Last Saturday, I was going to a friend’s house for dinner. A dinner that I was supposed to prepare because of a bet that I had lost to him. The bet was that my friend––let’s call him Norway––was gonna bench press 80kgs in one rep. Since Norway has the physique similar to a small tree branch, I, along with all my co-workers, were overwhelmingly confident that he couldn’t pull off this relatively incredible feat. Much to our surprise, he managed to do so––not only once, but four times. Norway wins.
He decided that I should cook a meal for him.
I casually mentioned this bet to another friend––let’s call him the UK––and he immediately became wide-eyed and excited, and wanted in on the whole cooking part of the dinner. The UK apparently loves to cook, and knew about this gargantuan meat market and decided to go there, buy a shit-load of food, and then prepare it on Saturday, starting from 1pm. In other words, the UK wanted to go all in and cook a world-class meal for not only me and Norway, but also for ten otherpeople, a process that the UK thought would take sevenhours to prepare. The bet had now gone over my head, and I was smirking joyously when I superbly delegated it to the UK. Considering my debt to Norway being paid, with a little international help, I was happy. Norway should certainly feel pleased that he got a whole three-course meal prepared for him––I reckoned––instead of whatever I would’ve come up with (I hear McDonald’s have excellent take-out). You might argue that I got off the hook too easily, but I consider myself the broker of this awesome dinner feast. If the host is Norway and the chef is the UK, let’s call me the Puppet Master.
Anyway, back to the point of this post.
So I was on my way to Norway’s house last Saturday evening, and chose taxi as my mode of transportation. Brilliant idea––especially when this is oftentimes the case when I decide to use public transport:
That expression has never ever been any more true than it is right now. So true, that I have to take a break from my duties to write this short post.
In May, I was on my routinely business trip to Saigon, and I was walking down the street one evening looking for a place to eat. Looking very foreign, touristy and lost – all at the same time (I guess all tourists look like that when I think about it) – I was standing in an intersection, looking in all four directions, on a quest to find a potentially delicious restaurant. Almost like I’m being watched, I turn around and find this Vietnamese dude creeping inside a restaurant, snapping pictures of me on his phone. When realising he’s been busted and caught red-handed, he laughs and comes out to me to apologise. Or something.
Immediately, it becomes very clear that this is a very femininely homosexual Vietnamese 20-something man. Just to be clear, I have no issues with this at all, but as it turns out, he was taking pictures of me because he adored my foreign, Nordic looks. I guess I should feel kind of flattered. I dunno.
Anyway, we spoke for a while, and I told him that creeping up on strangers, taking paparazzi-like photos of them is usually not appreciated by the victim, but I cut him some slack and “forgave” him. Since I’m such a nice guy, we chatted for a few minutes, I went in and had some soup, and I took off as soon as I finished my meal.
This was the first time I can remember being hit on by a gay man.
It has been a pretty hectic time for me since my last post. I went back to Sweden for a few weeks, visiting family and friends, which was really nice. I was delighted to see that my brother had stocked up on Sriracha, which I deliciously poured down my throat. Then I came back to Bangkok in the beginning of August, where work has taken up a huge chunk of my time––even more so than before––leaving me with barely no time at all to continue to write these insanely inspiring and intelligent posts for you, my loyal readers. I know you have missed me, and I have missed you too. But now, to everybody’s happiness, I am back with another glorious episode that happened recently.
My Norwegian colleague, and sadly also friend, felt quite under the weather the other day. His nose was running, his throat was soar, and he just felt kind of shitty. I’m still not sure if this is an effect of simply being Norwegian or if he had caught a cold, but one thing was certain – he wasn’t feeling like a million dollars.
Impulsively, he rushed to the drug store in order to buy some goodies. He came back up to the office and looked disappointed and confused as hell, with any goodies being painfully absent, thus causing his rather sad puppy-looking facial expression. With a breaking voice and one single, manly, Norwegian tear starting to pour down his cheek, he explained that the staff at the drug store didn’t understand what he meant when he desperately said that he wanted some “nose spray”. Continue reading “The “I Want No Spray” Comeback Post”→
After a long and hard battle with myself, I decided that the topic for today’s post would be either: A) Quasars, B) Gamma-ray bursts, C) Wormholes, or D) a combination of the these. I know what you’re thinking, “thank GOD he didn’t choose any of those, since they all seem to suck and be super boring”. But before––or after–– you think that, let me inform you that there’s nothing boring or sucky about those topics. I’ll tell you all about it, and explain why they are absolutely delightful topics.
Tuesdays are normally kind of lame. Not totally lame like Mondays, but still much more lame than Wednesdays or Thursdays. Fridays and Saturdays are like the emperors of the week, so everyone likes them. And Sundays are also kind of cool, but they’re too close to the mess that is Monday to be really cool.
So, my rating would have to be something like this: Saturday>Friday>Sunday>Thursday>Wednesday>Tuesday>Monday.
Looking at this equation, I’m having second thoughts on putting Sunday in 3rd place. Thursday has always been an underdog and a solid contender for the Top 3, constantly on the verge of leapfrogging Sunday. Leaving work on Thursdays, you realise you only have one day left before the weekend, and that day is Fantastic Friday. On Sundays, although you are most likely free, you know that Miserable Monday is lurking right around the corner, always ready to make your life shitty again. For now, I’m keeping Sunday in 3rd place, but the next time I’m reviewing this equation, it’s possible there’s another order here. I’ll let you know.
The point of this otherwise pointless post is to try to make you forget that you’re reading this on the second shittiest day of the week. You’re welcome.
So, below, you’ll find some recent happenings in my life regarding makeup, some things I enjoy, and a discovery that changed my life.
I really don’t want this blog to be political or filled with complaints from me. Sure, I can sarcastically discuss and laugh at some of the silly things going around in our societies, but there is also where I draw the line. That said, this post will be a bit of an exception, since I will touch on some topics that are very much in in my native country right now.
As I have mentioned in previous posts, I have been living and working abroad for almost a year now, six hours ahead in the time zones compared to where my family is. Consequently, the only real connection I have with the daily happenings of life in my native society is through what my family occasionally tell me through texts or emails, but mostly what I see and read on Facebook that my Facebook-friends share.
Taking advantage of Evernote, here are some of the notes I have observed and noted recently, thoughts that dwell deep inside my troubled head. The first one is a special one.
– Imagine yourself sitting at the window seat on an airplane, or if you arrive late at the movies and need to awkwardly squeeze past all the good citizens who can tell time already sitting there, or if you are already sitting there but have to leave for a quick bathroom break, you really have no other way of getting past them other than to tiptoe sideways, suddenly feeling a lot worse about yourself than you usually do.
Obviously, the question you should be asking yourself is: which side do you opt to have facing the sitting person? Your front, or your back? Which one would you prefer to have in the sitting person’s face? If you were the sitting person, which side would you prefer to have in your face?