Sunday, October 31

Eeexcellent procrastination tool.

Jason found this AWESOME website that lets you design your own ambient sound effects.

You combine different noises, like "waves crashing," "boat rowing," and..."lemur?!"
(Yeeesh, wouldn't wanna be in that boat.)

When the Hubster first discovered this website, he called me into the room.
I glanced at his computer screen:

--but before I could decipher the meaning of all these knobs on his screen, this is (a reenactment of) what I heard... and saw:

(Is your sound on?)

Living with this guy puts me into hysterics Every. Single. Day.

Soon we were coming up with stuff like, "Beach camping with Darth Vader who's out collecting firewood."

Alas, this website discovery is yet another reason I'm heartbroken to be missing my favorite holiday today. ...Anybody wanna make our day by sharing your own morbid concoction in the comments section? Or do you already have enough homework as it is?

(Use the "Save as Link" feature on the website.)
(Oh, here's the website.)
(PLEASE don't use the "Children Giggles" sound, that's so far past my WAY-TOO-CREEPY line it's not even funny.)
(I shouldn't have even said that, should I?)
(Happy Halloween, by the way!)

Friday, October 29


First, do your homework: 
Well done. You may proceed:

After the four-hour calendar fiasco, I checked the clock. Only two hours until Jason would get home! Spurred on by panic, it was at this point that my conniving little brain thought of a loophole in my no-spending-money rule. We can EAT the decorations when we're done with them. Off to VEELY'S!!

Apples, pears, tomatoes, and... those tiny little decorative pumpkins are edible, right? I guess we'll find out. And, sadly, I did break down and buy $6 worth of (probably inedible) plants.

Bahhh, they're too cute for me to feel bad. Meet Fernadine and Ruffles!

(Poor babies, little do they know that I'm the Elmira Fudd of the houseplant world. I hope they at least survive until we leave.)

Regardless, they made Mr. Sad & Hungry Bookcase feel much better. I also gave him branches, fruit, hats & scarves, and topped it all off with the lid of the Marilyn Monroe poster that we found in the closet.

Yes, that Tabasco bottle is purposely paired with Ms. Monroe. And it looks like Ruffles agrees with the sentiment. (BAD Ruffles!! No more inappropriate photobombing!!)

Moving on, let's meet Mr. Sad & Hungry Bookcase post- surgical operation and wardrobe makeover... TA DA!!!!
Avert your eyes from the second shelf up on the right... the Marilyn Monroe puzzle is now topless.

Satisfied, I moved on to the dining room table. I decided the apartment needed a heckuva lot more clashery, so if you're prone to epilepsy, please close your eyes until I say so:

Now, scroll down. Scroll down a little more. Okay, it's gone; you can open your eyes again.

Blinding, wasn't it? I know! I'm so proud. There I stood, hypnotized by my handiwork, when --BLING!-- the arrival of email ice-dunked me back to reality. Jason was on his way home. Ten minutes, people. I still had piles of branches and miniature squash on the floor.

Fueled by rabid determination, I hurriedly arranged little Sveedish nature artifacts everywhere (carefully arranged to NOT LOOK carefully arranged). (You know how us artsy-types are.)

I stood back to survey the construction zone. Amidst all the wilderness now invading our apartment, a giant, blank white wall glared at me from above the couch. I snatched up our map of Lund and ran from room to room, slipping in my socks. How the heck could I get this to stick on the wall?! Now fully tweaked-out from desperation, I flung open the kitchen cabinets.

Oh, hello, jar of honey. You're going to help me out for just a second, okay?

 The front door opened and Jason stepped inside, expecting to see this (minus himself):

But instead, he saw...

J:      Hey, April, how was your-- whoa. One of THOSE days, huh?

A:     (nods with crazed grin)

J:      Good! Uh, wow... it's awesome! Hey, how'd you get the map to stick on the wall?

A:     atinybitofhoney SOooo, what should we do for dinner?

J:      WHAT?! (laughs nervously as though I'm kidding)

A:     ......

To make a long story short, we compromised by using itty bits of bubble gum to keep the map up. (And once I explained to him the original alternatives, he was VERY glad I had used honey instead of peanut butter.)
 Observe the Matthews-er in his new natural habitat... he LOOOVES it!

Thursday, October 28


Please read HURRICANE MARTHA: Part One, if you don't want to be confused while reading this post. And if you want extra credit points, go read about what our apartment looked like when we first moved in. 

