This Makes Me Laugh

So. Hi.

WARNING: Proceed with great caution! High content of humor, often with provocative and/or sexual undertones. Read with adult supervision or an open mind!

As previously stated, I've been reallyreallyreallyfuckingbusy this weekend. I went with my choir to "Fyn" and "Jylland" on a mini tour. It rocks, that I can drive from one end of my country to the other in a single day. Go Denmark!

On the tour, I had a lot of laughs. And so, I'm in an excruciatingly good mood today! I'm basically chuckling every third second or so, and if anyone tells me a joke right now, I swear, I will piss myself.

Enough said, I think. Too much information divulged. Will proceed to the task at hand. Or whatever. Platapus? Right.

Here are some things that make me laugh, no matter what mood I'm in. I'm sorry for the high concentration of Danish. I guess Danish humor just appeals to me. Haha.

 M A R E N    U T H A U G ' S    C O M I C S

Maren Uthaug is a HI-fucking-LARIOUS blogger and writer for various newspapers and the like. One of her newest ideas involve drawing her day-to-day disasters with incredible humor. Laughed my pants off at this particular issue.

Det startede jo uskyldigt med de bestikkelser....

Som snart blev til:

Det var endda stadig tåleligt, da vi rundede et lidt skarpt hjørne:

Men snart var vi ude i:

Som nu er endt ud i scenarier som dette:



 P O O P    M O D E L S

Aaah, Poop Models. Let me explain:

I break out in hysterical fits of laughter, whenever I see a model, that looks like he/she is about to poop in his/her pants. I mean... come on! It's ludicrous! And then there are the models that just creep me out.

Displayed below are the poor victims of my sarcasm. They are both models for COS. The clothes look fabulous, I must admit that. There's absolutely nothing wrong with the design. It's probably just me that notices these things. But really.

First of all, there's the dude. The outfits are great, really cute in fact. The guy is even fairly cute........... considering how much it looks like he's about to give birth to Justin Bieber. It SERIOUSLY looks like he needs to take a dump! Sorry!

The girl is just plain scary. Look at that cruel, cruel smile. Doesn't that remind you of the White Witch from "Narnia", or something? Besides, her expression doesn't change AT ALL in any of the photos! And, I swear this is true: when I scrolled my cursor over her, she MOVED! I'm not kidding! She litterally moved. How creepy is that? Well, they had installed a GIF for the photo on COS' website, but still... I though my computer was possesed or something!

 R E B E C C A    B L A C K

Hahahahahahaahahahahahahahahahahaahahahahahahahahahaahahahahahahaahahahahahahaha!
This is seriously the absolute worst song I have ever heard, in my entire life! And believe me, I have heard some absolutely HORRIBLE songs. Oh my God. She sounds like a gerbil! She sounds like Justin Bieber, who's been kicked in the groin! She sounds like she swallowed cyanide that is destroying her lungs at rapid speed!

"Yesterday was thursday, today is friday."

Figured that out all by yourself, did you?

 B R I D G E T    J O N E S '    D I A R Y

I really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really love Bridget Jones. In any format. The movie, the book, pictures from the movie, quotes from the movie, conversations about the movie, thinking about the movie, thinking about watching the movie, thinking about thinking about the movie..... I love it. Bridget Jones always cracks me up.

Am enjoying a relationship with two men simoultaneously. The first is called Ben, the other, Jerry.

Bridget Jones

There was a young woman from Ealing,

Who had a peculiar feeling.

She lay on her back, and opened her crack,

And pissed all over the ceiling.

Daniel Cleaver

 P A B L O ,    R A Y ,    A N D    C R U I S E

 

 R A N D O M    S T U F F     I    F I N D    O N    T H E    I N T E R N E T

I don't think I can give you any further introduction on this one. I find some pretty weird..... stuff.... on the internet. I can't even remember where I found most of this. It just cracks me up.



