| Miss Universe 1984 |
[23 Jul 2006|11:40pm] |
Waiting for the Swedish Consulate/Embassy to ship back my freshly notarized passport is an unembroidered torture that is currently assaulting my typically equitable judgment.
Lately I find myself doing any and all I can to feel close to a lover and country I’m not allowed to physically see and/or be apart of.
The awareness of “taking it too far” started last Friday when, while ringing up a costumer, I pursued what I thought was a Swedish accent paired with a possible Swedish sounding name, into disclosing her country of origin; which turned out to be Denmark.
Her Danish roots really didn’t impede my unbridled yet seemingly innocent curiosity & excitement because at that very moment Denmark was close enough.
I braced myself for the thrill of a real-life Scandinavian citizens very presence. The nature of this clearly fate-driven meeting opened the floodgates to my favorite subject, Sweden.
In the excitement of the moment I sped up my normally fast pattern of speech into the proper “express” mode. Sandwiched between my pending Swedish residency and Swedish boyfriend I pressed the nature of her stay in Michigan while I asserted statements notifying her that I was in fact aware that Denmark and Sweden are certainly different countries, though close in proximity.
I topped this already marathon five-minute happenstance off with roughly four to seven “This is great!!” verbal acknowledgements and somewhere around three “Tack!”s Which opportunely means ‘thanks’ in both Swedish and Danish.
Her replies were simple: “Uhh huh” and “Yawh oh-kay” because she was both polite and terrified. Needless to say after she walked away and I was left sweating (literally) from the thrill of it all, words still sort of falling out of my mouth, smile from ear to ear…my only attainable thought was how bad I had just blown it, not just for myself, but on the behalf of the whole American culture.
The madness isn’t limited to interactions with people of Nordic decent but more commonly makes itself known in simple things like watching the Miss Universe pageant because one out of every twenty-seven minutes they MAY say the word ‘Sweden’, or reading Paper magazine’s issue on The Sounds because they are Swedish even though I think their band is boring. I wont even get into how I use Ingmar Bergman’s body of work as a catalyst for endless and often pointless conversations because he is so well known and most importantly, as Swedish as they get.
As a warning to the Anna's and Johan's planning on shopping at the Mac cosmetics store in Troy Michigan: if your accent incorporates sing-song intonation and you pronounce ‘th’ like ‘f’, stay away from me; I’m stuck in America, I love Sweden, and I am not shy.
Side Note:
The last year Sweden won Miss Universe was the year I was born.
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[08 Mar 2006|12:24am] |
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[10 Feb 2006|01:00pm] |
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| What a year does. |
[05 Dec 2005|10:06pm] |
Date: December 5th 2004,
Where: The E-Mail Archives
Why: Combating memories of the past thru the present emotional regards by retrospectively viewing the last year of my life via text driven proof.
Content:
You don’t really smell like anything even when you
sleep. I know you’re asleep because you twitch when
you’re dreaming. While your dreaming of what cities
you’ll live in and what people you’ll need to meet I’m
dreaming of miraculous births and husbands that wear
only a gold wedding band.
When I’m dreaming I steal your warmth and bring it to
my side of the bed. You’re too skinny for all of that
heat anyway.
Sometimes you steal all of the covers and we fight
half conscious over two feet of fabric. Our eyes are
closed, are minds are busy, but our bodies are cold.
I always let you have them in the end because I know
I’m more awake and if I need to I could get up and
pick a blanket up off the floor. I never really sleep
in your bed. I’m always too aware of my moving too
much, or dreaming too hard, or taking up too much of
your side. You don’t seem to worry much, even when
you’re awake. It probably seems like I’m always
worrying. I am. I agonize over what I’ll be doing in
five years and where you’ll be. I worry I won’t be
able to get over this as quickly as everyone assumes I
will. I worry I won’t be happy. I know I haven’t been
happy for a long time. It’s maybe been months,
possible years, though no more than two. Before I was
just unhappy and suddenly I am actually sad. When I
was unhappy I was productively changing my life. Now
that I am sad I’m pretty indolent.
