K-Blog

..."You're actually surrounded by snakes, some people are just waiting for you to go down, but I know that's not gonna happen". ..."and they're so curious, they speculate as to why a woman like you doesn't have a boyfriend. They just don't understand who you are, don't think about it." Well, I didn't. Until now. It hurt though I didn't show it. Probably also eased the hurt that I overheard him tell another waiter "she's got more coglioni than any man I know." Guess that's what I get for having drinks with my co-workers and staying sober. - Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone

- "So no kids, eh ? Hm. Probably you shouldn't even have a boyfriend." -"You call me anytime. Middle of the night, whatever, you call me, 24/7". -" You ought to watch yourself. Your mom's here now and your grandma was here before her. Probably runs in the family". -"You sure you don't want to get married ? You cook really well too." -"You're quite the snobby girl, aren't you? Probably think the sun shines out of your ass, don't you? " -"It's quite easy to fall for you, your passion, enthusiasm and looks." -"You're starting to scare me." -"What's up, kitten ? Still landing on your feet ?" -"Well, you aren't known as the most diplomatic person ever." -"You're the best boss I ever had." -"Come to the party, it's bound to be fun. It's Pimps and Hoes at (----insert fancy hotel----). You could be a wonderful Pimp, jus

My first experience with yoga was a near-religious one. There is really no other words for it, though I am not religious at all. It was one of those lazy early evenings at the beach in Italy - the waves were lapping softly against the shore, everything was coloured gold by the setting sun, the few people left on the beach were dark silhouettes against the sky, and everybody was speaking softly after a long, white-hot day under the sun. I was about to pack up my stuff and go home too, my friends had gone home a little while ago to get ready for the evening; I was still working in clubs back then. I was just getting up, when the owner of the bar on the beach, a big curly-headed bear of a guy, Alessio, walked up to me and asked me if I wouldn't stay for the yoga. A small group of people did yoga on the beach once in a while, and they were just about to start. I told him I had never done yoga before, and he told me it didn't matter, he would guide me and I should just focus on my

I was right beside my boss when the restaurant phone rang today. Somebody wanted to know the name of the tall blond waiter with the too-tight ponytail. My boss gave me a confused look, and I heard him say "her name is (insert my real name)" before the someone on the other end of the phone, put it down. And the plot thickens....

He came back. Circles are closing themselves these days indeed. I took a deep breath and told him that while I hadn't been ready to date when he asked for my number, it had been very important to me, it had made my day, but that I (for various reasons) hadn't had the balls to acknowledge his request. But thanks. He looked me straight in the eye and said "that's all right". Felt good. On another note. As of yesterday, I have been back in Denmark for a year now. We celebrated at work with bubbly and I plan to celebrate a lot more, away from work. Wish me happy-coming-back-to-D-day =).

I note that none of us is talking. I know I am not, for fear of opening up, to putting this thing in words, for fear of realizing this might be nothing but sexual attraction, for fear of losing him. Maybe he has the same fears. Today I asked him if he thought we could be friends. He said maybe. Then he said (and I would rather he had not) that he didn't know, he don't know what we are now. I answered (a little annoyed) "apart from that, leave it there, do you think we could be friends?" and he repeated that he didn't know. And added, that maybe if I spoke a little softer. He has been at me a lot today; why I can't walk straight, why I speak so loudly. And then he zoned out when I told him the logical reasons as to why it is diffucult that a Barolo become port-like. He started that one, he would want to taste this Barolo that has aged so much that it becomes almost like port. I went on to ask, why, does he like port ? No, he said, he had watched this tvpro

I can feel it already (links to http://kyllyan.blogspot.com/2010/08/restless-iii.html) as I am walking home, that wind, it is there again. If I fall into this, I will stay awake all night, thinking in loops, doing nothing with this energy that I can't seem to get rid of, this sensitivity that I won't do without, but that sometimes drive me crazy. The same sensitivity that lets you live the good things this intensely, won't numb down when it comes to bad things, you can't have it and not live the good *and* the bad. I need to relax. A lot of things are going on right now, work-wise, home-wise and family-wise. And sitting down now to linger on those things won't help me, I need to relax and let decisions take themselves, as they are wont to do. I was bored , (links to I´m bored) now it seems life has thrown me more than I can handle. Sitting here thinking in loops won't help me out. Will go to bed. And I *will* sleep.

