Almost 14 hours ago, I put on the timer on my phone to keep track while boiling my eggs to the perfect level of eggness (new words I need to put in the English dictionary).
How long do you boil yours for a perfect meal? I normally don’t do 14 hours but when I do, someone mysteriously takes them off the stove and ensured we still have a home.
Would you? Did you?
Wow, where did the summer go and how come I forgot I had a blog? So many questions, so few answers. Actually, I have answers. I lost a few brain cells in the process of creating a human being and sleeping. Or as I like to say it, my husband knock me up again. How cool is that!
One good thing about being preggo again is the fact that I need to get fat. I have to eat. The first three months of pregnancy were no good ones so I lost some weight and we all know what that means. More chocolate for me.
Second good thing with pregnancy is that it’s ok to wear tights. I love them. They are so ugly but oh, so comfy. If you are a man and reading this, please do yourself a favor and start wearing women clothing.
I’m wearing these to work tomorrow. Does that mean I get a higher salary?
1. She is my descent. No further explanation needed.
2. She points at my belly and yells BALLS! (Thank God she doesn’t do that when she is with her dad outside.)
3. She is related to Einstein. Apparently.
When you haven’t figured out your best selfie angle yet
It’s true. I was a banana peeling virgin until last week. My whole life I have done my best to stay away from this evil fruit. I don’t like the smell, I don’t like the taste and I just think they are not cool, ok?
My 1,5 year old daughter loves banana. So much that it was one of her first words, to my disgrace. What is wrong with A P P L E. As many first time parents realize, you have to give in on things that you truly believed were right your whole life. She might just be over one year old but toddlers show early signs of dictatorships. Some kids grow out of and some adults still have it.
Me and my daughter was in one of the malls the other day when she got hungry and I thought let’s give her a banana. Not thinking of the peeling challenge. So I picked it up and looked at it. I had no clue where to start and I just held the end of it and made a whipping kind of movement hoping it would just open up nicely. Not so much.
It flew straight to the other table. Landed next to the guy that sat there eating but he was on the phone and didn’t notice. I leaned over and grabbed it and mysteriously it had a little start to an opening on one side. I then began pealing my first banana. Ever.
Still not touching it. Forks are the best.
When I moved to the Middle East a few years ago I wasn’t used to skyscrapers and living on the higher floors. In my small town in Sweden the building usually don’t get any higher than 15 floors.
My first apartment in Doha, Qatar was on the 24th floor and had big windows from the floor to the roof. I had just gone through a long Swedish winter and was getting all the chances I could to see the sun and therefore the curtains were always wide open because… why not. Nobody could see me. Right?
One day I came straight out of the shower, doing a little bit of the “air drying” without towel and to my great surprice there were two men hanging outside my window! I made a graciouse jump behind the bed and laid there butt naked on my stomach and tried to figure out why people would be outside my window a kazillion meters up in the air (rough estimation). Once I got my blond head around that they were cleaning my windows, I was wrapped in the sheet that I pulled down from the bed and stood up like a newly showered Greek person from ancient times. No more sun through the windows.
I can only imagine what kind of things these guys must see on daily basis.
I guess people like me are the reason information like this exists in hotel rooms.
Cars are hard and plants and kids are soft. Oh, and they are expensive. Both of them.
When your hair is straighter than your carpet on the floor, you get super excited to see some kind of volume. This might have been after a wedding party hair do but it counts. Until you take a shower and you turn in to your normal self.
We were at a wedding in Sweden two weeks ago. I paid a small fortune to get my hair looking like a cinnamon bun kind of way on my head. A small bird family would be able to live in there for at least a week. Or so I thought. I guess the hairdresser didn’t include hairspray in their price and half of it fell down after an hour. That’s when you are happy you have a husband that might be suspiciously feminine and don’t mind getting his (well hidden) hairdresser skills going and put it up again. Don’t know how. Don’t care. It lasted all night and I didn’t have to pay him.
Any football fans out there? (Americans: please read Soccer, or whatever you call it). I am obviously watching the World Cup because what else is there to do. Life right..
I am very fortunate with my employer that decided to do a Google and put up major screens and bean bags in the office so we could all stay forever and work AND watch the game. Win – Win I guess.
Considering I don’t live in my home country I turn very Swedish during these Events. The flag is out and I try to brainwash as many of my colleagues as possible about meatballs and The Northern Light. I also tried to recruit an audience for the game yesterday.
As you can see the game was extremely popular. Hard to hear anything from all the noice.
Hard to keep track of these Swedish hooligans.
Whats up bloggerz? Are you enjoying the summer?
Summer in Dubai means one thing – try your best to get out of here as fast and as long as possible. This is obviously just possible if you are not working so the rest of us have to enjoy a little vacation instead and the rest of the time you get to know the inside play areas really well. Yesterday I went on one of the slides in our favorite play place so many times that my pants ripped. Not that I noticed it anyway. Well, not until a few hours later when I had been walking around flaunting my left butt cheek in the worlds biggest shopping mall, during peak time of course. Good thing I got a hell of a butt.
My husband had his birthday this weekend. He was happy that I arranged a surprise but not so happy that he realize that he actually was turning 35 and not 34. He is determined he lost a year somewhere. I said yes, it’s called getting a child.
He was also determined that I am plotting his murder after he saw his cake that I ordered . No, the guy is not dead. He is just drunk! My husband is English, come on.