Crazy in Candyland

Boy the Swedes take their candy seriously. Did you know Swedes eat the most loose candy in the world? Pretty sure I've posted about the Swedish Candy Obsession in one of my earlier posts but it bears repeating. If there's one thing that's relatively cheap here in this country, it's candy.

Every grocery store has a wall of candy bins. The idea is to take a bag and fill up on loose candy from said bins, everything from Swedish fish to chocolate, gummies and more. The stuff's delicious I gotta say. The germs, with so many hands reaching in and out, are overlooked. Especially on Saturdays. Known as "Lördagsgodis" (Candy Saturdays), it's the day of the week set aside for kids (and their parents) to indulge guilt-free.

Candy is typically priced at around 79 SEK / kg (Thanks to Thomas for the correction in measurement). I've seen it on sale for 49. Well, today, they were celebrating something at our local supermarket. On a neighbour's referral, we took a trip for some shopping, pony rides and face painting (though Little Man decided at the last minute the make-up wasn't for him). Cheap Saturday entertainment. Little did I know that as part of the celebration, candy was on sale for a record 29.20 SEK/ kg. This is big folks.

People were swarming the candy bins, multiple bags in hand. Shuffling quickly back and forth between the scale to ensure they weren't over the 5kg limit per household. Staff were trying to keep supply in line with demand. It was insanity. Ok, insanity as far as a candy sale is concerned. Certainly not on the riotous scale of the recent sale at Target for some brand name that I think begins with the letter "M". But it was chaos as far as orderly Sweden is concerned.

Karamell Kungen (Candy King) is the name of arguably the best loose candy company here in Sweden. Actually, looks like this phenomena isn't a Sweden-only thing. I see the company also operates in Ireland, the UK and other Scandinavian countries.

Well time to pick some more plastiky goodness out of my teeth.

Glad Godis Lordag!

People of Sweden: Please Pick up your Sh*t

Any dog owners out there? Any dog owners who pick up their dog's poop on a daily basis? What about those of you who don't and leave other dog owners to grumble about it? I see lots of virtual hands going up.

Luckily, in most urban cities in developed countries, popular walking paths have little poop stops and even free poop bags, making the smelly minefields of years gone by practically a thing of the past.

Practically...You see, there's a huge, growing stink here in Sweden. And it ain't comin' from our four-legged back archers. My friends, please take a few deep breaths while you let this stink sink in...

People of Sweden: Pick up your own poop. If you read that literally, you read that right. Apparently, walk just slightly off the beaten path here and you could quite easily step in the poop of "animals" that (supposedly) have been potty trained.

And as you sit there and shake your head at the screen in disbelief, you've automatically rationalized that "these poor homeless people..." WRONG.

(Cue Sesame Street tune) These are the people in your neighbourhood. The people that you meet when you're walking down the street. The people that you meet each day.

The guy whizzing by in his super awesome Nike jogging ensemble. The girl with the tight uh, abs,  her long blonde pony-tail bouncing in step with her jiggle. That's right folks.

These people are pooping all over Sweden.

These are likely the same people that stoop and scoop their dog's logs but apparently don't brown bag their own.

"Honey, please make sure you use the potty before we go." This no longer only applies to those under 5. If you live here, you know how fit Swedes are. You see them biking, jogging, running and cross-country skiing. It's in their DNA. And apparently that DNA is forming fertilizer as I type.

I'm obviously not saying every health nut in Sweden has a newspaper and a wet wipe at the ready for their daily 10k. But enough of them do that it's a problem, so much so that signs have actually been posted in a certain park to remind people to "mind the dogs (who are eating and rolling around in it) and to please pick up their poop." Irony?

I heard about this phenomena from an old friend of mine over dinner this weekend. Not the kind of dinner conversation one hopes to be engaged in. Running can have that affect on people. Ok, I get it. When you gotta go, you gotta go. But for the love of all that is "normal", at least bring a bag! He said there was an article. He said he would send it to me. I'm waiting for it. When I get it, I will update this post. I could have waited. No, this was too juicy, to unbelievable to keep to myself.

