I'm neutral, therefore I am?

First things first.

Yesterday I got to go to the airport in Venice. I was only picking up a friend, so technically I didn't even enter the building, but still I was excited to go there. Gots to love the airports.

Also, this time there was a little treat for all the people waiting at the parking lot.

Yes, it's a chicken. Late for flying lessons I suppose.

Anyways, moving on. Today I'd like to talk about languages. As you might know I'm studying German at the moment. It's freakin hard I tell you. I also had to learn Italian superfast before coming here 3 years ago, so at this point I'm starting to feel like a bit of a pro on how to learn stuff, fast. I've made a few observations on how languages work, and if you ask me, there are some corrections to make.

suomi suomi suomiiiiiiiiiii

We Finns have to learn Swedish at school. This is a good and correct thing to do seeing that it's the second official language in Finland, even though some 298 people living near the Russian border think otherwise. We also have to learn English, which is also a good and correct thing to do, seeing that you don't get very far in the world with just Finnish and Swedish.

all you need is love and JVC

The Finnish language has no articles. Nor do we refer to words as masculine or feminine, and there's certainly nothing called "the neutral article". We have other useless things in our language, but no articles what so ever. To make learning new languages a little easier for the little kiddies, we start with English. Another language which has little articles, and no masculine/feminine. The kiddies sing funny songs like "I like coffee, I like tea, Mark likes Tim and so does Steve", and everybody's happy and learning a foreign language like Bob's your uncle and Fanny's your aunt.

Jahå, o så där

Until the time comes to learn Swedish. Things are getting a little bit more complicated when the articles en and ett are introduced, and the little kiddies cry in agony when the teacher says that you also have to conjugate the other words in the sentence accordingly. "But why?" ask the little Finns. The teacher who's nickname is "Vatka" (loosely translated "Stir-it" because of the way her hands used to shake) wasn't able to give an answer but it didn't matter because "YOU'LL DO IT AND THAT'S THAT. AND STOP EATING
                                                         GUM IN MY CLASS".



By now the little Finns are starting to get a little scared, and they think twice about choosing yet another language to study because god knows what kinds of articles they might have to learn next.

je voudrais du vin e service mauvais

Now whether they choose French or Italian the problems are pretty much equal, except that in French you don't pronounce half of the words and instead you get to pronounce things that aren't even there. But the amount of articles and things to conjugate gets higher and higher, and the little Finn just doesn't understand why red isn't simply red ( Simply Red, hehehehe....reach for the stars little Finn), but depending on the noun it's either redO, redA, or redI/redE. To a Finn, red is red, no matter if you're talking about a house or a cat or your cousin's new bike. We all get the                                                         message without adding silly little                                                                            endings to the words, so why bother?

ma che palle...

The poor kiddies who choose German as their third language, well they are in for a real treat. Not only do they have the masculine and the feminine, but also a cool little stupid thing called the neutral article. Now, I understand that being sexually tolerant and not specifying things as manly or womanly is good and correct, but come on could there be something more useless than the neutral article?? Also, you have absolutely no indications as to which words are feminine, which masculine and which neutral, you just have to know it by heart.. Sorry, but WTF? Who's bright idea was this? Oh, oh, and to make things still a little bit more difficult, in order to use accusative or dative, not only do you have different articles for those, but you mix them with the ones you're already using for nominative, only this time the masculine article is used for the feminine dative etc.

jawohl!

The little Finn is thinking that it's a miracle the German people are talking at all. In fact, they sound a little angry when they speak, and that's no miracle at all. I'd be angry too with all these rules.

My question is this: why does masculine and feminine and the articles etc exist? And don't tell me it's because of the Latin origin or something, because they seem just as useless in Latin as they do in German or French or whatever. Why is it necessary to have all these things that almost make you lose interest in learning a new language? Why oh                                                why?

Also Finnish has silly and useless things in it, I'm sure, I just don't know what they are being a native speaker and all. My advice to all the foreigners who are learning Finnish (all 4 of them) is that don't worry about the fine tuning of the language, simply put one word after another in their basic form and we'll get what you're saying. Don't drive yourself insane with the little things, they'll come to you in time.

I have to say though that I do like all the languages that I've had the honor of learning. I'm currently watching movies in German in order to get used to the spoken language, and I think movies dubbed in German sound way better then movies dubbed in Italian. Also, the good thing about knowing a few languages is that by combining what you know of each language you can survive almost anywhere in Europe. I guess we have the "pointless" Latin roots to thank for that.

So fear not little Finn, you can do it!

Love is....watching Days of our lives together

My family has never been the hugging type. Or the kissing type. Or any kind of public-display-of- affection-type. When I was 17 and was leaving home in order to do my exchange year in the USA, my dad sort of padded me on my back and said "well, take care now", and off I went. But all of this doesn't mean that we don't love or care for each other, or that our family is in some way dysfunctional. I've always felt extremely loved by my folks, and that's because we show affection in other ways.

"gots to plug in the TV...."

Example.

When I wasn't a baby anymore and was allowed to stay at home alone while my parents worked (as in during school holidays), I remember how my dad got home at noon and cooked us lunch. Now, he's not exactly a master chef, so usually we ate what ever was left over from the day before. But sometimes there was nothing left over, and in that case it was time to crack open the fabulous can of Finnish pea soup. He emptied the can of green blubber in a pan, added water (he'd put in a little extra so that there would be enough soup for both of us), and then he'd let it heat up for about 10 min on the stove.

It was the wateriest, tasteless, non-nutritious thing ever, but we always ate it with great pleasure, together, him reading the paper and me reading Donald Duck. Then he went back to work. I went back to doing what ever the heck I was doing, thinking that a cooking dad was a loving one. And since he didn't like cooking nor was he good at it, but he did it anyway, must mean that he extra cares for me.

When I was a bit older, in high school already, there was a new way for us to show affection, thanks to the magical TV soap called The Bold and the Beautiful. Every night after school and work we'd arrive home, dad would make some coffee and mom sandwiches, and then we'd all watch together in silence how Ridge married first Caroline, then Brooke, the Taylor, then Brooke again, then it was Eric's turn to marry a few ladies and make Stephanie angry and her nostrils flare. 

Oh, good times. 

After the soap me and dad usually stayed in the living room to watch Dr. Phil. This went on every evening, monday through friday. It was like a little safety blanket of mine. No matter how shitty my day had been, there would always be the Boldies with the folksies when I got home.

Oh, I do also have a bigger sister, but she's ten years older than me so she didn't hang out with us anymore eating pea soup or watching the telly. She came to do silly things with us during the weekends. I think I was about 3 years old when I drew a picture of me, mom and dad. Mom asked where's my sister at. I said "she's on a trip". Out of sight but never out of mind.

