missfrifri

After spending 24 hours on flights and airports, MissFriFri has officially arrived to the land of Victoria's Secret and Sex and the City- I am officially on US soil, gang!

While Alex has been at work today I've explored the surroundings- aka the shopping centres. I just bought a pair of Nine West ballerina shoes for seven dollars! God bless America!

I've also explored the American food culture- aka fast food. Although I think that I'm good in the fastfood department (my mum often asks herself what she did wrong...) this was just too much. WAAAYY too much. After receiving some kind of Italian fast food with meatballs the size of my head that didn't taste of meat, spaghetti for three (very hungry) people in one plate, 3 massive garlic bread things and a "small" coke that was the size of my upper body I decided to go for a fruit cup instead. Can't even handle it! The US has officially put me off food. (It probably had something to do with the fact that we got burgers for breakfast at the hotel. Not that these tasted of meat either... I wonder what they actually put in their meats? Although I really don't think I want to know...!)

Another thing I've got confirmed is that this is not a very pedestrian- friendly country. Although I walked for at least 1 hr yesterday to different stores and shopping centres, I never saw one other person who was walking or biking. Which is understandable, because if you wanna cross here- even when there's a green man- you have to RUN. If you run, you make it half way through the street before it turns red again. (I don't mean a light jog. I mean a proper run.) Plus, it seems that just because you have a green man that doesn't mean that the cars necessarily stop. It's more like, "this seems like a good time- good luck to ya! *Conditions apply. Pedestrians cross at their own risk.*"

Some pictures are coming soon.

Alex thinks it just makes me look Russian. So in addition to me loving it, it could possibly annoy him which makes wearing it more fun! (Kind of like leopard print, which he doesn't like either. Shocking!)

When at grandma's, I took the opportunity to kill the whole "men are better at mowing the lawn" myth in her garden. Bonus: it's a good workout when you don't have a gym membership! ;)

My halfsister Hanna got married last week! Isn't she pretty? (Her husband is pretty too, of course)

Me and my 87- year old grandma went to have coffee and cake the other day. With her you don't have to wait long for the pearls of wisdom to come out.


"You're too young to have a baby. Yuuuuuk!"
"Grandma, noone's pregnant. I'm not having a baby. I'm just moving in with my boyfriend!"
"Yeah yeah. You say that now. Before you know it there'll be babypoop all over your walls."
"Seriously, you know that the baby thing won't happen before I'm at least 30."
"Fine. Just remember how much they poop."
"I know grandma."

Silence.

"So, have you got tested for chlamydia?"
"What?"
"Chlamydia. I read about it in the paper." *Takes out article and hands over* "Make sure you take Emma and Olle with you as well! Call your friends too! Apparently everyone has it!"
"Grandma we're all fine. We have a mum who teaches sex education, we know how to avoid chlamydia."
"Right. Good. Just make sure it doesn't hurt when you pee."
"Grandma seriously!"
"Well sorry for keeping up with what's going on in the world!"


Summary of Grandma advice: look out for baby poop flying through the air and get regular chlamydia tests.

of this one.

Today's outfit: Mum's old green adidas shorts (about 28 years old) and (green- ish?) old t- shirt that she used at home when she was pregnant with me. Simply because this is how I relax and recover the best. By wearing clothes that look absolutely crap while eating "kladdkaka" (sticky chocolate cake) with my hands directly from the bowl so that it falls everywhere over my mum's old t- shirt while I'm watching Harry Potter with Olle.

Don't get me wrong. I'm all pro the glam lifestyle. But I mean seriously, you have to give yourself a break sometimes. Ahh. The ugly green just makes me feel like such a rebel. As if I'm living life on the edge. Not caring. (Yes, I know I need to get out more. Babysteps my friends, babysteps!)

I tried to do the "pout" that my sister does in pictures for fun. It really didn't work at all. If this is what I look like when I try to look sexy I feel really sorry for Alex. Poor bastard... Although maybe it'd have looked slightly better if I hadn't been wearing different shades of green...? Who knows. On the other hand I guess I've never tried to pout to be sexy. Only people like my sister can get away with that kind of stuff. At least my personality is sexy at all times. (It's not important if you agree or not. I prefer to live in my bubble of ignorance, thank you very much!) Inner beauty. It's timeless.

Ooooh The Trauma when you find Emma's dog Nicki in your suitcase chewing on your very very very expensive underwear.... At least he seems to have a good taste and know what's trendy (and what's most likely to have me chase him around the house, which is his favourite hobby...)

After the London riots (some of them taking place around the corner from where I live(d)) I was quite keen on leaving London. It's just not a good thing when your friends call and say "Frida I'm watching BBC and I'm quite sure that your street is on fire... Oooh! I can see your house!!" That together with my neighbours being visited by the special forces in the middle of the night (that and many other apartments in the area in a massive raid) to arrest gang leaders really made me feel like I needed a break.

Happy that I'd managed to squeeze everything into my baga I left for Heathrow very very early, just to make sure that nothing would go wrong, especially with all the things going on in London at the moment.

Ahh. I was so proud of myself. I took the bus to King's Cross and went down the tube from there so I wouldn't have to lift my 23 kg+ 14 kg+ 7 kg bags down too many stairs. Two stops from Heathrow the train changed destination to Terminal 4, but I felt perfectly fine as I had about 3,5 hours until my flight (plenty of time for tax free shopping). I shook my head at a family next to me that had two babies and had 20 minutes to their flight, screaming at each other and staff for the train having changed destination. Oh dear. Why don't people plan? *Smug.* I reach the Terminal.

