Naisista suomeksi Rosan toimesta

Oi, Rosa kirjoittaa kengista/naiseudesta:

'Ne ovat juuri sellaiset, kuin korkokengät parhaimmillaan ovat: liian pienet, liian korkeat.

Alkuillasta kengät saattavat olla hieman kivuliaat, mutta kaikeksi onneksi jaloista hiljalleen häviää tunto.'

On nautinnollista löytää uudet kengät ja ilahtua siitä, että jotain näin puhdasmuotoista on joku keksinyt ja tehnyt: että juuri tämä väri, juuri tämä muoto, juuri tämä materiaali. On nautinnollista katsoa niitä ja olla tietoinen muiden katseesta. On nautinnollista tietää osaavansa kävellä niillä kauniisti.

Kenkien lisäksi pidän kosmetiikasta. ... Minusta naiseus kuitenkin asuu purkissa. Ei se ainakaan asu tiskirätissä, imurissa, huonossa palkassa ja vaipoissa.

On helppoa olla nainen, jos voi pitää käsiään kohotettuna ja sanoa, ettei voi laittaa pyykkejä narulle, koska kynsilakan pitää saada kuivua.'

- Rosa

Analog blogging

I think I've discovered analog blogging.

There is this wall at work. My boss came up with the idea that we need inspirational wall space where everyone can put up what ever they find interesting.

Well, the first few pictures appeared sticky taped on the wall and it looked horrid. So I had to print a few nice images to perty it up. Then a few more. And just a few more.

Suddenly the wall began looking kinda cool and organic. And now I'm unable to stop adding to it.

My morning blogroll is something over a hundred feeds, and it leads me running into quite a few interesting images daily. Now, instead of blogging them on lbts, I'm printing them out and sticking them on the wall in the office. I've nearly filled it too. Soon begins layering.

I find it quite therapeutic to be honest. And inspiring.

Who would have thought that it really could work as a source of inspiration?

Wanker warning?

Ok bunnies, help me out here. I just can't get my head around this shit.

Why is it, that if you buy a very nice sporty car, you need to choose the ugliest fucking colour available that just screams out loud: 'TINY PRICK'?

If you buy a fucken Lamborghini, why does it have to be bright canary yellow? And just then, I saw a bloody neon orange Audi TT drive by my place. I mean, WTF?!? Audi TT is a beautiful car... why the fuck would you go and ruin it with a colour like that?

Could it be that the demographic buying these cars just happen to be the infamous dickless wonders out there?

Maybe the bright colours are a wanker warning to be interpreted as: 'Warning: Lacking cock and style'. I suppose it sorta make sense - like venomous snakes/bugs/fish are often really brightly coloured in nature to warn anyone to go too near.

At least its a clear 'stay the fuck away' sign for me.

Such a good girl!

It was such a beautiful sunny day outside that waking up sans hangover inspired me to go for a run.

Instead of running the usual 5k lap that I've been doing in the mornings (tho not for the past couple of months - bad girl!) I thought I'd run to the Opera House.

Its a really nice lap and I used to do it all the time early last year. Its a bit longer trip than what I've been running lately, but I figured that additional 3k wouldn't be that bad, right?

Well, of course I was being an idiot and forgot the fact that we've moved 2ks further away from he Opera House. Which therefore contributed an additional 4k extension on the trip.

See 12k is quite the different story than 5k. I definitely felt the difference and thought a few times that I was either going to die or at least hurl my guts out.

Had to walk a bit after every hill or a flight of stairs so Nike+ only showed a little under 11k as the trip length. But I survived it. Now I really should be stretching big time.

Maybe I'll try to do that more often from now on... It should be a little bit easier next time. Right?

The Queen of Scrabble

I was supposed to have a laid back day at home doing girly shit and reading a book. Of course that wasn't going to happen.

All it took was a txt from Miss K to lure me back on my bad ways. So off I was, with a bottle of rather lovely Sav Blanc heading over to Miss K's BBQ that was to be held at Rose Terrace.

Its such a luxury to have the majority of my friends living in the surrounding neighborhoods. I hate public transport and much prefer walking everywhere. When I'm not being chauffeured by my wonderful man that is.

