U2 Will Probably Write A Song About This Weekend

This weekend was filled with monumental awesomeness and has the full potential to become legendary. Centuries from now, people in far away Egypt will look back at this weekend and remember it with reverence. They will take their Mobile Aviation Device (MAD) and fly all the way to Finland, the capital of the world, and pray at the Temple of That Weekend When African Children Rejoiced in the Happiness of Ziva by Throwing Their Last Rice Over Her Like She Were a Blushing Bride, Sacrificed at the Altar of Joy. That’s how amazing this weekend was.

My weekend started on Friday, as most good weekends tend to do. The ones that start on Saturday are almost always over by the time Sunday comes around, and the ones that start on Thursday often leave you hung over and crabby before elevenses on Saturday. Similarly, whenever a weekend starts with Monday you just know you’re going to end up being yelled at for cutting someone off in traffic, and then a bear will eat your homework. No good weekend starts with a Monday. Or a Tuesday, because who in their right mind would want to spend their weekend doing laundry? So when it became clear that this particular weekend was going to start on Friday, I was just beside myself with happiness. Cartoon animals sang songs for me, and little dwarfs danced and brought me diamonds, pearls and that weird fish that’s poisonous but people still eat it and then if they survive they say it’s delicious. It was a good start to the weekend.

On Friday, after I got off work early, I went to see my good friend Dani. She served me some really great juice and we had a very nice little pre-weekend chat. Then, I left her place and drove to my own apartment. 30 minutes of perfect music, no one cut me off, no cops pulled me over, and I totally got the old lady with the cane. After a nice little rest at home, I went to see Muschu and Zelma at Muschu’s apartment. We rented Paranormal Activity, ate tons of pizza, candy, chips and had some alcohol to wash it all down with. I weigh 5 lbs more today than I did last week, and I haven’t slept since I saw the film, but we had such a great time that I don’t even care. And the bags under my eyes are perfect for carrying around stuff that I need, like an extra banana or a road sign.

On Saturday, I got up at noon, had some leftover pizza for breakfast and watched TV for 4 hours straight. Then M and I left for Hämeenlinna, had some more pizza once we got there and spent the rest of the night at a rock festival where we listened to the best band in the whole world, Kent. M even said that if Jocke Berg would propose to me, I could say yes.

Like the best of weekends, this one ended on Sunday, when we slept all day, ate some more, slept a little and ate a little more. So basically, what I wanted to say was that I had a really good weekend. Was it good for you? *

U2 Will Probably Write A Song About This Weekend

And It Comes with a Brush, a Pony and a Severed Head

I really tried to make an effort to think of something interesting, intelligent and witty to write about today. That said, meet Barbie.

The perfect woman, right?

Well, if Barbie were life-sized, her measurements would be 39(99cm)-23(58cm)-33(83cm). She would stand seven feet two inches tall (2,2m), and have a neck twice the length of a normal human’s neck.

After a ridiculous amount of time spent in front of the mirror, some rigorous scientific research and careful consideration, I’ve come to the conclusion that this is what I would look like if I were a doll:

Eat your heart out, Barbie. *

And It Comes with a Brush, a Pony and a Severed Head

I'm Not Saying I'm God (I'm Just Implying It)

God rested on the seventh day, right? I’m pretty sure he did. I mean, I’ve never actually read the Bible, but I went to church once. So it’s not like I don’t know that Adam and Eve ate a rotten pear from the wrong cherry tree because of the evil pig and suddenly they invented formal wear and decided casual Friday was a thing of the past and then got cast out of paradise, which is silly, because isn’t paradise the place people go after they die? Maybe Adam and Eve just did it all backwards. Anyway, I know all that, and I’m pretty sure God created heaven and earth and light and dark and night and day and energizer bunnies and flat screen TVs and Bulgaria (bad move, by the way) and then he rested on the seventh day. So why then is it that I never get to rest on the seventh day? I know I didn’t create Bulgaria or anything, but I work pretty hard and should be allowed to rest.