My parents are in pension now, and so they have developed a whole new routine to follow. When I was in Finland this August for a 3 week vacation, I obviously took part in their little master plan. This is pretty much how it goes:

- 9.15 rise and shine

- 9.30 dad makes coffee, each of us prepare a breakfast of choice 

- 9.50 moving to the living room with what ever you got to eat

- 10.00 we watch The Young and the Restless together

- 10.50 dad stays in the living room down stairs in order to watch Heartbeat, while me and mom go upstairs in order to watch the rerun of yesterday evening's German soap Sturm der Liebe (jawohl!)

- 11.30 if it's a weekday then mom cooks porridge for her and dad

 -11.45 free time

So at this point everybody goes and does what ever they want to do. There's a lunch around 13.30pm but I was usually never in because I was seeing friends etc. In the late afternoon the pensioner's program continues...

- 16.00 dad makes coffee, each of us prepare a little something to nibble

- 16.30 me and mom watch Sturm der Liebe upstairs (I'd watch the same show again the next morning), while dad watches the news or something downstairs, followed occasionally by Dr. Phil. Unfortunately the Finnish soap Salatut Elämät wasn't on during the summer, otherwise we would've watched that.

This went on for 3 weeks. And I loved it. It was silly and useless, but these routines that we did every day brought me a sense of security, and it made me relax. It was like in the good ol' days. What ever was going on in my life there would always be TV time with the folks. And nibbles. 

my TV station now...

We might never have said it to each other, but I think it was equally important to all of us to have those 45 min together watching how Dr. Phil was dealing with some hillbilly from Hickersville who had accidentally married his cousin and is now secretly in love with the neighbor's cow. Somehow it made our lives seem a whole less complicated.

I still watch a lot of TV. I've lived alone for 15 years now, and every time I get home at night I turn on the TV. It was one of the first things I bought when I got to Italy. And it's not just on to keep me company, I actually watch it, with interest. A friend of mine asked me what's the point of having a TV, watching the stupid shows everyday, when you could be out there doing interesting stuff and meeting new people. I didn't know how to answer him, because I didn't think he was totally wrong. Going out and meeting new people is great and I do love that as well.

It only hit me just now, as I was writing my posting. To me watching TV is a reminder of my family and their love for me. I watch TV because it's what we do in my family, it's our way of enjoying our time together. That might sound like a sad thing to someone, and that's fine. But when you've lived abroad for 3 years you start to miss even those stupid little things you used to do with your family. 

Actually, those stupid little things are the ones you miss the most.

Honesty and other malfunctions of the human mind

Let's wrap up this week with a serious issue for a change.

In my very first posting I told you that I had been screwed over by my insurance company.
Nobody's interested to know exactly what happened, but let's just say that I was switching from company X to company Y, and because of an error made by company Y I ended up paying for both insurances.

Now obviously I went to talk about this with company Y in order to cancel the contract seeing that they had made an error. For the first week or so they told me on the phone "don't worry, everything's ok, don't pay company X, and you'll see that they won't take legal action against you". WTF???!!!! I'm supposed to put my ass on the line for you morons?

Anyway, in the end I did pay company X because they were right. The response I got from company Y was that even though the mistake was theirs, they can't cancel my contract. They offered to help me get out of company X's contract (not possible btw), but since I had already paid X, there wasn't much they could do. They had me understand that in fact the mistake was mine because I had paid company X, and in the end I can blame myself for having two insurances.

"Your problem is that you're too honest". Their words. True story.

These days honesty seems to be considered more like a weakness than a strength. Being able to trick people and being dishonest is seen as something an intelligent person does. If you're honest, well, that's just stupidity.

I've been brought up with the idea that you always ALWAYS tell the truth. You always do what's right, and you always take responsibility for your mistakes and try to make them right. Obviously it's almost impossible to always be this correct, but I still believe that honesty is the way to go. I'm not good at telling lies either, you can see it in my face immediately. I'm not a saint, but trying to do the right thing and telling the truth is something that's valued and considered an honorable thing in my family. I still believe that in the end it pays off to be honest.

They did this wallet-test in various cities world wide.

see the article of dailymail UK

12 wallets were placed in various places where there were people passing by, with the owners contact details inside. I wouldn't want to toot my own horn here, but damned this time we did good. In Helsinki, 11 out of the 12 wallets were returned. Next was Mumbai with 9 wallets, then Budapest and New York with 8. In Lisbon, only one of the 12 wallets found their owner again.

Finns may be quiet and nerdy, they drink too much and have a tendency to commit suicides more than other nationalities, but damned at least we're honest. I'm super proud of this result, and by no means do I take it as a sign of weakness or stupidity. More than a couple of times I myself have found money on the street and tried to find the owner, and only when there was absolutely no way of doing it did I keep the money (there was no wallet, just the money lying around). One time, seeing that it was a fairly large sum of money, again without a wallet attached, I took it to the nearest police station, where they kept it for a month or so. Since nobody came to claim it, in the end they send the money to me.

Did I feel stupid? No.
Did I feel good about having done the right thing? Yes.
Did I buy myself something that I had wanted for a long long time but didn't have the money? Yes.
Did I feel like my honesty had paid off? Yes.

When I came to Italy someone once said to me that it was weird that I had this trust in people. That I wasn't worried about people screwing me over. To me that was a silly question at the time, but sadly I've noticed that here, you can't really trust anyone (apart from your friends and loved ones). You can't trust a professional at an insurance company to know how to do his job. You can't trust that the person who just scratched your car is going to leave a note on your windshield so you can contact him/her for the damages if necessary. At work we tell more lies to our clients than we tell the truth, and they do the same with us. It makes me a little sad to think that I'm getting used to this kind of an environment.

I don't want to get used to dishonesty. I don't want to learn how to be a good liar.
I want to learn how to paint and sing and speak German and be more generous, but learning how to lie.... useless. Would you put it in your CV? "I speak 4 languages, can use Microsoft Office and oh, I also lie very well". 

Hope to have given you something to think about over the weekend.
And if not, have a good one anyway.

photo: Macs Da Rodda, all rights reserved

I say tomato, you say perkele

As a Finn working in Italy and speaking atleast 3 languages everyday you stumble upon some funny language-related coincidences.

This whole thing got started when I contacted a Finnish person at work, who's last name is Koljonen. A perfectly normal Finnish surname. I picked up the phone and said "Yes hello may I speak with Mr. Koljonen please". I found myself surrounded by snickering co-workers. Apparently the word "Koljonen" sounds very much like the italian word "coglione", which means jerk/moron/asshole. Well isn't that just nice and mature.

