Can one email change my world?

I don't know but I gave it a shot today.
I emailed one of the wealthiest, most influential people not only in our industry, but in the world.
I pitched our company and our product in the most no-holds barred, vulnerable and honest way I could think of.
It was pretty raw but it came from the heart, from passion and from desperation and frustration.

First of all, I emailed his company cuz I know no one who would have the guy's actual email address. Actually, I sorta do, but I couldn't bring myself to ask.
Secondly, I am dead sure this company receives thousands of "please fund our venture" emails every.single.day.
Thirdly, I am sure one out of every 10 was worded in just the kind of way mine was...making it about as unique as a mosquito. There's nothing unique about those f'ers.

Sometimes you just have to take risks, no matter the consequences.
Like, what if the guy or one of his cronies writes me back with, "WTF is this? Are you serious? Did you actually just tell me that you're rambling and are tired of churning out BS?" Yes, Yes, I did.
Or what if they report me to my superiors (which would be my husband I guess).
Or maybe they think it's hilarious and make it public.
Or maybe they really don't find it funny at all and somehow, someway it intercepts a business deal. "Oh, yeah, I know that company. They're a buncho whack jobs over there. Look at this email some girl sent me."
But in that moment, I really didn't give a damn. In that moment, I felt compelled to reach out, take a risk and throw caution to the wind as they say.

What's the worst that could happen? See above. What's the best case scenario? We get a meeting...and more. What's my dream scenario? HE happens to be in the office that day. Cup of Joe in hand, he's bored and decides to peruse-on-through the email inquiries. He's in a good mood. He happens upon my email. He doesn't care that it's 3:30am my time, cuz why should he? You take a call from this guy if you're having a kidney removed. He calls. I answer. He tells me who he is. I say something predictable like, "Yeah right." He proceeds to prove to me that he is who he says he is. It doesn't take much really. He tells me he's sending his jet to pick me up in the morning and to be at the airport. And the rest is legendary.

What's the likely scenario? I get a form letter back or no letter at all. I already got a "Thank you for your submission. We get gazillions a day. If we like what we see, we'll get back to you." auto-response.
That could be all I ever get. But hey, I tried. And you can't fault a girl for trying.

Swedishness

So they're shooting a number of scenes for the upcoming Hollywood blockbuster version of The Girl with the Dragon Tatoo by Stieg Larsson here in Uppsala. So exciting! In case you live in a hole, this book/movie is one of a trilogy and it's awesome. I discovered it a few years ago, before the Swedish version of the movies were made and now Hollywood. So that makes me cool, edgy and avant-garde. Unfortunately, at the time, they only had the first book translated so I had to wait rather impatiently over the course of two years for the remaining two to come out in English.

Kind of sad though because the poor author died after handing the trilogy to his publisher. He never lived to see the success it had become. Did I mention Daniel Craig is playing the lead, Mikael Blomqvist, and the leading lady was a role sought-after by a number of Hollywood starlets but secured by a relative new-comer? Good for her! Anyway, the buses all have signs on the back saying Drottninggatan (a street in the old town) will be closed between such and such a date for filming the movie. Cool. The other day I forgot and had to detour but seeing some 1930s cars parked along said street was reward enough for the extra 10 minutes it took me to get to little man's school. Waiting to run into Daniel Craig now. I have a feeling we're gonna be BFFs.

Went to a Swedish kid's birthday party the other day. Another low-key affair. Hot dogs, ice cream and cookies for five kiddies. Such a stark contrast to the excess in the Americas.

My desire to learn the language has waned. I definitely feel guilty for being here for almost two years and not having progressed much. I'm also consistently reminded of this character deficiency when groups of acquaintances no longer speak to me in English, figuring I MUST know the language by now. Geesh. And I should really. But I'm just not "into it". My mind and my heart are elsewhere. Kind of like I'm subconsciously checking off days on the calendar until I can leave.

You really need to check the labels on meat here when you're out grocery shopping. They leave dangerously-close-to-expiring meat on in the fridges. I dig to the bottom for the good stuff. And what's with Stina's Chicken anyway? Seasoned frozen chicken pieces in an oven-proof tray that make dinnertime a cinch and are pretty popular here. But to open it up and still find a few feather bits hanging off your meal? Not cool Stina, not cool.

