Bloggy Buddies

Blogging has been a great creative outlet for me, a good place to vent, a means to cement friendships and a great place to meet people, even if I'll never really meet said people in real life.

So many cool things have happened since I've shuttled into the blogosphere:
- I bitched about a pair of boots and within 24 hours the manufacturers of said boots offered me a new pair!
- I got stopped by the cops (ok, not here, but in real life), blogged about how I couldn't figure out what I did wrong because the coppers couldn't speak English (which is apparently what got me out of the ticket in the first place) and a few weeks later some random person explained it to me!
- A friend and bloggy friend dedicated a piece of art to me
- I saw how cruel people can be under the guise of anonymity (namely poor MckMama). Ok so that's not "cool" but still worthy of note.
- I get all kinds of good advice from fitness experts, words of encouragement from other expats and people opening up about their weight loss challenges.
- I've been really inspired by some great writers (there are too many of you to name).

I love finding new blogs through y'all, though I try to keep the list short or i just know I'll get swallowed up in the vortex. I try to comment on all the blogs I follow and I do have my favourites.

This one blog in particular is pretty awesome, both with its content and the author's mad writing skills. But here's the thing. For the many discussions I've joined on this blog and the many responses I've received from my comments, this person has never ONCE commented on my blog. Not once. And this person's blog isn't HUGE a la MckMama or Perez Hilton. This person has a strong following and averages about 20 comments per post. I'm kinda bummed about it really.

But that's just it isn't it? Though this person can surely relate to some of what I write about, this person might not like what I write, feels they don't need to reciprocate or just plain doesn't wanna. Who knows? It's another "cool" thing about bloggyland. You put it out there, for whatever reason, and you just never know what you'll get back. A post you wrote in 10 minutes for fun while BBQ'ing up some steaks could turn into 50 comments. A post you thought would go viral gets 1 comment from someone in China with a cure for loneliness, hot Asian chicks. An innocent post on global warming gets infiltrated by a dozen right-wingers telling you and everyone else it's a farce. Well you see where I'm going.

It's Saturday morning. Little Man is watching the new Dora videos he got from his Nana and I hear the water running upstairs, meaning hubby is up. Enjoy your weekend!

Ps. Yes, a lot of name dropping in this post. Thank me later when my 19 followers all head over to discover the awesomness of your blogs and the traffic crashes your servers.

Weigh-in Wednesday: Week 9 of 10 or 9 of 15?

Can't believe we're a week away and I'm at 74 (down .6 from my usual, despite a long weekend of wine consumption and a bowl of pasta). But I'm happy because the past 2 weeks have seen me enter the world of exercise thanks to the new neighbour friend.

She is relentless. A walk with her is 1 hour of torture. And if I didn't have her to spur me on? I'd be out for 30 minutes at half pace and wondering why my butt didn't feel tighter. So Thank God for Peppy her!

I am shaping up and it's forcing me to be all the more regimented with my eating habits so yay! Ok, except when we have company and I am forced to make the one thing I'm really good at making, pasta sauce, and am then forced to eat actual pasta with the sauce cuz I didn't make enough meatballs and I would look stupid eating just a bowl of tomato sauce.

We received a request from Den to prolong Weigh-In Wednesday. To be fair to the sanctity of this weekly blog carnival-type thingy and to be fair to those of us who want more time, I have decided in my infinite wisdom to be fair and extend Weigh-In Wednesday by an additional 5 weeks. See? Fair is 50/50. An additional 10 weeks would be unfair to the sanctity. But 5 weeks? 5 weeks is fair to sanctity and to us losers ("losers" referring to weight loss, not the kids that get relentlessly picked on in school, poor kids).

Oh and 5 weeks is perfectly timed for bikini season!

So, next week will be Week 10 of 10 and the following week we'll start at Week 1 of 5. OR, we could make this Week 9 of 15? Nah....

Let's ROCK IT Ladies.

Teaching Swedish Men to be Gentlemen?

Yup, apparently there is such an evening here in Uppsala dedicated to just that.

The girls and their boys dress up in their fanciest and head out to a 3-course meal serenaded by a trio. The boy is expected to open doors, pull out chairs and treat their girl like a lady on this Gentlemen's evening.

Where I come from, or how I was raised, I'm always a lady. There need be no special evening of training. That training was instilled in my husband from an early age. Women don't pay. Doors are opened, chairs pulled out, flowers given...the works. I don't/didn't feel obliged to give up something precious in return. This kind of "lady treatment" was expected and is expected.

Well except after the butterflies die. Then it's me in sweatpants and no make-up, screaming at him to close the damn door when he goes for his constitutional. Or screaming at him for failing, yet again, to replace the toilet paper roll (as I sit there helplessly). Or screaming at him to "could you at least move your pile of dirty clothes from the end of the bed to oh, I don't know, let's say the LAUNDRY room?!"

But when we do get that rare opportunity to venture out in public, it's back to the basics of chivalry.