Also, if your name is Pirjo and you need to work with the Italians you're always in trouble because they automatically think you're a man. One might think that it's because your name ends with an O (98% of italian names for male-people end with an O). But it's not that, because then they would have the same problem with Marjo, but they don't. Poor Pirjo, forever the she-man.

A friend of mine from Canada sent me this piece of news of a weird coincidence that had happened with CocaCola (thanks Jonathan!).

my precious....

Coke Cancels bottle cap campaign

They had had an idea to have people collect different bottle caps with words on them and then make sentences.

First of all, what a brainstorm.

Now, Canada being a country with 2 official languages, they had the words in English and also in French. The problem was that there are words in French that mean something totally else in English.

Example.

The word "douche" in French means shower, but in English it means, well, that you're a douche (as in a little stupid). Also, when this lady opened her vitamin enhanced Coca Cola juice type of a drink, she was a little offended having found a cap that said "You're retard". In French this would mean that you're late, but this poor woman had also a family member who had some type of a mental disorder, so... way to go CocaCola.

I also talk with the Swedes at work. I speak a little Swedish, and they in turn say the two things to me that they know in Finnish, which would be "Haista paska"
(= f*ck you) and "Perkele" (= hell). Gots to love our brothers behind the border eh?

Anyways, our dearly beloved Swedes are often on a coffee break, because just like us Finns they believe that the coffee break is the most important break of the day (like breakfast is the most important meal). So what do they do? They go "fika". And so they should, only that this causes the Italians to snicker again. You see, the word "fika" is very similar to the word "figa", which in italian means.... well actually a lot of things. But let's just say that "andare a figa", as in "go fika", means that instead of having coffee you're looking for the company of a nice lady with not so many clothes on. And the Italians snicker again.

I once found something really useful at a store in Frankfurt, I believe it was Urban Outfitters. They had these books where they teach you how to say different things in different languages using words from a language that you know already. Yeah, that was clearly put right?

Example.

If you want to learn how to say "Je m'appelle Erika" in French, but you don't know how to pronounce it, they would ask you to say it like you would say these English words: "Jam apple Erika". Very handy if your not that good with languages, but still want to learn how to say a few useless things on your vacation abroad.

A lot of times when I'm doing a spot for the Finns (for radio or TV) they want to use English words, but the right pronunciation isn't at all acceptable. The words in English need to be pronounced in a Finnish way, so that the dude still living at home and farming reindeer at Utsjoki won't get confused about the "strange languages in TV".

Example.

Once they had me say Bosch Car Service. They had me pronounce it like this:
Bosch = Pos
Car = Kaar
Service = Servis

I almost died of embarrassment, but they thought it was da bomb.

And the dude with the reindeer says "Thanks".

Hetero pride Go-Go

So, remember when I wrote about some weird things I've encountered here in Italy? Remember how I said that I'd also talk about some weird Finnish things in order to balance things out?

Well, here goes.

In Finland these days there's a great concern about the rights of the heterosexual people. And rightly so. You can't turn left or right without hearing how the gay people should have the right to get married in a church or adopt kiddies. It's all gaygaygay, all day, 24/7. All of this interest in the gay community is causing the poor little heterosexual to feel all neglected. "What about my rights?", they're asking.

Well don't you worry poor little heterosexual. In Finland we have this thing called Hetero Pride.

Story on NYT-magazine (in Finnish, sorry...)

So there's this dude, a heterosexual called Jani Salomaa who's a bit angry because the gays are getting too much attention. If you ask him, they're being put on a pedestal, they reach high government positions and star in TV shows, all because they're gay. Not because they deserve to be there, but because they're gay. Well, that's just not right, now is it? According to him, normal people (as in heterosexual people) aren't valued anymore, and it's all because of the gay people. Gay people are ruining the lives of the heterosexuals. Poor little heterosexual, whatcha gonna do now?

You're going to organize a Hetero Pride Event. That's what.

Apparently they had this thing, a protest if you will, in front of the parliament last Saturday to promote the rights of the heterosexuals. A big crowd of people wearing jeans and flannel-shirts, with a 10€ hair cut and a whole lot of bad taste to go with it. Maybe there was an accordion player to keep the protesters merry, and some coffee and pretzels for the ones who hadn't eaten yet. Sounds like a good ol' time to me.

I wonder what the arguments were.
"I want to enforce my right to have sex once a week with my wife/husband (that I married in a church), on a Saturday after the sauna!"
"I want to secure my right to go in a bar after work on a Friday, drink beer, burb and scratch my ass and not have fun until I pass out"
"I want to be sure that I can read dirty magazines, get caught and be looked down upon by my wife (or a husband)"

Well I'd say that these are definitely things to hang on to.

I was travelling this summer and found this really nice restaurant. I ate there 3 nights in a row, not only because the food was delicious, but because the staff was absolutely delightful (actually, I entered the restaurant in the first place because I saw a cute guy go in wearing a waiter's outfit, and I just had to meet him in person). Anyway, on my last night there I found out that almost all of the people working in the restaurant were gay. Also the cute guy I craved after.

Now, did I start thinking that "oh my goodness this is discrimination, there are almost no heterosexual waiters here!!"?? "Is the cook heterosexual? No??!! Oh no, all this time I've been eating food that's SO GAY" "Better go wash my tongue now".

No. What the hell do I care what their sexual preferences are. I'm not there to have sex, I'm there to eat. And I have to say, if this is the service you get with gay waiters, I wish all restaurants were like that.

Now, I'm not pro gay, nor am I pro hetero. I'm just a person who thinks that if I'm allowed to stalk a cute guy in a restaurant, so should everybody else. People that love each other should have the right to be married, and also the right to be divorced when they can't stand each other anymore. A child should be loved, and that's all I have to say about that. I don't think this Hetero Pride thing had much sense, but if it made someone feel better or more secure then more power to them.

Live and let live. And die. And all the pretty little things in between.

Welfare Gypsy

We've all seen the movie "Chocolat" where Johnny Depp plays the sexy gypsy who sings and dances and eats chocolate. In the same movie there's the woman played by Juliette Binoche who is making the chocolate ate by the dancing and singing Johnny Depp. It's a movie loved by (almost) everyone, not only because it has an interesting cast ( Judi Dench!!!!!), it's romantic, it deals with difficult issues and there's chocolate. But also because the life of a drifting gypsy is most intriguing.

Trailer Chocolat

Finland....... or......

I currently don't know where my home is.

When I go to Finland for Christmas and I'm about to update my status in Facebook accordingly, I never know what to write. "I'm going home for Christmas" doesn't sound right, because I'm going to my parents' house, not mine. I used to have an apartment up there, as in my VERY OWN apartment with a loan from the bank and everything, and that to me was home. I don't have that apartment anymore, so to me, I have no home in Finland. Of course I'm always welcome to my parents' house (eh, right mom???) but it's not the same.