If you believe election results and the media, apparently at least 300,000 Swedes are racist. Big election here a few weeks ago and "shockingly" enough, an openly racist (some may argue this point) political party called the Sweden Democrats got a little over 5% of the vote and now have a few seats in parliament (they needed a minimum of 4% I think). The government is unfortunately a minority government so the ruling party or the opposition actually need to cooperate with this other party if they want to get anything done over the next four years (which both have said they wouldn't). Anyway, there's been a huge uproar in Sweden over this, everyone "shocked" and "dismayed" that this could happen in Sweden. "Everyone" banding together to condemn this "horrific" result and many are very embarassed. Basically, this party wants to put an end to immigration or extremely tight sanctions on it claiming Sweden is no longer Swedish, immigrants are stealing jobs from Swedes, etc.

According to many, Sweden has had a very lax immigration policy. There are actually towns here where Middle Eastern immigrants outnumber Swedes by huge margins and people feel that integration within society is virtually non-existent as immigrants tend to reside in certain areas, areas that "Swedes" avoid. I will say that every time our company has posted a job opening, 95% of the applicants are of Middle Eastern decent. To me, that says they're having a tough time.

I've read a lot of blogs and English media coverage on this subject and have come to the following conclusion: 5% of your voting population actually voted for this party. It seems you have a problem with immigration and no other party is addressing it so those that have a problem with it are turning to this "openly racist" party as they have no other options. Maybe you could do something about it? To the benefit of Swedes and immigrants alike? I'm not smart enough to know what "it" is but smart enough to know that something needs to be done. In case you're interested, have a look at Hairy Swede's blog and read through the comments to see how heated this issue is: http://welcometosweden.blogspot.com/2010/09/swedish-elections-in-us.html

Now I remember what I wanted to focus on in this blog post, but gotta get to work, so next time: IKEA!

Honestly Speaking....

Mild warning: The following content is filter-free and might contain some cringe-worthy passages and a whole lot of T.M.I.

Why do women have unwanted body hair? And by "unwanted" I mean, unwanted by ME. According to scholars, we've evolved from apes and well, I guess the body hair is supposed to protect us from the elements. And to credit evolution, we have a whole lot less of it now. But we also have clothes. Last I checked, my jeans did a great job of protecting my ass from frostbite. So what's with the hair there? Yes, I realize I just gave you a nasty visual of a hairy ass...my hairy ass. I am a white chick, a pale white chick. So therefore, by the grace of the Creator, my ass is not covered in hair. But still, there shouldn't be ANY there. Dear God: Do you own a laser? Of course you do, you own like everything. Cuz you doing the job would be a heckuva lot cheaper. And because it would be a miracle, the experience might involve a choir of singing angels. That would be nice.

In an attempt to expand my literary horizons, I'm reading this Erotica book. Some collection of "the best" erotic stories. I'm not sure a story about a girl who likes to masturbate against steel road signs is erotic to me. Nor is the one about the chick who lives in a cage waiting for a new master to collar her and take her home. How about the girl who can only get off to extreme pain and dies at the hands of some lunatic she paid to shoot her with steel arrows. Takes all kinds doesn't it?

I found out the other day that the reason my 4-year old will wait as many days as he possibly can to poop is because he believes a baby might come out of his bum. Never too early to start sex education.

A funny thing happened while I was dancing my heinie (sp?) off at a club in Montenegro: My boob fell out. Actually, it wasn't my boob. It was a piece of boob-shaped silicone I strategically place inside my dress to give the illusion of big boobs. I sat down with my dear friends for drinks that evening and K says to me, "Uhmmm Jenn, nice boobs. What's going on in there?" Guess it was pretty obvious. I divulged my dirty little secret and we chuckled. At one point, I was close to pulling one out for her to see as she had never seen one before. Turns out, I didn't need to. As I was hopping about in the club with Dear Friend #2, FLING! And to my utter horror, a chick next to me reached down to pick it up and hand it back to me. Pretty sure my hubby was more horrified than I was. We left shortly afterwards...boob in purse.

