Holy word-vomit Batman! I can't even do a short photo post correctly.

I wish I was one of those bloggers who are cool with just posting a photo or two accompanied by a few lines and then calling it a blogging day. Because, oh boy and all of his friends and relatives and maybe even his pet turtle on a leash, what an activity-filled/ all-kinds-of-weird-running-around/ me-driving-other-women-to-places-in-the-Viking's-green-monster-and-scaring-them-by-hitting-every-curb-in-sight-and-then-laughing-insanely-about-it-to-"lighten-the-mood"/ me-being-stuck-in-traffic-for-two-whole-hours-and-consuming-much-too-much-coffee-in-the-process day it has been (and then some, but I have no more grammatically inappropriate or otherwise suspect word-strings in me. At least none that make the kind of half-sense the above ones make). And I still have a golf-lesson to get to.

But it's either writing a post or writing an email to my parents who use my blog and the frequency of the posts on it to gauge how alive their eldest daughter, me, is (Did I ever mention how crap I am at staying in touch? Might have. Yup.). So unless I get to publishing something here soon, my dearest ma and pa will quickly be on the phone dialing away to alert some sort of Finnish authority, who would without a doubt, since the Finns are at the least excruciatingly effective when it comes to such matters, knock on my door in a not so long a time followed by billing me an exorbitant amount of money because I dared to be alive, and then put me on the cover of the biggest tabloid with a headline saying 'A Finn thought dead in Africa alive after all' accompanied by a story filled with the potential horrors of the oh so violent South Africa. And well, I don't like writing e-mails either.

I'm also thinking of all of you who read this stuff voluntarily (i.e. are no relation or bound in marriage to me), and just might be wondering whether they put me in jail because I finally accidentally drove over one of the guards at the gate (I didn't but touch him softly with the side mirror which to me screams affection and not jail time and he came out of nowhere without looking anyhoo, but then we both laughed about it heartily and I wasn't even giving him the stink-eye), or whether I discovered and consequently was pulled into that black hole somewhere in this house where the warmth, most of my underwear, as well as my wineglasses must have been sucked into (don't ask about the underwear, because I'm working hard to repress, as I did with the toothbrush and how it is being used by the maid. Just don't ask.), or whether I went ahead and finally sought help (I know! For what?).

So in the best interest of me everyone, I'll just become one of those bloggers for today and post some pictures from my hectic morn and call it a blogging day. Tell me what you think. And go ahead and ignore the stuff above I still somehow managed to write, although I thought I couldn't. Thanks.

Ever wonder how it would be if Santa's elves wore black and could really control a crowd?

Ever wonder how Santa would look if he were a Swede and not a Finn and had a pillow positioned uncomfortably in his shorts instead of that bottle of vodka? Or how a Christmas tree would come out if you planted it into a cooler box?

Ever wonder what stuff would mean if you didn't have that much of it?

Ever wonder how it would be to really stomp the night away? 

Or what would happen if you stuck your hair underneath an elf hat for longer than necessary? 

Nothing! Muahahahahaaaaa. I have finally beat my Finnish flat-hair genes! Or am possibly singlehandedly saving the world's hairspray and gel industries from the recession. Could be either.  

Random. I know. But what else is new?