Nor can I say that my home is in Italy. Three years isn't enough for me to call a place my home. Not to mention that during these 3 years I've lived in 3 different apartments, and I haven't been able to attach myself emotionally to any of them.

To me,  home is where your dishwasher is. Let me explain.

To me a dishwasher is something extremely grown-up. The first time I had a dishwasher was when I bought my own apartment. I had just graduated from the polytechnic and landed my first real job, and so my dad said "looky here, there's no point in renting anymore, get your own place, it's like putting money in a bank!". Actually it was more like the bank giving me money and then taking it back tenfold, but still, he had a point. So to me, a dishwasher is something you get to have when you've decided to settle down. If not for forever, at least for a long time.

....Italy....... or.....

I don't have a dishwasher at the moment. And I know that I will never have a dishwasher here in Italy. I could go to Finland and get a dishwasher there, but I don't really want to go back. Not now anyway. I feel like a gypsy.




I'm not a cool Johnny Depp/Juliette Binoche type of a gypsy though. I'm a welfare gypsy. 

 A welfare gypsy doesn't just take off and go when the wind changes. A welfare gypsy might be impulsive and reluctant to stay at one place for too long, but she never goes anywhere without a plan. By the time that she's got her act together Johnny and Juliette would've fixed the marriages of the whole village and eaten so much chocolate that they'd have to enroll in Weight Watchers. A welfare gypsy gets up from her ass only if she's got a job lined up and preferably also a place to stay. Staying in a shared apartment for a while is NOT and option. She appears to be all nonchalant and not attached to anything or anyone (that can also be very true), but she's by no means an adventurer. Actually, deep in her heart she longs to find that place where she can stay happily ever after with her Iittala mugs and Marimekko curtains. She's ready to leave in an instant should the opportunity present itself, but she doesn't mind waiting for the right thing to come along. Mind you though, behind the curtains (not the ones from Marimekko but the figure-of-speech-curtains) she's all prepared and ready to go, but she keeps all that a secret.

My problem is that I get bored easily. Not with people but with places and things. I seem to have a craving for challenges and when life gets too "easy", I start to feel the urge to take off. I recently started to take private German lessons, and due to my competitive nature the aim is not only to learn the language but to learn it fast (jawohl!!). I need a challenge to feel alive. Otherwise I feel like I'm staying still and not doing anything worth while with my life.

...a place yet unknown....?

A friend of mine said that I'm a free spirit. That I don't get too attached to people, and therefore it's easier for me to leave people behind in order to find something else. I agree and I disagree. It's true that I don't find it difficult to take up and leave, if it's for the right reasons. But I do get attached to people, and cherish them in my heart. It might not come across always, I'm not a touchyfeely-kinda person, but I do value the people that I've chosen to have in my life. Actually, I value and trust them so much that I'm not worried about leaving them behind, because our friendship will go on no matter where we are. Right?

One day, I hope to have a dishwasher again. And I hope that it's the last one I'll ever own.

Dream a little dream of me....

Last night I had a dream about my friend's boyfriend's brother. Now, I come from a small town where everybody knows everybody and their cousin's friend's brother's almost-wife's cat's birthday. If you've ever lived in a town like this, you know that there are always those super cool kids that everybody admires. Well, this dude was one of them. Later on he became a firefighter and obviously that didn't help, he was cooler than ever. Of course then he married and had a couple of kids, and his coolness dropped like a cow's tail (a Finnish folk-saying, "putosi kun lehmàn hàntà").

just woken up.....

Nevertheless, I had a dream about him last night. We were organizing some sort of a festival, and he was very muscular. And he wanted to make out with me in a closet. I obviously said yes, because finally I got to realize my childhood dream. The end. (This blog is PG 13).

We all know that dreams have nothing to do with reality. If you dream about killing your neighbor, it doesn't mean that you really want to do it, but that "you have unresolved issues with unfamiliar things that surround you". So, I'm not too worried about my dream with my friend's boyfriend's brother. I take it as a sign that I'm about to realize some dream I had a long time ago but never came true.

I have the weirdest dreams. And not only that, but usually they haunt me also during the day.

ok, it's not funny anymore...

A few years ago I had a re-occurring dream that I had forgotten something and that it was very important. Only I could never remember what it was. So in the middle of the night, still kind of half sleeping but half awake, I'd  get up and I write myself a note on my cell phone, and I'd even set an alarm for it. I obviously wouldn't remember anything about this in the morning. Usually around 10am the next day at work the alarm would go off. I looked at the cell phone and the note would say something like "Erika, remember to prepare the papers or there will be trouble". Whaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaat??!! For the first time it happened I was a little worried and tried to remember what these papers were and why I would be in trouble. Once I figured out what was going on, these little notes became a little pre-noon delight to brighten up my dull day at the office.

Another dream that caused me great anxiety for months was when I dreamed about having forgotten to pay some tax or something and they would kick me out of Italy. The weird thing was that this re-occurring dream had guest stars featuring my various friends and people I know. The function of this guest star was to inform me of this sad turn of events saying "tough break, we're really sorry, but we're kicking you out from Italy for good". I told a friend of mine who was featured in my dream more than once that I'm starting to feel resentment towards her also in the real life because of it. She's a real sweetheart and so she apologized like ten times for her nightly crimes against me.

what's that, you want me to kill you?

Talking about resentment.... if I'm dating someone, I usually have these dreams where he's doing something he shouldn't (a.k.a. cheating, lying etc). More than once I've woken up next to my boyfriend at the time wanting to strangle him for something he had done to me in a dream. Once my bad mood was so obvious that I had to explain to him what I had dreamed the night before. He took no responsibility for what he had done in "dreamworld". I later on found out that apparently he didn't take responsibility for those things in real life either.

I also used to dream that someone was filming me while I slept. Apart from the anxiety it caused, it also made me very tired because I was up all night checking if there were cameras behind the picture frames or the lamp hanging from the ceiling. It was also a never-ending-dream. Usually if you wake up thoroughly during the night then your last dream ends and you begin a new one once you fell asleep again. But this one, it just kept on going and going.....

I can imagine that sleeping in the same bed with me isn't exactly a treat considering all my nightly activities.

Oh. Wait.
I think I just realized why I'm single.

(All photo's by my friendlyfriend Macs Da Rodda.
Copyrights are his so don't steal my superpretty photos. thanks)

sorrysorrysorrysorry!!!!

Last night I noticed that the address of my site was erikaerika80.blogspot.com.
This is something I chose 3 years ago when I opened this blog, but never wrote anything in it untill now.

