Tranquilized

Once, she did not sleep.
Each hour was a task, a map to be laid out, every corner and stone turned.
There was never enough and still she seemed to have most time of us all.
One morning we found her sick and left her to do her own healing.
When she was well she told me she’d “never known sleep was so great”. She’d discovered its merit.
Now she was well I’d see her leaning on the counter with a distant look. She dreamt of sleep. She imagined not knowing what she knew and what a blessing it might be. She slept six, eight, ten hours.
It was wondrous.
There were no dreams and that was the best part. A short time of non existence, of oblivion. A small time of death.
She slept ten, eleven, twelve hours.
We told her she was getting lazy. She answered “merely inspired.”
Now she sleeps twenty hours.
Tomorrow I think we’ll realize we have not seen her for twenty four and we’ll wait for the day she wakes up to tell us how delightful her nap was before going back to drown in the covers.
And I envy her.

Decisions: Pole Championship Song?

It’s happening. Finally.
The dance studio I attend are having their first pole championship and I’m in the beginner category. I have 6 months to prepare my routine and I’m so freaking excited. During the past three months I could barely hear a song without imagining what it might be like dancing to it.
And now it’s time to pick a song.
Here’s the candidates I’m considering so far: Continue reading

Awkward Conversations When You Have PCOS

“So are you both lactose and gluten allergic?”
“Sure. Let’s say that.”

“Oh, I see. You’re pissed because it’s that time of the month, right?”
*Speechless shock*

“Ugh, kids are so gross. I’m not going to have any until I’m much older. If at all. Don’t you agree?”
“Well, actually, I think I may have to start trying pretty early.”
“Really? You want to be a young mom?”
“That’s not what I meant …”

“If I get pregnant during my school years I won’t hesitate to get an abortion. I mean, it’d totally mess up my education!”
“I’m not sure I’d do the same. I mean, what if I never get the chance again?”
“Aw, come on, you’ll find somebody.”
“That’s not what I meant …”

“It’s so ridiculous when some women blame their thyroid for their weight problems. Like ‘It’s not my fault I’m fat, it’s just my hormones.’ Come on, we all got hormones!”
Yes, but the hormones from the thyroid are kind of different. In fact they –
“Don’t tell me you believe in that crap!”
*Sigh*

With the doctor: Continue reading

A Wolf In My Backyard

When I was little I used to swing every day. Not in a club. This was a huge swing in our yard and I’d go up as far as I possibly could, to the point where falling down wasn’t just dangerous, it was lethal.

A PROFESSIONAL SWINGER! NO, WAIT! THAT'S NOT WHAT I MEANT!

A PROFESSIONAL SWINGER! NO, WAIT! THAT’S NOT WHAT I MEANT!

My childhood was filled with vivid dreams of predators, all starring our back yard as the new habitat of some crazy species. I remember the shark dream best (where our house was underwater, of course, and there were sharks swimming over our yard and house, of course) and the wolf dream:
In which a pack of wolves hunted me down from my swing and roamed our backyard. This dream has always scared me, particularly now that it came true.
Not the swing part. The swing is broken.
The wolf part.
My sister and I were watching a TV show with my mom, wrapped up in blankets and pyjamas. We’d had the fire going in the fire pit for quite a while and it was hot, so I’d opened the door to our terrace slightly.
At some point during the TV watching I saw something grey pass the window on the opposite wall of where the door was. I looked again but it was gone. Then I turned and outside the glass door was a fucking wolf. Continue reading

This Conversation Could TOTALLY Happen

When I miss my boyfriend I have conversations with him in my head.

Me: ”By the way, thank you for lending me that thermos. It’s been a life saver.”
Him: “No problem. By the way, where’s my shirt?”
“Here. That one was a life saver, too. I’m gonna miss it.”
“Aw. Hey, is that my sock?”
“Mmmh.”
“I recognize it.”
“Well, yes. But I’m gonna keep that.”
“Keep it? It’s my sock.”
“Yes. But I’ll have it in my drawer and it can remind me of you. When I miss you I’ll wear it. It’ll be like a hug. For my feet. Technically foot.”
“I need that sock.”
“Not as much as I do. Look, I’ll buy you new socks and then eventually I’ll steal those, too. That way I get my little reminders and you get a new wardrobe. Do you like colors?”
“I don’t understand why you need the damn sock!”
“Look, you’re already taking the shirt so just give me this one!!!”