 

U S A ' S    S J O V E S T E    L O V E :

Alabama:
1. Det er ulovligt at køre bil med bind for øjnene.

Atlanta:
2. Det er forbudt at tøjre en giraf til en telefonpæl eller en lygtepæl.

Baltimore:
3. Det er ulovligt at tage en løve med i biografen.

Connecticut:
4. Du kan blive stoppet af politiet for at cykle med mere end 90 km/t.

5. Det er forbudt at gå på hænder over gaden.

Florida:
6. Kvinder kan få en bøde for at falde i søvn under en hårtørrer og det samme kan ejeren af frisørsalonen.

7. Hvis en elefant efterlades på en parkeringsplads med et parkometer, så skal der betales for den på samme måde, som hvis det var en bil.

8. Det er ulovligt at synge på en offentlig plads, når man er iklædt en badedragt.

Illinois:
9. Det er forbudt for enhver at give tændte cigarer til hunde, katte og andre dyr, der holdes som kæledyr.

Indiana:
10. Det er ikke tilladt for borgere at overvære en film, et teaterstykke eller køre i en bus indenfor fire timer efter at de har spist hvidløg.

Louisiana:
11. Det er ulovligt at røve en bank og derefter skyde kasseren i banken med en vandpistol.

12. At bide nogen med sine egne tænder er simpel vold, mens det at gøre det med kunstige tænder er grov vold.

Massachusetts:
13. Sørgende der våger over en døende må ikke spise mere end tre sandwicher.

14. Det er forbudt at snorke medmindre alle soveværelsesvinduer er lukkede og forsvarligt låst.

15. Et gammelt dekret gør det ulovligt at bære fipskæg, medmindre man først betaler en særlig licens for at bære det offentligt.

Nebraska:
16. En forældre kan arresteres, hvis et barn ikke holder bøvs tilbage under en gudstjeneste.

New Mexico:
17. Det er strengt forbudt for kvinder at vise sig ofentligt uden at være barberet.

New York:
18. Der kan udskrives en bøde for at flirte. Denne gamle lov forbyder specifikt mænd at vende sig om på gaden og "se på kvinder på den måde". Anden gang man gribes i denne forseelse, så tvinges manden til at bære et par skyklapper, når han færdes på gaden.

North Dakota:
19 Det er forbudt at servere øl og saltkringler på samme tid i såvel barer som restauranter.

Oklahoma:
20. Folk kan få bøder, arresteres eller sættes i fængsel for at skære ansigter over for en hund.

Pennsylvania:
21. Ingen mand kan købe alkohol uden en skriftlig tilladelse fra sin kone.

Fairbanks, Alaska:
22. Elge må ikke have sex på gaderne.

Alaska:
23. Børn må ikke bygge snemænd, der er højere end dem selv, i skolerne.

Ventura, Californien:
24. Katte og hunde må ikke parre sig uden en tilladelse.

Toronto, Canada:
25. Det er ulovligt at trække døde heste igennem gaderne før klokken 12 om formiddagen.

Delaware:
26. Det er ulovligt for en nygift mand at tage på fisketur under sin bryllupsrejse.

Joliet, Illinois:
27. Kvinder kan arresteres for at prøve mere end seks kjoler i én forretning.

Maryland:
28. Det er forbudt for en kvinde at undersøge lommerne i sin mands bukser, mens han sover.

Texas:
29. Forbrydere er pålagt at give deres ofre 24 timers varsel om hvilken form for forbrydelse de skal udsættes for.

New Mexico
30. det er lovligt for et par at have sex i bilen i frokostpausen, hvis altså
bilen er udstyret med gardiner, så alle ikke kan kigge ind.

F M Y L I F E :    T H E    I N T I M A C Y    C A T E G O R Y

Okay, now this is a little personal. If you can't take a bit of offensive, perverted humor, scrooooooll on down. But if you can..... this will rock your socks off.