I immediately went ahead to change the name to likeraisingacrocodile.blogspot.com, feeling all happy and content. I realized only later on that if by any MINOR chance there was someone following my silly blog, they wouldn't find it in the same place anymore.

So my deepest apologies, and hope all of my 2 readers keep on following me even though the name has changed.

SORRY, ENTSCULDIGUNG, ANTEEKSI, PARDON.

Weird Italian things, part 1

I wrote "part 1" because I'm fairly sure that other weird things will come to mind later on. For now, let's start with these two:

1) girls who wear boots in the summer time
2) the saddles in bicycles are set too low

Let's start with the boots then.

home is where the snow is

Now, I come from a country where you have to wear winter clothing min. 5 months of the year. The first time we get snow is usually around the beginning of November, and this goes on until April. During this time you do NOT go out without proper winter gear. So when it finally starts to get a bit sunny and warm, we take those winter boots and we chuck them, never to be seen until next November.

So I find it really really hard to understand why anyone in their right mind would wear boots when it's +35 degrees outside and you're already sweating like a little pig. I've asked about this a few times from my friends, and the response was "they're not real boots, they're summer boots". Nevertheless, they're boots for fuck's sake. They are shoes that are made of a thick material that cover every inch of your foot, sometimes all the way up to your knee!! Wouldn't you rather wear something a bit more comfortable and less covering? Like a flip-flop? Or a ballerina? Or if you really need to wear something a bit heavier, maybe a nice sneaker would be nice? A nice pair of Converse anyone? But no, it has to be the boot.

Someone once explained to me that it's a relic of an old fashion statement, that one time wearing a sort of a mudflap for a skirt and combining that with boots was the hip-thing to do. All I can add is hip hop the hippie the hippie to the hip hip hop a you don't stop.....

Moving on.

Another thing that has bothered me a little (and I know for a fact that I'm not the only one wondering about this) is how the saddles in the bicycles are set freakishly low. First I thought it was a mistake. That maybe these people just didn't have the whatchamacallit to adjust the saddle. But then I noticed that the same thing applied to every single biker. All of them riding their bikes with a hunched back and their knees in their mouth. Now, I'm no professional biker, but when I was younger I did bike 12 km everyday. In the bike store they adjust your saddle in a way that your feet have a firm grip of the pedals, but that you also manage to fully stretch your leg. That to me makes sense. Actually, some of the girls used to set the saddle too high, so that in order to pedal sitting down they had to move their ass from one side to another , and this of course was somewhat interesting to watch if you're a 15 year old boy (I imagine).

my manly-man bike (a gift actually)

Still, who am I to say where the saddle should be. I'm a guest in this country so the least I can do is to try this thing their way. And so I went about riding my bike with my knees in my mouth, but had to stop after a while because it started to hurt my back, and also pedaling was really difficult. How the hell do they do it??

Someone once explained to me that the saddles are set low so that when there's a red light and you have to stop, you don't need to get off your bike, but you can just put your foot down. And that staying closer to the ground makes you feel more safe when you're riding and/or stopping. Ah. Well, couldn't you just learn to ride your bike really well so that you're confident with it anyway, rise up the saddle a bit, and pedal without having to pick peaces of your teeth from your kneecaps?

Apparently not.

Fun fact no.1.
I've always had a men's bike. And men's skates (none of that girly figure skating stuff for me thanks)

Anyways, I wouldn't bring these things up if I hadn't spent hours and hours pondering on them. I promise to write also about weird things in Finland, god knows there are a lot of them as well.Although it might be a bit hard considering that many weird Finnish things aren't weird to me at all.

Maybe I'll ask help from my boot-wearing hunchback friends.

The white plastic dog and other design favourites

This summer me and my Italian friends were out and about on our bikes. We passed this nursing home and in the yard there was this white plastic doggie, that looked exactly like the design of Eero Aarnio ( a famous Finnish designer). Ok so you probably don't know him or the product, so here's a picture of it in green.

No, It's not a joke, it looks like that. If you don't believe me, here's the site.
Eero Aarnio-Puppy-Finnish design shop

I said to my friends "oh look, see that doggie, THAT'S FINNISH DESIGN."
As we got a little closer, I noticed that actually it wasn't the real thing, but probably some fake copy made secretly in the woods of Bangladesh. Rightly, I informed my friends about this turn of events.

Firstly they laughed at me for having spotted Finnish design from 100 yards away.
Secondly they laughed at me for the fact that Finnish design consists of plastic puppies that don't look that hard to make, nor expensive.
Thirdly they laughed at me for having noticed that it was a fake from 80 yards away.

Firstly, that specific piece of Finnish design is fairly easy to recognize.
Secondly, that "not so hard to make" product will cost you about 290€ (delivery included)
Thirdly, well, yeah I guess it's a bit weird that I noticed it was a fake. I'll give you that.

I don't think I would ever buy this piece of design by Mr. Aarnio. Mostly because I can't afford it.
But as I've grown old(er) I've learned to appreciate design more and more.

I'm not going to go on and on about how much I love Marimekko, or how I took my Iittala mugs and plates with me when I moved to Italy. Or how I would like to own the Pallo-chair designed by the same dude that designed the green puppy above. Instead, I thought about sharing my thoughts on some of my favorite shops around.

I especially love little design stores that sell things that aren't that fancy-pansy, but more like little everyday objects made in an interesting way. I love the fact that someone takes something ordinary, and turns it into something extraordinary by using a different material or by turning it upsides down creating a whole new way of using it etc. To me, it's not about buying an object, but buying an IDEA.

I once had to switch planes in Munchen while flying home to Finland. Near my gate there was this tiny design shop. It's called Cedon, and it's amazing. I almost missed my flight because of this shop. It was the first time I left my cat home alone for a longer time, and wanted to get a cool gift for my friend who was taking care of her. I found the cutest little pen, shaped like a cat, and it meowed when you wrote something. How can you not love that?? So if you're ever around Terminal 2 in Munchen airport, pop in and get your own catpen.
Cedon design shop at munich airport

Oh, and just in case you didn't realize it already, for me design isn't about having pricey things around the house. Actually, I usually find that the objects that cost the most aren't all that interesting to me, and I probably wouldn't buy them even if I did have the money. Which I don't. But still.