She had been reading when I walked by the living room, I was coming down from the rooftop terrace where I had been reading and enjoying the sun. I stopped to say hi, to exchange a few pleasantries and maybe to get to know her better. We had been tip-toeing around each other for a few days, in a very respectful and tender manner. She; because she seems shy and a tiny bit intimidated (his words; not mine); me, because I am curious and very respectful of what *they* have. He; my ex, my first boyfriend in Italy, and (with time) one of my best friends, and her; the tall, dark Brazilian girl (she is actually a woman) with the soft manners and the curious eyes. Now the living room was buzzing with smalltalk, Nix, his brother, the painter and the little mad bookbinder had all joined us. She had been reading a childrens' book, written and illustrated by one of Nix's friends. She was sitting there, impossibly long legs assembled in a lotus-like pose under her, book in her lap and

I pretend to smell autumn in the air already, walking home from work, close to midnight. I know how to imagine something and trick my nose into smelling it. But there is no dark musky earth in the wind, there is no chill yet, the air is fresh but not cold, the rain is refreshing, not menacing and the leaves that have fallen and that cling to glass everywhere, are yet green, and have been blown off by the wind. Yet I cannot convince myself. I'm nostalgic and restless and the clouds are weirdly fluorescent as a sign of something that I cannot decode, as they are hurrying across the night sky. When did the sky get so dark as to show off twinkling stars like that ? It's a full moon too, and I long for something I don't understand and cannot put into words.

She looked at me with a very vulnerable stare. We were never close but we worked together in the same club as  for 4 or 5 years. She know me as a fun gal, always a bit too outrageous - a wild, but healthy girl as another girl put it - and as the always dancing firestarter. I knew her as the quiet wholesome-pretty cashier, the long-time girlfriend of one of the PRs. Now she looked the shadow of herself, dark circles round her eyes and shabby hair. Must have lost a few pounds as well. I told my story of coming back to Denmark once again. About leaving an attractive job in the advertising business, about starting all over again after more than 18 years in Italy, about leaving, also to try my luck with a Danish boyfriend and about the baddest breakup ever. I made the story short (we were small-talking in the ever-busy same club, after all) and as I said; we were never close at all, I choose whom I show my vulnerability to. When I got to the part about breaking up, she got all soft in

time had taken mercy on, and decided to overlook us for the night. There we were, in the middle of the throbbing crowd of pub-crawlers, music blaring, the three of us nursing whiskies and drinks. The first reunion in more than 3 years. I had seen G the night before, but it is sort of difficult to lure M out of his little house in the hills. Yet, there he was for the occasion, impeccably dressed like the professor he still is, despite recent trouble at the Academy. One would have a hard time putting together a more unlike trio than us. The too-thin M with the intense eyes, talented and famous painter and professor at the Academy of Art. Now he looked worn, thinner, but radiant to be there with us again. The two of us were speaking; filling each other in on our respective lives these last years, him leaning in over the small table and looking at me over the rim of his glasses, talking, smiling and nodding occasionally. G was sitting mutely, arms crossed and sardonic smile so typical of

I think I feel bored. And in no small couple-of-hours-to-kill-way. No, I feel bored in a big want-something-to-happen-or-I-might-make-it-happen-myself-way. It has been a while that I have been feeling restless, not really doing anything with my spare time. Not that I have much more of it than the next person, but my spare time starts when I wake up in the morning and stretches out in front of me 'till around 16 in the afternoon. This means that on a normal day I have approximately 7 or 8 leisure hours in a row. I wake up rested, and there I am; 8 hours in front of me, in which to do stuff. It really seems a lot. And I do rest, and lounge around - I am now working fulltime at the restaurant and lulling around doing nothing is important too, I go to work rested and happy most days, looking forwards to get in. My life in Denmark has settled quite a bit since I came back from Italy last year in September. I live where I love to live; I thought a lot about getting an appartment of