M and I had an amazing time on Friday; Zelma’s band was simply awesome. They are going to become rich and famous and forget all about me. We stayed up until 3am, and then got up again at 7 am to go to that wedding. We drove and drove and I swear, someone was building new road as we drove on it, because it never ended. I bet they got to rest on the seventh day too. Eventually we got there and attended a very nice wedding. And I now have a list of things I don’t want when I get married:

-a church that smells like a cow took a dump in it
-a pipe organ player who has never played the pipe organ before
-Ave Maria or Land of Hope and Glory as my wedding march
-food that leaks water and tastes like cardboard
-huge bowls of black olives to make up for leaking food
-kebab sauce instead of salad dressing
-a band that looks like it has been raised from the dead to come perform

But at least the bride and groom got each other and M and I got to leave. We spent the night at M’s parents’ place and today we had to drive all the way back home. I’m so tired I’m almost happy tomorrow is a work day. How sick is that? *

I'm Not Saying I'm God (I'm Just Implying It)

This Is My 100th Post, But You Didn't Hear It From Me

It seems like people like to remember and celebrate stuff like the 100th post, and the one-year anniversary, the two-year anniversary, the 500th post, the 666th post, you know stuff like that. So in order to be a little original, I won’t mention that this is my 100th post at all, and I’ll focus on something completely different than the fact that this is my 100th post on this blog. Like, for example, did you know that you are more likely to be killed by a champagne cork than by a poisonous spider? It’s a real shame it’s not an irrational fear of champagne corks that I have, that would have saved me a lot of problems. I had no idea people frowned upon accidentally driving up onto the sidewalk when you notice there’s a spider sitting on your steering wheel. You’d think if there ever was a time to drive on the sidewalk, that would be it. Also, did you know that a hippo can open its mouth wide enough to fit a 4-foot tall child inside? Or a 4-foot piece of wood. Or a 4-foot garden gnome. Anything that’s 4 feet tall and you want to get rid of, really.

 Have a toddler you want to get rid of? Throw it right in!

On this, the day when I won’t mention that this is my 100th post at all, M and I are going to go see my BFF Zelma play some Irish music in a pub. She’s in a band where she plays the violin, some dude plays the guitar, and some other chick who might like to be called Zeidi plays the violin and another dude plays the drums and yet another chick plays the violin, and then there’s this other dude on guitar and one dude on bass. I’ve never heard the entire band play, but after today I’ll know if they suck or not. They better be great, though, this is after all my 100th post, which I won’t mention.

Tomorrow, coincidentally on the day after my 100th post, M and I have to get up at the crack of dawn and attend a wedding somewhere in the virgin forest where M grew up. I already painted my nails a nice shade of black to go with the summer theme.

Well I guess that’s about all I have to say today, since I’m not going to mention that this is my 100th post. I sure hope everyone has a nice weekend. *

This Is My 100th Post, But You Didn't Hear It From Me

This Is What It Must Be Like To Live Slightly South Of Finland

I’m hot. I’m so hot my face is melting off and my skin is trying to shrivel into my body to get away from the heat. Yes, we are experiencing our first ever heat wave. Yesterday I took a walk through the Sahara desert, and then took a sauna to cool down. Today I’m contemplating sleeping with my head in the oven. Look how great it turned out for Sylvia Plath. Today we hit an all time record, probably both in temperatures and in suicides. And I have big plans on frying my breakfast egg on the asphalt tomorrow.

Actually, I’m loving it. It’s not every summer that we actually get to strip down to only 3 layers of clothes, so it feels amazing. And I had no idea I tanned! I have these tan lines on my shoulders from the halter neck top I was wearing the other day, then I have this other set of tan lines from the spaghetti strap top I was wearing yesterday, and this third set of tan lines from my bikini. I look like a zebra, but without the big ears.

My little brother turned 14 in March, and instead of giving him a toy car like we’ve been doing ever year so far, Muschu and I ignored his pleas for birthday beer and told him we would take him to Ruisrock this summer. Ruisrock is one of Europe’s oldest rock festivals, held on an island in Turku every July. Lots of big bands have played over the years, and about 70.000 people attend the festival each year. It’s a big deal, kinda like sauna and table fans.

