Looking back over the recent couple of posts on this blog, there is a strange new theme based in Northern Hemisphere winter sports jumping at me. Long-blade skating on a lake in Sweden, Ice Skating in Central Park, Skiing the bunny slopes at Windham Mountain in the Catskills…all of these involved a lot of falling and pushing of my personal boundaries and I definitely feel a stronger person for having experienced it.

One winter activity that I have not yet tried is cross-country skiing. From what I’ve gathered it is a bit like downhill skiing, but only on a flat surface, so you use your arms to propel you forward and shorter skis with which you guide your way over long, snow-covered terrain. With my fear of heights, this seems more like my cup of snow, to be honest and I cannot wait to try it. John’s dad, Per, is a big fan of this sport and has been training for the last couple of months to compete in an 90km cross-country ski race, coming up this weekend!

Vasaloppet is a long distance cross-country ski race (ski marathon) held in northwestern Dalarna, Sweden, on the first Sunday of March every year since 1922. It is the oldest, one of the longest, and in popular consideration the biggest cross-country ski race in the world that now attracts over 15,500 skiers. John and his dad had done it together a couple of years ago and this year Per is doing it on his own – for the 23rd time! I so wish we could be there to cheer from the sidelines, but I do promise to have a cup of hot chocolate in hand and take off on this long cross country endurance test – at least in thought! Good luck Pelle!

John’s been knocked down with the most deadliest of viruses known to woman-kind. It’s called Man Flu and it’s serious.

Sniffling his way through the past 4 days, forced to whisper rather than speak, watery eyes, blocked ears…Poor man really has it bad. My mom, a medical doctor, always says that the flu heals within 7 days without medication, and within one week with medication. This means that we have another 3 days before life may return to normal. But then again, this is Man Flu…and it plays by its own rules.

By default I don’t know who’s hardest hit – me or John!

It was bound to happen at some point. You cannot live on an island with more than 1 and a half million people without coming across it at some point. I just was not prepared for it when it did happen to me.

So I was on my way downtown on the 6 train when two stops into my journey it started. We were all sitting, quietly minding our own business, when three young guys came aboard, dragging their friend in between them. The dragged friend, with his jeans dropped well below his white-bottomed cotton-clad boxers, seemed completely non-compus-mentus. In fact, he seemed to not have any idea of where (or who!) he was. The three friends dropped him onto an open seat with a loud thump and straightened his oversized cap while giggling at him being in this state. The girl in the seat next to him jumped up and nervously clutched her bag while looking unsure of whether to be upset or amused.

The dragged guy, looking about 16 years old, was slumped in his seat, eyes rolling back in his eyes and the entire train’s eyes were on the passed out guy. Now keep in mind that this all happened around 4pm on a Tuesday afternoon. Why would anyone be in that state at that time on a non-holiday day? Beats me.

The tension in the train was tangible as our drunk/drugged friend’s passed out body started heaving. With no sound, he vomited all over himself – and all over the girl next to him. The train heaved a collective shreeeek and most of us jumped up as he launched another liquid vomit missile – still not opening his eyes or appearing to know the extent of the havoc he was causing. Some splattered onto my Converse trainers (yuck!) and I started feeling a sympathy vomit forming in my throat. Luckily the train pulled into the next station and I (along with the 50 other people in that cart) ran out and into the adjourning cart. Through the adjoining door’s window I kept a steady eye on our vomiting friend. After quite a few more missile attacks, our friend fell onto the floor – into the result of his heaving – and his friends started taking the stained clothes off his limp body. By the time I left the train, our friend was passed out, scantily clad and with one hand limply hanging onto the floor, on a train bench.

His friends? They were still giggling. Me? I still feel a sympathy vomit every time I think of it. Yuck.

Since my dad died on my birthday 5 years ago, I’ve really focused on doing fun things and surrounding myself with the ones I love during this time. Having help celebrating my birthday has been the aim and this year, despite the change of location and loving faces, my birthday was again a full weekend of celebration – and wildly over the top.