I have a temper. Or; at least I used to have one. As I am getting older it is sort of mellowing down. I tend to have a more nuanced view of situations, of people, their intentions and of things in general. Not quite zen, but it takes a lot to get me angry. Maybe because I'm slow or maybe I am really just naive, I tend to think the best of everybody. I mull over stuff  in my head, try and see things in a neutral way (which I actually believe can't really be done, where feelings are involved) and sometimes it takes me hours or days to realize how hurt or angry I may be about something. Not because I don't know what I am feeling, but because I will weigh carefully whether I might be wrong, misunderstanding something or just taking things too seriously. Which I do a lot. Take things and myself too seriously I mean. I see myself as quite the happy camper, but at the same time I am abnormally sensitive, proud and private about some things. I think it shows too, I think I give

I am not very good at balances in my relationships to other people. Very often I am too much. At other times I am too little. Or at least that's the way I feel where people are involved. I'm very forgiving with myself so in relation to me, I feel balanced in an offhand, extreme way. Today I feel independent, a bit relieved even that he's on vacation, might be healthy to see what it is like not to have him nearby. I makeup as usual, try to make myself prettier even, to prove to myself it doesn't matter that I know there is *no* chance of me bumping into him. I plan to call friends (that I have wanted to see for a long time, but somehow never got 'round to calling) to make plans; he won't be home over the weekend so I can make plans without counting him in. But I never get around to calling anybody, I end up checking my phone for another message from him, listen to Madeleine Peyroux singing You're gonna make me lonesome when you go and then I realize I mi

He was actually saying something not *that* nice. Not bad-bad neither, his observation was well-meant and -founded. He's totally right about that second part; I know it and (plan to) work on it. That's probably why I can just ignore that second part and focus on, and wallow in, and mentally relive that *first* part: "You're actually very sophisticated..." Probably helps me focus on the good part too, that when we said goodnight on the corner of two streets, he kissed me a tiny bit. We kissed and parted; I had to go one way, (ok, I had no idea of *which* one) he another. I realized while walking (staggering, dazed) away, that I had no clue to where I was. Worse. He realized it too. And I could just give up, go back to him, laughing (ha ha,-very-funny-laugh-to-hide-my-embarassment) and have him tell me which way to go. To get home. Just because I lose my way . Not at all because he kissed me.

I know it is. The right thing to do, I mean. But my heart cries blood-tears. I have been changing my wardrobe lately. Finally put away the heavier winter garments, taken out the summer ones. Folded, washed and aired everything that needed it, either for putting away or for taking out. A heavy task; I have way too many clothes. I have stood there a hundred times, with a wardrobe vomiting stuff all over me, and yet not known what to wear. I do a regular clean-up of my wardrobe every 6 months, I figure "if I haven't worn it once for the last 6 months, then out it goes". And out goes a lot of stuff - usually I just pack a few big black garbagebags and carry them down to the nearest do-good-clothes-container. Must be a lot of very-stylishly-dressed bums out there. But over the last few days I have slowly come to realize that there is no way (as in NO WAY) all of my sandals, slingbacks, flip-flops, dècolletes, mules, kittenheels, sabots, wedges, stilettos and summerboots

I think he might be testing me. Maybe to find out whether we can have something outside of bed too. Or maybe he doesn't have all that strong sexual energy at all; maybe he is trying to find out how much refusal I'll take, before I lose interest. Or he has gotten so used to me being all over him, that he doesn't know whether I still want him, and won't make a move until he knows. Nah. He can read me all right, he can see that I want him badly. I think he can see he is pushing it too far. He was very sweet, though he hugged me instead of kissing me when we said goodbye at the corner of his street. And very attentive; he wanted me to take another route home, he wanted me to be safe. Later, in a text he wrote he would have to buy me a bike so that I would get home safe. I don't want a bike from him. I wanted to answer "give me a kiss, not a bike" but I didn't. I just wrote "no need to; I am home, safe and I am not afraid of guys on the streets

My brother and I were standing in the kitchen; him preparing dinner, I catching up with things and angling for red wine. "You might want to speak to Nephew about Uncle M." he says all of a sudden. Uncle M is my ex that I left back in February; he loved my nephews and they loved him dearly. And Nephew is very clever and has been asking anybody but me (see? very clever) about Uncle M. My brother has mentioned it before and I have given it some thought; maybe even hoping the memory would fade and the kids would stop asking. But today Nephew had been asked whether he had siblings and he had answered gingerly "I have a sister" (forgetting little new Nephew 3.0 there), and then he had gone on to mention his uncle H, his uncle C and his Uncle M. I looked at my brother for a while before I answered. "Yeah, well; I guess he's old enough". Nephew is 5. After dinner Nephew and I finished off the treasuremap we had been painting, and then went on with all his nigh