Until then, the proof is in the pooping. And please, People of Sweden: Pick up your Sh*t. And People from countries where pooping is confined to porcelain, you're welcome for the public service announcement.

ps. If you know about this, please comment. I'm still in a state of disbelief until I get the brown envelope.

Kraftskiva: Crayfish Party and Shit Fish

Since my blog is titled "A Blonde in Sweden", thought I'd move past the blonde moments and focus a bit on the Swedish ones for this post.

Boy you Swedes sure have invented plenty of excuses to drink yourselves (and your foreign guests) into oblivion. From The King's Birthday to Midsummer, the summer itself of course, every weekend and now we have discovered The Chaos of Crayfish that descends upon Sweden just as everyone returns from the summer hiatus of July.

I still consider ourselves newbies here but this past weekend, we were invited to not one but TWO "kräftskiva's"...that's Crayfish for you non-Swedes. These parties involve a) Bringing and eating your own crayfish, pre-packaged and available at all the grocery stores b) Wearing funny hats and c) Singing Swedish drinking songs (for which lyrics are provided!) and shooting Swedish schnapps. d) Getting really drunk, and likely equally sick, which according to Swedes is due to the crayfish juice and whatever alcoholic beverage you're consuming not getting along in your tummy.

Me and the friend having a crayfish fight. Silly hats..check.

Optional: Cheese pie. But a special kind of cheese pie called Vasterbotten (sp?). It's yummy.

WARNING!!!!!! Please be advised that should you be attending a proper Kraftskiva, there will another "special" dish on the table. And it's not "special" in the nice way either. It's "special" in that other way. You'll know it. Not when you see it, but when you smell it. It's fermented herring "surströmming" and its scent is likely extracted from the EXCREMENT plant. "Eau de SHIT". As my hubby so lovingly commented, "The only good thing about this is that you can fart within a 50 meter radius and noone would know it was you." If someone says to you, "This is the shit." when referring to this traditional fish, they mean it literally.

One of these things is not like the other. I'll give you a hint. It's in the red can!!!!!!!!!

It was pouring rain during this first Kräftskiva and under normal circumstances I would consider the walled-in tent protecting us from the elements a welcome solution. Unfortunately, it was keeping the element in. Sorry, elementS as there were six cans of this whoop ass (again, take that literally) strategically placed on the long tables for all to uhmmm...enjoy?

Being the sports we are and no thanks to hubby's rationale of "There's no way it can taste as bad as it smells", we tried it. The idea is to grease up two pieces of flat brad, load some potatoes onto it and sandwich the fermented herring between them. Let's just say I will forever question hubby's rationalization skills from that moment forward. It.was.awful. So horrific that I had to spit it into my napkin, unapologetically I might add. I spent the next ten minutes flushing the taste sensation from my abused mouth with copious amounts of alcohol.

To be fair, according to Swedes, you either Love it or you Hate it. In my humble opinion, they need to bring back Fear Factor and put this on the menu in place of cockroaches and larvae. If I had the choice, bring on the bull testicles!

So, this was Crayfish Party #1. I refused to enter Crayfish Party #2 the next evening until I was absolutely certain red cans were nowhere in sight. I'm still having flashbacks...

You're welcome for the warning.

A Swedish Friend? Say it ain't so!

Last weekend hubby was making snow forts for the little guy in our front yard when he noticed a blonde woman 2 doors down and caught her eye. She stared, he smiled, waved and said, "Hi. We're new here." She stared some more and said, "Wait right there." Hubby didn't have his glasses on. 30 second later she was hugging him.

Our new neighbour just so happens to be a girl we worked with over 10 years ago! Don't get too weirded out. We were working for a Swedish company at the time but living in Canada. Still...holy crap!

I drove in the driveway, back from a quick trip to the store and hubby runs over with his shovel, "You'll never guess who our neighbour is!" She's 2 years younger than me and has a daughter a little less than a year younger than ours and a 6-year old son. SCORE!

I saw her a few hours later over the fence and we started chatting. I said, "We need to get together for coffee." And then I thought that the likelihood of that happening was slim to none and so I got bold and proclaimed, "We're gonna head over to the park tomorrow morning. We'll come knocking if you want to come."