I had a mouth orgasm the other day. Definition: Something food-related hits your mouth and your mouth doesn't know what hit it. You cannot believe what you're tasting. It's.that.good. It came in the form of a new Greek co-worker (the food...THE FOOD!!!) who escaped for a few minutes to meet her Greek aunt and returned with a box filled with golf-ball sized packages wrapped in muted foil. My mouth was turned on immediately upon undressing it because the chocolate was WHITE. My fave. The Easter bunny always made sure to leave a big white chocolate bunny for my brother and I. I expected sickeningly sweet. I was oh-so pleasantly disappointed as my teeth melted in.

Tongue captured my most favouritest topping in the world....CARAMEL. fyi: I never go for the chocolate topping on my sundaes.I was so excited by this surprising taste sensation that I was almost angry. "What the heck is THIS? Oh my God this is so good. No, I mean, this is seriously really good. Have any of you tasted anything so good before? There's no way it could be THIS good. Oh.My.God" And yes, I was talking my way through this experience and with each sentence the pace picked up, my body tensed until finally, release. When I came to, three computer programmers, the new Web girl and hubby were gaping at me. And she said the only thing she could say to me in that moment, "Would you like some more?" No. I couldn't bring myself to cheapen the experience. I would never reach those heights again. Nothing beats the first time.



The End.
Ps. Arentcha glad you stopped by?

Inspired

I have a confession to make: I'm not smart. I'm not stupid. But I'm not smart. I can't pull a quote out of the air to suit an occasion from "one of the greats". Heck, I have no idea who the greats even are. Put me on the spot. I dare ya. Ok, "What goes around, comes around." Have no idea who said it.

Please don't ask me for my stance on INSERT ANY GIVEN ISSUE. I may have one but you'll be able to slice up my rationale like one of those Japanese chefs at those restaurants who do all that fancy chopping while you sit there and watch, hungry as hell and waiting for the acrobatics to stop so you can freakn eat Gosh Darnit! Also, I do not sit and mull over a soul-delving question and research. and sleep on it. and talk about it and mull some more. My reactions are usually knee-jerk.

Protons and neutrons make up an atom, right? Is the nucleus the centre? What about a molecule..is that made up of atoms? The capital of Bolivia is...? Wait...or is Bolivia the capital of another country? I think it's in South America. But look Yugoslav parents, I do NOT believe that eating ice cream in the winter will cause a sore throat. So there.

My depth is limited. There's only so far I can go people. I cannot take a beautiful moment in my day and equate it to some profound truth in life. Or at least, I cannot express it eloquently in prose. I'm terrible with numbers. We are sworn enemies, me and numbers (or numbers and I). We've never gotten along. I thought words and I were BFFs but I'm not so sure anymore. When I read some of the beautiful (see? what an overused word), awe-inspiring (cliche alert), message-ridden (that sounds diseased) posts of yours, I want to cry. For two reasons. 1) I'm proud of y'all and sincerely joyful to read your works of art 2) I feel so unworthy and out of my league. To be sharing the blogosphere with some of you? I mean, seriously. Feel free to kick me out of this club anytime now. Membership expired.

Maybe if I smartened up? Started going ape-shit on Wikipedia. Memorized a quote each day. Took a few night classes in astrophysics, Women's Studies, Something Century Literature, "The Greats", I could catch up. But who am I kidding? I'm 34 and really don't have the desire to be smartened up in the schoolroom sense. Meh.

And no, this is not a "Fill my sails with wind" attempt at "You are the wind beneath my wings" sympathy plea. It's just me realizing how great you all are. And it WAS also a "how shit I am in comparison" revelation but now, it's not. Because hubby sent me an article titled, "Are you the next Steve Jobbs?" And for the record, the guy is an arse. He's a lucky, genius-in-many-ways arse but an arse just the same. And here's an excerpt from said article:

Virtually every ambitious business leader sees themselves as the next Steve Jobs -- and virtually all of them are dead wrong, writes Dan Pallotta. It's fine to try to channel Jobs' creativity and managerial prowess, Pallotta argues, but there's nothing to be gained from weighing your own skills against someone who's clearly out of your league. "Such comparisons spiral you into depression. They demotivate you, demoralize you, and generally suck every last bit of enthusiasm and aliveness out of you," Pallotta writes.

So, I may not be "one of you" (aka: my greats) but you all inspire me so much that I have the courage to keep puking all over this little, not-at-all-enlightening space. And maybe someday I won't be so cold in your shadow and have sunlight on my face.

Did you get that up there? That was going to be the end. And it was my attempt at a clever sign-off to this post. Maybe you'll get it if I point up higher to the "wind beneath my wings" reference??? I guess it doesn't work so well when the "writer" has to explain it...

So, after describing to hubby how great you all are and making a matter-of-fact declaration that "I'm not as good or good enough to be a 'writer'," he basically told me off. But in the "stop comparing yourself to Steve Jobbs" way. And then he offered me some advice in a warm and fuzzy, supportive husband kind of way. So now, I say to me and to you, I'm a gunna stick around and see what a 34-year old, not as "learned", rough-round-the-edges, cliche-lovin', shallow (cuz I said I wasn't "deep"), ADD (that's attention deficit disorder) person-who-likes-to-write can do with and for herself.

Somewhere over the rainbow there's a t-shirt slogan/bumper sticker that hasn't yet been written. I vow to you, on this day, that like Forrest Gump accidentally found the happy face t-shirt design by wiping his dirty face on someone's shirt while running across the country all hairy, I will find and write that slogan and they will shout it from the rooftops. Or, I'll just keep on keepin' on.

The End.
ps. Thanks honey. Love you. Oh and...You Complete Me xoxo
pps. You all ARE really great.

Life lately

Movies meant 3D glasses with an unhealthy does of candy and popcorn. Toy Story 3 was great and worth the carb crash I experienced later that night. My favourite part of the movie was the preview of The Last Airbender...some kid who can bend air I guess and saves mankind? At the end of the trailer, my little man belts out in his loudest voice, "Mommy, I want to be like that boy." The move theater proceeded to erupt in laughter.

Little man has been uhmmm "discovering" his new uhmmm "best friend", uhmmm, you know...the one in his pants. Any advice here? Dad has been saying, "It's not a toy." But uhmmm, it is isn't it? How do we curb this behavior or do we? Advice from folks with older boys? Michelle?

Decided not to head out to the girls' weekend. My reason is purely finance-related to be perfectly honest. If we plan to head home for the holidays AND throw hubby a 50th Birthday Bash, me spending money on outfits both before and during said excurision (not to mention accomodations and meals and drinks), well, I know myself and so this weekend is better left until AFTER Christmas.

Been thinking about starting my own little business. More on that later. A hint: It has to do with Engrish. Yup, EngRish.

Still doing my exercises but with a nasty monthly visit, I've had to postpone to every other night.

Gotta run and figure out what to do today...crappy weather since we returned.

Different strokes for Different folks

These aren't the friendships I'm referring to in my last post, Axing Friends. Here in Sweden, I've found that one of the reasons I haven't been able to cultivate good friendships is due to the lifestyle differences between me and my potential friend(s). And that's ok. I pride myself in surrounding myself with folks that are inherently different than myself. I take great joy in the learning, growth and excitement that comes from meeting and forming friendships with those that hold different beliefs, practice other religions, live completely different lives or even dress or eat differently than I do. Variety is the spice of life after all.


On the surface, many of the people I've met look just like me. We have the same age kids, both work outside the home, wear the same kind of clothes, drive the same cars (Volvo station wagons are all the rage in Sweden) and have many of the same "issues". But there's one fundamental difference that quickly puts the brakes on a budding friendship: The relationship she has with her spouse/partner/family vs. the one I have with mine.

"The girls and I are heading out to drink and dance tomorrow night. Wanna come with?"

1. My husband is a 50-year old Italian man. Perhaps that says something stereotypical to you. If not, let me spell it out. He's a tad bit of a jealous one. And again, I'm ok with that. I knew it when I married him and I married him just the same :-).
2. We have no family here to look after our little guy should WE wish to have a night on the town. Hubby does go out on occasion and I practically kick him out the door when he has an opportunity because he works too damn hard.

So here's the deal: I would much rather go out WITH my hubby than without. But when I am invited out, I carefully weigh the pros and cons. Cons are obviously dealing with a jealous hubby because even when he tells me to go and have a good time, he doesn't always really mean it. God love him.

