Bårk bårk bårk!!!

Where am I again? That's right...back in the States.

This morning on my way to work, I (as always) was idling in traffic on scenic Route 54 in Chapel Hill. Out of the corner of my eye I see a man (who looks oddly familiar) motioning for me to roll down my window. Great...another flat tire, I'm thinking. So...with a sour look on my face, I roll down the window and out pops a flurry of Swedish from the gentleman in the BMW. He points to the rear of my car and says, "Does your car go very fast?" (I write that in English because I have no idea how to spell properly in Swedish). Ummmm...this may be the part where I note that I have a vanity plate reading, "SNABB" which is fast in Swedish.

My jaw drops and I respond with a rapid, "Ja!!!!" Partly out of surprise that I was hearing Swedish, partly out of surprise that I actually understood what he said. Only then did it occur to me that I was speaking to one of the Neuro Vascular surgeons from the Hospital (whom I have met on several occasions prior to rotting in traffic with him). I squeaked back some pleasantries in Swedish before being hustled along by the flow of traffic.

It usually takes me a few days to adjust to America after being gone for a couple of weeks. I think it has to do a lot with being able to comprehend everything that is going on around me (as opposed to every fifth word or so). Just when I start to get my footing, some rogue Swede comes along and sends me flying back to my prior existence. So entirely confusing for me.

I am still responding to questions with Jas and/or Nejs. I'm still saying, "oj" when I bump into things (which I do frequently as I am not exactly graceful). I'm still chewing on bilar and making matters all the more complex, I have Håkan Hellstrom spinning in the car.

Quite frankly....I am surprised that I found my way to work and remembered my eighty zillion passwords. I wish my boss could recognize my angst and turmoil and take it a little easier on me today instead of assigning me work...like I am actually supposed to be productive. *rolls eyes in disgust*

The "Real" Swedish Chef...

...lives. Alive and well in Mölndal. Sssssshh.

More Swedish Humour???

These are real street signs, my friends.

P is for Pussi

OK....some of you Mark Base readers may have already seen the "Pussi" post. In the spirit of the earlier mentioned, Spotted Dick...I, however, cannot resist adding my own (my deepest apologies, Mark).

One night, while out tying one on, Andy blurts out that he found Pussi in the local grocery in Sweden. The entire conversation stopped. He explains that one may actually procure Pussi in Sweden. You can imagine how riveted the group was. You can (almost) hear the uproarious laughter that ensued when Andy explained that Pussi is cat food. Even further hooting and howling ensued when Roowhip mentioned she had a can of it at home in her cupboard.

The following day, while slumming at the Hard Rock Cafe in Göteborg (Gothenburg for you knuckle dragging, non Swedish speaking lot), Pussi reappeared in conversation. I believe among Mark Base, Arvid, Janelle, Andy and I as we were standing outside, smoking cigarettes along Avenyn. While I was not very drunk...I do remember very little from this conversation...other than laughing my ass off and trying really hard not to snort in front of my new friends.

To cement the hilarity of this discovery, Magnus, Dock and I went to ICA Maxi two days later to stock up on cans of Pussi for our American friends. The three of us were doubled over in fits of laughter in the pet food aisle. Hooting, hollering, shamelessly carrying on and taking pictures. It is so funny that my otherwise reserved, Swede (Magnus) was unable to stand up and turned beet red from laughing so hard.

As Mark indicates on his website...insert your comments here.