Today, I had to explain to my boyfriend of over a year that a woman has three holes down there. He thought women peed out of their butthole, and that's why they have to sit down. FML

Today, I overheard my dad in the bathroom talking to his testicles. FML

Today, my boyfriend was going down on me. Suddenly, he grabbed my 'lower' lips and moved them in a talking motion, proclaiming that "the talking vagina declares war and wants to conquer the great penis." FML

Today, my boyfriend thought it would be funny to cut his pubes onto my very important work binder. I was not aware of this and when I gave the binder to my boss to look over some work I put together, all of the hair fell out onto my boss's lap. FML

Today, my boyfriend called out someone else's name in bed. It was a man's name. FML

Today, my husband and I were cuddling on the couch watching TV. I was enjoying myself and feeling pleased with how sweet he was being, when out of nowhere he flipped me over, grabbed my breasts and yelled "ME CONQUER WOMAN!" FML

Today, while having sex with my girlfriend, I tried to last longer by thinking of fat, hairy, man nipples. I came faster. FML

Today, my girlfriend and I were getting it on when her cat attacked me. I was pissed, so I grabbed the cat and rushed outside to get rid of it. Little did I know, her parents were home, sitting outside. So I was naked, with a feral cat in front of my junk trying to kill me. All I could say was "Nice Weather?" FML

Today, my girlfriend was giving me a hand job, which was great, until she started saying "milk the penis... miiiiilk the penis." FML

Today, while me and my boyfriend were having sex, he moaned out his own name. FML

Today, my boyfriend asked me if he could pick my nose during sex. FML

Today, I was masturbating on the phone with my girlfriend when my cat noticed my hand movement. He jumped at the chance of possibly being petted, literally. With claws and teeth. FML

Today, my girlfriend found my secret panty stash. Now she thinks I'm cheating on her with another girl, but I'm not. They're mine. FML

Okay, I think I'm done for the day. I don't think I have anything more to show you. I can basically see the level of intelligence in this post sinking from just below an IQ of about 30, to one closing in on about 5. So folks, have a good night or day or whatever! Hope you had a good laugh.

Thanks for listening,

I Am Roseberry

Jakob by CRK

So. Hi.

This post probably won't be so much fun for my English readers. Because today, my Danish ones are getting a special treat!

I'm very fond of writing short stories. And I just happen to be so lucky, that we're writing short stories in school at the moment. I just finished my first one of the kind, at least my first one this year. For a while, I've been thinking about "publishing" my short stories. And today, I'm taking that leap. I should warn you, though: it's in Danish. Maybe my English readers will get a good laugh at our strange language, anyway! Scroll to the bottom to see some pictures instead, guys!

Enjoy.

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J A K O B

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”Er det ikke dig, der er Jakob?”

Vi er omringet af svedige teenagere, de synger med på musikken, og de danser. Der er mørkt i Camilles kælder, men jeg kan se, at du nikker. Jo, det er dig, der er Jakob. Når mine lettere berusede venner danser, kan jeg mærke det helt indeni. Det runger i mig når de råber, og hele min krop er et virvar af lyd. Gulvet ryster. En pige kommer til at gnubbe sig op af min skulder. Der er en der har spildt lidt øl på mine bukser. Det er som om vi er en stor organisme der hopper, danser, trækker vejret. Ind. Ud. Men i dette kaos af mennesker som jeg kender, og alligevel ikke ved, hvem er, er det dig, jeg kigger på.

Du er en pæn dreng. Nej, du er mere end pæn. Der er et eller andet ved dig. Jeg er fuld, og min dømmekraft er kraftigt svækket af vodka og øl. Men du må ikke tage fejl – jeg kan godt lide dig, Jakob. Det fortæller jeg dig, jeg siger, at du skal vide det, jeg synes du er flot, og du er skide sød, Jakob. Du griner lidt af mig, du tror jeg ikke mener det. Jeg smiler til dig, for det gør jeg, Jakob, jeg mener det. Jeg kan mærke det i maven når du griner, og det er varmt, så varmt. Det er ikke den brændende vodka jeg mærker, det er noget andet – det er dig.

