Swedish bikini

I want this:

I want it for no reason other than it reminds me of Sweden.

The blue.

The yellow.

It’s like a deconstructed Swedish flag:

And lord knows I certainly like things Swedish.

Even though I’m of Norwegian descent.

I’m not buying it though.

Nope.

Because I have a habit of buying bikinis and never wearing them.

And I’m not going to do that anymore.

Let’s face it, I already have a Swedish bikini bottom I purchased from Globalkinis:

I intended to wear it with a Swedish flag tank top out on the playa with The Swede but then he wasn’t able to come to Burning Man:

So I scrapped the outfit.

I still have it though.

Maybe I’ll titillate The Swede by wearing it under my clothes and showing it to him in private.

Boy, does that man like all things Swedish.

Swedish coffee, Swedish candy, Swedish chocolate. . .

American women, though.

Lucky for me!

So even though I have a hankering to turn up on a beach in Florida wearing a Swedish colored bikini, I have a strong feeling that I will never actually follow through and do it.

Me and bikinis.

I imagine I’m bold enough to wear them but then I chicken out.

That’s just how I roll.

And as a parting gift from me to you, a picture of the Swedish Bikini Team:

You’re welcome!

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F*cking Swedish Meatballs

Today, as I chatted with my friend Michelle, I realized that I’m doing things specifically to please The Swede.

I bought him a Man Crate for Christmas.

He has to open it with a crowbar.

I picked out a cool shirt for his daughter.

I’m joining a lodge for the Daughters of Norway.

I’m even learning Swedish.

Slowly.

Eventually I’ll be able to say, “Jag kan prata lite Svenska” and actually mean it.

The truth is I like to do things, and learning about my Nordic heritage is just one more worthy activity to occupy my time and keep me engaged.

My only reservation about it is that it is lacking in ethnic diversity.

Oh, sure there are all different age groups represented, though it does tend to skew toward older women but I’ve learned that there are acres of wisdom in older generations.

And how else will I learn how to cook those awesome little Swedish meatballs without someone showing me?!

I got a recipe for FRUIT SOUP during my first lodge meeting.

And it is NOTHING like sangria, which is MY version of fruit soup.

These are the things I need to know.

Yes, so I can impress a man.

He should already be impressed but just in case he isn’t I am pulling out all the stops.

I might not be able to speak the language as well as The Swede speaks English, but at some point I will be able to cook him a Swedish meatball.

I’m obsessed with fucking Swedish meatballs.

😉

 

 

 

Life is Swede

Yes, I’m still on my Swedish kick.

I broke down and clicked on a few links and. . .

  1. I now have a bottle of glögg arriving at my home in a week or two
  2. I signed up for a Beginning Swedish language class starting in January
  3. I figured out where to buy small batch Icelandic vodka
  4. I’m going to stop by Lunardi’s in Los Gatos to pick up akvavit (aqua vit)
  5. I signed up for a few Swedish activities mailing lists and liked a few Swedish FB pages

I’m convinced, if The Swede doesn’t snap me up like the trophy prize I am, that Alexander Skarsgård is destined to fall in love with me and propose marriage.

Ahem.

Yes, I have True Blood fantasies.

AND I can pronounce Skarsgård properly.

If that doesn’t make me perfect for some Swede, then I don’t know what is.

I also decided to buy the cutest little America loves Sweden t-shirt.

TECHNICALLY, I think it’s about Swedish Americans and we’ve established that I’m definitively Norwegian.

But watch me care less about that.

This American likes her Swedes.

Life is Swede.

A present for The Swede

Christmas is coming and I am already 110% ahead of the game.

My Christmas cards have been mailed.

My shopping is done.

Even my wrapping is complete.

I’ve annoyed even myself with my efficiency.

Personally, I am thrilled at the selection of gifts I have bought for my friends and family.

None more so than The Swede.

First, I bought him an industrial size box of Swedish Fish.

As a joke, naturally.

Then I proceeded to BREAK INTO the box and ate a bunch of fish so I had to get him something else.

And please, dear Swede, if you are reading this, stop now or your surprise will be RUINED.

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I custom made a tee shirt for The Swede.

Yes. I. Did.

Because I could find a tee shirt that said “Eat, Sleep Hockey” in English, but not in Swedish.

And I figure WHY BUY IT IN ENGLISH if he’s going to be in Sweden wearing it?

It should be in Swedish.

So I translated “Eat, Sleep Hockey” into Swedish “Äta, Sova, Hockey.”

Perfect!

Then I printed it in YELLOW lettering on a ROYAL BLUE tee shirt – the colors of Sweden.

How’s that for a present for you?

I REALLY hope he likes it!

You can’t say I didn’t make an effort. . .

P.S.  I got him a SECOND gift.  Just because I do that sometimes.  Check out this awesome mug I had custom made for him:

Breathe in. Breathe out.

In case you didn’t know it, The Swede is 9 hours ahead of me, time wise.

So there’s only a little window of opportunity to communicate unless we want to stay up super late.

Early morning. Late evening.

That’s what works.

So I’m messaging The Swede when I realize that it’s almost 2 am in Sweden.

I do what I always do.

I say good night in Swedish.

God Natt.

He likes it when I speak (my limited) Swedish to him.

Jag kan prata lite Svenska. (I can speak a little Swedish)

En billeter tack. (One ticket, please)

Var ligger badrummen? (Where is the bathroom?)

I’m so exotic.

So I get ready to sign off when I decided to send a GIF of a kiss.

And I pick out a naughty, horizontal thrusting, open-mouthed kiss and send it to him.

As soon as I hit send I think, “Oh! I’m not supposed to do this!” but it’s too late.

It’s been sent.