We ended up spending the day sitting outdoors, sipping wine and playing Scrabble and Pictionary. Miss K and I were paired up for Pictionary which was very enjoyable as we were perfectly tuned into each other's wavelength. I think the others were getting suspicious that we were somehow cheating, but it was all just pure and simple arse kicking wicked witty female power. Yeah.

But I have to say I preferred Scrabble to Pictionary. I can't even begin to tell you bunnies, how great it feels to totally kick native speaking arses time after time in Scrabble. At the end of the night I was declared the Queen of Scrabble.

I'd rather be a princess tho. Can I?

Lapland heritage

I just received this anecdote via email from my auntie. I thought it was somewhat enlightening to what having a Lapland background means...

An old man from Lapland was forced to go and see a dental surgeon in Helsinki. The doctor examined him only to realise that the state of the poor man's teeth was not good and said:

- 'Unfortunately what you have is a very serious case of dental rot and it is impossible for me to use anesthetic in this case. How well are you able to deal with pain?'

The old man gave this a good thought and replied:

- 'Oh yeah, I've been hurt before. At least twice in fact! First time was when I went to the bush to take a dumb and had one of those darn bear traps slam shut on my balls... and the second time after I started off running and ran out of chain...'

Australia Day

Now how did that happen again?

I only went to the city to do a quick errand run for more hair products, yet I found myself sitting on the steps of the Opera House at midnight... must have hit a time warp somewhere along the way.

I thought it would be nice to catch up with Buttman and his lovely missus before they return back to the cold northern wonderland. They were sitting at the 'bat park' - which I assume meant the Royal Botanical Gardens - and we agreed to 'catch up over coffee'.

I always thought that Buttman's missus was somewhat timid, but she was the first one to suggest scrapping caffeine for alcohol and demanded vodka shots. I stand corrected: she is awesome.

So there we went, at lunch time, squeezing ourselves into one of the pubs at The Rocks - might have been called Über Bar? - and lined up for a round of shots. And drinks. And more shots. And more drinks. And it was great.

Buttman's missus wanted to taste something new, so I started chatting up the bartender asking if he could recommend something very Australian for her. He gave me a somewhat annoyed look and said - with a very strong German accent I might add - 'You're at a Bavarian Pub. I don't think so.' Heh.

We giggled at the patriotic Aussies singing all their national anthems from the real one to Waltzing Mathilda and Land Down Under and stumble around drunk as all hell.

After the noise in the pub got unbearable, we continued onwards to Opera Bar and sat there watching the sun go down and fireworks go off while suckling on a yet another glass of white.

Had a great night, even tho it felt a bit rough getting up this morning.

'I'm going to prove the impossible really exists'

Not only one, but the goddess ticked off most of my favourites!

She was the perfect little quirky Scandinavian pixie and I need to have her babies. An evil army of weird tiny little Björklings, thank you.

The gig was truly amazing and worthy of its incredible settings - certainly one of those once in a lifetime experiences.

The stage had been set opposite the Opera House, so that the audience sat on the steps facing her, and she could enjoy her own laser light show lighting up the edifice of the Sydney Opera House.

The gig highlights for me were the enchantingly beautiful Unravel, incredible Bachelorette, super powerful Army of me and of course the fireworks encore Declare Independence.

The encore was actually quite funny. The audience was going absolutely apeshit to get her back on stage, and was totally losing the plot when she finally did.

Then she goes 'This song is dedicated to Australia's indigenous people...' and then starts bellowing 'DECLARE INDEPENDENCE! DON'T LET THEM DO THAT TO YOU!'

...which of course in this case meant referring to 99% of the audience as 'them'. The applause died - par a few who were just too off their tits to even notice - and you could just see everyone going 'Hang on... WTF?'

But after a while they got over it and went on enjoying what proved out to be the most energetic and powerful song of the whole gig. Gave me a good giggle tho.

This gig has to divide the first place with last year's NIN Year Zero gig in Sydney.

I wonder if the little Björklings would go well with the mini-Trents I need to have as well?

• Oompah, death metal and that voice: perfect - smh
• Icelandic space pixie alights on butterfly wings - smh

Looks like Mr. Brokeback did a Marilyn

Heath Ledger found dead naked in bed and surrounded by sleeping pills. What a shame really. I kinda liked him and was looking forward to meeting his version of Joker.