I've already gloomily acknowledged that we can't have any IKEA sprees while living here in Sweden, since we can't take stuff back home with us. But for the love of Pete, the Hubster was decorating the apartment with t-shirts. I set out to see what I could do with our glamorous zero-million-dollar budget.

Bundled up and cheerfully roaming the streets, I soon accumulated an armful of daisies, colorful (but thorny) branches, and snowberries. I was then delighted to come across a giant 4-foot-long willow tree limb, torn off by the wind. I added it to the collection and dragged it behind me caveman-style as I headed home.

Looking back, I now realize I looked like a giant, deranged bird in a human body, manically collecting nesting material. A few passersby switched to the other side of the street as I approached. But at this point, nothing could stop the Martha in me. Especially after seeing my sweet husband's desperate attempts to "add a little color" to our apartment.

I had almost made it home when an acorn dropped to the ground in front of me. With my jacket smeared in dirt, hands bleeding from thorns, random foliage in my arms (and hair), and a frantic glint in my eye, I surveyed the ground for more "Festive Fall Adornments."

It also probably didn't help that I was humming "Santa Claus is Coming to Town." Don't ask.

Having stuffed my pockets with nuts (no, I didn't stuff my cheeks. I have to draw the line somewhere), I accepted that I couldn't carry anything else, and should probably head home before I had to explain myself to Swedish law-enforcement.

As a reminder, this is what I had to work with when I got home (minus Mr. Matthews-er, who was working hard at school and had no idea about any of this):

First, I faced that damn bookcase. The one that looks sad and hungry, for lack of possessions to display. Well guess what, Bookcase? You're the one with a problem, not us.

I did my own little version of Gastric Bypass surgery and took out half his shelves. HA!

This still left one large, open space which just screamed, "Cheesy Seasonal Display!!" So, by the power vested in me from years of watching Martha Stewart Living as a child... one Cheesy Seasonal Display coming right UP, Mr. Sad & Hungry Bookcase.

    •    pumpkins & candles
    •    scavenged leaves & twigs
    •    appropriately color-themed book
    •    string and clothespins I found out on the patio
    •    Jason's old research papers
    •    every last drop of ink in the only pen I could find 

    •    I wasted FOUR freaking hours tearing all those pieces of paper (because I lost
         the scissors again) and tracing the words/dates onto them from my computer screen.
Cost-Benefit Analysis:
    •    NOT worth your time.

Yes, the calendar's in Sveeedish.
YES, I said "LUMOS!!" as I lit Harry's candle.
NO, they don't really celebrate Halloween here, and this probably looks insane to our neighbors.

Part Three coming tomorrow: the rest of the bookcase, & the rest of the apartment.

Wednesday, October 27


Usually, I'm the one who leaves clothes all over the house. Jason, on the other hand, hangs his coats up when he gets home, folds and puts his clothes away before bed, and, overall, is any roomate's dream-come-true. Bless his tidy soul.

So here in Sweden, when his shirts started popping up in odd places-- hanging off the chairs, off the arm of the sofa, off of the doorknobs-- it really grabbed my attention. I strangled back my curiosity for a few days, relishing the idea that I could feel slightly less messy in comparison.

Just kidding. This curiosity of mine takes no prisoners. The second that shirt showed up on the bedroom doorknob, I was all over him like Barbara Walters on Bigfoot.

"I noticed you've got a lot of shirts hanging out in the living room lately. What's up?"

I might sound slightly condescending saying this, but... his answer was just TOO ADORABLE:

"Oh, that. You know, I just thought this place needed some color."

This is the man who spent his first year of college in an apartment so bare it would have worried Gandhi.

Apparently after three years of living with yours truly, (whose "colorful" decorating style may give certain sensitive individuals Grand Mal seizures), my fella has been so overstimulated that the black, white, and red just wasn't cutting it for him.

I hardly noticed him leaving for school that morning, I was so wrapped up in my manic plot to--yes, you guessed it-- Martha-Stewart-meets-Tasmanian-Devil this place off the MAP.

Part 2 coming tomorrow.
Possibly Part 3 as well, if I wanna get really fancy.

Tuesday, October 26

Elevator Music

The posts have been a wee sparse lately because we've been so busy rampaging around... so while we take a few days to document it all for you, here's a lazy post full of the BEST THINGS ON THE INTERNET (in our humble, yet insistent, opinions):

How appropriate.

Very sad that we're not able to do the annual Halloween party this year, because we'd stop at nothing to make this happen in our apartment.

And if you've got a house of your own, please do this and this  so we can live vicariously through you.