My boyfriend’s coming over tomorrow and I’m not sure I’m letting him get away with the shirt, either …

 

TV Love is Boring

Love is the currency of fiction. We pay good money to be led into the mind of some empty mask-character whom we can inhabit and experience a new love through. It’s a great way to get around adultery, really, as your certain other will never suspect just how serious that crush on Mr. Grey, Darcy or other dashing brooding dude.

(I’m not comparing Grey and Darcy. No, NO THAT’S NOT WHAT THIS IS ABOUT DAMN IT!)

Untitled-1

Point blank, before the rambles go too far, as they invariably do: You’ve got this story and there’s a hero or heroine and about ten minutes into the story you meet this person of the other sex (or, as in “Imagine me and you” from the same one) who is obviously going to be the love interest. Continue reading

Female Adequacy Is A Thing

Inadequacy. Whether about looks or personality the feeling is common to many.
For some women it takes a step beyond that. “Being thin” becomes the answer to all problems: “why am I not popular/funny/smart?” comes down to “I’m not thin enough.”

We’re bombarded with lies every day, telling us we’re not thin enough or that we should get rid of our nonexistent wrinkles or at least prevent those coming with age – ugh, AGE! – which teaches us to look discriminately at ourselves.

After high school was over I, as many other Danes, took a sabbatical. Instead of working or traveling I focused on writing. I spent a LOT of time with myself and a handful of close friends.
My solitude forced me to deal with these issues.

I started longing to meet new people and looked for opportunities to fill my everyday life. One day, an opportunity found me.

I was doing crossfit with a woman named Maren, whom I learned did pole dancing, and my excitement could not be contained. Perhaps a bit scared she gave me her card and I dragged one of my friends to a trial class.
We got hooked immediately.

pole3 Continue reading

American Love versus Danish Kærlighed

You’d misunderstand my point if I said I liked America, so to make sure everyone’s on the same page I’ve got to say I love it.

I love how open people are, the can-do-spirit, the willingness to work and succeed – it’s great.
What’s not so great is your perception of the word “love”.

One of the best monologues a teacher ever gave me was when my English teacher taught us the difference between “being in love” and “loving someone”. But I find that the usage of these words in American culture aren’t far apart and that her speech worked better with the Danish concepts. Continue reading

Guys get the Girls get to be Sluts

Lights are low, there’s a buzz in your blood and what the next person says to you is hilarious. You laugh and forget what it’s all actually about and suddenly feel like dancing.
Then you see a stranger enter the dance floor, his back straight as if to declare ‘here I am’ to everyone.
“That guy helped Dennis out,” a friend tells you, “with that exam he had to redo. Apparently they went out to celebrate after the test. He’s been with over 50 girls! Man, he’s my hero!”
You feel a prickling interest. 50 girls? How? What’s so special about this guy that he could get 50 girls to scooch out of their undies for him?

Different scenario, same description: lights low, buzz-blood, next-person-hilarity.
A woman enters the dance floor, hips swaying, hair everywhere. You’re breathless because she takes up the dancefloor – she owns that dance floor.
“Katrina brought her along, didn’t she?” one of your friends ask.
“Yeah. She’s been with like 50 guys. Kind of a slut. You can go for it, but watch out, don’t know where it’s been.”
Laugher. You peak at her, intrigued but also, in a strange, demure kind of way that you try to ignore, disgusted.

Why is there such a difference between men and women who have several partners?

I know, I know, you’re thinking “shut up, feminist, I’ve heard this before, I know where you’re going.”
But you don’t, so hear me out.

That guy who’s been with over 50 girls? Yeah. He is a champ. Good for him. That must’ve taken a lot of work – and if it didn’t, more power to ya’.
But why is a girl with the same score not as impressive?
The answer is simple: Continue reading

Western culture and its love affair with prostitutes

These days media flourish with women of different kinds.

briennekorra

You can make up whatever argument you want but women definitely have a lot more representation these days. I’ve seen a lot of shows with badass women.

peggy starbuck

Along with these many kinds of “strong women” – a term flung around so much these days it’s virtually a buzz word – there’s a new uprising for femininity. Continue reading