Chivalry is apparently dead in this country, except for on this one magical evening. And I do gotta give credit to whoever went this far to revive it. I've read dozens of articles on this very subject, some on the "the emasculation of Swedish men". I just can't wrap my head around all this "equality". Don't get me wrong, I'm all for: Paternity leave, equal pay for equal work, the sharing of domestic responsibilities, etc.

That said, I loathe:
- having a man walk through a door without at least leaving it open for me.
- Standing uncomfortably on a shaky bus while a man chillaxes in his comfy seat groovin' to his iPod.
- The thought of being single and having to pay for dinner on a date.
- Having to break out the Phillips screwdriver (which one is that again?)to fix a loose door hinge.
- Not getting jewelry, flowers, chocolates, purses, INSERT AWESOME GIFT.

Spare me: I realize some women see these gestures as "stripping away their independence". I respect that. Just like I respect your right to practice Scientology or put ketchup on your pizza or pray Sarah Palin (probably didn't even spell her name right) becomes the next President of the United States.

No, I am not about to put on my best housewife dress and apron, mix hubby a cocktail and gently remove his slippers while simultaneously handing him the evening paper after his long, hard day at the office. No, I am no Anna Anka, thank you very much.
But I want my dozen roses and I want to smell them too.

Weigh-in Wednesday: Week 8 of 10

I am notorious for leaving things till the last minute so I guess you won't be surprised that the same thing goes for the weight-loss.

Oh, hello again 74.6, how I was missing your square numbers on my rainbow striped digital bathroom scale. Actually, I was sure your chunky brothers 75.6 or 76.6 were sure to make an appearance this week, after the few days of candy overdose and that bottle of Spanish wine. Damn Easter Bunny.

But here you are again, an old friend who never fails to be there for me. Even if I'd much rather get close to your much hotter sister. Look, since we've spent so much time together; 7 weeks to be exact (on & off), I feel we can be honest with each other. We need to talk. So here's the thing: I will drop you like a hot potato the minute your hot sister 69 or better yet, her tight-assed, sculpted armed 68.5 BFF get anywhere near me.

"Oh sure," you say, "that relationship didn't last the first time. You'll come crawling back on your padded knees." You're wondering how I can keep things going with her, aren't you? We both know she's high maintenance.

This time, I have a plan!

So that's what the voices in my severly congested head have been talking about since last night. Last night, so glad you asked, I was invited out by the neighbour friend for "a walk". Cool! Some girl bonding time, a nice leisurely stroll, 20 minutes of gabbing and gossip. I can handle that. Even though I was sick. Yup, sick. Runny nose, chest full of gunk...the works. All thanks to the hubby and son. But I was NOT passing up the chance for a) exercise and b) face-to-face (or side of face to side of face) friendship.

And because I was sick, I was hot (as in internal-temperature-hot, nobody is sexy-hot when they're sick). So I thought, better not dress too warm. And I didn't.

"Oh, by the way, we're actually walking somewhere specific. I need to go to my work and sign some papers."

Sure, I like having a destination.

And we started. And we might as well have been running.

All I kept thinking was, how many miles/km an hour are we cruising at here? 35 minutes later, my butt and arms were frozen, my chest was screaming and I was just waiting to collapse. But somehow, I managed to keep chatting through it all. And those of you who know me personally, well, it's no big shocker.

And then we had to go BACK!!! I made it on pure adrenaline. I know, it's not like I climbed Kilimanjaro. But for no-exercise me, I might as well have been scaling a neverending incline.

Today, I discovered a muscle in my stomach simply because any movement whatsoever triggers painful spasms. But it's there. I have proof. Under that Mommy Roll, there's a muscle reminding me to save it from near-drowning.

I will save you muscle! But not tonight. Tonight, I have to listen to my body and it's telling me to stop or I'm headed straight to the ER. Tomorrow and the day after that (walk buddy or no walk buddy), I will push through.

To commemorate my new ode to fitness, I even splurged on a pair of fitness pants. Cuz this butt was meant for walkin'

Checking in

I've missed you blogosphere and bloggy friends. Last week, sick hubby and sick little boy. Remember I was all haughty and cocky and said I would have no problem avoiding the Easter treats? Yup, well, I suck...sucked them back that is. My 73.6 of last Tuesday has definitely been padded with squishy candy.

This week? I am getting sick. Little Man home for another week cuz the school is closed. Trying desperately to balance work, child entertaining, being sick and housework. Failing miserably on all counts.

Sorry for not commenting or writing. Still here. But just the "here" that means I have no time for anything except to wipe my snotty nose while I suffer through the chaos.

But it's not all thorns. A rose is blooming. It's called Moscow and we're going! More on that next time we meet...Jenn

The Gatekeepers of the Swedish Healthcare System

I grew up "going to the doctor". Throwing up, doctor. Fever, doctor. Bad cold, doctor. Annual physical, doctor. Left ear lobe ache, doctor.

Well no freakn' wonder we have to wait like 2 hours past our appointment times to get in to see "the doctor".

Here, it's different. Much different.

Gotta problem, any or all of the above? Call the local clinic, enter your number followed by the pound sign at the sound of the beep. "We will call you back before X time." And they do.