A little perspective. (There may be a few ads to ignore at first-- then click "play," and use the scrollbar at the bottom.)

If you have a twisted sense of humor, this will never get old.

Daily instant karma!

Once I get my schmidt together, you'll get to hear allll about our latest misadventures: Science, Stereotypes, Survival, and Apartment Makeover Extravaganza!!!

And in other news, IT SNOWED!!
Snow brings out the ecstatic, flake-chomping puppy inside Jason (which makes me happier than the snow itself).

Saturday, October 23

So is this a travel blog or what?

Who knows? Who gave these two a blog, anyway?!

Regardless, Sweden has treated us really well so far, so we'll give it a tribute post. Here are some reasons why Sweden is AWESOME:
Do his friends get to call him Gus-Gus?

Sweden ranks as the #1 democracy in the world. I'm not sure what the exact qualifications are, but North Korea is on the rock bottom of the list. So Sweden's government is the opposite of North Korea's. Well done, Sweden; I approve.

(Here's the whole list for all you Poly-Sci geeks out there.)

Not only does everyone have a fair say here, they also have a king! And his name is Gustaf!!

Ohhh, the excitement this gives my little Disney-brainwashed mind.

You know what I would do if I were king? (...or whatever gender-appropriate equivalent, you technical sticklers out there?!) I would design THE COOLEST MONEY IN THE WORLD!!!

Oh, wait, the Swedes beat me to it.

I know it looks like I'm flashing some serious cash here, but alas... it's only a $15.07 dollar bill.

It's my favorite. It has rainbows, BEES, and Carl Linneaus.

("Guys... GUYS.
This is insanity.
We're discovering all these species right & left, and we need some sort of system to classify and name them all.
Can I get some binomial nomenclature up in HEEAHH?!!"

-Carl Linneaus, 1735.)
(Translated roughly from Swedish.)

Click HERE to drool upon the artwork in all its HD glory. (And then make sure to click again so it extra zoomy-zooms.) (I'm making the "Homer Simpson sees a doughnut" noise.)

Besides binomial nomenclature, and a near-perfect democracy compatible with monarchy, Swedes also invented the Nobel Prize. And even more importantly, they invented the word "SMÖRGÅSBORD." Now that's my kinda country.

Anyway, you know what else King April would do? She would give bikes and pedestrians their own street system! And make it really awesome, with tunnels and skylights and everything, an-- oh.

Way to steal my thunder, Gustaf. Your heiny-highness. 

Wednesday, October 20

Swedish Spanish Lessons: A Fruity Romance

In our effort to get Jason hablando away in Spanish, I try to make his homework moderately entertaining. Based on his vocabulary so far (about that of a two-year old, no offense my dear), that can be quite the challenge.

This assignment was to translate the English to Spanish.  He wanted me to share it with you guys, so.... read along in whichever language you want.

Pedro:       Hi Maria, how are you?                          (Hola María, ¿como estás?)
Maria:        I'm fantastic. And you?                             (Estoy fantástica. ¿Y tú?)
Pedro:       I'm very happy.                                       (Estoy muy feliz.)
Maria:        Why are you happy?                                (¿Por qué estás feliz?)
Pedro:       Because I have a cold mango.              (Porque tengo un mango frío.)
Maria:        The mango is not hot. I am also               (El mango no está caliente. Ahora,
                   happy now.                                               estoy feliz también.)
Pedro:       Yes. We are happy.                                 (Sí. Estamos felices.)

...awkward pause.                                                      ...pausa incómoda.

Maria:        Where is the mango from?                        (¿De dónde es el mango?)
Pedro:       The mango is from Guatemala.             (El mango es de Guatemala.)
Maria:        Oh! My husband is from Guatemala.        (¡Ah! Mi esposo es de Guatemala.)
Pedro:       Is your husband a mango?                    (¿Es tu esposo un mango?)
Maria:        Yes, he is a mango from Guatemala.        (Sí, es un mango de Guatemala.)
Pedro:       Is MY mango your husband?                 (¿Es MI mango su esposo?)
Maria:        Well, what color is your mango?                (Pués, ¿de qué color es su mango?)
Pedro:       My mango is yellow. What color is        (Mi mango es amarillo. ¿De qué
                  your husband?                                         color es tu esposo?)
Maria:        My husband is orange.                              (Mi esposo es anaranjado.)
Pedro:       Your husband is a pretty color.              (Tu esposo es un color bonito.)
Maria:        Oh, here is my husband! He is in my         (Ah, ¡aqui está mi esposo! Está en
                  bathroom. Your mango is not my               mi baño. Tu mango no es mi
                  husband.                                                    esposo.)
Pedro:       I have a date with my yellow                  (Tengo una cita con mi mango
                  mango now. See you later, Maria           amarillo ahora. Hasta la vista, María
                  Mango.                                                      Mango.)
Maria:        Good luck, Pedro Papaya.                        (Buena suerte, Pedro Papaya.)

