Colorado. Runner. Yogi. Fucking hilarious, like, 17% of the time.

he is a foreign man

My beau (who you saw a few quotes from in my wonderfully typed last entry) is in Sweden. Hes like superman with cooler socks.

Actually, before I get into that - lets talk about that last entry. WHY didn't anyone tell me there were so many typos?? Ok, so I wrote in on my iPhone in the dark after having consumed several delicious Portland microbrews while watching Neverending Story (or Goonies, I forget). But I like to think that my literary kung-fu can transcend silly barriers like that. Apparently not. Oh well. I'm not going to go back and fix them, as much as I'm itching to. Detracts from the authenticity, ya know?

Ok, now. My beau is in Sweden. I haven't heard from him except for one lyrical facebook status update:

... doesn't speak the language, he holds no currency, he is... oh wait, there's an ATM.

If I had to guess, I'd say that probably occurred to him on the plane on the way over and he just couldn't WAIT to use it - he puts a lot more thought into these things than I do. For example, my most recent status update is:

Emma is out of saltines. Oh noes!

Anyway, no updates from the land of the Swedes thus far, otherwise I'd be regaling you with tales of his adventures there. I'm not worried that I haven't heard from him, of course. Why would I be, when he's surrounded by women who look like this?

Elin Grindemyr. Just a regular old Swedish girl.

My buddy at work keeps telling me these women luuvvv American men, too. And the DB is in Sweden for a wedding.

So to recap: I haven't heard from my boyfriend, who is currently likely surrounded by tipsy, gorgeous, american-loving, romantic-feeling Swedish women.

Good thing I'm full of self confidence and inner beauty, huh?

Sunday Best

I'm the verbal Herman Munster