I got 7 of us together for a weekend of frolicking in the snow in the Catskills, Upstate New York. Enter the big SKI. Having never been in more than a leather-clad ankle-deep in snow, seeing an entire mountain covered in it was quite the sight. We rented an old farm house about 3 hours’ drive outside the city and arrived late on Friday night. While the boys got their snowboards out and prepped their boots and helmets, the girls made a big pasta and opened the first of many bottles of wine of the weekend.
On Saturday morning we headed out to the slopes of Windham Mountain and, while the four boys headed straight for the black slopes on their boards, Laurel, Annie and myself booked in for the beginner class on the bunny slope. Oh boy…I’m going to spare you the gory details but suffice to say that I truly purchased quite a few yards of that little flat bunny slope. I simply didn’t know how to stop or how to turn. For Susan The Skier, only two options existed a) stuck – maneuver self forward with the help of those stick thingies or b) charging forward, annihilating anything in the way, riding over other skiers and eventually managing to stop by means of a complete wipe-out. Ugh.

After our 2 hour group lesson ended we headed for some Apres Ski. Now this may well be the best part of the entire experience! Hot chocolate on tap, cold beers, warming the weary bones around a big bon fire and eating the best food America has to offer – huge portions of nachos covered in fake cheese, hotdogs with sauerkraut, hamburgers and fries. Yum. When we were sufficiently rested and rehydrated, the seven of us headed back to the slopes for some serious skiing. Yikes.

First run down a non-bunny-but-still-green slope went okay. I managed to wipe out upon landing after the ski lift dropped me on top of the baby hill, wiped out again half way down and finished the baby slope with a not-so-graceful fall – just to round it all off. The next move was to tackle the second mountain in the life of Susan The Skier. Again, I will spare you the details but will mention that there was snot (quite a bit of it), there were tears (even more of it) and there were wipe outs the likes of which you had never seen before! Poor John ended up having a little cry-break with me halfway down the slope when I was certain that there would be no tomorrow as it was clear that I was not going to make it down that hill in one piece. The Sjölund/Moolman team eventually descended with John snowboarding backwards while holding on to my ski poles and me crying my way forward down the slope. Not a pretty sight.

After the big scare, I ventured back to the level one slope and managed to go on the ski lift by myself and descend that mountain on my own – eventually without falling even once, and stopping where I was intending to stop! – about 10 times. By this time my legs were shaky and my nose was about to fall off so I decided to call it a day and go for the second and final round of Apres Ski. Straightening my legs after more than 7 hours in ski boots was pure bliss. (Needless to say that EVERY muscle in my legs have been in pure agony since!). On Saturday night I was treated to a wonderful birthday dinner and the best bloody mary’s the Catskills could offer and on Sunday the boys went back to the mountain while us girls decided to stay in and enjoy the peace and quiet of the country in the best way – champagne breakfast and movies! The weekend did deliver one fatality…Sam fell on their last run, cracked his helmet and broke his collarbone – poor boy was looking quite pale after being dragged off the mountain and strapped up by the on-site orthopedic surgeon!

Today was a public holiday here in the States (President’s day + my birthday – coincidence? I think not!) so John and I spent the entire day in very lazy mode. Justin came over for brunch and John treated me by baking the birthday cake using his mom’s famous recipe. I’m happy to report that we hardly have any left over. Double YUM!So now that I’m 28, I really can say that life still offers so many new experiences and that I cannot wait for the new ones that this year will bring. Only problem is that from here it seems like a slippery slope to 30. Should I be worried?

We celebrated the commercial day of love last night with a surprise date that John had organized. First we went for dinner at a really lovely restaurant in the East Village called Ipizz (I think?) and then John took me to his favourite off-Broadway play, Blue Man Group.
…The show was wild! Three guys who never speak, never smile and have their entire heads painted blue play drum beats on white plastic pipes and on drums with wet paint on to create an experience the likes of which I had never had before. It was such fun! The show ended with rolls and rolls of white toilet paper being rolled over the crowd from the back of the theater towards the stage where these three guys weaved massive toilet-roll bundles together under super purple fluorescent lights. Like I said…wild.

My Valentine was slightly less OTT. I gave John the new Jack Johnson CD (well worth a listen!) and made him his favourite Swedish dish for dinner, Pytt-i-Panne. What this entails is basically fried potato squares, fried onions and fried cubed ham, covered with ketchup and a baked egg. I know! It’s absolutely delicious. For tonight we turned our heads on the fact that we had each just consumed a greasy calorie bomb. After all, it’s the day of love!