And THEN.

I see the tear at the bottom of my suitcase. A hole straight in to all my things.

Oh noooo.

So I do the only logical thing. I start e- mailing Alex at work. (I know. Completely illogical. Exactly WHAT is my boyfriend, currently in the US, going to do about my broken suitcase?) I come up with the idea of buying thick brown tape. Alex approves. Right. So I start putting lots of tape over the tear. I go up to the bagdrop lady and ask her whether she thinks it's enough or whether I should wrap it more. She says it's up to me to decide. (In the past few years, I've learnt that that's what people say when they don't wanna be liable for any damage. So I start putting more tape on.) Alex texts. "If I were you I'd wrap the whole thing." "Really? are you sure?" "Yeah go for it." Hmm. Ok. I start wrapping my neon- pink bag in the brown tape. Round, and round, and round.... Alex rings. "Hey, I'm on my break. How's it going?" "Yeah I'm still wrapping it." "What do you mean?" "Well you told me to wrap it." *Silence* "Frida where are you?" "Next to the bagdrop!" "Oh my God. Are you wrapping the whole bag in brown tape??" "Yes?" "You know, there are places that can put your whole bag in plastic for you... That's kind of what I meant."

OH.

"Well then why didn't you say that???" I can hear the very familiar sound of Alex trying very hard not to laugh at me because he knows I'll turn into some hystrical angry squirrel if he does. "Well I think that you knew that it'd be a bit annoying to wrap the whole thing in tape...?"


Right. No harm done. At least the bag is secure.

After having learnt that my bag is also 0.6 kg overweight I throw a wine bottle at the airport (have to open the tape a bit first...) and head for security where they look suspiciously at my handluggage as I try to show how light it is (while really it's definitely not) by easily swinging it onto the band, only to stretch my back. I get through and get a text from mum. "Remember to buy the 6 bottles!" Right. Due to the alcohol monopoly which almost makes it impossible to even buy a bottle of wine in Sweden my mum has ordered 2 bottles of Bailey's, 1 bottle of gin, 1 bottle of vodka and 2 bottles of martini. The funny thing about all this is that my mum drinks about 2 times per year. Max. I text her and explain that that'll be impossible to carry since I have to carry 2 handluggages and some food and stuff that my sister wants. Can I buy 3? "You promised me! In that case you can take the bus from Gothenburg!" Right. I decide to buy 3 anyway since it isn't really a matter of choice.

Practically dragging my bags on the ground towards my gate, I just about manage to get onto the plane, "easily" lift the bags over my head (this time I stretch my abs. Yes, seriously. I didn't even think that that was really possible...!") And sit down, panting in my chair. Soon I'm joined by two English guys who start talking about how many Swedish girls they're gonna have sex with in Gothenburg (sorry guys, you don't have what it takes...) and open their duty free alcohol bottles taking shots.


We're informed that there's a technical problem with the plane. We end up waiting an hour on the plane, then have to change because it cannot be fixed. There is a family in front of me that have 3 children that are 0- 3 years. They all scream constantly. We have to go back onto the terminal (drag bags over the floor again), to a different gate, onto a bus, 10 mins travel, onto the next plane. Children still screaming. We land in Gothenburg. I get my brown- taped bag and am greeted by mum, my sister and grandma. Mum says she cannot believe that I only got 3 bottles. I tell her to carry just my backpack and she can't quite get it on her back. But she says that that's irrelevant because she's carried all my skiis and other things since I was born, and I should be able to carry this extra thing just one time. And when we come home I really should take a shower.

Lessons learned from the flight experience:

1. Never buy suitcases from PRIMARK. Even if they're pretty.
2. Don't text your boyfriend "There's something wrong with my plane, am I going to die?" when he's at work. He'll get worried.
3. Don't promise mummy Eva anything.

Right so I've finally reached the near end of my dissertation. (I don't really have a choice, I'm going to Sweden soon so it has to be handed in either way." One of my professors made it sound so easy. "Just read your articles, sit down and write. You should enjoy writing your dissertation, you've reached a stage in your education where your creativity and academic ability is so much higher than before so it'll be completely different from those you did at undergraduate level."

IT. IS. NOT. DIFFERENT.

I seriously think I'm going to die from my head exploding while doing the last things (which, by the way, I've been doing for the past six days. "Just the few, last things.")

Yesterday's ultimate moment was when I got so fed up I started kicking papers around in my room (not the best idea when you're looking for one and can't find it, it won't get easier afterwards...) and ran out to the living room crying and sobbing with an open mouth with saliva dropping down on the floor. You know the proper desperate "ugly- crying." I felt so sexy. (You know how in films they make people look pretty when they cry. Is anyone a pretty when (s)he cries in real life?) After having used about half a toilet roll to wipe up the saliva and excessive tears I went to get a pizza (yes Mummy Eva, I did. What are you gonna doooo about iiiit?) only to come home and realise that I had toilet tissue sporadically stuck to my face. Felt even sexier.

In other words, the dissertation is sort of eating my soul. Kind of like the dementors in Harry Potter suck the soul out of you.


I bought one of these oven pizzas. They can be pretty good if you have an oven that works. I don't. So it takes about 50 minutes for it to get burnt at the top and then soggy in the middle. But I've sort of reached that stage where I don't really care as long as it's cheese.

So. What were you doing on your Saturday night?