”Hvor kender du Camille fra?” spørger du mig.

”Hun er min bedste veninde,” siger jeg, ”Hvad med dig?”

Du når ikke at svare. Jeg dukker mig, da nogen kaster et ølglas gennem luften, og jeg griber i din hvide T-shirt for ikke at falde. Du griner, og haler mig op at stå igen. Mine hænder brænder, hvor jeg rørte dig. Camille fanger mit blik fra den anden side af rummet. Hun ser spørgende på mig, mistroisk endda. Jeg ignorerer hende. Jeg vil høre din stemme, ikke den rungende lyd af menneskers råb, og den dumpe lyd af mit dunkende hjerte. Dunk-dunk, dunk-dunk.

”Jakob, skal vi ikke gå et andet sted hen? Så kan vi snakke sammen,”

Du smiler lidt genert, men smilet er ægte. Du er ikke falsk, og jeg kan se lige igennem dig, og jeg ved, at dine gennemborende blå øjne ser alt indeni mig. Det er som om du siger ja, selvom du er stille, hele din krop siger ja. Dit pandehår, dine skuldrer, din navle, din lillefinger og dine blå, blå øjne – alt sammen siger ja til mig. JAJAJAJAJAJAJAJAJA.

Jeg tager din hånd. Du virker overrasket, dine reflekser går af, og du trækker hånden til dig. Men jeg holder fast, og jeg leder dig igennem den fordrukne menneskemængde. Din hånd er ikke så varm som jeg troede den ville være. Den er faktisk næsten kølig, og blød, meget blød af en drengehånd at være, men stor, næsten kraftig. Vi går forbi Camille, og hun trækker i min Jakob-frie hånd, og spørger hvor vi skal hen. Jeg siger, at vi bare skal have noget frisk luft, dig og mig. Jeg siger dit navn, Jakob, og det føles godt, så jeg smiler. Camille kigger underligt på mig, når jeg skubber dig op af trappen.

Jeg fører os ud på altanen. Der er ingen mennesker derude, det er også koldt. Jeg kan se, at du begynder at fryse, i det øjeblik vi kommer ud. Mit hoved snurrer, jeg prøver at holde fast i tankerne, men de er ude for min rækkevidde. Der er kun dig, din frostklare ånde, glasset i vinduerne, der dunker, musikken, der bliver lavere, når jeg lukker døren til altanen, mine hænder der brænder.

”Hv-hv-hvorfor er vi gået herud?” siger du, og dine tænder klaprer.

Jeg ved det ikke. Jeg ved ingenting længere. Jeg ved, hvordan man kommer fra Camilles kælder, op af trappen og ud på altanen. Men hvad hjælper det mig? Jeg vil bare gerne vide, hvordan jeg kommer fra bare at være mig, til at være dig og mig, til at være sammen med dig, Jakob?

Jakob. Jeg kigger dig lige i ansigtet, kigger på dig igen, og du er stadig pæn, ja du er faktisk ret fræk, tænker jeg. Du er genert, du hedder Jakob, din krop er varm, og du har meget blå øjne. Jeg slingrer, når jeg tager et skridt tættere på dig. Jeg burde være genert, men det er jeg ikke. Vodkaen brænder i kroppen, og gør mig modig. Du har mørkt hår, Jakob, der falder ned i dine blå øjne, dit ansigt kommer tættere på og bliver sløret, men det vil jeg ikke have, jeg vil se dig, jeg vil kigge på dig hele tiden. Dine øjne, blå som is, som et rullende ocean, kigger skræmt op på mig.

”Jakob?” hvisker jeg spørgende.

”Ja?” hvisker du tilbage, som om du er bange for, at jeg vil voldtage dig og tage alle dine penge.

”Luk øjnene.”