Pedro Papaya, what HAPPENED?! I guess your mango WAS cold... stone cold.

Tuesday, October 19

Julia Child is the Shiz

My awesome friend Kristie lent me the perfect book to read on this trip: My Life in France by Julia Child. Here's the plot in one run-on sentence: Julia's husband gets a job in France, where she goes nuts for French cuisine, ends up in French culinary school, and returns to the US to bless us with her knowledge.

Or, as Kristie put it so well: "It's a good book about being with someone you love in a new place... and about delicious, delicious food."

So as you might imagine, it's inspired me to cook my butt off lately (well, my belt insists on just the opposite, actually). It's also inspired us to watch every single a few "French Chef" snippets on YouTube. Did you guys ever watch that show? I remember my health-nut mom would let out a "WHOAAAAAA" of vicarious thrill as Julia jubilantly tossed in butter by the stick.

And her oddly explosive "B's" are the best. "Let's just add a littuhl BUHTtah... (PLUNK)."

My favorite part is where she chucks the soufflé pan. And when she double-cracks the eggs like a freakin' rock star.

Sunday, October 17

Watch out, Sweden...

...I found a bike. Good ol' address-knowing, looks-like-Charlie-from-Lost neighbor let me in on this thing called Blocket (basically the Swedish version of Craiglist). I muddled my way through the website with Google online translation, and this cheap ad caught my eye:
Click here if you want to see what I was facing at that point. (And don't worry, those aren't in dollars!)
Well praise the Blocket gods (and the help of this website), it turns out the ad was posted by a dude in our same apartment complex! Jason & I met him at Willy's the next morning (of course Willy's, you guys know how I feel about that place). The bike only had one working tire, but we shelled out the couple dozen bucks and lugged it home.

Now, this is definitely not a titanium-framed speedster we have on our hands. It weighs the amount of a small car, and every surface has surrendered to the elements in brown, flakey rust. Google should have translated "Retro" as "completely oxidized."
At this point we had several name candidates:
Trusty Rusty. Iron Maiden. The Rusticator. And last, but not least... Ferrous Wheels. (We really crack ourselves up.)

Finally, Jason suggested "Rustito." Although there's nothing "-ito" about this thing, the name stuck to the bike just like all the magnets within its ten-foot radius.

I've had several concerned friends and family members ask me if I'm up to date on my Tetanus shots, just in case. Let me assure you: very few souls make it through Architorture school without a T-booster. Scale-model construction inevitably leads to the savory blend of 1) hallucinatory sleep-deprivation, 2) double-digit espresso shots, and 3) frantically-wielded exacto-knives.* (The university nurse will roll her eyes as she preps the needle and correctly guesses your major.)
*(Just kidding potential employers!!! I'm as punctual as a Nazi meter-maid and never, EVER abuse stimulants. You can also stop reading this blog now.)

Ahem... So having named the bike and confirmed it wasn't going to kill me, I needed to repair Rustito's back tire. The entire internet unanimously recommended (tell me how often that happens) that I'd best sell this bike to a museum rather than track down the needed part. I ignored this benevolent rationale and instead sent my dad a desperate plea for help an email, titled: "rare-foreign-bike-part scavenger hunt YAYYYYY!!!" ...Immediately after which I got an email from Jason, saying his friend had the valve piece I needed. Sorry, dad.

Riding around town, I'm discovering that this bike might not have much of an advantage over walking. If there's any sort of incline, I immediately break out in sweat trying to lug half my weight in iron up the... curb. If there's any sort of decline, the "pedal backward and pray"-style brakes fail against Rustito's massive momentum (p = m•v, my amigos, and there's a lot of 'm').

Those of you who know me (and my beloved car, Mrs. Sputtersworth), understand that all this only makes the bike more endearing to me. I'd check it as luggage on the way home, if only it were under the 50 lb. weight limit.

Here's Rustito in his home with the other bikes. Apparently they think he suffers from bike leprosy. Or they have a healthy fear of Tetanus.
Oh, Rustito. You and I will have many adventures together, during which I will grow the quadriceps of a Himalayan sherpa.

