and lower in the sky.

And by 3 pm there was no more light. Actually, this picture was probably taken at 4 pm, but officially the day ended at 3 pm, so that’s the story I’m sticking with.

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!


Seriously, go.

There is no more post.

Stop reading! *

Friday, December 17, 2010

Call me Zeus

I can affect the weather. You might think that’s a pretty grand statement, but I’m merely telling you the truth. The weather is clearly just as prone to mood swings as I am. This is what the thermometer in M’s car said last night:

-7 °F

And this is what the thermometer said 18 hours later:

32 °F

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.

Then I arranged them in a big pyramid to emulate the snow lantern I haven’t yet been able to make.

In order to make the weather a little warmer, I decided to change my own body temperature a little, and warmed up the sauna.

160 °F

Winter should be over by tomorrow, just wait. *

Monday, December 6, 2010

Volkswagen Vento or Snowball - You Decide

Today is our independence day. The year was 1917 when Finland, tired of always belonging to other countries, declared its independence from the Russian empire, defeated the Death Star and showed the world who’s their daddy. I’m celebrating by watching The Unknown Soldier, a 7-hour black and white movie about the war. It’s shown every year and it only gets longer. Every Finn is supposed to have seen it, but I don’t know - I think many of us simply fall asleep when we try to watch the whole thing. And after The Unknown Soldier is over, I’ll watch the Presidential Ball, to which I wasn’t invited this year either. One day I’ll be there, dancing with the stars. Or in prison, no one knows.

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. *

Saturday, December 4, 2010

Ask Ziva - Language Edition

The temperature has risen. We went from -18.5C at the coldest to -5C now. That’s 23 degrees Fahrenheit for those of you who prefer odd units. And with the balmy weather came the snow. There’s a million snow outside. Any unit. It just keeps coming down. But while I love talking about the weather, we have something more important to tend to. Today is "Ask Ziva"-Day. And the beautiful Rena has posed today’s question:

“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.

Finnish-speaking Finns in a sauna.

Swedish-speaking Finns in a sauna.

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. *

Monday, November 29, 2010

Too Cold For Correct Grammar

Too cold to blog. Didn’t think it would be this cold until January or February. Fuck me, cold now.

-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.


Beware, content is hot.

Friday, November 26, 2010

Glögg - Try To Say That Five Times Fast

It’s been snowing all week. Big flakes, small flakes, storm flakes, corn flakes and friendly flakes. If we get another ten or twelve feet we’ll be completely snowed in. And it’s freezing. 15 degrees Fahrenheit, -10 degrees real temperature. I wouldn’t mind the cold, but tomorrow it’ll be even colder and I’ll first have to wear a little black dress to a play, and then I’ll have to wear this:

…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.

The red means I’m a political sciences major, and the badges were sewn onto the jumpsuit by little Chinese kids who didn’t get enough pay. I have a bunch of them stowed away in the closet for just such occasions.

Keeping up appearances.

Most important accessory of them all.

Sunday, November 21, 2010

Happy Birthday Muschu!

I’m getting really tired of starting every other blog post with ”M is away,” but he is. Again. This time it’s karate camp. And I’m alone on a beautiful snowy Sunday. Technically I was alone yesterday too, and it was a beautiful snowy Saturday, and I was alone on Friday, which was a beautiful snowy Friday, but you guys are not interested in that. Luckily, being alone means that I’ve had time to think of potential blogging material. Sometime in the near future I’m going to treat you to the story of my language course in England, complete with crazy soybean-loving American; and the story of my week in a French monastery, complete with bus trip through Europe and monks everywhere. My stories are not as adventurous as Linda’s, but I bet she doesn’t have a story about soybean madness. She probably has one about monks, though.

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. *

Sunday, November 14, 2010

Keep the Banana Out of the Doggy Bag

I wonder if every baby comes with an extra set of hands for the parents, compliments of the stork. Because yesterday we had a couple we know over for dinner, and they have a 2.5-year old and a 6-month old, and they made it look easy. Well, as easy as holding a baby in one hand, feeding a toddler with the other, while you’re eating with a third and making sure you’re properly hydrated with the fourth, can look.

