Michael Nyqvist

Things I always find deeply attractive in men/ characters.
(As I've noticed, staring intently at Kelle Blomkvist for the past three days.)

Physically:
- stoutness
- bit of a belly
- body hair. Chest and tummy and arms and legs and the more the better and possibly various colors of see-through brown (though not a jeti, obviously.)
- long legs, though not thin. Never thin. Powerful thighs.
- pout mouth. Small, but full. Especially lovely kissable upper lip.
- outdoorsy wardrobe. Good shoes for trouble.
- deep voice.

Mentally:
- clever, resourceful, but cautious. And quiet.
- good at impro, but slightly idealistic
- fundamentally romantic, but very practical
- fiercely loyal
- lots of facial expressions. Very easily read into, if one takes the trouble to observe. But very shy to smile or raise his voice.
- entirely human. Not a robot, or a statue. Full of good and bad.

There is a tiny notebook somewhere in my household - tiny and insignificant. It was in fact the cheapest notebook I could find in the airport shop... and I know it still exists, because it often pops up when I am moving things about. It contains a really good story I wrote while I was in Egypt, about meeting Ramses the II... But there is just NO WAY I'd find it when I'm looking for it, is there?...

The adventures of our supergranny

I've decided I am very fond of the name Lisander. It's not really a good name for a son, unless I'd want him to be a daydreaming fag, but it would carry on grandpa Shandor's name and it's a cute war plane also... Hang on, the dog's gone quiet. Never a good sign.
        ....Back. *sigh* Okay, I got to write this down, as it's super funny and super not funny also - depends how much your stomach hurts that day.
          Yesterday morning, before seven, our darling gran calls me to tell me she and some cab driver, who is married to some woman she knows, are coming to my apartment to take away some things she wants to sell. Now, don't get me wrong - this used to be her home for fifty years and she is more than welcomed to take her things she's hitherto been unable to transport... but it's not her things she's after. It's the things she gave away as gifts, mostly to my mum, but which are costly and she would love to please someone of the people who are dying to buy them. (Often she completely fails to comprehend their value and sells them happily, proudly for the 10 % of the price.) But anyway - this still isn't as much my problem as that of my mother's, and if it was for me I'd let them bull one another endlessly. Not my game, anymore, really. But yesterday, I was ill - the past few weeks of working in the cold have gained on me and, though not in any particular frame of illness, I had slept for 14 hours and was feeling smaller than a used paper handkerchief. In NO mood to fend off strangers in my home (now for two years), explaining why the flat is now a construction site.
            I explained to her what i've explained several times before: that the only way she's taking things out is if mum is here to say it's okay, as I am seriously not going to explain to my mother also why I allowed the stuff to be taken - I'm not their fucking warden. I also said I am too sick to entertain house calls and if there is things she needs and mum okays it, we'll deliver them to her place in the afternoon, when the General is home.
           So some time between seven and eight the furious ringing of the doorbell begins. Sorry, I am sweaty, snotty, my hair is greasy and my dishes aren't washed. I am wearing dirty trainers I have slept in. I am not opening.  Doorbell continues. The dog is barking, it is getting impossible to rest. Doorbell is joined by angry hammering on the door. It's the sort of the door that shakes the entire building. I know, because I once tried to bring it down, afraid gran is inside unconscious, and nigh dislocated my shoulder. This goes on for about an hour. The dog is so scared by now, she is frozen stiff between my ankles, dead quiet, staring insistently towards the origin of the ruckus, occasionally making tiny, internal snarling sounds.
            The General is telephoning me to check in on me frequently, asking if he should come over, but also asking my mum what to do - we know our super granny enough to know she tends to walk in, grab things she believes will bring her fame and fortune and just has strangers phisically carry them out. However, unbeknown to me, it is no longer her banging the door, but the police. She has called them, claiming she cannot get into her own apartment anymore, as she has been thrown out. If the officer was calling for me, I cannot say - I honestly didn't hear them. The General, however, phoned our supergranny and managed to communicate to the police, explaining how this is no longer her legal residence and she is trying to relieve us of items only marginally hers to retrieve. (Oh, and I failed to mention that between here and her retirement home, she managed to explain to every single soul how evil we are. She does this by going from tearful poor old lady to Attila The Hun incarnate, depending on the audience. I know know exactly how every single person who has ever been accused of maltreating the elders feels..) Ultimately the officer sighed, saying to the General via phone: "Ah. Now it makes sense." and left and the noises eventually subsided. Dog started breathing again after about half an hour.
            The really interesting bit in conclusion, though, is that we did just as we agreed: we gathered all the items in question and drove them first to mum and then to gran to do as she wants with them - but even though she and the General set the hour, she fled the retirement home when he arrived. About fifty or so angry old ladies were giving him dirty looks, of course, as he is a bad, bad boy indeed, and I have to say I haven't seen him this upset over anything other than me in ages. You got to give it to our granny: she aims to kill.