The next morning, I fretted and panicked a little, trying to figure out a good time to knock. 10 is too early. 10:30? Nah...10:45? perfect. Far enough after breakfast and far enough away from lunch. Done.

I rang, we walked, we talked, we took the kids sledding. Turns out she is Ms. Uppsala and I met half the neighbourhood in the short distance between our houses and the park. Striking GOLD!

It was fun. I tried my best to balance between, "Please be my friend. I'm so desperate for more estrogen in my life!" and "Yeah, whatever." We parted ways and I thought..."How will I get up the nerve to ask her out again?" Yup, just like dating.

And then Thursday night, I got a text around 8:45pm. Noone texts me that late. It was her, asking if I like Grey's Anatomy and if I wanted to hop over to her house to watch it over a glass of wine. Say WHAT? I've never watched that show, but I'd watch a documentary on Dairy Farms in Minnesota if it meant snagging a friend in Sweden.

It was fun. Even with a little wine in me, I think I managed to leave a good impression. We know many of the same people and she's a tiny little ball of blonde fun.

Now it's the weekend and it's on me again. hmmmmm...coffee and a playdate here or keep it neutral at the park? I've already decided that when hubby is away next week, I plan to have a "Come over for a glass of wine after the kids are asleep" night with her and some mutual "friends".

Seriously freaking out here. Olive branches have been extended. Now it's up to me to evenly space out the doses of "Jenn" for fear of scaring off my prey. Please wish me luck and pray I catch my prey!

To Blog is to Berate?

Oy. I still consider myself a blogging virgin. Only been at this for a little over a year now and still haven't truly found my "voice". But that parallels my life in general, or more specifically, my ability to write or speak or debate with expertise and conviction. I stay away from anything controversial or "hot" because, well, I take criticism or anyone "calling me out" as a personal attack. In a nutshell, I long to be liked. I'm scared too. Scared that if I take a stand on something, I won't be able to properly defend myself in the event of an attack.

I have come to admire those bloggers who are smarter than me. Or at least far more skilled at conveying their thoughts and opinions clearly, succinctly and often times, with humour than I am. There are some uber talented writers out there. I love reading thought-provoking posts that turn into discussions and debates. But what I love more, is how the blogger justifies him/herself and their convictions. I'm a star-struck fan at times.

One of these blogs is "A Swedish American in Sweden". This guy can really write and he's only in his early twenties I think. He has amassed quite a following of expats and locals alike. He talks about the cultural differences, his struggles with them and his opinions. His posts are candid, humourous and enlightening. He recently wrote an amazing post on his love/hate relationship with Sweden and it sparked a firestorm. Most were comments of support, "I hear ya. Well done on the blog. Thanks for helping me through the transition, etc." but along came two detractors, harsh critics, whom I assume are rather "schooled". They bit back HARD on a post where I saw no controversy. And the discussion quickly degenerated into mud-slinging and some name calling.

It's riveting to read..I think he's up to over 50 comments now. As much as I felt sorry for HairySwede, I was extremely impressed with his ability to defend his post. I'm sure I sound like I'm gushing. Anyhow, I only jumped into the fray a few times and as per the above description of myself, rather carefully. I was in over my head.

It truly amazes me how blogging allows us to break away from conventional social graces and say exactly what's on our mind, speak to others the way we wouldn't speak face-to-face and sometimes say some hurtful things without thought or feeling for others. It doesn't amaze me as much as it saddens me.

I will try, and subconsciously have tried, to govern myself the way I would if I were indeed speaking to the person. If I don't like what someone has to say, I am careful with the way I voice my dissent and if I feel that strongly against someone's blog, well I can always hit the "Next" button. That person has the right to post whatever he/she wants and if I'm clearly a "hater", then why am I continuing to lurk?

That said, as a blogger you are opening yourself up to the world. And you need to take what comes with it, the good and the bad. And people have every right to question you and/or disagree. For me, it's the way in which this is all handled sometimes that frustrates me. I would like to think, regardless of culture, there is a base moral standard we all (should) try to uphold, that should apply equally to the anonymity of cyberspace. Anonymity should not give us permission to disavow common courtesy, respect, integrity.