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. *

Tuesday, November 9, 2010

Green Toilets and Japanese Perverts

Snow. It’s really coming down now. The first snow came down on Sunday while M and I were driving to Kirkkonummi to visit my grandfather who turned 90 years old. It came down, first as hail, then as big wet flakes that melted on the ground, and last as tiny little flakes that didn’t even melt when the sun came out yesterday. This means that the roads are nothing but ice, but at least there’s snow on the ground. And there will be more, because the first snow storm of the winter has just arrived. And I was really enjoying it, too, but then I had to drive my car to Zumba and decided I’m not going to like this winter any more than the rest of them. I need a snowmobile.

My grandfather, 90 years old but fit enough to fight off the Russians if need be. (Just ignore the wheelchair.)

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.

First snowball of the winter. I hit a complete stranger right in the head with it, too.

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. *

Thursday, November 4, 2010

Don't Take Your Cutlery For Granted

I am extremely pleased with myself today. Well, I was even more pleased with myself last night, but I’m still hanging on to this strange and tingly feeling. In my last post I told you about the “new” dishwasher M and I bought. We got it used on the internet, picked it up ourselves from someone’s dark garage, cash only, put it into M’s tiny little car and carried it up to our apartment, where it stood in the living room for days. We didn’t want to have to call anyone for help, so we stared at the thing for a while and finally figured out what we’d need to make it work. So, after a trip to the store to get a hose clamp and a nozzle adapter, another trip to the store to get a new nozzle adapter because M lost the gasket to the first, a third trip to the store to get detergent and rinse aid, and a an hour of scrubbing off the dirt, last night we had finally installed our very own dishwasher.

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!

Now we just have to work up the courage to run the dishwasher with actual dishes in it.

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.

My tin whistles. They’re not very clean.

Friday, October 29, 2010

The Fashion Blog

You’ll be happy to know that M made it home in one piece, and helped me cure my boredom. But then he went to work and I got bored again. I tried eating one of the Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups he brought me from America, but it didn’t help. I tried eating another one to see if it was just a matter of quantity, but I was still pretty bored. After a third Peanut Butter Cup I was still bored, and also a little nauseous, so I figured peanut butter probably wasn’t the solution.

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.

Even a man could pull off this shade of green.

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.”

Clean hair.

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. *

Wednesday, October 27, 2010

I Still Have Nightmares About Cookies

I’m bored. I’m so bored I can’t even write a blog post. I’m sitting here, watching TV and experimenting with different ways of eating a mandarin (they taste best if you peel them first). Where is M, you ask? M is away again. He’s somewhere in a faraway land, sharing a hotel room with a weird Italian guy. Google invited him to beautiful Sunnyvale to discuss world dominance and I wasn’t invited. And you won’t believe how great a girlfriend I am. I got up at 3 am on Friday and drove him to the bus. Yes, the bus, you didn’t really think I’d drive him all the way to the airport, did you? I’m his girlfriend, not Mother Teresa.

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.

This dress.

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.

Perfectly safe.


Thursday, October 14, 2010

The Hunt For White October

All over Finland the first snow has fallen. Everywhere except where I live. I’m not sure if I’m happy about this or not, but when I heard about the snow I actually had to drag my ass outside to see if we’re really that close to winter already and if I could find any white stuff. I found the air cold and crisp, and the world looking like this:

Mostly red, and a little yellow. No white.

Mostly yellow, with splotches of red. No white.

Mostly brownish yellow. No white. And clearly no one who rakes up the leaves.

Red and green. Looks more like summer than winter.

White!! But it looks suspiciously nothing like snow.

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.


Saturday, October 9, 2010

Denial Ain't Just a River in Egypt, It's a Whole Freaking Country in Asia

Exactly a year ago I wrote a post about the 2009 Nobel Peace Prize and Barack Obama, its recipient. And apparently it’s becoming a tradition, because this year I’m once again going to address the peace prize. This year the Nobel Peace Prize Committee is trying to save face after last year’s controversial choice of Obama (“for peaceful actions not yet performed.”) They awarded the peace prize to the Chinese dissident Liu Xiaobo, who at the moment is serving an 11-year prison sentence for disagreeing with the Chinese government. In Finland a life sentence for murdering a whole family of midgets isn’t that long. But then again, the Chinese government has a pretty unique way of seeing things.