Mine læber rammer dine. Blødt, lydløst, fjerlet. Du stivner. Din krop ryster. Når jeg kysser dig dybere og mærker din tunge mod min, føles det som om, at din sjæl også ryster. Jeg mærker ikke, at jeg trykker dig op af altanen. Men jeg ved at jeg må have gjort det, for når jeg må slippe dine sultne læber for luft, står vi presset tæt op af Camilles lyserøde rhodendendron. Du griner stille, og jeg tysser på dig, og griner selv. Din ånde lugter af chips og øl, og nogen ville måske synes, at det var klamt, men jeg synes bare det er dejligt, jeg synes bare, at det er Jakob.

Du kigger på mig med klare, blå øjne, og det er som om dine øjne rører ved mig, rører hver en lille del af min krop, og alle andre ukendte steder, der gemmer sig inden i mig, og som jeg aldrig vidste, at jeg havde. Og jeg må kysse dig igen, det må jeg bare, jeg må presse mine læber mod dine én til gang, bare én til gang, og så kan jeg dø lykkeligt, lige her, på altanen, under stjernerne, i Camilles rhodendendron-busk, med dine blå øjne for og bag og indeni mig. Jeg kysser dine bløde læber. Det er bare to læber der mødes, men det er meget, meget mere. Det er fyrværkeri og stjerner og jordbæris og blide bølger og jordskælv og vodka-shots og noget ægte, for en gangs skyld noget der er fuldstændig ægte for mig.

”Undskyld, men må jeg spørge, hvad I laver?!”

Det er Camilles lyse stemme, der skærer igennem luften. Du drejer forfærdet hovedet imod hende, du mumler at vi ikke laver noget, og du siger jeg skal flytte mig, du skal gå. Jeg stirrer på dig. For mig er du stadig den dreng jeg lige har kysset i en rhodendendronbusk, jeg forstår ikke hvorfor du går, jeg forstår ingenting. Dine blå øjne lukker sig, du smider sandheden fra dig, du skubber mig væk, og du går ind i det mørke hus igen, uden mig. Du efterlader mig tomhændet tilbage, Jakob, med et hjerte der dunker af ubrugt adrenalin, brændende hænder der bare vil gribe dig, og en Camille, der stirrer chokeret på mig.

”Jakob,” siger jeg, jeg hører den umaskerede vrede i min stemme, den store længsel, lidt skuffelse, meget alkohol. Jakob hører mig ikke. Det gør Camille derimod. Hun kigger desperat på mig. Hun siger mit navn.

”Ham kan du vist godt glemme, Adam!”

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W R I T T E N     B Y     C A R O L I N E     R O S E B E R R Y

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Well, I hope that you liked it. And that you understood it! If you did like it, and want to see more of this kind of  thing, just let me know. Comment, like, follow!

I'll be really busy this weekend, because I'm singing concerts non-stop, atm. It's really tough. I'm tired, and my voice is sore. But I love it. So this is basically bye-bye for the weekend guys. Have a good one!

Thanks for listening,

I Am Roseberry

Oh Boy, Oh Land!

So. Hi.

Her name is on everyone's lips. Have you heard of her? Oh, I'm sorry, what am I asking? Of course you have. Oh boy.

 O H    L A N D 

All right now. Don't get your panties in a knot. Don't have a fit. I know I'm slow at blogging about these things. But here she is.

Oh Land, otherwise known as Nanna Øland Fabricious, the new media-darling and trend-setting pop-singer. Even the word "pop" makes me cringe with horror and shame -- but I have to say, Oh Land takes "pop" to a whole other level for me.

HER MUSIC? Dreamy pop, I would say. She's sort of like a tantalizing mixture between Björk and Lykke Li. But then again, when did it become my job to define the undefinable?

HER STYLE? Dreamy as well, minimalistic with refined details, and a big blond head. Just as we like it.