This whaling business

I reckon all these hippies and greenies and gawd knows what are taking the wrong approach to this whaling business.

Instead of bombing the whaling ships with random greenies, I reckon the rest of the world should just start harpooning Japanese tourist buses.

That'd get their attention don't you think? Raise awarness? For sure. Be entertaining? You can bet your saucy lil arse on it!

Where are the Chasers when you need them???

Icelandic goddess down under

Please, please, please, PLEASE let it be sunny tomorrow!

The day when I finally see Björk on stage is about to arrive and if there is one thing I'm hoping, its for the weather to be good.

Ever since I was 15 I have worshiped the ground she walks on and waited for the day when I shall finally see her perform live. From her albums, the latest is not my favourite, but it doesn't change the fact that she's truly divine.

Her lyrics are amazing and so close to this little Scandinavian heart of mine. Amongst my favourite lines would have to be:

'I tried to organise freedom
how Scandinavian of me!'

from Hunter

'I'm a tree that grows hearts
One for each that you take
You're the intruder's hand
I'm the branch that you break'

from Bachelorette

'He slides inside
Half awake half asleep
We faint back
Into sleephood
When I wake up
The second time in his arms : gorgeousness!
He's still inside me!'

from Cocoon

'While you are away
My heart comes undone
Slowly unravels
In a ball of yarn
The devil collects it
With a grin
Our love
In a ball of yarn
He'll never return it
So when you come back
We'll have to make new love'

from Unravel

'His wicked sense of humour
suggests exciting sex'

from Venus as a Boy

'You know - that I adore you
You know - that I love you
So don't make me say it
It would burst the bubble
Break the charm'

from Come to me

Now if I hear even one of the above tomorrow I'll be ecstatic.

--update:

For you non-Sydneysider bunnies: what I'm ranting on about is, of course, the gig Bjork is doing at the steps of the Opera House for the Sydney Festival.

Warning: highly superficial whinge ahead

It never fails to amaze me how fucken difficult it seems to be to come up with a good quality nail polish. I mean, its not fucken brain surgery is it?

I've been through every bloody brand out there, from professional to cheap shit, and all I ever seem to find is new disappointments.

If you find a good selection of colours, you can be sure that the consistency makes application impossible, and you'll end up looking like you paid an orphan missing both hands and a right foot to perform your manicure.

Then again if you find something that's relatively painless to use, you can be sure that it'll chip off by evening tea.

And if ever you are lucky enough to find something that looks decent enough at least in candle light and doesn't cause you to have kittens during application, you'll find it dried unusable before the next time you open the bottle.

Yes. Bad nail polishes are the nail rot of the beauty industry, and an eternal source of anguish to a slinky heel addict such as myself.

In fact, I - and I consider myself somewhat of a professional here with my three years of formal training in the field of beauty combined with countless years of being an intolerably vain cunt - have only found three nail polishes worth my time so far.

Ready for it ladies? Here comes:

To create those perfect porn red toenails to top off the seamed black fishnet veiled legs, the only option is

Revlon:
680 Revlon Red
The definition of the Real Classic Vamp Red[tm].
Easy to apply evenly, dries quickly and lasts well even on toenails.



For - and I quote Deviant here for the definition - 'the perfect pussy pink' toenails go for

Max Factor Nailfinity:
830 Dusky Rose
A new addition to my favourites. Dries almost instantly, super easy to apply and lasts incredibly well. On my first bottle tho, so can't say how well it keeps in use.



And last but not least the perfect everyday coat for a neat manicure is

Maybelline Wet Shine:
30 I-Scream Ivory
Thanks to Miss Pearl for pointing me to this little bottle of perfection. Painless to use, and just one coat looks so very natural yet classy. The only downside is it'll thicken up by the time you reach half empty.

There. I don't want to count how many fucken dollars I've spent to come up with that short list, but fuck me I'm sticking with it!

--

Note to self: After finding a product that works and managing to apply it in a decent manner, don't fucken type a blog post whilst waiting for your nails to dry. The keyboard will always, ALWAYS fuck up at least a nail or two. Never learn do you? Fucken daft old cow.