Nobody here accepts or understands this. They look at me like I'm stuck in the 40s, sporting a poodle skirt and matching apron pulling a yummy roast out of the oven 5 minutes before hubby arrives home from his hard day at the office. It is sooo common for ladies my age to go out once a weekend, all dolled up and get plastered. The men too. They take turns. There's lots of bonding that goes on when you're holding your friend's hair back in a ponytail as she regurgitates a plate of tapas into a shitstained public toilet. And then there's the reminiscing over the course of the next week about how Linda slurred and dryhumped her way into a pack of sloshed college guys. Oh that Linda, she'll never learn. ok, so this is an extreme picture I'm painting.

No matter how much I try to convince hubby that we'll be sitting with our legs crossed in a quaint, female-only jazz bar quipping about laundry detergent brands and diaper rash, I just know I'll end up hopping in and out of taxis in increasing states of inebriation...or at least following those that are.

So I miss out on the bonding and the stories but frankly, I don't know that I need that kind of entertainment at the age of almost 34. A cup of coffee at the local indoor playpark is more my speed. And that's not to say that I never leave the house without the Italian in tow. In fact, I have gone back home to Canada without him for extended periods, twice. And I visit the gals for coffee and we take the kiddies places, etc. And not so long ago, I did take up a new friend on an offer for a ladies night out. We had a ball, laughing, chatting and drinking . And hubby picked me up just in the nick of time.

Back "home" in Monty, my dearest friend and I had plenty of chances to laugh, drink and bond...while our hubbies did their own kind, just feet away. You see, when I arrived, the first thing I did the next day was get my hair did. For 40 euro, I had it coloured, cut and styled. I get the same done here for 200. I digress. Well, when I showed up to my appointment, who was waiting for me outside to surprise me but said dear friend. She was by herself and I knew this was a big deal as her hubby is far more "protective" than mine. She sat with me while the hair stylist applied the foils and we gabbed incessantly while they were setting. Then she looked at her watch and I instinctively told her to run along and we'd catch up, the four of us, later that night.

We get each other her and I. We are cut from the same cloth in many ways. And that day, we talked a lot about our respective relationships and the special friendship we have because of the similarities in our hubbies.

All this is not to say that I don't respect the relationships Swedish women (yes, I'm generalizing) have with their hubbies. I just expect the same respect for mine. Because I don't live like they do, I understand that I won't be able to participate completely in the Swedish Friendship Building Process and that's ok.

And now I've been invited to a Spa Weekend in November with a new friend and her pack of friends. She sort of knows the deal between hubby and I but God Bless her for including me. I don't know that I can or want to leave little man and hubby behind for an entire weekend and I'm not quite sure how to explain this to her. Unlike a night of heavy drinking and debauchery, this weekend seems to be more about R&R so that sounds good. We all need a bit of pampering a massage or cold cucumbers can provide. So I'm trying to decide if the risk is worth the reward. I do like this friend very much. She's a real riot. And my last experience with her and her best friend was great. So we shall see.

But if I do decide not to go and she stops inviting me, I won't blame her or me. That's just the way it goes.

Axing Friends

Being in Montenegro for three glorious weeks, we were surrounded by some true, blue friends. It felt good. It felt great. And it made me question my "friendships". A few in particular. I realized I don't have the time or patience to continue friendships with fairweather friends or friends where a jumble of strings are attached.

I refuse to pretend anymore or reach out to those that rarely reach back. I AM a good friend and I AM a good person. I will no longer be a doormat or let my spouse be one. The more you give, sometimes, the more people expect. And it sucks when all some people do is take...from your heart, your home and your life and yet, somehow, make you feel as though you owe them. But I accept responsibility here. We have let this happen.

And a lot of it has to do with both hubby and I's mutual need to be liked by everyone.

But I'm done. I know who my friends are and I know where they live. Some are across oceans but they're the best friends we'll ever have.

I will continue to live and work in this country where friendships are few and far between and that's ok by me. I no longer have a yearning to make friends nor will I complain about how hard it is to make friends. I have friends who fill me completely. My cup runneth over. For the most part, I have to hop on a plane to get a refill and that's a journey I'm willing to make until such time (when the time comes) that we're in the same country again.

Yes, I realize I've mixed "I" and "We" quite a bit here. Sometimes you're not only standing up for yourself but for someone else who doesn't have the energy to do it for themselves.