The festival took place last weekend, and we had a blast. We saw Rise Against while standing ankle-deep in the water. We sat in the shade of a tree and listened to Poets of the Fall. We danced on the beach to the Baseballs. We considered joining the huge mosh pit in the field while NOFX played, but then realized we wanted to be alive to see Ozzy. We had an exquisite dinner of fried chicken while Billy Talent was playing on the beach and we played sing-a-long to the Sounds. And we only lost the 14-year old boy 17 times. I’d say it was a hit.

I have to say, the amount of garbage and litter 30.000 people in one meadow creates is astonishing. While Muschu and I were walking across the grass to get to the fabulous and sanitary port-a-potties, we played hot lava and she shouted “the grass is lava!” and we tried to walk only on the garbage on the ground. But it was way too easy so instead I shouted “the garbage is lava” and Muschu almost broke her leg trying to find some grass.

Muschu’s feet. Ruisrock is a dirty dirty place.

Poets of the Fall. They’re a Finnish band, that’s why you’ve never heard of them.

The festival was right at the beach where the big boats drive by. If you wanted you could totally hitch a ride to Sweden.

My brother and my sister and the super secret über cool hand shake thingy.

Ozzy Osbourne. Sadly, Muschu didn’t catch him as he mooned the crowd.

This is what the beach looked like before Billy Talent got on when about 10.000 more people flocked to this one tiny beach.

The Sounds. They’re from Sweden. You’ve probably heard of them.

“Please take your lighters and burn the hair of the person in front of you!”

We really should have taught little brother how to climb a ladder. He sucked at it.

You can really see the dust when the sun is setting. Kinda explains why Muschu’s feet looked like they went to Woodstock.

*

This Is What It Must Be Like To Live Slightly South Of Finland

You Only Live Once (Unless you have all the spare parts you need for a new body.)

From August this year, every Finnish citizen will automatically be an organ donor when they die. Unless you have crappy organs of course, in which case you will be buried with all your crappy organs the old fashioned way. This is great progress from an opt-in kind of policy to a policy where you have to opt-out if you don’t want to give your heart to the needy. Countless lives will be saved just by this one law, but while it is all very good, I can’t help but see the downside.

The thing is, I think there will suddenly be so many organs available that people will start getting picky with what they accept. Kind of like how you’ll soon be able to pick what your kid is going to look like. You know, when the father in the house says, “I’ll take the brunet gene, the tall and handsome gene and the hung-like-a-horse gene for our boy, thank you very much.” In which case the mother in the house will have to get her say in, “We also want the sensitive gene, the Robert Pattinson gene and the momma’s boy gene” and then the father will be all, “No, no momma’s boy gene, we want the lumberjack gene instead” and the mother will be all, “My son is not growing up to be a lumberjack!” and the father will be all, “Fine! You can have your son with someone else!” and the mother will be all, “Can we have a refund?”

Nowadays when you need a lung or a kidney you have to wait in line, be patient and take what’s offered, just like with kids. We all know the neighbor got the good kid, and probably the good liver too, but that’s just the way it goes. But given the opportunity I bet people will start getting very picky. “I’d like the lung of a nice-looking, clean 24-year old. Preferably one that died peacefully in his sleep.” When you suddenly find yourself in dire need of a new appendix the doctor will probably pick out a few for you to look at and you can choose the one most to your liking, “I’ll take the pink one with the gooey stuff on the end.”

"I'd like one that's not as prone to bleeding, preferably with a picture of Elvis on a unicorn jumping over a rainbow, please."

It almost makes me want to shop for a new kidney just for the sake of it. Luckily M’s eye is all red and infected, I’m sure we’ll be shopping for a new eye any day now. I can’t wait! In fact, I could shop for a new liver while we’re at it, you can never have too many spare parts. *

You Only Live Once (Unless you have all the spare parts you need for a new body.)