My mum lost her weddingring. She lost it a couple of years ago, took it off, along with a ring her mother gave her, and simply left it there. I never knew, I suppose she felt ashamed about it (I know, I would*). And she told me just now; days before my parents' anniversary. My dad offered to give in *his* wedding ring, have it melted and made into two thinner wedding rings so they could share his. Must be the single most romantic thing I have *ever* heard. Brought tears to my eyes. *though I excuse my mum. She suffers very much from arthritis, and cannot always wear her rings, let alone hold a cup of coffee.

I stepped outside in the early morning. The tiles of the terrace cool under my bare feet. The grass was yet moist, the lake was sparkling in the sun, birds were singing and the insects were buzzing. The light was bright, but yellow, the sky was blue as it gets only in Denmark. The early morning light, the promising warmth in the air, a fresh breeze caressing my legs. Scent of the coffee my mum brought to wake me up, and of fresh bread. The little table already set with butter and cheese, bees already buzzing busily around the marmalade. Coming home from Italy after spending 15 years there, still takes me by surprise. Sometimes I feel like I'll never get used to it all, and that I will always be Italian inside. I still talk too loud when I get excited or passionate about something, and I still use my hands a lot while talking. I also expect people to understand my sign-language and often will try to explain what I am saying. Those are moments when I feel like a stranger in a fore

"So. K. You are sitting there all quietly in your corner. That's what you are, yeah ? Very quiet and zen-like, is it ?" I swallowed the last of my champagne to answer (choking) "Well, no, not really. I am not zen-like at all. You totally misread me there." She was very loud. And ugly, too. Unpleasant, really. She had thrust out her hand, presenting herself as "A" and from the way my boss greeted her, I just knew she was *the* A I had heard so much about. The girl who worked this restaurant before I did. The one that could sell basically everything. Before I could say anything else, my boss broke in "Come on, you're kidding ? You're zen as hell, K. Everything's fine with you, you're large, you take everybody the way they are, not much fuss with you, that's why you're so good for this place." I wondered. I am anything *but* zen. I tried to explain that I feel strongly about things but this is work; you have to be

- when your collegues greet you "Hi summergoddess!" for just wearing a dress to work - when a squiffy male guest approaches the bar and all of a sudden there's 3 waiters behind you, asking pointedly how they may help? - when the cook hang out long after he's off-duty, to ensure you're going home safe and done closing the restaurant. - when your collegues take over responsability of the winecellar because the 7 male guests there got drunk and too-bold (on expensive wine that *you* sold them), and you ought not to "hang 'round these people anymore". While I am perfectly capable of taking care of myself, I absolutely love to feel protected like that. I adore my collegues.

I ask myself what was so different yesterday. He. Was. All. Over. Me. I think I know but I almost can't bear if this whole thing turns out to be so clichè, if normal laws somehow actually applies to this thing. And at the same time a part of me says "of course normal laws apply. He's a man and you're a woman for Pete's sake." I kept my distance yesterday. Not coolly, I just did pretty much my thing. Arrived late for the meeting at CC (kept him waiting) and didn't try to kiss him, didn't let the awkwardness of "should we kiss or not" hang. I just reached out, decidedly and hugged him. They were doing a coffee-tasting there, and I got interested, asking questions (to which he listened in, while sidling closer) and chatting to the very passionate guy there. I was very much me; not afraid to ask, hungry for knowledge. We got our coffees and went off, chatting idly about this and that. I felt very beautiful; I had let my hair hang (because he

She was standing at the entrance to the restaurant-kitchen. Blond, pretty-ish, drunk and out-of-bounds; our guests aren't allowed in the kitchen. Tall, hot waiter approaches her from behind, and says (icily): "What can I do for you?" She replies, without turning around "Oh, nothing..." - then turns to find he's hot and changes her mind: "Erhm, I don't know. What *can* you do?"