I'm really seeing a sort of trend in the female pop-industry lately. It's all becoming more alternative, dreamy, and the female singers that are becoming popular now, are all very "different" in that very fashionable way. Take for instance women like Lykke Li, Fallulah and, one of my favorite singers, Adele. Usually, maybe a bit disrespectingly, I scold the genre "pop" and all of its followers. Mainstream simply does not belong in my vocabulary, or on my iPod. But somehow, the female pop-singers are morfing into something undefinable, alternative, and genuinely authentic. And ooooooooooh do I relish this idea! For months and months, I've been basically crying every time I turned on the radio. But now? Well, it's getting better.

What I really like about Oh Land, is that she has such a strong will. I don't know if I'm the only one that been bothering to read the interviews with her -- check Gaffa, MS and Soundvenue, and loads of others -- but she's one hell of a stubborn lady. She has dragged in raving review after raving review, been featured on David Letterman with her song, "Sun of a Gun", been offered to warm up for Shakira and refused, and become the buzzing-buzzing-buzzing sensation in The City that Never Sleeps overnight! I barely heard her name once, before she was all over! She has litterally been everywhere I look for the last couple of weeks. Props to her for robbing our attention like that! But my point is this: what she says most, is that if she wants something, she knows that she is going to get it -- but not because it's all handed to her, but because she works hard. And that definitely earns my respect.

Oh Land - you have all my respect.

Sun Of A Gun

Oh boy, Oh Land! Come on -- she's extremely talented. You have to admit that. And it makes it even better, that she is from my home country, Denmark. Yes!! It's great that a female Danish artist is getting all this media-attention. The fact that she sets us Danes in such a flattering light is just another plus, for me.

In my opinion, Oh Land is a very allegiable suggestion, of who will define and refine pop-history. At least in my world, she has changed something, that is basically carved out of stone in my heart: my loathing for pop is loathing no more.

Thanks for listening,

I Am Roseberry

Carrie

So. Hi.

Hymns From Nineveh - Sister Sorrowsong

I    A M    R O S E B E R R Y

NAME: Caroline Roseberry Koktvedgaard

ALIAS: I Am Roseberry / Carrie

SEX: Female.

AGE: 15 years young

I LIVE IN: Copenhagen, Denmark.

SOME DAY,  I WILL LIVE IN: New York City, Manhattan. There's no other answer.

10 RANDOM THINGS I LOVE TO DO:

• Eating cupcakes with pink icing.
• Laughing so much with my friends, that I can hardly breathe, that I fall off my chair, or that I piss myself.
• Making weird noises to illustrate my points (including, but not limited to: grunting, snorting, miauwing, giggling and making high-pitched voices)
• Playing with my piano instead of really practising.
• Eating "Marshmallow Fluff" with a spoon.
• Biking along the sea in the summer wearing only a tanktop and shorts.
• Watching as many movies as possible on my semi-annual, 10-hour plane ride to the States.
• Eating toast with butter and cinnamon sugar while watching The Holiday.
• Putting on flower-scented handlotion.
• Reading the free, Danish music magazine Gaffa from one end to the other, including all the reviews of CD's (yes, the entire thing).

THIS MEANS SOMETHING TO ME:

Music -- singing it, playing it, listening to it, buying it, touching it, chasing and hunting it, dancing to it, living in it.

Writing -- using it to describe, to tell, to be sarcastic, to be sincere, to dream, and hopefully, to make people laugh, cry, groan, or just feel something, anything.

Love -- I know it sounds.... terribly corny. But it does mean a lot to me, anyway. And it doesn't have to be corny. The love I share with my friends; with my family, when they don't drive me insane; with my classmates; with random strangers, that smile at me on a cold, grey morning; with myself, with the world.

I DREAM ABOUT:

Becoming a musician and/or writer. Living the dream in NYC. Feeling alive all day, every day. Doing things, that are worthwhile, things that matter to me, and finding a way to avoid all the things that don't. Finding myself. 

THE STORY OF MY ALIAS, CARRIE ROSEBERRY:

Prepare for the ultimate tale about Caroline Roseberry Koktvedgaard: the girl that reinvented herself, and came out on the other side, more herself than she had ever been.