Please don't kill us.

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.

Oh the horror!

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?” *

Wednesday, October 6, 2010

Happy 8th 6.825.600 seconds, babe!

Sometime in December or January M and I will have been together for 2 years. I don’t know when exactly it will be, because I have no idea when we decided we weren’t casually dating and actually became a couple. Last year we didn’t really celebrate any anniversary, but I’m sure once we get married we’ll probably become like every other couple and celebrate our relationship once every 365 or 366 days.

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.

Time, it confuses me.

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. *

Monday, October 4, 2010

Note to self: must start doing my Kegel exercises

I never get sick. I shared this fact with M a week ago when he was coughing and blowing his nose. One kiss later I was down for the count. In the last week I’ve produced mucus by the bucket-load, slept only during the day and made a very decent attempt at coughing my intestines out. My throat is hurting, my ears are hurting, my abs are hurting even worse than after those workouts I pretend to do all the time and my brain has seen better days.

I’ll be back with more inspired writing once I can breathe again. *

Tuesday, September 28, 2010

Things I Learned Today: Midgets make funny noises when they have sex

I’m not nearly as addicted to the internet and to my computer as I would like to be. If I were properly addicted I would get stuff done. I would respond to emails on time, I would update my blog, I would read other people’s blogs and I would never ignore the internet for days on end resulting in the situation we have here: blog neglect. It’s a fairly common problem amongst non-addicted people. In some cases it may manifest itself as a general lack of new posts. In other cases it may result in posting the very same blog post day after day, with minimal or no alterations.

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. *

Wednesday, September 22, 2010

Golf Is A Four-Letter Word

Today is the International Day of Peace, and I figured that as a human rights advocate I should say something profound and enlightened and decidedly beauty queen inspired about world peace and everyone living together in harmony. Alas, there is something much, much more important that requires my attention. You all know what I’m talking about, don’t you? Today is Miniature Golf Day! How awesome is that?

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. *

Tuesday, September 21, 2010

And After All the Sweat, Blood and Tears, It Still Says "Made In China" on the Back

I was hardly surprised at all when I woke up this morning and the week had once again decided to start with Monday. I don’t like Monday. Monday is full of expectations, intentions and need-to-dos, but extremely low on energy, motivation and want-to-dos. Usually my motivation rears its ugly head around Friday, but by then it’s too late to actually do anything so I just ignore it. Friday is good like that.

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… *

Friday, September 17, 2010

334 Words About Something You're Tired of Hearing About

Recently there has been a bit of a battle going on. A battle about a mosque. When I told my American friend I was going to write about it, he said “ohh lord, not that thing again, it’s all we’ve heard about this past month.” Sadly, his reaction is the same as many others’. We tire of hearing about mosques, Koran-burning, floods, and whatever else is wrong in the world at any given point. And for that reason I will make my own take on the Ground Zero Mosque very brief.

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. *

Wednesday, September 15, 2010

The Curious Case of the Little Evil White Mushroom Penises

I’m so happy we already established I can say penis on this blog, because boy do I need to say it now. See the thing is, my lovely sister Muschu is a bit of a celebrity. Well, not exactly a celebrity, but she works with celebrities and that’s practically the same thing, no? She’s a designer and is working on the Finnish version of the TV-show Dancing with the Stars, making the outfits. Dancing with the Stars, or Tanssii Tähtien Kanssa, as it is called in Finnish, is shot in Helsinki. Muschu lives in Turku. This means that she’s had to move to Helsinki temporarily and has left her apartment in my very capable hands.

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. *

Monday, September 13, 2010

Feeling Lonely? Don't Worry, Berta Is Here For You

After my little departure into politics and human rights the other day, I’m going to jump straight to the porn I promised you. Where should I start? Should I start with the stripteases? The crazy costumes? The nudity? The blow jobs? The S&M dungeon? The huge number of toys (some of which should not be used on unexplained calf pains)? The live shows? No, I think I’m going to start with Berta.

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. *