I was recently in Galway, Ireland. What a cool place. Never mind that it rains every day, but the nature is amazing, people are nice and the fish is so good.
(btw, looking for a place to eat? Go to a little restaurant called Ard Bia Nimmos near the city museum. Tell them I sent you). 
Anyways, when I travel I try to find the tiniest shops in the smallest streets, because they have the most interesting things to sell. In Galway, next to my hotel there was this shop called MY SHOP Granny likes it. Sometimes I feel intimidated by these little shops if there are no other customers inside, so it took me 4 days to enter. But inside I found the nicest sales person, who knows tons and tons about the products and the artist behind them. Mostly they sell objects made by hand by local artists. I'm a real sucker for hand made stuff, so I almost walked out of there with a dozen things. Instead I bought a little framed picture of a cat and a ball (actually it was named a bear by the artist,but it looked like a cat so we decided to re-name the picture), and a super nice wooden wine bottle cap as a present for the dude that was going to pick me up from the airport when I got home.
My Shop Granny likes it

I recently discovered this cool online/offline store (meaning they have both an online-shop and walk in-shops). It's called FAB. Mind you that at this point I haven't bought anything from them, mostly because I'm a little short on cash (thanks to my private German lessons, jawohl!!), but I've certainly eyeballed their site more than a few times. I also love the whole concept, they really seem enthusiastic about the products and about working there, and they have a "smile guarantee". They also have nice things for pets. Go have a lookie-loo.

FAB online store

For almost 10 years I've worked in various offices, selling a product that doesn't exactly make me jump for joy. I've always wondered what it might be like to work with a product(s) that actually interests you, that makes you smile, that makes you wonder and makes your customers happy. To be surrounded by pretty and interesting objects all day long, and you get to marvel at them with the customers that come in and maybe even ask for advice.

Maybe I have this candyappledisgustinglyrosycheeky-picture of design stores, but I would like to see the day when they start to make me sick. That would be the same day when I'd go and buy me a nice thick winter coat for the off chance that hell might be freezing over.

PS. Oh and just to be clear, I wasn't paid or anything to "endorse" these shops. I just think they're nice.
Actually, I'm kinda hoping that they don't sue me for using them as writing material. Fingers crossed.

Looking for new talent: "the XY-Factor" and "The smell"

I was watching TV one day and noticed that here in Italy we'll soon have yet another talent show.
No it's not The Voice, and no it's not Masterchef, but it's a combination of the two: The Taste.

Well I'll be damned.

The Taste- what's it all about (in italian)

So what's it about then? Apparently it works a little like the Voice. So you have four judges, and they will all taste whatever dish the contestant has prepared for them. They will then press the YES-button if the dish was to their liking, and the NO-button if not. The judges don't see the contestant, nor do they see if the other judges have pressed yes or no. If at least one of the judges pressed YES, then the contestant will be revealed and he/she will be a part of one of the judge's team.

Well I'll be damned.

At least one thing is for sure, we're stuck with these talent shows for good, and they will only get worse.

Surely also the other 3 senses will have their own show one day: The Eyeball, The Smell and The Touchyfeely-talent-show. Could we also have the XY-factor show? Guess if it's a boy or a girl! Winner takes home the little bundle of joy.

People often ask me why I don't go to X-factor or Idol or whatever. This has nothing to do with me being talented or anything. It has to do with the fact that these days any dimwit from Knickersville with a hairdo and an attitude who's taken accordion lessons in Agricultural college is participating. So naturally me, who dabbles a little bit with singing, should absolutely be involved.

There are lots and lots of  reasons why I don't want to participate, but one of them includes a somewhat entertaining story. It has to do with the fact that you have only one chance to impress the judges. That freaks me out. And this is why.

After having spent at least 5 years singing at home alone, I went to my first singing lesson. I was 20 years old. I was scared shitless that she would tell me that I'd be better of choosing some other hobby, like folk dancing or making wicker baskets. Instead she told me that actually I wasn't half bad.Still, I've been brought up in a way that even after a compliment like this I'd go about thinking that probably I wasn't any good anyway, that she was just being nice. So I didn't mention the matter to almost anyone.

Until there was the pre-graduation party organized at our school. I was one of the graduates, so, happy happy joy joy. Right? No.
In the middle of the partying I found out that my boyfriend of 3 months was cheating on me, and at that very moment he was banging some amazon woman in a house near by. Well let's just say that after hearing that I might have grabbed the bottle a little too tight, and by midnight I was in a fairly merry state. I also decided that now would be the perfect time to tell everybody that I'm taking singing lessons. I also decided that although I had never sang in public, now would be a good time to start, and so me and one of my tone deaf male friends took to the karaoke.

We did a song called "Summer wine". Very appropriate considering the level of our intoxication at that point.

Summer Wine karaoke version

That night I discovered that I can't sing worth a damn if I've been drinking. The question everybody wanted to ask me but only few did was "and so really, YOU take singing lessons??"

I wanted to explain that no no no actually I'm much better than this, please just let me sing another one. Or better yet, come by tomorrow and I'll sing again, I promise I'll do a better job. But at that point everybody's back at their tables with a pint in their hand.

http://thedailyquotes.com/post/153

I'm convinced that the same thing would happen to me if I participated in Idols. Not that I would be drunk or perform Summer wine, but I would screw up for some other stupid reason.
It's one thing to have this happen to you in high school with your friends watching. It's another matter when Simon Cowell tells you you're shite on national TV.

I believe it was Bruce Dickinson from Iron Maden who said something interesting about people who audition for X-factor. They come to the audition and say "I'm here because I just want to play". No sonny, the people who "just want to play" are out there, playing. If you want to be honest, just say "I'm here because I want to become famous".

I'm with you Brucey-boy. Let's just play.

... and Bingo was her name. Or was it?

Seeing that I was a little angryish on my last posting, I'll try to write something nice and cuddly for a change.
Here goes.

If my cat ran away, I wouldn't know how to call her to me.

quite the little gymnastic

The reason is that she doesn't know her own name.
I suppose that's partly my fault. Her official name is Lana. A name chosen because it sounds nice, it means "wool" in Italian, and seeing that I live above a store that sells woolly things I thought it was fairly appropriate.

Until one day, a friend (male) walks up to me and asks me what's the name of my cat. I answer "Lana".
Having clearly thought about it already beforehand, he asks me to read the name from the end to the beginning. Let's just say that I didn't call my cat Lana after that.

But I have to call my cat something don't I? I started to use names such as "Boccone" (= a little bite to eat), "Cucciola"
(= puppy), and later on also "Coccodrillo" (= Crocodile). The last one came about when she started to hide from me, wait very still until I happened to pass by and then attack me. She would wrestle my feet like a Crocodile, hence the nickname.