Friday, October 15

"Look Ma, no hands!" IS NOT PERMITTED.

Speaking of learning new languages, Jason has also decided NOW is the time that I teach him Spanish. You know that commercial about The Most Interesting Man in the World who can speak "French... in Russian?" We're getting there.

Yet despite all the "Swedish-(Danish?)-Spanish-English"  soup bubbling between my ears (aka Sveenglés, see title below for example), today I saw something that made me realize:  Some things just transcend languages.
Nice hat.

Thursday, October 14

¿Habla du you Sveenglés?

Honestly, I feel like a big jerk for going to another country without knowing the language. The fact that we were moving to Sweden didn't set in when we bought the tickets, or even when we packed our suitcases. The Atlantic Ocean sparkling beneath our plane finally panicked inspired me to not be an A-hole Ethnocentric American and figure out some Swedish. Luckily, the screen in front of me had a "game" you could play to learn one of 20 languages. Sveedish! I frantically flipped through the virtual flashcards (after all, I did graduate with a minor in Cramming).

Airplane Edutainment taught a few basic words for traveling, polite manners, and two sentences:
"I don't understand."
"I love you."

...thus rendering both useless because I was TERRIFIED of mixing the two up.

Swede:    "Hi, do you know when the next train leaves?"
Myself:     "I LOVE YOU."
Swede:    ...oh god. do I have time to run....?

Luckily, most Swedes (love that word) are fluent in English. At least that's what I reassured myself as I went on a quest to figure out what our freaking address is here. That's right, not only did we hardly know any Swedish, but no one from the university had sent us an address. (Our friend met us at the train station and told our taxi driver which apartment complex, and luckily we knew what apartment, but that was it. We had no idea how to write an address that would be decipherable to the Swedes.)

My quest depended on finding a neighbor who was responsible enough to know how to write an address around here. I picked a door to knock on, nervously practicing "Hej, talar du engelska?" (Hi, do you speak English?) under my breath, when lo and behold, THIS GUY opened the door.

Or at least a Swedish version of him; sorry to send all you LOTR/Lost fanatics into squirrelly, frothing frenzies.

Those were an awkward few seconds as I struggled to remember my line. His eyebrows twisted in confusion as I spit it out, then something clicked and he said, "Oh, yeah I speak English." Music to my A-hole Ethnocentric American ears, I tell ya.

He explained that I had some kind of weird accent that made it sound like I was speaking drunken Danish, but I can go with that for now.

P.S. -->

Wednesday, October 13

You know he's a keeper when...

...he comes home with presents like BUBBLE WRAP.

Tuesday, October 12

This is where we go to find food.

This is our little Sveedish grocery store. It's hip. Like, corrugated-steel-plus-fabulous-typography hip. And it's pronounced "VEEL-ees." Swoon!

Out of VEEL-ee's come some wonderful things, and also some Sveedish surprises:
That cheerful little cow makes it look so innocent. Tricksy, tricksy.

"Does that say... Lactose-Free milk?! Svvveeet!!"

I gleefully made some tea when I got home, and added the milk... PLOP?!


Yogurt tea. Awesome.

We also had trouble finding chicken broth (aka "hönsbuljong") at the store, so we bought chicken Top Ramen (to use the flavor packets). Except that I ate it all before I even get a chance to cook with it, because MSG is the most delicious thing ever invented.
I've said it before and I'll say it again: I'd survive on this crap if it wouldn't cause me to die of scurvy.
I FINALLY found the razors here. It's been a month since I shaved my legs, and the time is nigh to harvest zee crops. (Don't say I didn't warn you about TMI from the beginning. The fact that I'm omitting an image for this topic earns this post another "self-restraint" label.)

Check out the metric eggs (15-pack). I can take them out in my favorite checkerboard pattern, and they turn out symmetrically. MUCH unlike eggs in the US, which bugs me a little every time. Obsessive Compulsive Disorder strikes again.
Symmetric-Metric eggs
 At VEEly's, they sell lettuce and herbs with the roots intact! These were the only "containers" we had, and I think they're making the plants act kind of snobby. Look at the way they're staring wistfully out the window.

"As if we're good enough to go in anything THEY cook."

Sunday, October 10

That's how I roll.

I love cooking, but unfortunately I have old lady hips-- and for some reason standing hurts more than anything else. Jason had a really, really brilliant (and sweet and thoughtful) idea to move the office chair into the kitchen. I'm never going back to cooking without wheels again.