It’s been a strange winter so far – not that many freezing days and no snow to speak of. But oh boy did that change yesterday! It all started with temperatures in the minus degree level on Monday and then we got our first snow yesterday. And it snowed and snowed and didn’t stop snowing until the entire city was covered in beautiful white, (mostly) clean snow. Then the sleet came and washed it all away. Now for those who haven’t yet experienced the beauty of sleet, let me enlighten you. Sleet is like rain, only much colder. Because instead of rain drops, what comes down from the sky are millions of ice drops. Add to this ice-rain a howling wind and the left-over slush of yesterday’s snow on the ground and you have yourself a recipe for leather-boot ruin!

The upside of this crappy weather is that it should make for perfect conditions for our first ski trip this weekend! Yes ladies and gentlemen, this girl is heading for the slopes on her birthday! Eight of us have rented a house in Upstate New York (in the Catskills where we went for a weekend in September) and we plan to hit the slopes in full force. The boys have been waxing and preparing their snowboard gear and us girls are shivering in anticipation of the hot ski instructors and the hot chocolate we’ve been promised after the session. I cannot wait!

Hopefully this will offer some visual enjoyment on this blog, a slight deviation from my ramblings on over the past couple of weeks. If, however, I do fall and break every bone in my body, you might have only a big blank nothing here until I recover. Wish me luck!

Like a bad relationship, a bad job is something that you can sometimes stay in, just because it’s better to have one than not have anything at all. Just like putting up with the abuse of a bad relationship, an abusive boss can damage your self-image, your relationships with others and your perception of what’s ‘normal’. And it’s ultimately very tough to make the decision to step out of this…knowing how (and when) to finally let go.

I reached my tipping point on Friday when I realized that no one should be allowed to yell at anyone else in the work environment. I made a conscious decision to step out of that environment and on Monday, I did. What liberation! I managed to stick to my morals and stay true to myself, placing myself above my perception of what I ‘should’ do.

The upside of this is that I now have the time to look for that perfect position that will be enjoyable, challenging and fun. Watch this space…

The life of a working woman in New York is no joke. Yes, it’s true…I have found a job! It is only for a month, and it is back at the old place, but at least it’s keeping me off the streets, off the Internet and offering some stimulation in the way of daily interaction with other people in the industry. That said, it’s quite tough getting back into the life of a working girl after 6 weeks of holiday! (I know…poor me!)

During my holiday, I started seriously watching Sex and the City reruns and I am now completely addicted! It’s such a brilliant show, and being in Manhattan makes it even more special. I recognize restaurants, shops and areas where Carrie, Samantha, Charlotte and Miranda shop, meet men, meet each other, drink cocktails and muse about the meaning of life. It’s fantastic. Andreas and Helena gave me the entire seasons 1 through 7 as a gift once and I do reckon that (apart from all the gifts John’s ever given me), this goes down as one of the best gifts ever. Over the last two weeks I’ve managed to watch Seasons 1 -somewhere in the 5th and after one of these marathon sessions (consisting of at least three episodes every time), I usually prance out of the apartment wearing something I’d never have the guts to wear with a Carrie-shaped outlook at every situation while murmuring to myself, ‘meanwhile, on the other side of town…’ (I guess you have to be a SATC fan to get this one.)

But there is something to be said about what the show has done for sassy girls across the globe. We are each able to recognize ourselves as one of the leading characters and even if you don’t always completely agree with the way they act, you just understand it. You ‘get’ why Carrie keeps going back to Mr Big. You understand Charlotte’s obsession with living on the Upper East side and desperately wanting to get married. You empathize with Miranda’s ballsy attitude in the courtroom and you occasionally manage to not judge Samantha for her multitude of bedroom antics. We have all been there. And that’s the success of this show. It speaks to girls between the ages of 15 to 65, because at the core of it all, every girl just needs to be loved, accepted and sometimes told that she’s the best thing ever – even if it is by her girlfriends.