Carrie Roseberry. I like to think of Carrie as my alter ego. Carrie is me, really. But she's a little more independant, a little stronger, a little more mature, and probably a little prettier too. Carrie can do things, that Caroline never would. She's brave, fierce really, and she's not afraid to stand up for herself. Sometimes I let Carrie take over, figuratively, when I would have thought that I was too scared to even move. Sometimes I get just a little braver -- just a little more Carrie.

So. Why the name, Carrie? Why? Well, my first name is really Caroline. In Denmark, a nick-name for Caroline would be Caro. But in the US, where I currently have half of my life on stand-by, I have never really gotten a nick-name. For the longest time, I didn't even know that there existed one.

I know the name Carrie all too well -- it is, after all, the first name of the infamous (and ficticious) Carrie Bradshaw. Carrie is the name, that single girls everywhere recognize -- Sex and the City is more than an influential TV-show. The four friends, Carrie in particular, inspired my 12-year-old self, when I first discovered SATC, and continue to do so now. The name Carrie stands for being "single and fabulous - exclamation point!". It stands for being strong, true to yourself, and proud of your imperfections. So when I learned that Carrie can be used as a nick-name for Caroline, it seemed almost fitting that I was just a little bit closer to my fictional idol.

Now to the Roseberry-part of it. My mother is a hardcore feminist -- and her maiden name is Roseberry. Usually, when you marry a guy, you take his last name. But not my mom. No, she chose to keep her own last name, as a symbol of her own independance. This is, truly, my mom in a nut-shell. To this day, she insists upon being called Mz. Roseberry. The name Roseberry means something more to me, as well. As you might know, I live in Copenhagen, Denmark. My Danish family name is Koktvedgaard, and that's what I've been using as my last name in Denmark for a while. When I try to tell people, that my name is Roseberry, I get all kinds of responses; "Rosenberg?" No. "Rosemary?" No. "Blueberry?" No, Goddammit! For the longest time, being half Danish and half American simply meant, that I didn't have to do my English homework. But today, Roseberry means more to me. It's one of my frail connections to my American identity. It's an opportunity I hold in my hand, to be someone else than everyone expects me to be. To me, Roseberry is a symbol of independance, of internationality, and of beauty. All things that I want to posses.

Carrie Roseberry. My own name, slightly self-invented, but still something that comes from my name. My name might seem unimportant, but to me, it's not. It's my gateway to Carrie, to that other me, that is more me, than any other me. Did I lose you yet?

WHAT I'D LIKE TO SAY, IS.... :

At the end of the day, I really am just Caroline. A young, half Danish half American girl, living in Copenhagen with her parents and sister and dog. When I'm Caroline, I'm small and insignificant. And that's okay. It's not a negative thing, really, that I don't matter, in the scheme of things. I like my life, I like who I am, or at least, I like who I'm becoming. Granted, everything around me moves very fast, and sometimes the questions just come rolling in. Do you ever ask yourself: "When did my life run off without me?".

That's when I need a little help from Carrie. My alter ego, myself, my idol. At the end of the day, I Am Roseberry, Caroline Koktvedgaard and Carrie are all me. And sometimes, once in a blue moon, when those three me's get together for cocktails and actaully connect... Well, I feel more myself than ever.

Maybe one day, I'll actually introduce myself as myself: "Nice to meet you. I Am Roseberry. But you can call me Carrie."

Thanks for listening,

I Am Roseberry.

Summer Lusting

So. Hi.

I CAN'T WAIT FOR IT TO BE SUMMER!!!!!!!!!!

I just can't believe it. It's barely spring -- BARELY I said, mind you -- and already I'm dying in anticipation of summer! All these months of cold and winter, snow and dreary grey weather.... They're finally coming to an end! 