I like when I linger around your house because I’m too
scared to drive home alone, or too stubborn to face
the facts, although I know it’s not ideal for you.
Lately when I sleep I’m only aware of being awake,
where I am in the bed, how my head is resting, what
the world is doing around me, what I need to do
tomorrow, how long I have until I have to be up, what
lights are on, what movements are made
Goodnight.
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[21 Aug 2005|05:00pm] |
These are pictures I googled to describe my trip to Sweden, I took none of them.
( SVENSKA )
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| Spring-Summer |
[19 Jun 2005|08:19pm] |
What Does my sick table look like? What does my porch look like? What is my favorite flavor of ice cream? What is my favorite summer time drink? What do my friends look like? What is High Fidelity? Who are my roommates? How can you eat such a pretty cookie? What did I look like as a fat baby in sunglasses? Who makes the best popcorn in Michigan? What is a Polish Cracker? Who strangled Mike Servito? How do we get to swim on top of Detroit? Why does Fred look better in my clothes? The answers are images. Enjoy.
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| If I let you down |
[19 Jun 2005|12:42pm] |
Dear Friends,
I've come down with a nasty case of Strep Throat.
I'm only a human when I've taken Vicodin to ease the pain.
I've missed my ice cream social, my friends parties, and even my bands show tonight in Detroit due to these extreme physical restrictions. I hate it and I'm sorry. I miss everyone so much. Lets hang out as soon as I'm better and read books under trees, have picnics at the beach, and learn how to hula-hoop all over again.
Love,
Betty
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| Vous n'êtes pas français |
[09 May 2005|05:57pm] |
I moved to Hamtramck.
Matthew,
Pay your bill because you'll never ever win against the EVIL PHONE COMPANY. Please.
Love,
Betty
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| Teenage Kicks |
[19 Apr 2005|08:43am] |
I want to post them too!:
NO LIVEJOURNAL CUT!
Thursday
Friday
Saturday
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[15 Apr 2005|08:11pm] |
Dear Friends,
Last night was AMAZING. Thank you so much for being the greatest people on the planet and also for being such good dancers and cake eaters. I love you.
Pictures soon.
Big HUGE thanks to Matthew and Gerald for making the best birthday in the world a possibility. I love you guys.
Also Thom, I love you and hope you feel better.
Love love love love love love love love love love.
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[13 Apr 2005|10:05pm] |
Tomorrow is my twenty-first birthday party.
Where: Oslo
When: Tomorrow at ten p.m.-?
Bring: Your dancing shoes
Matthew and Panic made a web site. They are throwing/hosting the party:
www.bettyturnstwentyone.com
They rule and I love them.
Can't wait to see you.
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| BFF |
[05 Apr 2005|01:34am] |
The following images are documents of winter during the months of January thru the end of March. Some images are from my aquarium trip with Thom, my tour of Europe, Texas SxSW style, the ongoing Kelly and Betty sideshow, wig happenings with my fellow Pervettes, sweet green walls with seashell lamps, People Mover Make-outs, Panic in the streets of Ferndale, My Space on wheels, pretty confectionaries, and Mechanical Wonders. Most importantly these pictures are a personal testament to the miracle of friendship during the hardest months of the year.
To every friend that benevolently accepted my paucity due to touring (and the lifestyle that it tends to leave you with while you are home), shared their bed or couch with a cover-stealing-sort-of-homeless maniac (me), let me eat at their table, tolerated me talking their ear off about the same bad situations, or allowed me to experience that which is truly friendship, I salute you and offer that each of you have given me a real sense of feeling blessed. Thank you and I hope I can and do return the favor(s).
Love, love, love,
Betty Barnes
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[28 Mar 2005|02:13pm] |
Betty: Grandpa it looks like you're growing out your hair. Are you trying to be "rock n' roll"?
Grandpa: No I'm trying to be like a Neapolitan.
Betty: Wait, wait. Do you mean Metro-sexual??!
Grandpa: Haha, yeah that's it.
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[08 Mar 2005|12:37am] |
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