And now The Swede knows that I want to French kiss him while he lays on top of me, thrusting.

Oh well.

It’s not like I’m not trying.

But flirting is like breathing – even if you want to stop something keeps you going.

Ultimately, I decided that since I like The Swede it’s okay to flirt with him.

Just no more NEW men.

And no making sex jokes at my expense.

It’s all progress!

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Genetics, apples and trees

For a long time, my genetic background remained a mystery.

I was adopted.

I always felt like my parents were my parents but I never felt like I could claim their background as my own.

My father is Lebanese after all and I am the least middle eastern looking “Lebanese” woman you will ever meet.

My mom is also dark skinned with dark eyes and brown hair.

Then, when I was 22, I met Paul and Sherri, my birth parents.

And the mystery was somewhat solved.

I was Nordic and Scottish with a little Portuguese thrown in.

Mystery solved, right?

Not when you’re a geneticist by training.

I needed to know more.

So I sent my DNA sample (aka spit) to 23andme.com and they came back and told me the same basic information.

Northwestern European, British Isles, and Portuguese.

It seems no one could pin point my genetic makeup past Northwestern Europe – Norway, Sweden, and Finland.

Then lo and behold, a FACEBOOK quiz was created which analyzes your face to tell you where you are from.

Highly scientific, I am sure.

So I run the test (and probably offer over a buttload of personal data as well) and here is my result:

There is a 95% likelihood that I am Swedish.

Ha!

I had to laugh at that.

Then I had to post it to my Facebook page and tag The Swede.

Just because I know he’d get a kick out of it.

Travels 9,000 miles and meets a Swedish American.

Oh, the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree now, does it?

Jag kan prata lite Svenska

It’s been a month now since I took up learning Swedish.

I can honestly say “I speak a little Swedish” now because I do.

I know about 200 words and phrases.

Just basic stuff, but it’s all very useful.

Per my usual habit, I’m learning Swedish to impress a man.

The Swede, to be exact.

The language is musical and lyrical with a completely different cadence than what I’m used to as a native English speaker.

I’ve discovered a hidden benefit to learning Swedish – apart from knowing three languages, which in and of itself is quite impressive.

Men find it sexy.

Yes indeed, I happened to mention to a friend that “Jag kan prata lite Svenska” (I can speak a little Swedish) and he almost died right there on the spot.

Oh, that’s so sexy he told me.

So I said the first phrase that popped into my mind, “Var ligger badrummet?” (Where is the bathroom?).

I’m nothing, if not sexy!

I’m fucking learning Swedish

I’m fucking learning Swedish (Svenska) and there’s a lot I have to say about it.

First of all, I love that the Swedish word for ‘two’ sounds like the American version of ‘two’ said with a lisp.

Imagine the priest from Princess Bride:

“Twoo wuv is what bwings us twogether twoday.”

Overall, the experience of learning Swedish is a little like shaving my head with a cheese grater while chewing on tinfoil.

It’s a little bit uncomfortable.

I am learning everything phonetically. Which means I speak a few words but I can’t write them.

An example: the Swedish word for ‘delicious’ is ‘oot sect.”

That’s what it sounds like.

How is it spelled?

I have no clue.

I looked it up for the purposes of putting it on this post.

It’s ‘utsökt.’

Now, as impressed as I am with myself for learning a handful of Swedish words, it’s not all that great when it comes to texting and I’m spelling everything phonetically to The Swede.

So I try to keep my Swedish simple when I text him.

God morgon (good morning).

God natt (good night).

Tack så mycket (thank you very much).

I’m impressed that I’ve learning any words given my memory problems and my lack of understanding of Germanic languages.

I hope it gets easier as I go.

One thing is for sure – I can’t just learn to SAY Swedish. I’ve got to learn to WRITE it as well.

Just in case I ever visit Sverige (aka Sweden).

Pronounced ‘Svallia.’

But hold cow, can you believe it. . . I’m learning Svenska!

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Bride for sale

michelleBride for sale

Preowned American bride seeking international husband.

  • 43 years mileage.
  • Blonde hair, blue eyes, curvy body including natural double D’s.
  • Tallish and likes wearing heels.
  • Can cook but likes takeout.
  • Professional event manager so can throw a great party.
  • Likes beer, wine, and cocktails.
  • Decent single malt fan.
  • Roots for the 49ers, SF Giants, Golden State Warriors, and SJ Sharks.
  • Can change my own oil and repair a flat tire but prefers to let AAA handle it whenever possible.
  • Makes a brilliant beurre blanc sauce.
  • Can clean an abalone in under 30 seconds.
  • Knows how to bait my own hook.
  • Experienced mattress dancer (wink, wink).
  • Slightly kinky, open to suggestions.
  • Loves camping, music, sporting events, hanging out with friends and family, and playing poker.
  • Willing to relocate

Voted for Hillary.

Seriously delicious lips

IMG_9624The Swede is back!

He is visiting from Sweden again, on a business trip.

We went out last night and I was reminded of why I like him so much – he kisses PHENOMENALLY well!

OMG, I could get lost in his kisses (and I did).

He tells me he “likes to kiss me too.”

I also like his big, broad shoulders and muscular build.

He reminds me of The Mountain from Game of Thrones.

When I told him this he admitted to me that he used to be a body builder but gave it up to raise a family.

He once lifted a Volvo but wasn’t able to move it like body builder Magnus Samuelsson was doing at the same competition.

But he lifted a Volvo.

OMG!

In any case, he wants me to come and visit him today. To kiss some more, no doubt.

But you know how kissing leads to forking and I’m not sure I want that.

So I’m probably going to stay away from his hotel room and lure him to a restaurant to make out.

Yum. Yum. Yum.

The man has seriously delicious lips!