Men Who Hate Women

Just in case I need to stress it again: the book, the movie, even the teaser trailer are beyond.  :D   I am even charmed by the original titles that got entirely, though quite brilliantly, replaced: one says 'The Castle-In-The-Sky that blew up.' :))

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mwzq58KXcQE

Going from reading a very bad book onto reading a very good one is like coming out of pain. It goes to say double for the books that were a lot more fun to write than they are to be narrated. Bottom line, I will need a whole lot more of creative work-out before my books are fit for public: it is not my intention to cause pain. Really - I have no desire for profound human drama or political messages or some ingenious ode to suffering of the abused teenage mothers of Beirut. My genre is the adventure/humour fantastic realism with lots of food recipes and praise of good men. I am about a billion years away from being Bryson - or Stieg Larssen, but then he wasn't a particularly happy person and he died reasonably young. (I began reading about the tricky wasp Salander, but settled for the movie, impatiently, though both are excellent choices. I've decided not to proceed onto the last two thirds of the Men Who Hate Women trilogy, simply because the story gets too meshy, too global, too busy with characters and back-stories all over the place - and I already know it ends well for the unlikely couple.) It was such a neat moment, watching the movie in bed (that time of the month again and I am skull fucked by the severity of it, hugging the hot water holder/ tummy warmer toy), admiring the casting, agreeing on how very attractive the totally non-Hollywood male lead is... and then looking down on the sleeping vision of the General with his absurdly long and handsome legs and his pouty gentle face (only when he's sleeping) and that mountain of his shoulder, thinking: yeah, but mine is better still  :D

            Although!... in the spirit of things we did try to sketch his future tattoo onto him with black watercolors just before he showered: I've finally gotten the full idea of it: on the chest it will be like a snake or an arm hugging him, done in tribal geometry; around the pre-existing shied on the biceps and onto the shoulder blade will be the image of two hunters, male and female, that in some sense seem fighting, hunting, disagreeing, but in another, like when he's sleeping, they will seem like making love. I got it perfectly right the very first time I did it: every detail is dubious and needs to be connected, so the options for stories is limitless... On the bottom, going down the arm under the shield, remains the line from Indiana Jones III, the one Jones Sr. made up about the Charlemagne (and we both instantly loved): Let my armies be the rocks and  the trees and the birds in the sky...

The fireworks that distracted me from kisses..... :))

Yesterday

 Dawn from the last day and freezing stuff from the friggin freezing doggie walk :))