Yet another Monday morning

Grah. Feel like shit.

There are mornings when I am certain that time itself is against me. A cunning enemy who's working solely to wipe me out of existence, one Monday at a time.

I mean come on! Somebody needs to at least add an extra four hour time block between Monday 12:00am and 6:00am. No?

How about two hours? I'll settle for two hours and a soy latte? ...still no?

*sigh*

Cunts. The lot of em.

A column I stumbled on whilst going through today's blogroll...

'Hedonism 101 - men, be tactful, consider placement'

Funniest shit I've read all day!

Luscious new Zoe Wittner heels

Well, we left the house to do grocery shopping. Three hours later I get home with these:

These Zoe Wittner heels define hot black stiletto heels. The shape is nothing short of perfect and somehow they make legs looks super long even beyond the aid of the sky high heels.

It was love at first sight. Thank gawd Deviant agreed and later on confessed that if I had tried to walk out of the store without the shoes, he would have bought them for me.

Damn it. Next time I have to test walking out first and then if nothing happens go back to buy the heels...

All cultural and shit with Sydney Festival

Bunnies, it has been a good week.

Work's been hectic in a positive manner. I've had shitloads to do, but I've been able to concentrate on what I was doing well enough to enjoy it. I have been creating something I could easily stand behind and believe in.

If the customer has the balls to go with it that is. But hey, here's hoping.

On another front, I've finally been able to get active on Sydney Festival. There's so much to see, its impossible to know where to start!

A workmate of mine offered me a ticket to see the new performance by Chunky Move, so I suppose that provided me with a starting point as good as any. All the good old drunkards showed up and we were treated to a very entertaining - even if a bit technology masturbation heavy - show. It was great to see everyone again after such a long break and we enjoyed the rest of the night drinking outside the Spiegeltent.

That was Thursday. On Friday, I was alerted about a Finnish act playing at Angel Place.

A mate of mine had spotted a local radio advertising a quirky Finnish jazz act Iiro Rantala New Trio. What made them interesting is that they have replaced the drummer with a young lil beatboxing kid. Now, usually I really am not into scratching or beatboxing of any of that crap, but fuck me this kid was good!

And last but least, I caught an article on SMH introducing this bizarre Finnish man and his accordion. Kimmo Pohjola is apparently the new born Jimi Hendrix of the accordion and surely enough I had to witness his act.

Conveniently he was on at Angel Place right after Iiro Rantala New Trio so we ended up being both last night. The amount of bizarre demons this guy could magically summon with his electronic accordion was truly amazing. A fantastic show!

Chunky Move

Iiro Rantala New Trio

Kimmo Pohjola

Hectic times

Finally I have a second to catch my breath. Returning to work after my holiday has been pretty hectic. In fact, I don't think I've ever felt this wanted!

My current source of inspiration.

My current project has been a weird one. The field could not be more foreign to me, yet after I got past the first obstacles, I've been overly inspired and been able to produce (what I think is) very good quality in a very short time.

At first I thought it was impossible for me to get the designs ready before the deadline, yet here I am, finishing nearly half a day early!

This is a good day.

I [heart] Alannah Hill.

Intensely feminine, romantic and whimsical - what more could you ask for? Apart from stumbling into her store while the sale was on that is.

'A Childhood Moment' cardican


'Her Modern Life' skirt

Alannah Hill

Operation tan = fail.

Yes. I managed to pull off the Stupid Scandinavian Tourist[tm] trick again and toast myself on the beach. Silly rabbit.

We walked from Bronte to Tamarama and Deviant went for a swim. The sea was going apeshit and I decided not to go in to drown myself. We didn't even stay long.

*sigh*

My cooked lobster impression is once again impressive.

Cocktails and conversations

Feeling a little bit under the weather today if I'm totally honest. We went out for 'a couple of civilised drinks' last night, and we all know what that means...

A mate of mine from Finland is in town for a month for work. Let's call him Buttman. He invited Deviant and myself out for a couple of catch up drinkies after work, so off we went.