Snowflakes and the seldom frosty, crisp, blue morning. Snow falls and snow men. Icicles and icy toes. Chattering teeth and ears bundled up in anything that resembles something warm. Ouftits that consist of woollen socks and undershirts, thick sweaters, warm tights under jeans, big scarves, fluffy mittens, hats, head-bands, balaclavas and God-knows-what-else... All these things belong with WINTER, a winter that we soon will have to bear NO LONGER. Aaaah.

I can't even describe how much I'm looking forward to summer. Whenever I see anything, that remotely reminds me of summer, I go, "Aaaaaww!" and sigh like I'm in love. Whenever I do something, that could be considered a summer- or spring-like activity, I say, "I can't wait for summer!". Whenever I hear someone talking about summer vacations and bikinis and tans and ice-cream, I just want to melt into a puddle on the floor.

Summer: Please come fast. 'Cause I have it bad! The "Summer Lust" that is.

W H A T    I    L O N G    F O R ,    S P E C I F I C A L L Y



Swimming. Beaches. The sea. Water.

Oh geez, I just want to feel warm water, that doesn't come from a fosset, actually touching my skin! I want to swim in the water, dive, watch the blue sea, get out, dry off, sizzle for a bit, and then leap up, and into the water again! One thing I've missed especially as well, is feeling my toes dig in to the warm sand.... can't you just imagine it? Uhmm. 

Summer evenings. A cool breeze. Being able to wear shorts after dinner.

OOOOOH! The feeling of a cool, but not yet cold breeze, sweeping over you as you walk along the beach at night, holding a cool refreshment in your hand, a little bonfire burning, friends drunkenly hopping around you, dancing with sand between your toes... Summer concerts! I can't wait for those either. Music and laughter and summer and sun just go together, I think.

Floaties, fans, fountains. Lemonade. Rollerblading and people-watching.

Fans. I miss needing a fan, to cool me off. And fountains. I miss watching people spraying water on each other, or just cooling their feet in the fountains around town, not really caring that the water is slightly green and smelly (yes, smelly). Rollerblading! Last summer, my friends and I reverted to our childhood, and took up rollerblading as a hobby for those cool, summer days. I remember the boot sticking to my hot foot, feeling the sweat on my back... it sounds more than gross, but it was so much fun. And all the people you can see! Don't get me started. In winter, they're all covered up by coats and scarves and hats and boots... But in summer, you really get to see every kind of type walking around in flip-flops and shorts!

Ice-cream. Smoothies. Cold treats.

Yum yum yum. Whenever it's summer, my friend Male and I have a tradition for eating ice-cream from ParadIS just about every day. And smoothies. Now, I may not be a good cook -- but smoothies, I can do. Girl knows her frozen berries. There's just something incredibly tantalizing about sitting and sipping a cold smoothie, slurping a strange ice-drink, or waffling down an ice-cream.

Summer clothes. Wearing white. Shorts and skirts that are really too short.

I love summer clothes. I love looking at them, I love buying them, I love touching them, and I love smelling them. But most of all, I love wearing them. Shorts, short skirts, dresses, flip flops, sandals, bikinis, swimsuits, sunglasses... you name it. I like it. I love the feeling of biking down Strandvejen, feeling the wind in my face, wipping my hair back and forth, wearing only a bikini, shorts and flip-flops. Sunglasses. I love them. Everything becomes more summery with sunglasses on.

Swimsuits, sexy abs, and summer flirts.

Ahaaaaa. Last, but certainly not least! This is one of my favorite parts of the summer: the time, where abs come out! After being forced to stay imprisoned by shirts and sweaters for months at a time, these small daily miracles embrace the sun (and the boring stare of my eyes) when summer finally arrives! Uhm, I love me a saucy male in swimming shorts! Haha. But hey, I'm sure that you don't mind us girls wearing bikinis either!

I think that just about covers what I love about summer. What I look forward to with manic enthusiasm. Did I hit some of your favorites as well?

Thanks for listening,

I Am Roseberry