It's a nurse or a doctor, not sure. Describe your problem. All the symptoms. Then answer questions about said symptoms. And if it's your kid you're calling about, do your best to provide your own diagnosis. "I'm really worried here. His snot isn't quite green and more clogged than runny and he didn't even want to watch his favourite tv program this morning. He hugged me for twice as long as he normally does and I'm pretty sure his left eye is twitching. He needs antibiotics. I need to see a doctor."

And the hand goes up, so that I slam forehead-first into the virtual doorway. Access denied. The Gatekeeper has spoken. "It sounds just like a viral infection. There is no medication we can provide for this. He has to wait it out. Lots of fluids and blah-dee-blah."

"Ok, so what's the difference between a bacterial infection requiring antibiotics and a viral infection?" In other words, I can always change the symptoms to match the bad one!

Very detailed explanation ensues.

Damn it. This doctorish person of a gatekeeper has one over on me. I try a few more lame attempts at sneaking through the yellow tape but to no avail.

Wait it out. Call us back if anything changes.

Thanks. Damn.

On a serious and more objective note, this screening works quite well. Whenever I have made it past the gatekeeper (like twice), I'm kept waiting for a maximum of 10 minutes.

It's awesome.

But when explaining my conundrum to fellow Swedes, or expats who are in the know, I get the following answer: "Lie." If you're really worried, lie through your teeth.

I wonder how well this sytem of diagnosis-over-the-phone would work in North America. Heaven forbid the doctorish person was wrong. Hello Lawsuit!

"Antibiotics for everything" was the only solution in my uhmmm, day. And even though I realize that was due to paranoia and general ignorance and we are so much smarter now, it's still pretty heavily engrained in my psyche. I miss those pieces of yellow paper that confirmed everything was going to be alright.

I also miss waiting with a bunch of coughers and hackers in a too-full waiting room with years-old magazines to pass the hours and germy, used for decades kids toys. NOT.

Wanna buy a... toothbrush?

I am a sucker for a telemarketer, mainly because I did it once (in French) and I hated the rejection and I feel bad for those poor people. And of course, heaven forbid a virtual stranger thinks "ill" of me.

But lately, I've been fortunate. Because I live in Sweden and the telemarkers are Swedish and when I hear that quick silence on the other end before the speaking starts (a tell-tale sign of a telemarketer, where it's all auto-dial), I can simply reply, "I'm sorry, I don't speaka dee Swedish" and they get all flustered, mutter something in Swedish and promptly hang up. And back to the kitchen I go (cuz they always call around dinner time).

But not yesterday. Yesterday, I answered, I rolled my eyes while repeating my get-out-of-jail-free line and just as I was about to hang up, "Oh, you speak English? Great. Well I'm calling from Dentablah and would like to ask you a few questions about your dental hygiene habits."

Now I'm the one who's all flustered. Say what? Did you, Swedish boy, just speak in almost perfect English to me while simultaneously puncturing my balloon of impenetrability? And then I thought, meh, it's just a survey, no biggie.

From "How many times do you brush your teeth a day?": 2 to "Electric or Manual Scrub?": Both, I answered the questions with honesty, integrity and a pinch of humour. He laughed at all my jokes. I was puffed up sufficiently. So thanks for the ego-boost buddy, gotta run.

Not so fast. "As a thank you for completing this questionnaire, we would like to send you a free electric toothbrush at no charge with an extra replacement head. You are still at INSERT address?"

Wow! You mean all I had to do was talk about my oral hygiene for like 2 minutes and I get a free toothbrush? SOLD!

And here it comes: "You know, dentists recommend you change the head of your electric toothbrush every 3 months to avoid bacteria buildup." Well DUH. "We will send you a replacement head for your free electric toothbrush every 3 months."

Well GOLLY! Is it my lucky day or what? "Great, sign me up," I say while counting all the money I'll be saving on toothbrushes and wondering if I can get one in pink.

"For the low cost of 399 SEK (like 40 euro), you'll get these replacement heads shipped to your address free 3 times."

Stop. You lost me at the words "low cost".

"Great deal isn't it? So I will now start the voice recording to confirm that you have actually agreed to this....blah, blah, blah"

Mind spinning...no time to object.

Did I do it? Did I buy in? Was I duped?

You better believe it! Buddy deserved it. That company deserved it. That was some smooth talking and clever sales tactics. I mean, who backs out after all that? That company is betting on very few. I am in the majority.

He sold me. I was sold. But here's the thing: Had I not been so cleverly blindsided, I could have easily turned the tables. Actually, if I had been quicker on my feet, I could have flipped him. "I get your game. You won. But there are two adults in this house with teeth that need brushing with your revolutionary spinning toothbrush. So how about sending two toothbrushes, we go with the same deal at 400 SEK and we call er' even? Now start that recording with my amendment."

Counting the days until my one toothbrush arrives, along with the invoice, and planning to change my force field to:

"I can't hear you. Sorry, can you repeat that? What was that? You're breaking up. Where are you calling from? Bob, is that you? You lying son-of-a-B, I knew you were seeing her behind my back all along!" Click, and back to the kitchen.