      Later...
There was so much food last night - again - that I was physically ready to lay down and die. There was not an ounce of room in me left and nobody managed to take the hint. Of course I tried to eat uncharacteristically little, but there's just no going around it.
         We broke apart the wee green hunt, feeling a little bit without it immediately. I was late for the gathering of the last bits and the final lockdown on account of recuperating after a too violent orgasm, but while we were waiting for the men to return, Drej and I played warcraft and ate McDonald's cream&strawberry pie, shooing all my plans to take a neat nap and then proceed with the schedule out the window.
          The first station was my parent's place. It was just the four of us and I TOLD dad we have another dinner set up, but still they prepared an absurd amount of food. I have no idea why the General worries about having to pay for wedding feast expenses: I can't see any way to stop my parent from making this much food for a simple family meal, yet alone a proper excuse. I was on my best behavior, but of course I still went on people's nerves, though I did talk to dad a lot and I love the way he listens and I told them stories from the green hut life. We laughed a bit and ate a bit and left a bucketload of food intact, simply because already there was no way we were hungry. Not to mention all those yummy carbs went straight into my blood and what with cigarette smoke and the warmth, I needed a double espresso - that didn't achieve sqwat.
           Next station was the General's family place. Just to illustrate: they prepared three kinds of meat, two side-dishes, two salads and four deserts. Seriously, before it i was queasily dozing off but afterwards I was about to keep over. And die. And then blow up again like a putrid beached whale. But then we had to go to the third station: my sister's.
         We picked up Drey and Vanč on the way - Vanč is always so afraid when this happens, because I suppose I make all our plans sound very painful and dangerous the way I describe food lately. The sororal household is newly remodeled and repainted and it was lit with all these candlelight and it looked spot-on festive. See for yourself:

 

 

 

 

         Course they ALSO made food - their infamous calcone - though I was unable to even take a sip of a drink, hot and thirsty as I was, ere - seriously - I gently lay down and fucking die.
          To pass the time, I decided to make people write in firecracker font. :D Go me! Of course at first everyone was 'aw, come on, leave us alone', but as predicted, you couldn't stop them afterwards until we ran out of spark sticks. We tried to write "Happy new year 2011" and actually came quite close - with a little bit of photoshop it would have even be legible... :D And then we simply goofed around some more just for the laugh of it :D It's not as easy as it sounds: laughing your tears out on a painfully full stomach :P

 Attempt one...

 Attempt two...

Attempt three... argh, Mags was slacking!!.... haha :P

 

 Goofing about   :D   Whoops, we skipped Paskal...

           Ultimately we crammed ourselves into the car (Barky was at home, because she lived up to her reputative name and kept barking through the window at the fireworks, so we just wrapped her in her blankie and turn on the radio and left her to sleep at home..) and sought a spot to watch the midnight fireworks. Not quite so taken for granted, as what little fog there usually is, it's quite strategically placed even before it all starts, but once it does, all the ignited chemicals in the air make the skyline quite 'primordial soul' like. last year we had to change locations twice, but this time we just settled for some middle sin and parked in front of the big church on the Joseph's hill. We were not alone, of course, plenty people there doing the exact same thing and several shooting the fireworks as well.

 

 

 (.....More on the separate post... Lots more 8))

I have to admit that while trying to zoom/focus in on the tiny explosions, not unlike births of the universe(s - I'm a fan of the multiples theory), I totally overlooked the General who was waiting for me to kiss him. I was aware of the fuss behind me of people cheering, but not that he was so romantic. I am still trying to compensate, because it really is a thrill kissing that hot mouth in minus 14 Celsius, but he is playing chill now. Okay, he is fast sleep now with the dog gnawing on his toes, but the ticking feeling of embarrassment lingers. No way I'll be taking more photographs than kissing him this year. I would have to literally take millions!!

.... and then of course we goofed around some more. Goodness gracious great balls of fire!!!

 

 

 

 As you can see, Vani, photography is a ridiculously cool way to percieve the world around you :D

Last day in '10 town...

Our timing is in teens. Again. Last time it was in teens they had Al Capone and gradually a great depression and shady occult Carnivals - I'll be on the lookout for the next iconic criminal. I think this year was the best yet, but I just think that, because it involved the most new people. The most ironic bit of it is the fact that all of these I've met via FB. Then my birthday happened and I met Drej and Ksenija and Mark came into my life and all my models - and soon I was feeling ridiculously alive. For sure, there were times when I was feeling ridiculously ready to die, but all in all, I now believe that would have been the dumbest, most loserish thing. Of course *now* doesn't count, because *now* I am very happy. Also because for the next year - and even though  namely count them March - to - March, it's safe to say the last one was a wonder and the next one will be... well, we'll sit and watch. And try not to eat too much popcorn. I am about to explode as it is.