Today is my mother’s birthday, and I have a huge rash on my face that does not go with my outfit or my outfit’s matching nail polish. The rash has been living on my face for a week, and because my reaction to seeing my face in the mirror every morning has been, “Oh god, why even bother”, I have also had a week of venturing out into the world sans any make-up, because my sense of reason is horribly crippled by this thing called Sofie-logic. In this case, it told me that this was an unredeemable situation that called for stronger powers.

So. I have had to dig up every bit of my (of course irresistible) charm and wit to divert the attention away from the big pulsating flesh-eating rash that has probably grown eyes and eyebrows and teeth of its own by now, and let me tell you it has been hard work. Yesterday, I saw my father for the first time in weeks, and he said, “Woah, you are beginning to look like old (pre-all-the-bullshit-that-happened-last-summer) Sofie again – pause – haven’t you lost weight?”. And here I was thinking that normal Sofie looks better than a big pulsating rash. THANKS. I swear, I should have set my rash on him; teeth and mustache and all.

My grandfather, who is a retired doctor, has given me some special magic creme to put on it, which will hopefully make it go away — preferably soon. It’s not that I am vain, it’s just… very rash-y.

Anyway. I am not going to grant the rash any more attention. Instead I am going to talk about something that is has always been and will always be a hot topic in Denmark. THE WEATHER. There is always something wrong with the weather. It’s the perfect icebreaker in any situation, because every Dane has an opinion about the weather.

This was Denmark on March 2nd, two days into Spring — ain’t it lovely?

Now there is a warning out that there will be a dramatic snowstorm starting next week; the worst in ten years even, because we can’t just stop at snowstorm, right? It has to be the worst in xyz number of years. And… I hate to be That Dane, meaning every single fucking Dane in existence, but, REALLY? It’s March 16th. The season has changed. It’s time to move on to warmer and sunnier times. Weather, let’s not go back, let’s move forward. Together. This is nonsense. An unnecessary roadblock on the road to short dresses with flower prints and ice cream. Let’s set up a demonstration at the town square against this stupidity, and I promise I’ll be there — except for if it snows. Then I am not going anywhere.

The clock just struck 12, which means it is no longer my birthday.

And, honestly? I am completely okay with that. My birthday kind of snuck up on me this year, and I never really managed to get into the birthday-celebratory spirit. I think I have just been so caught up in exams and studying that my birthday has seemed… insignificant. I wish I had put more thought into it, like, made a wish-list, but the truth is that I never know what I want until it’s over. When people ask me what I want, I always tell them that I will think about it, because I tend to over-think everything. In fact, this blog is one big over-thought thought. I want to ask for something that is just right now that I have the privilege of asking for something, anddd it never happens. Next year I will be prepared. Definitely. Hopefully. Maybe.

It was supposed to rain today, but it remained dry and sunny until late in the afternoon. Because it is/was my birthday, and because you are entitled to be the center of your own universe on your birthday,  I am choosing to think the warmth of the sun was a direct reflection of my behavior this past year. MOSTLY GOOD. Now for something that is most definitely NOT a reflection of my behavior: We’re six days into June, and the weather has decided to go psycho-schizo on us by pulling a complete 180, which means that it has gone from bordering unbearably hot to where the fuck are my gloves. It’s downright cray. Maybe some Dane somewhere complained about the hot weather and that is why the Weather Gods decided to remind us of our geographical position. If so, I hope they don’t read that entry I wrote.

The weather these last few days has been absolutely extraordinary. I have spent most of my time outside because it would be stupid not to enjoy it while it is here. Copenhagen is actually a gorgeous city during the summer, with plenty of green areas, lakes, trees, flowers and birds. Well. City pigeons. Flying rats. You can’t have it all.

I am happy to pronounce that as of two days ago, I am officially done with Math from now until forever. I will help my future kids with their Math homework until they hit third grade, and then their father can take over. I will in return help them with their essays, and teach them all about rock’n'roll history. I think that sounds like a fair way of delegating the work.

(I am half-watching a documentary about fertility problems, and it is FULL OF TESTICLES. I did not see this coming.

Get it?)

(PS: I learned that British professors in fertility sometimes refer to testicles as “testies”. That’s kinda cute.).

OH. Last night was the night of the annual Eurovision. I can’t remember the last time I have felt THIS mortified/embarrassed on behalf of my country. Expect a lengthy post with a lot of bullet points and capital letters on what I believe Denmark is (consistently) doing wrong. Like. Consistently. Always. Every year. Embarrassment galore. It needs to stop. I can’t even.