Typical choreography goes something like this:
Sit & chop veggies, push off the counter and roll over to the stove. Dump veggies into pan, swivel around, get eggs out of fridge. Ask Jason to hand me the washcloth off the table (literally 3 feet away, but "inaccessible" because the chair can't roll over the doorjamb.)
So... WARNING: side effects include forgetting you have use of your lower limbs while in kitchen.


I wasn't kidding about "Martha-Stewart-meets-Tasmanian-Devil," amigos.

Saturday, October 9

We also have things other than a living room

I decided I needed to get a better feel for the metric system (Europe is so inspirational like that), so I drafted our Little Sveedish Apartment using meters. And enjoyed it. This geekery knows no bounds.
This is how she spends her spare time?! Get this girl a job, STAT.

There are a few peculiarities we need to discuss. First of all, what the heck is up with all those doors? Theories include:
  • you can save energy by only heating the room you're currently in
  • door manufacturing is subsidized in Sweden and they have to do something with all those doors

Moving on: "bed(s)?"

For some reason there were four twin beds when we moved in. Like any grown, mature adults we crammed as many in the bedroom that would fit (3). And we still steal the covers at night.

The bathroom looks pretty inconspicuous from this view, but it's actually quite the adventure. First, see that first closet in the floorplan above? Those lines so artfully drawn across it (thank you, thank you) are several rows of bars to hang towels. Then, in the bottom of the closet there is a radiator heater. Dry, warm towels every single day. Genius.

Next, the shower. That tub is really just a tub, like as in basin, that drains onto the floor. It sits in the bathroom, not attached to anything. Luckily, there's also a drain in the floor beneath it. So, lessons encountered in Swedish bathrooms:
  • Don't leave your clothes on the floor.
  • Make sure you're not wearing shoes, socks, or slippers when draining a bath full of water (courtesy of Jason).
Now you don't have to learn those the hard way. You're welcome.

Wednesday, October 6

What's black, white, and red all over?

Our apartment.

Bad news? It's furnished... à la 1999 IKEA "Mid-Century Post-Modern" hip. Guess my personal aesthetics aren't too funky-fresh, eh?

Good news? It's furnished! We didn't have to bring our couch on the airplane.

Meet our living room:
Why, heLLO, handsome.

And another angle:

He looks pretty good from this angle, too.

It's pretty ironic how our Eugene apartment has TONS of stuff and very little storage. Then, we come here with almost nothing, and behold the most glorious abundance of built-in shelving known to man.

See the empty bookcase? It looks sad and hungry, yes? So I ransacked the apartment for things left behind. So far, our pseudo-belongings proudly on display include two tennis rackets, the seventh Harry Potter book, and a 1,200-piece Marilyn Monroe puzzle.

As much as I'd love to turn this blog into an INSPIRATIONAL INTERIOR DESIGN MAKEOVER EXTRAVAGANZA!!!!, (seriously, I really would), we're only here until December.  Not that it would take that long (are you kidding me?? I'd "Martha-Stewart-meets-Tasmanian-Devil" this place), but it would kind of be money down the drain because we wouldn't take much of it back with us.

So no IKEA sprees for me. Even though we're merely a train ride away from the original IKEA in Stockholm. (*bites lip...)

Getting to Sveeeeeden

So actually, we're in Sweden right now. Jason had to come here to finish up his PhD research, and I decided to bum a ride with him.

We landed in Denmark, took a train over the Baltic Sea, then took a taxi to our apartment. What I saw of the city through my bleary, bedraggled airplane eyes was gorgeous. Lund is the oldest city in Sweden (est. 990), with cobblestone roads and very Amsterdammy architecture. Apparently there are a lot of castles here, so first thing on my list: buy a cheap bike!

We got to our apartment from the airport at 10AM Swedish time/ 1AM US time, and a 1-hour nap turned into a sleeping-through-the-alarm-clock, 6-hour slumber. Which made it really hard to go to bed seven hours later.

Luckily (*sort of), the previous occupants of this apartment left coffee grounds and a french press!! So for the first few days, I got re-addicted. And Jason took naps. Both very counterproductive yet necessary things to do. Pulling a 180° on sleep schedules is rough!

*recovering caffeine addict (comes with the territory of architecture school)

Tuesday, October 5

Consider yourself warned.

What happens when Mr. Matthews the Physicist and Ms. Bradshaw the Architect get married? They become a family of Matthews-ers. (sound effect)

Actually, this blog about our riveting lives probably won't have tooo much math-using in it. But it will have many more awful jokes. And heaping doses of T.M.I.