"Why can't we all just along?"

ABBA and World Peace

Yes dear friends. I am convinced that ABBA should be played in the background at all important political meetings in the whole wide world. When Obama travels to Afghanistan to negotiate with the Taliban. East and West Bank relations. The Chubby guy in the green military suit from the bad Korea meeting with whoever runs South Korea. Stick a CD player outside some mysterious-looking caves in Pakistan blaring Voulez-vous and you WILL eventually flush out Bin Laden.

Want your team to win? Earbuds blaring Dancing Queen should do the trick.

Nothing brings the world together like a little ABBA. Who doesn't LOVE ABBA?

My three and a half year old son came home from school the other day singing the chorus to Mamma Mia. Huh? He didn't learn it from me (though he was very close to being "inducted").

ABBA IS Sweden's most powerful export. No question. With IKEA coming in a very distant 2nd.

Stopped by the Swedish Police

Dang it and here I was thinking I was invincible. I guess there is a good reason to follow the law and the nasty amounts of red tape required to get my Swedish driver's license...

I have a new house and therefore, a new and longer route to get to the little guy's school. It involves going through the downtown. Uppsala seems to lack stop signs. They are replaced with roundabouts, traffic lights at major intersections of course, but in smaller intersections, it's a bloody free for all!

Now I know that some rule must exist when you approach traffic coming in 2 different directions, other than your own. But seeing as though I have yet to get my Swedish driver's license, I have no clue who goes first. I just follow the crowd and when no crowd exists, I wing it. There's this one particular little intersection that freaks me out everytime I approach cuz I have no idea who goes first, second and last. But I think on my approach, I might fall into the latter category.

Anyway, I make my way through, start going up the street and notice "Polisen" vehicle behind me. Naturally, I start to slow down and freak out a bit, especially since I'm coming up to this other small intersection, but one I definitely know the rules for...or the most important rule. The cars coming up the hill onto this street have the right of way. Apart form this, No clue if it's me, going straight, or cars turning to go down the hill in the opposite direction or cars coming straight from the opposite direction that have the right of way. I wait patiently to make sure there are no cars coming up the hill and then I go. And copper is still on my tail. And then I turn right and proceed to throw up in my mouth a little as I realize the Swedish Police are indeed in pursuit, lights a flashing. I pull over and commence internal freak-out.

Rather good-looking (cuz well, it's Sweden) male cop saunters over to my window (you should see the women! It's like in that racing movie with Tom Cruise and Nicole Kidman where that hot blonde woman who is really a stripper pulls over their trailer). I proceed to roll down the window. He starts blah, blahing in Swedish. I turn on the charm and proceed to answer in English.
Jenn: I did something wrong, didn't I?
Blonde Cop: Oh, you speak English (his English is uncharacteristically bad). Do you speak a little Swedish?
Jenn: Oh, just a little (flashes smile, hoping nothing is stuck in my teeth from lunch)
Blonde Cop: Can I have your license please?
(Hands over license and ID Card)
Jenn: What did I do wrong?
Blonde Cop: Can you blow in this tube please?
(Yup, my very first ever breathalyzer. These guys don't fool around.)
Jenn: Oh, I have never done this before! (Acting all amazed)
Blonde Cop: Do you live here in Uppsala? (Looks over at his partner, says something in Swedish I don't understand.)
Jenn: Yes, but we just moved here recently (if recently means over a year ago, meaning I should definitely have my Swedish driver's license now)
Blonde Cop: Mumbles something about a hill, turning right and prohibited. (I have no idea what he's talking about)
Jenn: Oh, I didn't know, I'm so sorry! (and still don't have the faintest idea what I did wrong, though it could have been the small intersection from before and I only noticed later he was following me. He couldn't have pulled me over on the big street because it would have stopped traffic.)
Blonde Cop: Ok. Make sure you don't do it again. (Do WHAT again? But there was no way I was calling this guy out on his bad English communication skills when I was like THIS close to maybe getting out of a ticket)
Jenn: Oh, I won't sir. (Nod & Smile, just Nod & Smile)
Blonde Cop hesitates and then....walks away. I breathe deeply and drive away. He didn't even run me through his system (There is a God). I think I freaked him out with my English-speaking ways and pink hat.

