Note to self

I took a Latin dance class in the fall of 2009. We learned steps to Meringue, Cha-cha, and Salsa. I had a ton of fun (and had a pretty fantastic partner) and even though I sucked pretty bad (I'm uncoordinated, as we've covered) I would totally do it again, even though I haven't actually danced since my final, which was in December.

So my dad flew into Sweden today (he does work here on occasion) so chances are, he will come check out my dwelling at some point in the next few days. Obviously, I am now frantically cleaning everything, and, like everyone else on the planet, I blast my music when I clean (and dance like a fucking loser, but hey. You do it too, don't deny it).

Of course, my playlist then decides to play the song we had to perform for our final in that Latin Dance class, and I, high off goofiness, decide to attempt to remember the moves.

Bad idea.

Especially when, after about 10 seconds, I realized I couldn't remember the moves at all, and instead jumped about like an even bigger loser, and crashed into my bureau, which sent all the books on it cascading down onto the floor, creating an even bigger mess for me to clean.

Classmate shows concern

I'm a clutz. I know it, my family knows it, my friends know it, and perfect strangers know it. Curbs are mysteries to me; I never notice them until I trip over them. Poles are invisible to me until I walk into them. I don't have bruises often - I always have bruises. Pointy corners, door knobs, armrests... my enemies, all of them.

I've been fairly successfully hiding this tidbit about myself from my new classmates... until today. At the halfway mark of my 3 hour writing class, we were released for a 15 minute break. I wandered to the bathroom for no reason, then wandered back to class. The only people in the room at this point are me, the guy that was sitting next to me, and someone across the room.

So I strut back into the room, tights, skirt, knee high boots and all. I make my way toward my seat, and that's where things went horribly wrong. See, under the windows, there are heating elements. They have knobs to adjust the temp. My knee hit one of the knobs with a vengeance. The local equivalent of "FUCK SHIT OW DAMN!" comes out of my mouth as the knob literally snaps off and goes flying. Almost instantly, the guy in the seat next to me jumps up to make sure I am okay (thank you, guy next to me) and attempts to fix the knob. Knob is a lost cause.

GNTM cracks a few jokes about how I must have decided that no one was allowed to control the room temperature, etc etc, and all is well. A few mintes later, class resumes. We are told to edit each others papers. Pencil in mouth, eyebrows furrowed in concentration, I grab the armrests of my chair to scoot forward closer to my desk.

I silently scream as my thumb gets jammed in between the metal armrest of my chair and the metal leg of the desk. Half crying, half laughing, my head falls down onto the table as GNTM looks at me, eyes full of confused concern, wondering what the heck I just did to myself.

You know you've made quite the failed impression when the last thing a new acquaintance says to you before you part ways after class is "I'll find you on Facebook later to make sure you made it home okay without dying."

The US is not the only high tech place in the world!

I went to the local library a few days ago because I need to read a play for one of my classes, and buying a copy seemed dumb. I actually stumbled across the library by accident when I was trying to find the bus station after getting done at the police station (where I requested a new passport, nothing bad for once).

So I walk into this library, hoping to GOD that it works the same way that it does in the US. You know, you walk in, go to the information desk, get a library card, find your book, and then go check it out at the register or desk or whatever.

No dice.

I walk in, and see... a lobby like thing, with a couple of computers. No information desk, no friendly librarians... Shit. Well, I spot a helpful sign that says "ADULT SECTION UPSTAIRS". I then walk upstairs, hoping that "Adult Section" does not mean "Porn Section" and thankfully, it was not. It was just the non kiddie books.

There's a lot of non-kiddie books. Where's my play?

I finally spot someone that looks like an employee and ask for help. She looks at me sort of like I am an idiot, but does help me find the book, and she signs me up for a library card. Then she asks me if I would like her to show me how to check out a book.

You mean you can't do that for me?

She takes me to another computer. Or rather, it's a monitor, and in front of it is a big red pad.

This is what I learn:

Put your library card anywhere on the pad, face up. This logs you in.

Then, select check out on the touchscreen monitor.

Place your book on the pad, wait about 10 seconds, and boom. You've checked out. If you would like a reciept, hit the reciept button.

Computers are taking over the world.

Jacked out of my jacket

It takes me about an hour to school (Stockholm Universitet). First, I walk about 1.25km to the station, where I can take either a commuter train or a bus. Normally, I take a bus for about 15 minutes, and then hop on the underground to the school station.

Yesterday, I missed the bus (of course) so instead I took the commuter train, and then took another bus all the way to school. This other bus is on a much more popular route, so it was standing room only. So I've got my headphones on, hanging on to dear life to the pole so I don't topple over. I'm uncoordinated, so this is not an easy task for me.

About halfway to school, I pull my phone out of my pocket to check the time and then I shove it back. When I get to school, I wanted to check the time so that I wouldn't be late to class. I reach into my pocket.... and it's not there.

Yup, on my 1 month anniversary of being in Sweden, I got pickpocketed on the bus. AWESOME.