".... small, fat and dark. Olive skin and black eyes. She would have big breasts and a huge bottom. She would laugh way too loud and be pretty vulgar, breasts wobbling while she was laughing. She would swear a lot and speak her mind. Wear vivid colours, big flowing dresses, and be far too honest. But you would have to love her." I absolutely love it when people I like, play along on my beloved "If this wine was a guy/gal, he/she would be..."-game.

We had to get used to each other, it was a bit like dancing for a little while. Treading lightly, measuring my every move, getting used to the physical part of it; us responding to each others' movement. My hands clenching too hard, then relaxing, my thighs flexing, then finding the perfect rhythm, moving just so. Swaying this way, then that. After a while, I let go of myself, in total abandon. I could barely breathe, my heart was racing and I was gasping for air; it felt like we had become one. I could smell my own perspiration, feel small beads of sweat form on my upperlip and drops of it trickle down my spine. I felt like I could do it no more, like I was going to collapse in a sweaty heap, but I kept going, moving steadily, rhythmically, while my head was spinning and thoughts dissolving, blown away to who knows where. I think I am in love. With my new old bike.

The question I am not posting to blogland right now: If I am jealous of him already, am I in over my head ? I am. All of a sudden I read things into his blog-comment exchange with mesmerizing her; I ask myself whether he admire her, whether he (secretly or not-so-secretly) wants her and whether there's sexual attraction between them. Fuck. Yeah. I am in over my head. I am struggling to put into words (hell, thoughts) what I am living with him these days. I can see no longer than to my immediate attraction to him. This is not entirely true (because I realize I am very attentive to him and all *his* attentions) but the body-to-body-communication we're having is blinding me and I can really think of not much else. And I am afraid. Afraid that he is blinded too; that he is seeing me as only heavenly sex; (and I can't really blame him it it was so) it *is* heavenly sex, but he is oil to my waters, he is balm to my soul; soothing me, making me feel so... right. It feels

I am keeping up my laid-backness these days. Proudly but wondering when it's gonna end. I can get absolute

It took me by surprise. I was shopping and passed the supermarket on my way home, to pick up tomatoes for the buffalo mozzarella I have in the fridge. I was wearing my Ipod as usual - it's shuffling - something I never allow it to do, but these days I rediscover music I forgot I had. I walk into the supermarket and directly into the fruit and vegetables compartment. I can't make up my mind, there's so much beauty and inspiration here and I have all the time in the world. I linger for a long time, and my mind wanders, I have to pick a white wine for tomorrow as well, a task I love. My eyes feast on the bright red of tomatoes, on the bright colours and shiny waxiness of all the vegetables in the compartment. The deafening and seducing scent of basil. And suddenly I remember him telling me about tender bits of basil leaves wrapped around new Danish strawberries. They're both here, strawberries and basil, but I'll wait. I want to eat it with him. And as I realize

I am feeling very lazy these days. Actually I felt lazy for some time now, and I am still waiting for my energy to surprise me; for my need to do stuff, to resurface. But it doesn't really happen. I am still not painting. I am still not photographing a lot, I am still not learning French (again) and my sewing machine is gathering dust under my bed. I started doing my design-reel but I really am not working a lot on it; I bought books today and feel more like taking them out in the sun, lounge around with cold beverages, eat cake and just sleep a lot. I sleep so very well this last week, and wake up feeling happy and sensual, surrounded by images of nice dreams I had. But I don't really sleep a lot, the sun is not warm enough for me (yet), my days slip away through my fingers and I really am enjoying myself. Same with work. I want to organize things, make the restaurant even better, translate our menus into English and so on. But I never really get 'round to it. We&#

Your horoscope - Week of May 24, 2010 You could be tempted to go far - very, very far. Uranus moves into your travel zone, so it isn't just a question of journeying to the other side of the world. You may want to escape Earth's atmosphere altogether. You're very tempted to go way out of your comfort zone. It's going to be a fascinating ride. There is also a Full Moon in your romance zone, so how about teaming up with an alien life form for a really different date? Just wondering: - Would marrying a coworker qualify for "a really different date" and "alien life form", or am I in for a real treat this week ? - or does my 5-year-old Don Juan-nephews' request apply here: "Come on, let's play that game where I run I after you and try to kiss you, and you won't let me?" K: "Oh, honey, I've played that game for far too many years now, but okay. Hunt me down then." (running off. Again.)

We were hanging out in the restaurant downstairs; golden light falling through the huge windows. I waiting behind the bar for our guests to arrive. He: "Your Italian is perfect but you speak Danish very well too. It really is incredible." I: "Yeah, well. (?) I am Danish you know." He: "Whaddyamean ? Danish ? So you have...you know...Danish citizenship ?" I: "Yeah, are you kidding? I'm Danish though I spent 15 years in Italy." He: "Oh. Will you marry me ?" I: "Ha, ha. That's good. Heh. But you ought not ask a girl to marry you like this..." He: (grabbing a vase with flowers from the nearest table and going down on one knee) "K, will you marry me ?" I: "Come on - (giggling) - this is.... it's not... come on, get up..." He: "K, will you marry me ? Please ? I need your citizenship...." I blushed in spite of myself.

Again. It's not my usual restlessness, that hits me in a matter of hours and that goes away in a matter of hours. I am sort of busy these days, don't even have time to clean up and do my laundry. I am working a lot, and things are moving under the surface there. Good things and not so good things. I feel like I am in the middle of a transition-period, I feel like I want new stuff to happen. I have energy to sell. I also hooked up with an old friend here, and we're talking about opening the Copenhagen chapter of Improveverywhere (yes, they already have a chapter but it seems they're not very active) - we have a few good ideas. And very much fun discussing them, my friend (let's call him Mo) is one of those people I just click with; instantly, he has the same wacky (non)humour as I have; it is so good to meet up with him again. And good to feel that I have a person here that *knows* me, that I don't have to get to know slowly and start all over again with. I h

I am frustrated. Again. I can't handle not knowing what is going on. And I don't know what is going on with him. I tell myself to listen to what he said and did. He got at headache, he went home, felt sorry for it, wrote so much to me and then went back to normal when I told him not to worry. As should be. But I can't. I have this nagging doubt about what *went* on, whether his headache meant something, whether all this means something. I miss him. I miss the feeling of his skin against mine, his scent, his mouth. I need to see his eyes look at me. I need him to see me. And while I have no illusions about this (or do I?) I cannot just let it be, I cannot strike the perfect balance and just let it be. I want to make myselv unavailable to him to make him feel he wants me, and before I do it, I tell myself not to act like a baby, Christ we're not 15 and he deserves me not to play games with him, he's worth more than that. So I don't make myself unavailable, I sk

I let him look at me. All of a sudden I felt him there, in the doorway of my little kitchen, felt him looking at me, my skin tingling a bit where his gaze passed over me. I hadn't heard him coming, though I was very aware of him moving around the apartment, very aware of his presence there with me. Aware of him moving around, looking at things, taking in my home with all of his senses. I had been inexplicably nervous about him coming here, had cleaned up very thoroughly and tried to see my home as he would see it. Inexplicably; because I am not one to be fazed easily. And now he was standing there in the doorway of my kitchen looking at me. And I let him look without acknowledging his presence there; leaning casually against the doorway. Much to my surprise I let him look at me working, grinding coffeebeans or whatever I was doing. Refusing to turn my head, meet his eyes and break the moment, when I suddenly got the impression that he knew, that *I knew* he was looking at me

I am different from my parents and brothers (of which I have two) in many ways. I *look like* a mixture of my parents, I have my mothers bonestructure and my dad's shape of the eyes and nose. I also have my grandmothers' haircolour. Golden blonde with a reddish streak that comes out with sunshine.  But my personality is very unlike that of my parents. They are very calm persons, tranquil, my dad is even understated. They're people with normal aspirations, conventional jobs and simple desires for life. I don't mean that in any negative way, I just can't come up with other words for it. I feel like they are the "normal" ones; not me. I have drawn, written and read for as long as I can remember. I read before I started pre-school, and my parents only discovered that because I, one evening over dinner, picked up a box of matches and read out loud from the back of it. Nobody had taught me, but I remember poring over the big collection of lexica for hours,

He is so tender. I needed have no concern about voicing what this is. We tread a fine line in unison, not neglecting that there is something beyond the fab sex but not quite defining what, either. He. Is. So. Elegant. I love it. Being treated like I am a princess, even when I am sitting on him, gasping, covered in sweat and bodily fluids. And I have so much lust for him and the fact that he is so understated about his lust for me, makes it better. He is not all over me, he is keeping the distance I (and he?) need. I need to be lured out of me. I want to give everything I have to give, but not if taken for granted, expected to or cajoled into giving. He seems to understand that, or better even, feel the same. I want to spend time with him, to get to know him, he is really getting under my skin; I like what I learn about him and I told him so much. We seem so compatible with some things. With respect for our individual habits, with a natural reticence to invade, to control, to take ov

Our lips was millimetres apart. That second stretched into eternity, I with flared nostrils, taking in the scent of him, of his skin, his hot breath on my mouth and the soft darkness under my closed eyelids. Waiting. Waiting for that spark to fly, to feel the first softness of his lips against mine, eager, curious. Waiting, almost not breathing but the sound of it irregular in my ears anyway. Waiting for him to move ahead those last millimetres, wondering vaguely whether he was waiting as I was. And when he hesitated, it dawned on me that he might be doing the exactly same thing. Savouring the closeness, the scent of us mingling between our lips, taking me in before he kissed me. When he finally did, it was like kittens playing. Soft, playful, warm, fuzzy, endearing, too good to be true. Intense. After a while; a hint of teeth on my bottomlip, a promise of more to come, something where playful and endearing turn into urgency to hold on to, to cling to, to bite a bit. I could har

I keep coming up with (but not publishing) little snippets of posts, little descriptions of moments, things I have seen, lingering life I have lived. Life lived hectically in Italy while I was there; bathed in memories, friends' love and my innate Italian language. The brutally-honest-and-too-rough hurried conversations with best friends *there*, due to lack of time to tell the nuances of everything *here*. The sun on my skin, the familiar scents of my best friends, wonderful wines drunk over dinner in favourite restaurants, feeling as if I had so much to tell, but not enough time. Loss of nuances, of wondering what it all is, what it all means. Thoughts idly wandering to experiment new points of view, to discover new patterns.  Life lived here in Denmark. Moments lived as apparent-but-not-quite-clones of how I always lived them, repeating themselves in the loop of my days. And moments that look like nothing I have lived before. I don't always recognise myself these days a

I am, and have been, spending an enormous amount of time, thinking about him. Texting him and wondering what this is. I published a very short post: "Joy is 3", that "mentions" him, I am yet too chicken to write something real about him, for various reasons. Fact is though, that I like him a lot. He touches me clean with his sensitivity, his elegance, his composure.We might be very explicit in bed (and not even, I am not letting completely go yet) but he is soooooo correct outside of bed. A true gentleman. I am the one being afraid we destroyed something potential; what with us having sex that fast. At the same time, sexuality is so important to me, this lust I had, and has for him, blocked out everything else. He stole (and steals) my thoughts, my reason.  Now he writes blogposts about us. Touching and so sweet that I don't have words for it. And he hits hurt every time. Every blogpost of his has been tough on me (though eloquent, very Fresh and elegant as h

I obviously returned to my beloved river while I visited Italy. It was one of many things I had on my to-do list. The first day I sat down with A and made a list of priorities. Of things I would love to do while there. One of them was just spending time by the river. The river that I rode my bike along those crisp, not-yet-too-hot mornings to go to work. Where I went to cool  hot feet during those long summerdays. Endless walks home from work, from aperitivi with friends under starlit nightskies, full moons or clouded heavens. I have seen that river calm with water moving as oil, I have seen it wild, green and foamy, licking greedily at its edges, eating its way up the banks and spilling its water on the biking trail. I have seen it become almost one with the grey heavens on rainy days, fog spilling and snaking its way between the hills on one side of the river. Water in one huge moving sheet, me not able to tell where sky start and river stops; surface a spray of drops moving in all

- when impossible expectations are met. And exceeded.

- my best friend crawling into my makeshift bed in her livingroom, hugging me happily and serving Italian breakfast.

- my best Italian friends telling me they have been dancing to this track for months; that this is *my* track forever because the girl that sing, sound *exactly* like me, when I sing.  That they have been dancing these past months, thinking of me, saying to each other " that's K's song, Hey, Hey" just breaks my heart.* *and the fact that Dennis Ferrer happens to be my all-time fave producer doesn't hurt either =)

I can't remember the last time I had this many emotions in one single day. I cried this morning, overjoyed a bit later for finding a valid alternative to the plane and now I'm jubilant again for the planes finally starting to take off normally. I am officially off for Italy at 10.40 from Copenhagen and I am landing in Pisa, Italy at 13.00. From there it is vacation. An aperitivo (come si deve) and best-pizza-in-the-world Wednesday for sure with 3 best friends. Me cooking dinner for A and her lovely family Thursday. Aperi-disco with former club-collegues at the opening of a high-fashion-outlet Friday, and dinner and night out with 4th GF Saturday. Reunion with former agency-mates some evening and a day with A at the beach. Eat seafood while we're there, perfume of seasalt on hot, hard, scarlet shells, put out fire with crisp, fragrant white wine. Primitive joy. Get dizzy from the wine and surrender in the sun to confused dreams infused with salt, heat and sweat. Sho

So. F*ck the airspace, who wants to go by plane anyway. K. Leaving for Italy tomorrow in an empty bus with 2 Italian drivers and room for shoes. Ought to arrive Thursday evening. Keep the carbonara warm and the Barolo fragrant, here I come.

for updates on my flight tomorrow, I did the right and mature thing to do: I called my mum and cried a wee bit.

says the site of Cph Airport. You bloody f*cking well believe there's an error, and it is not only in parsing of the xml, it is the whole frigging universe gone haywire if I am not leaving tomorrow for Italy.

....and seeing that I am off to Italy soon, I feel a celebration is in place. While I like very little Italian music, I actually love Neri Per Caso; an a capella boyband from Salerno. I don't like all of their songs but this one; Fortuna is heartbreakingly beautiful, has wonderful (voice) rhythms. The lyrics are also sort of wise, way beyond something I would expect from a boyband. "...dimmi se questa e' o non e' magia, axe' axe' fortuna a te chi dice che non e' vero, siamo obbligati ad essere felici..."*   *"..Tell me, is this (life) magic or what, axe' axe' and luck to you. Who says we aren't obliged to be happy..."

Cannot even begin to conceive of the idea of not leaving for Italy, Wednesday. My flight is *not* one of those to be cancelled and if I am to get stuck somewhere, it will be in Italy with my best friends. I will be gone for a week and I am to laugh, cry tears of joy, talk, eat good food and drink fab wine in the company of people I love. After all. I haven't had a vacation (and seen my friends) for 7 months now and I would *break* if I weren't to go. Glad we agree on that. On a wholly different note; I have started to think about what I would do with *another week* of vacation if I had it and would want to pass it here in Denmark. I might sit down and finally start working on my showreel and update my CV a bit. While I am perfectly happy at the restaurant, I would like to get my hands on some small designjobs on the side. Or I might get in touch with some people I would like to see, but haven't really gotten round to seeing. Research a bit about singing with somebody s

I'm sitting in the train going north. I am so carried away with the beauty of Denmark, that I am holding my breath for fear of singing out loud with the music on my ipod. Deer on acid-green fields, fluffy clouds in the blue skies and people smiling to each other. Life is good.

..."would be lovely to get married. Then I wouldn't have to worry about a thing"... Girl to 3 female friends.

Intoxicated. With lilies. Again. Will they ever die and let me get back to normal?

Søde Anders fra Hejven.se har bedt mig lave min Top 10 liste af elektronisk musik. Oldies but Goodies. Og eftersom jeg er en Oldie (but Goodie, forstås =)) i dèn sammenhæng; jeg har lyttet med længe, har jeg gladeligt taget udfordringen op. Og det har været skideskægt =). Listen er ikke i nogensomhelst orden overhovedet. 1. LFO: "Advance" fra 1996. Det var ikke deres definerende album, "Frequencies" var. Men det er lige retro nok at sende dig =). Prøv "Advance" istedet, klassikeren derfra er Psychodelic . LFO bestod af Mark Bell (som senere producerede Bjork og Depeche Modes' Exciter. Mark Bells lyd er tydelig - no introduction needed) og Gez Varley. Sidstnævnte lavede osse et soloalbum men det var lige techno nok for min smag. Hvis du ikke har fået nok endnu, så læs mere interview med Mark Bell her . 2. Massive Attack: Måske husker du Karmacoma fra 2005 (dèr medvirker Tricky som du osse skal lytte til. Han rapper og ryger en masse fede, n