Buttman is a character and a half even sober, not mentioning after a few drinks, so I thought I better let Deviant know what to expect. I told him to be prepared to meet a super-intelligent nerdy ninja with a super strong Finnish accent, and with whom you couldn't have a conversation exceeding 30 minutes without the subject turning to anal sex. A sweet guy as such, only totally fucked up. In other words very good value.

Naturally, he proved me right straight away.

We took Buttman to a very funky classy cocktail bar where you rarely order from the list. Instead, you have a few minutes chat with the bartender and he'll whip you up the drink of your dreams.

So there we are, in this super trendy cocktail bar, surrounded by well off beautiful people as the following conversation takes place:

Bartender: 'What do you like?'
Buttman: 'Ummmm... I like... straight... honest... raw... anal sex.'
Bartender: 'Mate, I'm a bartender, not a fucken shrink!'

So when we finally get to sit at the table with our drinks, I've got a divine pineapple mohito-ish drink in front of me, Deviant's holding a delicious orange fruity smelling concoction that strangely tasted like single malt whiskey, and Buttman was sitting there holding a martini glass full of straight vodka with a little piece of lemon swimming in it.

Needless to say the drinks were perfectly matched, and Buttman was so impressed he tipped the bartender $50.

Another priceless quote I recall hearing in the wee hours of the night was:

Buttman: 'Hey where can we go to steal a kangaroo? I may not be as fast as I used to be, but I'm still a ninja!'

Its good to be back

Not only did I suddenly gain back my gorgeous hunk of man meat, the super delicious dinners he cooks for me, the mind-bogglingly yummy sex life and the beautiful Sydney summer - I also got back just in time for the sales on Oxford Street! Bliss.

Oh my beloved shoe stores, how I have missed thee! Now just look at these gorgeous slinky forest green Mollini numbers I scored today:

Aren't they just delicious?

Mind you, they do pose a problem: now I need to find shit to wear them with as I don't have anything green at the moment. Yes, I can see a new excursion to Oxford St happening on Saturday...

Which brings me to my next subject. Now don't get me wrong bunnies, I love going back to Finland... but how fucken bad does the shoe shopping in Tampere stink?!? Hideous shoes at horrendous prices! Unbearable I tell you!

If you know Tampere shoe store stockists, please let them know that I personally think they should be dragged behind the barn and executed for crimes against humanity.

Shoe spotting

[via]

Spotted these babies worn by Angelina during my morning blog roll. I NEED THOSE HEELS.

Pain

Crap. Failed to score a bed for myself on the night train from beyond the Arctic Circle back to civilisation. This means that I have a very, VERY long night ahead of me.

*sigh*

It takes 12 hours for me to get from Kemijarvi to Tampere. Seems a bit unreasonable keeping in mind that I can get from Helsinki to Sydney in 20...

Christmas Day piss-up

Apparently, Christmas Day is the new Boxing Day as far as piss-ups go. We - Mira Bell and I - heard from a very reliable source (read: from our certified piss-head mate Poof Jesus) that no longer do people wait till Boxing Day to go out, but instead hit the piss one day early. Naturally, we had to test it.

There was also the mystery of my missing jacket to solve. I had managed to lose my winter coat during my bday piss-up and showed up home in a tiny lil black dress, sans coat. Not good. The ulterior motive for hitting the pubs was to somehow track down my beloved red winter coat.

We had a clue: I found a mysterious cloak room ticket in my bag from a bar that I did not remember visiting. However, after bringing this up I was told that we had in fact spent the majority of the night in this particular dodgy joint. Clearly, I had drank even more than I had realised. It was truly a miracle I was still alive.

Back to Christmas Day. We made plans to hit a hideous bar called Las Palmas and started the night with salmiakki vodka shots. Back on the horse, hey? The novelty value of Las Palmas wore of even quicker than I expected and we continued onwards on our mission as soon as Poof Jesus and Candy Mama showed up.

On route to the meat counter also known as Doris, we managed to locate my beloved jacket from Onnela, just as the mysterious cloak room ticked had hinted and we had our first (and last) win of the night.

The theme of the night was 'nothing has changed'. See, the four of us have been hitting the piss for the past 15 years and therefore all equally suffer from a major age crisis. However it was somewhat of a relief to realise that nothing really had changed that much.