You know the TV show Everybody loves Raymond? You know he makes up a new nickname for his wife every day? Well, that's what happened to me and my cat. And that's the reason why she doesn't know her own name.

http://captaininfinity.us/crossthreads/ray.htm

 my man Esko

I have a weird way of dealing with my pets. I used to have a gekko, named Esko. Ever since I had held a lizard on the palm of my hand when I was an exchange student in the good ol' US of A, I had wanted one for myself. So after about 10 years I went and bought a gekko. It was a slinky little thing, the last one left at the pet store. I felt like such a good Samaritan taking him home with me. "I'll nurse you back to health". Right. About 15 minutes later, when I had realized that he wasn't one of those gekkos who you can cuddle, and that having him in the house would mean having 20 living crickets in the house with him, I realized I had made a huge mistake. It didn't help that I had to de-worm him, which made him hate me even more. Anyway, in time he won me over, I learned to love him with all my heart and I was ever so sad to leave him behind when I came to Italy. Grief ridden, he passed away soon after.

The same thing happened with my cat (not the passing away part, but the weird beginning-part). Suddenly I had this thing in my house that stank (she had worms which made her doo-doo stink like, well... shit), that wouldn't obey me, that would leave white hair all over my black carpet and wake me up several times during the night. Obviously I've grown to love her very much since, but let's just say that my experiences with pets have made me think that I probably shouldn't have kids. Ever.

"oh I drunk too much milk last night"

I also have a very skilled and nice vet. I've gotten to know him fairly well since my cat was a bit of a rescue-case, and like I said she had worms, an eye infection and some other problems. So during the first few months I took her to the vet at least 15 times.

During our first visit he asked me a lot of questions like "does she poo regularly?", "does she eat and drink regularly?" and "is she generally active?". Yes, yes and yes. Lastly, he took the cat's head, looked at the eyes and then kinda stretched the skin back in a way that her eyes sort of rolled back (in a gentle way of course). "And has she ever done this?". I was a bit freaked out and said "oh dear no". He smirked at me and said "Oh good, otherwise it would mean that she's possessed by the devil and I'd have to call the exorcist. MUAHHAHAHAHAHAHA". Ok, it made me laugh the first time he said it. After the 15th time I didn't laugh anymore, but he's still a great vet.

 So that's the story of my cat. She's the reason why I started to refer to life's little struggles as "it's like raising a crocodile". Because god knows I'm raising one. Bless her heart.

studying German

Dub or not to dub, that's the question

When I'm not busy with my fairly boring day job, I'm also a freelance speaker. That means that I do spots for the Finnish radio and TV. It's a lot of fun, even though I'm currently working from my closet. Not much glamour in that eh... This weekend I'm working on a spot that will be on a Finnish TV -show, you know one of those things where someone says " this program is brought to you by XYZ". Making the spot made me thinking of another thing that I used to do. Dubbing.

In Finland we dub only the programs for the kiddies. And why do we do it? Because the poor things can't read yet, so you can't use subtitles. But other than that all other programs are in original language, what ever that may be. With subtitles. In Italy people often ask me why is it that we Finns speak so many languages, and usually we speak English super well. Well duh. First of all when no other nation in the world speaks your language, it's up to you to know as many of the other languages as you can if you want to survive out there. And second of all, if you watch TV in English starting from when you were a little nipper than yeah, you're bound to learn a thing or two.

In Italy, as in most of the European countries, they dub everything. And I mean everything, even the laughs. I apologize already beforehand for making the Italians the example. I can only imagine that the French are even more enthusiastic about dubbing, and what about those poor people in eastern Europe who have to watch the Bold and the Beautiful dubbed by just one person? But I can only talk about first hand experience, so sorry Italy.

 Now, I would kinda get it if people were saying "yeah, it's a real shame that we do that", but actually people are really happy about it, and even proud. You see, In Italy you have to go to school to learn how to dub, when in Finland you just send in your demo and if you pass the audition, you're in. It's a real profession in Italy , and these people are highly appreciated for what they do. But there's one thing I just don't get. Italians are constantly telling me how the dubbing here is done really well. Sorry, but what in the name of god does that mean exactly?!? That you don't notice that it's all dubbed? That you don't notice that the mouth of the actor is moving in a different pace than the voice, or that the voice of the actor isn't his/her real voice? Oh, and this brings me to another point.

A few times I've asked people I know doesn't it bother them that they don't know what the actor's real voice sounds like? To me, part of the performance of the actor is his/her voice. Obviously the dubber tries to imitate the style of the actor, but for fuck's sake the Oscar was won by Meryl Streep, not by her dubber, and so when I go to see her film I want to see HER performance, not some dubber's interpretation of it. But an Italian often even prefers the performance of the dubber, seeing as they are used to hearing the Italian voice. Hearing the original one is only confusing. Go figure.

An example. I've always thought that the biggest reason why Morgan Freeman is not half a bad actor is because of his voice. It's very original, deep, and always calming, even when he's angry or exited. That's something you just can't dub. It's the voice that makes Morgan Freeman who he is. To demonstrate better, here are two clips from the movie Shawshank redemption ( or Le ali di libertá in italian). One's from the original movie and the other is dubbed in Italian. And don't tell me there's no difference between them.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CWQYVYvoqDA&amp=&feature=fvwrel&app=desktop

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FK6GfI23mCI&app=desktop

Another problem is that when you dub things, often you miss out on the jokes and sayings. Of course you got the same problem with subtitles, but at least the good people who have bothered to learn the language spoken in the film have the opportunity to hear the joke in it's original form. But if you got the dubber doing the joke that the translator has decided to offer you, then you're stuck with that. Not to mention that usually the quality of the translated jokes is really bad. And how could it even be good, in my opinion you can't (and shouldn't) translate a joke anyway. A few times I've tried to tell a Finnish joke in Italian, and gotten only blank looks and awkward laughs in return, so really, translating jokes is just a waste of time.

A good sample of this to me has always been Monthy Python. They're brilliant, but so much of the show is based on the characters, their way of speaking, and in order to appreciate their humor you also have to know a thing or two about the British society. But you can't dub culture now can you?Here's the legendary "at the chemist's" sketch, both in original and dubbed in Italian. See what you think.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SzkZFK7x0Zc&app=desktop

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=X5xFwqS9s_Q&app=desktop

See if you can spot the mistake in the subtitles in both versions, when they are listing the words that will not be used in the program again (hint Kn*ckers/Kn*ckers). Just to prove my point, jokes are not to be translated, and they are certainly not to be translated by people who aren't native speakers or otherwise bloody well educated in the language and culture in question.

The way I see it, watching a dubbed movie or a TV show is like dating someone online. You date this person in the internet for ages, only to find out one day that actually that gorgeous blond chick is a fat construction worker from Ohio with pimples on his arse. You feel cheated, or at least you should. If you prefer dubbing to the original, it's like saying that you know you're dating the dude from Ohio, but you prefer to keep up the illusion because it's more convenient. 

But people.....isn't it about time to find real love?

I'm leaving, on a jet plane...

Almost every time I fly back to Finland to see the folks back home, I need to switch planes somewhere in Europe. Usually in Germany (jawohl!). For some time now I've been choosing flights with at least a 4 hour stop, preferably in a fairly big airport. And why might that be? Because I LOVE AIRPORTS.

Some people might say I'm nuts (they're not completely wrong), I mean who wants to stay at the airport waiting for hours and hours when you could be at the comfort of your home a lot sooner? But for me, an airport is much more than dealing with the angry check-in person because your bag is too heavy or buying that obligatory perfume because it costs 50 cents less than at home.

First of all, an airport is packed with emotion. Everybody's either as happy as a clam, pissed off, or bored out of their minds.

The happy people have come to pick up someone who's been abroad, or they're going abroad themselves for a nice vacation, or like me they're just excited to be there.

The pissed off people are waiting in line to report missing luggage, running to catch a flight that they've already kinda missed, or they've just heard that their flight to go home for Christmas has been cancelled (happened to me, I spent Christmas Eve eating chips and watching "Friends" dubbed in German at an airport hotel near Tegel Berlin).

The bored people are there because they HAVE TO be, like for a work trip, or they fly around so much that it's about as emotional as taking the bus to go see grandma. They just can't wait to be out of the airport.
But rarely do you find someone who's there and it's just "OK".

Second of all, I always meet the coolest people there.

There's the guy who works at the restaurant section, who flirts with you because you're a girl traveling alone and want to eat a cute little salad (don't eat the sandwiches, they'll give you gas). "Would you like some bread with that?" "HELL NO".

There's the womanizer-guy who works at the bar. He's flirting with you
a)to get you to drink a lot or
b) to get your number in order to ask you for dirty pictures later on.
True story. In any case, don't drink beer, it'll give you gas.

There's the woman working at the Hugo Boss store who looks at you thinking "you look poor, don't come here". Obviously she's right, but if they're having a sale I go in and buy something pointless like a HugoBoss-pencil, just to annoy her.

There's the middle aged woman who's travelling alone like me, and for some reason thinks I need her company, seeing that we're clearly fellow travelers. She'll give you her e-mail address so that you can keep in touch. Toss the paper in the bin while she's still there, it's the only way to make her leave you alone.

You also see how different nationalities act when there's a crisis. Like I said, one Christmas I was flying home on the 23rd of December. It was a flight from Venice to Berlin to Helsinki. I got to the airport and saw immediately that my flight had been cancelled because there was too much snow at the runway in Berlin. Obviously this makes a Finnish person laugh a little, because the airport in Helsinki works  well even when there's 10 feet of snow on the ground and enough ice to build a village for the inuits. I sigh a little and get in line with the other passengers in order to find out what happens next. We were about 40 people from different countries, and there was no one at the service desk. This usually happens when the airline is scared to face the angry mob. Anyway, here's what happened in the next 30 minutes.

A german woman in front of me made out with her italian boyfriend for 15 minutes, then started to get angry, went away for 10 minutes, and then returned saying "honey come on I fixed us another flight". And off they went

A russian woman behind me talked for 20 minutes  like the character Six in the TV-show Blossom (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=I5-c8hoB6V0). His husband seemed like he was wishing he was deaf. After we'd all been in the line for 20 minutes, the woman turns to me and asks if I (!!) had any news. Sure, an invisible airline officer just came by to tell me what was going on... "No sorry I don't know anything"

The rest of the people were italians who just acted like the world was coming to an end, they called their families and friends and they all agreed that this was just the darnest thing ever.

Me, a lonely finn, stood in the line and texted mom that I probably wasn't going to make it home in time for Christmas Eve. I did think about saying hurtful things to the airline officer once he/she would arrive, but once I got to the counter I was all smiles. Happens every time, I just can't bare to be mad at these poor individuals who are sent out there to be eaten alive by the angry passengers wanting revenge or at least a free trip to the Bahamas as a compensation

I LOVE AIRPORTS. They're full of life, silly people and cool airplanes. Next time you go for a little flight, take it as an opportunity for an adventure.
Just remember to stay away from beer and sandwiches. They give you gas.

(all images by: Erika, age 33)

And it begins...

I'm not sure if it's a good thing to write the very first post of your brand new blog when you're feeling pissed (as in angry), but here goes.

I just got screwed over not by one but TWO insurance companies. Don't want to get into it too much, but let's just say that in Italy it works a little like this:
- if you're not insured, then you're screwed if something happens
- if you are insured, then you'll be screwed by the very company that insured you
- if you try to change from one insurance company to another, you get screwed by both of them
- to sum up: you're screwed

On a lighter note, tonight my cat spent only 15 minutes chewing on my feet while I was sleeping. Usually this goes on for about 30 minutes every night, accompanied by a little nap on my face (15 min), playing with a noisy ball (20 min), and when the ball is removed from her, it's time to chew on the night lamp. All this action in my bedroom during the nights, and yet I'm single. Go figure.

I'll tell you more about my cat some other time. Otherwise I get labeled as the "cat-lady" and won't be able to attract any male readers. Although I might have hooked them already with the story about the insurance.

So, I'm Finnish. And over 30. They tell me I look like I'm 27, but I think they're just kidding. They say it's because I have no wrinkles. That's obviously bull. I once watched a photographer spend 30 minutes retouching two of my photos, and that was just to get rid of the "non-existing" wrinkles. I also have a crooked face, so it took another 20 min to fix that. And these were photos for my CV. I didn't get the job.

Apart from being Finnish and old, I also live abroad. And no it's not because of a guy (unfortunately), but because of a job I happened to find. I remember back in Finland when some people used to say "oh see all the foreigners who come here to steal our jobs and our women". I always thought those people were a little silly. Now I'm the one living abroad, and I hear people say  "oh see that Finnish girl who has come here to steal our jobs" and I still think they are a little silly. Well, at least with me they left out the women-part.

I'm really good at learning quickly new languages. No no, that's actually not a joke. I had about 6 weeks to learn Italian before I came here, and with the help of a private teacher I learned to say what's my name and the names of the various pizza choices, and off I went. At work my colleagues spoke half Italian half English to me. That was real nice and all, only then the problem was that first I had to play a game called "Guess the language!" and then try to figure out what they were saying. Luckily I also had a colleague who had spent a few years in Sweden, so he mixed together English, Italian and some badly spoken Swedish. At times I didn't know if was speaking to me or just trying to impersonate of a gremlin.

Recently I've decided to make my life just a little bit more difficult by trying to learn German. I'll let you know how that goes.

So here it is, my first ever blog posting. Should you have enjoyed it, please feel free to visit my blog again. If not, well, I promise it can only get better. I leave you with a photo of my Crouching Tiger Hidden Crocodile.