I do feel that John and I have finally gotten to a very comfortable stage of our lives here in New York. We’ve figured out the subway system, have our friends with whom we now have some history, have found our favourite brunch spot which we frequent on those special lazy Sunday mornings (sometimes ordering a cocktail with our eggs – even if it is only 11am!) and our apartment really feels cozy and like…home.

The value of good friends, a cozy home and a stimulating job should never be underestimated. And if you can have all three you should always count yourself lucky. I do. I’m a lucky, lucky girl!

It’s fun to play tourist-tourist in the city where you live, especially if that city is New York. Today Annie and I met up with Engela, a friend of a friend who’s in town on a 10-day solo holiday. We met on the Upper East side for a long Afrikaans brunch and then walked over to the Guggenheim for a browse. We were very disappointed by the fact that the entire museum is currently one big construction site (all of outside, and 3/4 of inside) and left without paying the $10 entrance fee to head on over to the Metropolitan Museum of Art, or the Met. Here we had to pay $20 entrance and decided that the time we had available was just too short to really to the world’s largest museum justice.

So we walked down to the Frick Museum – the home of a steel magnate who died in the early 1900′s and left his entire house and art collection inside to the city of New York. What an experience! Old paintings by real french and other European artists and a house so imposing and smart that you could picture the ladies retiring to the ‘Drawing Room’ in their ball gowns after dinner while the men retired to the library to enjoy brandies, cigars and talk politics. Very old school.

We finished our girly outing by enjoying (American, i.e. very sweet!) scones, cream and jelly at Alice’s Tea Cup – a world-famous tea house that offers over 1000 different types of tea.

I came home to a wonderfully clean house (thank you John!) and John and I set out preparing for our party. Yes ladies and gentlemen, the highlight of all American sports days…the Super Bowl, where a 30 second advertisement spot will cost you $2.7million and the half-time entertainment was Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers – they didn’t dare get Janet Jackson and Justin Timberlake back on stage after last year’s nipplegate scandle. Football is to America what rugby is to the rest of the world. Except the men wear pads under their tights and on their shoulders, along with a helmet and black painted stripes on their cheekbones. That’s about all I know about the game – even after watching almost 5 hours of it on TV tonight.

What I do know is that the New York Giants won the match. This is a big thing. How do I know that it’s big, you might ask? Well, we ventured out onto the balcony shortly after the final whistle blew and it sounded like absolute mahem outside. People yelling their heads off, car hooters blowing and sirens reverberating amongst the high buildings. That’s when I knew that we were indeed in America. Go Giants Go!

On Tuesday night John, Annie, Sam, Laurel and I went across to the Nokia Theater in Times Square (yes, the dreaded Cypress Hell location!) to attend a concert by Xavier Rudd. We got introduced to this Australian’s sounds through Sam, our token Aussie friend here in New York and boy, was I impressed. Xavier plays the banjo, drums, the ‘bekfluitjie’ (that’s Afrikaans for harmonica) and those big wooden ‘flutes’ that the Australian Aboriginals play called the didgeridoo, or yirdaki. While the concert was filled with Americans and Australians alike, it was interesting to see the wide spectrum of people that Xavier’s music reaches – there were older people, many young ones, the usual pot-smoking hippies and the somewhat more ‘normal’ crowd like ourselves. This concert concludes a week of Aussie activities, started by the celebration of, you guessed, it: Australia Day!

Sam made a point of telling us that Australia Day (January 26) is the best day of the year and after attending the party, I’m inclined to agree! We met at an Australian pub in the Village called The Sunburnt Cow around 3pm and celebrated in true Aussie style – by drinking way too much in too short a period! Rumours were abound about a pie-eating contest, but we never were lucky enough to see the evidence of that. In the corner of the bar they had this ice ‘slope’, which I guessed to be the remains of an ice sculpture. A bit odd to have that standing on the corner of a busy bar, but I didn’t question it…after all, who am I to ask questions about the ice sculpture situated in The Sunburnt Cow on Australia Day? Turns out this ‘ice sculpture’ is actually a device from which to take shots or shooters! Imagine that. The barman stands at the top of the ‘sculpture’ and pours the drink into the carved trough, with the drinker catching the (by now freezingly cold) shot at the bottom of the ice by moulding his mouth around the opening! Isn’t America great?