Doris was even worse than I remembered.

It was the worst I had seen. Poof Jesus had to hold all of us three chicks under his arms yet still there were hands trying to crab us every which way he was not looking. Every time we hit the dance floor, there were drunken idiots everywhere attempting to hump our legs or grab our arses.

The three of us (me, Poof Jesus and Candy Mama) were vicariously living through Mira Bell, as she was the only single in our merry crew. We were trying pick the best meat for her, ever if she did not agree with our opinions. At least it kept us entertained.

At the end of the night, we were leaning against the bar counter, off our tits and pointing and laughing at the heavily intoxicated fellow piss-heads around us still trying to pick up anything that moved... or actually, I don't think they cared that much anymore. It was more like they were willing to pick up anything they were able to carry home with them.

Then Poof Jesus directed our attention towards the dance floor to announce that Mira Bell had successfully picked up.

Clearly, nothing had changed.

Reamonn - Supergirl

Hey you anonymous asking after Supergirl: the band is called Reamonn.

(Going through all the comments that I have accidentally ignored while I haven't been blogging)

More delicious heels

The only thing sexier than this pair of heels is the gorgeous hunk who bought them for me...

I was having a bit of a bad day and Deviant decided to cheer me up with these delicious stiletto pumps. What a perfect man!

The Big Three-O

So. I turned 30 and can now officially be described as an old cunt. Naturally this required a hefty dose of alcohol to numb the pain of aging, right?

We started with a practice run in Sydney a couple of weeks early. See, I was going to exit the country before my actual birthday and Deviant wasn't going with me, so in order to get him in on the fun, I needed to have a pre-party.

The usual group of piss-heads gathered in to meet us at our lil love nest, and with the help of copious amounts of alcohol, we went on till the sun came up and I believe I threw the towel in around 7am by crashing on the bedroom floor next to our bed that was taken by a visiting couple.

The following day was not so fun.

--

The actual birthday party took place in Tampere, Finland and after the trial run was such a drunken success, the Finnish piss-head mates of mine had a lot of expectations to live up to.

The task was not easy, however these were not just any old drunkards: Hospodar, Kennu and Mira Bell trained in from Helsinki while Jyppi and Junnu drove in from Jyvaskyla and we all met up at Cafe Europa, the same dodgy bar where we used to start up so many yrs ago as teens.

Mira Bell disappeared into the bathroom for a while and came back cranky as all hell whinging something about breaking a clothes stand and a lash curler. Apparently she had been attempting to open the bottle of Sol she brought with her and failed miserably. Not only did she have the beer in her bag, but also a slice of lime packed neatly in glad wrap to go with it.

Bring on the champers, Battery Vodkas and Long Island Ice Teas - the night had begun!

I had been afraid of these dear friends of mine getting older just as I had, but my fears were soon proven wrong:

Kennu was drooling after meat way too young, Hospodar was pouring alcohol down my throat at a very unhealthy pace, Jyppi & Junnu had a backpack full of beer with them and Mira Bell picked up a 22 yo at the end of the night.

Clearly, nothing had changed.

We put immense effort in both quality and quantity that night: we drank everything and in enormous quantities. There was karaoke, titty bars and dodgy joints - a true trip down the memory lane back to those glorious teen nights so many years ago.

The following day was even worse than the one after the Sydney pre-party and the majority of it was spent trembling in bed in fetal position or practicing my Norwegian at the slightest scent of food or alcohol.

The need to improve no longer exists, as I cannot survive a night bigger than this.

2008

Bunnies, it's been a while. Starting a brand new year seems like the perfect excuse to get back on the horse, don't you think?

Despite turning into a sickeningly happy coupled up old cunt, I still seem to have the ability to end up in situations not recommended for healthy human beings. Piss-ups, bad ideas and unhealthy mates still make up a major portion of my life, even if most of my time is spent in the office as a corporate whore or playing the perfect little Stepford wife at home.

Cooking in stockings and stilettos seems to work surprisingly well just as designing drunk, so all is well in the world of shoeboxes.

Right now, 2008 looks every bit as delicious as this pair of heels my gorgeous hunk of man meat gave me for my 30th: