Monthly Archives: July 2009

This is about to become a really boring blog. I shall only write about shopping (which I never do), work (that I don’t have, but to make myself seem important write about anyways), and my sessions at the gym (which are surprisingly at a frequent ratio of about 4 times per week). Further, I shall take cute little family pictures a la yesterday’s entry and share it to the world. I try to say to my husband that no one reads what I have to say. There is zero interest, nada. But he’s not entirely convinced, besides my warped thoughts will stay on Internet FOREVER. This means I can never marry into the royal family, nor run for president, but the chances of both are as good as nil.

All of a sudden I am a liability and need to be restrained. It got me thinking of an opera I once saw when I was about 10 with my mum, the taming of the shrew (which is in fact a play by William Shakespeare) , where the bride Katherine is tamed to become an obedient wife. I remember this play making a serious impact in my young psyche, as it was clearly so at odds with the freedom that girls and women had come to expect. Of course the context of Elizabethan times made it more understandable, but yet for a 10 year old girl this was somewhat of a leap.

I have always hailed strong women that have taken their own paths. I need someone (in fact a few) to relate to. Interestingly enough a few of those, and perhaps not unsurprisingly given my interest for the past, are historic characters that despite the times they were living in refused to subject themselves to the norms men (and women, by their silent support) had laid down. Queen Elizabeth is one (taking on the great Spanish armada and refusing to marry), a virgin queen that in fact had many lovers; Marie Antoinette, who mounted up her own defence in the Assembly despite the horrid accusations she was facing. Gone from riches to rags, she refused to have her spirit broken right up until the end. The Marquise de Merteuil from the the classic eighteenth-century novel Les Liaisons dangereuses, states in reply to her lover “Revenge my dear, is a dish best served cold”….brilliant!

Last but not least, Coco Chanel, who freed us from corsets, and is credited to many sublime quotes one of which I am particularly fond of “the most interesting thing about love is making love…too bad you need a man for that”…. hear hear to that I would say!

Those women, and millions of others like them, make lives so much more interesting. And with that I shall defy pressure to be a good obedient woman and only write about the safe and mundane. Fuck it!



Coco from the film Coco avant Chanel

Just finished my conference call. Tired yet restless. I have a mountain of work in front of me, and too little time and manpower for execution. That spells delegation in big capitals. Something to be addressed for tomorrow’s agenda. On a different note, Victoria came home from her vacation in the States. She had a great time and have been showing us all her new clothes, jewellery and accessories. Needless to say she’s over the moon with her new wardrobe.

We went to Koetjes and Kalfjes to celebrate. Pictures from a crazy evening below. As for me, I’m off to bed…













I started to think about arguments. How they pop up from seemingly nowhere, and disrupts our relations. They say arguments are essential for a relationship to flourish, and I can see the point of a disagreement once in a while turning into a minor dispute. Not quite dissimilar to the cold war, two polars are measuring up against eachother, whilst the equilibrium holds its position. But there are times when it sways, for better or worst…

I’m in the train with not too much time to write, yet I’ve been contemplating all morning on the use of arguments. When they start becoming a pattern, something to be expected rather than an incident, is it time to act? I also thought of what good it brings, and I can only think of silence.  After verbal bickering, mails, and skype messages, the two parties retreat in contemplation. This is the moment I most enjoy. I have time for myself, so I pick up my laptop, as I usually do. I do some much needed work and I write. I pen my thoughts, at first random and incoherent, but after a while they start making sense. Clusters of words string together, and becomes sentences and paragraphs. A start, perhaps. Like so many others. Yet every day is the start of the rest of your life. So don’t despair baby. Don’t despair.




It’s my birthday…33 years! Time flies. 33 eventful and uneventful years. I’ve lost both my parents, I’ve gained a half borther who I no longer have any contact with, a number of boyfriends have passed…some made more of an impression than others (you know who you are ;). Two husband, one divorce. Two children, glorious, beautiful. I’ve never been arrested, but I worked in two coffeeshops. I also met some dubious criminals, but as I don’t want to soil my husband’s spotless CV I shall refrain from telling those stories….just yet. Here I am, 33 years of age, and well in fact feel rather good. It feels more like the crisis has been and gone, I accept my flaws and some of them I even find adding more character. I am after all known for my interest in antiques and I can just conclude that I am on my way to becoming one myself.

Life is not so bad after all…better eventful than uneventful, rather being talked about than not being talked about. And so freak, or no freak, life is fucking brilliant!


It’s my birthday tomorrow! And Reinout have been spoiling me like crazy. On our way into town, just as we were hitting the first exclusive shoe shop, Players, Reinout told me I could select any two pairs…anything I liked, which in essence is a girls dream. But here lays the great’s like walking into a candy shop…there’s simply too much to choose from. But I didn’t give up there and then and we probably scored a good handful of shops, but the result was meager. I could find absolutely nothing. Eventually Reinout dragged me into a photo shop and got me a new camera. It was probably the best present I could have gotten. The results are amazing…


Reinout got me a great camera… Fuji F200EXR


Sebastian was happy as usual


Me too…


…a camera that finally works with me


..and not against


Also got some very nice lingerie from Lise Charmel & La Perla

I just came back from a facial…microdermabrasion, one of the best and most powerful facials in my opinion. I haven’t been pampering myself for ages now so this was pure luxury. Talking of which I do have some products I would greatly recommend to the lady readers of my blog. It’s called Natura Bisse and is a Spanish (Barcelona) brand. The first time I encountered this brand was through a mere whisper on a beauty forum. It was one of those brands that got top reviews, well above other (more expensive) brands such as La Prairie, Sisley and Valmont (the latter one is the only one I still think is worth its money out of the three). Because Natura Bisse offers specialized treatments which are great for anti-aging and hyper-pigmentation I was really keen on trying out this illusive brand. I finally found a reseller in Holland (the only one as far as I’m concerned – see Parfumerie Louise). Ever since I’ve been hooked on their products and this week i stocked up somewhat further especially with the Glyco Peel (great stuff!) and the glyco cream.

Wish you all a great weekend!


Fresh from the beauty parlor


Natura Bisse products – highly recommended for flawless skin

My husband whisked me away for most of the day. After two paracetamols, we headed into town for lunch at Ludic. Armed to our teeth with gossip and interior design magazines we spent most of our lunch in dead silence consumed with the latest happenings and trends.

The afternoon was spent, in my case, sleeping off a bad hangover. Reinout came home before six and we ventured yet again into town for a drink (Champagne what else) and dinner at Popocatepetl. Conversation topic for the evening: ghosts and supernatural experiences!


Lunch at Ludic


Haarlem is beautiful in the summer time


Dinner at Popocatepetl – icon of the Black Madonna


Father & Son

I have the mother of all headaches. Now I regularly suffers from a minor, almost constant headache, centred around my left temple. But this is something else. I suspect I only have myself to blame as last night became both unexpectedly late as well as wet.  First we had B over for dinner and lots of drinks and interesting conversations. As I expected Wasteland parties, darkrooms and going sway was not far off the agenda. I’m a complete novice when it comes to these things, although my own dark side has led me to some minor explorations in my youth. Still nothing compared to B and his hedonistic life. And so as B was informing me of the latest trends in the world of BDSM, I downed a bottle of Champagne…all on my own. I felt tremendously good…so when MJ and J arrived, I was ready to take centre stage and tell about my own little experiences, from Garden of Eden’s to Paradise Lost’s….or so I believe they were called because it was a long time ago I frequented such dubious venues.

At 2 am I had enough and excused myself. I collapsed in bed for about 5 hours before Sebastian woke me up. And so here I am…still in bed…with my headache still lingering. Perhaps a glass of Champagne will cure it!


When I was 18 I thought I would become a doctor or journalist. Perhaps a psychologist with a passion for archeology and religion. In those days, in my final year of the gymnasium, the Swedish equivalent of highschool, I had an average grade of 4.6 out of 5.0. What brought my average grade down were some bad scores in music, PE and drawing. And English, I never managed to get full score in either the written or oral exam. For some years to come I still held a grudge towards the teacher I did my final exam for. I was so close, but not quite.

Already in those days, did I compete with my fellow students. I lived for the tests and exams as in a way to prove myself and self-worth. I could do it then. The studying until midnight and getting up, five, six in the morning appeared strangely to agree with me.

I reserved the weekends for friends and boyfriend. To be precise, Friday and Saturday as Sunday was just another day of study. In hindsight I am not sure if this method of study did me any good. If anything, it diversified my interests, spreading them thinly across a large canvas that has become my life. In those days I believed I could do it all, be good in all of those subjects, make a difference, rule the world. How little did I know…

Life on the outside of school and studies proved to be very different. The first few years I could cope, I performed well in my environment, but that wasn’t enough. I wanted more. For some time, spanning over years, I lost focus. But last year I miraculously found it back again, Or so I thought. But now I wonder if in fact it was all a diversion. If I took on something I really wanted to do.

And that is not all. The worst part, which is consuming me, is having to live up to a certain standard that someone sets for me. And trust me, I take on this challenge myself..full heartedly. I am eager to prove myself, that in fact I am bright and intelligent. And yet it all falls so flat. Because whatever I take on doesn’t quite measure up.

The funny thing is that in some way, I’ve actually moved on. Gone are the competitions for fame and beauty. Fame never struck….and Beauty…well it left me a long time ago. Now I scramble to hide my wrinkles, veins and blotches. Rolls of fat, sagging breasts and the start of a pouch. It doesn’t really matter so much anymore. A new stick of measurement on a more humble scale is being used.

And so now I only measure myself against one person in my closest surrounding, someone that I can impossibly live up to. Even where my strengths are fairly decent, as in writing, do I fall short in both ambition and execution.
I walk a fine line between challenge and acceptance. Somewhere between those two poles, positioned miles apart, do I tread a winding path, of which the end destination is unknown to me. At times I feel pride over small and insignificant accomplishments, other times I can only describe it as self-detest and contempt for my uncoordinated and haphazard attempts to anything I set my mind to.

Perhaps tomorrow it will all feel so different. And I’m convinced some people will react to this bleak self portrait I’ve just given. Well tomorrow is another day. And yet among all the failures that I’ve “accomplished”, if you can call it that, perhaps one that shines with its absence is my writing. You can tell me that it is a load of crap, not even worth the space on this page. And yet, I will continue to write. I must. It’s my only salvation…