I eluded the notoriously tough Swedish Police. But I still have no idea what the heck I did wrong and will be dragging my friend with me on a re-creation of the scene to find out. I was lucky yesterday. Next week, me and my confused driving skills are headed through the jungle of red tape until I find out who has the right of way. I'm pretty sure it wasn't me.

Crazy Cycling Swedes

What is with these people? The weather doesn't stop them. As evidenced by the saying, "No bad weather, just bad clothes." We've had countless blizzards the past few weeks and there's one constant through the thick haze of snowflakes and gusts of wind: cyclists wiping out.

Ok. I get it. Cycling is not only an environmentally-friendly mode of transportation but a much quicker alternative than walking. Plus, you look all athletic doing it, even if you're wearing a skirt and high-heeled boots.

But c'mon people. For a population that is practical and all common sense about everything, what's the deal with peddling in the middle of a snowstorm? You WILL wipeout. You always do. I see you. I see cars braking as you careen into traffic, your shit flying everywhere.

If they do sell winter tires for bicycles (do they?), get some on. And if they do and you have them on and you're still wiping out, abandon your bike and put feet to pavement. Ok, there's a chance you can wipeout there too. But what's worse? Falling off a moving, raised "vehicle" (that likely comes crashing down onto you) into oncoming traffic or falling a few feet onto your arse?

I'm all for the bike brigade that is Sweden and am thinking of joining you. Seriously. But I'm gonna be smart. I'll be the one wiping out in a busy street on a sunny, dry summer day.

Toilet Humour. In Sweden.

Permit me to be crass or vulgar for a few moments. Now, if you're reading this and you're Swedish, well you may not see this post as either.

Now "apparently" here in Sweden, it's perfectly fine to make the business you have going on in the bathroom public knowledge. It's ok to announce exactly what you plan on doing when you head on over to the toilet. And if you have a raging case of diarrhea, feel free to let your co-workers in on the frequency and consistency.

Was having a discussion on all that is the washroom with my Swedish teacher, who happens to be from Armenia. Not exactly sure how we got on the subject but there we were. Now in Armenia, if you need to "go", you never actually use the words "toilet", "washroom" or "bathroom". Even if you're a young student in class and need to be excused to take care of your business, you just ask the teacher if you can leave the class. Noone questions your destination. You could be going anywhere really, to meet up with your bf for a makeout session, grab a quick ciggie with your friends or home for a nap. But it is assumed that if you're asking to "go", it means, well, you're on your way to the bathroom for a #1 or a #2.

Uttering any such word associated with what comes out of your body is taboo.

Where I'm from, we DO indeed say the words "bathroom" or "washroom" or not-so-frequently "toilet" when we need to go. We're a bit more specific on that front.

But I cannot imagine an occassion where I turn to my co-worker in the middle of frying up some burgers and exclaim matter-of-factly, "Gotta run and take a dump. Cover my station for me? Be back in 5 or 10 depending on how hard I have to push and how intriguing my reading material is."

Apparently that's the way it is here in Sweden though. My appalled Armenian friend, a real classy young lady btw, explained to me that her co-workers, whom she is not particularly close with, frequently update her on their bathroom habits. They didn't share a womb, don't necessarily share the same social circle and have really only known each other for a year or so. But, "Dominika, can you run this sushi platter over to table 4 so I can take a shit? That's the last time I'm mixing a litre of Absolut with Tomato Juice."

Ewwwwwwwwwwwwwwww!

Another expat girlfriend recently told me her boss called in sick the other day. "I have diarrhea so bad I've been on the toilet all night." Let's give her the benefit of the doubt here. Maybe she was really playing hooky. You know when you're pretending to be sick, you always give WAY too much detail about your illness in an always failed and exagerrated attempt to convince your boss and others that you really are sick? Never works.

But c'mon people, who goes THAT far?

Well, by all of two accounts so far, the Swedes do. Fellow Swedes, am I right here? Can we extrapolate these two isolated incidences to a national epidemic? And if so, what the hell? Keep your shit to yourself. Pun intended. :-)