Expat Jon takes on the world (well... Sweden)

I heard all of the chatter.  I read all of the seemingly meaningless Facebook posts with the obligatory "#GoT" included.  I figured it was hype.  This show wasn't my type of show anyway.  I had watched a bit of an episode when I visited my brother one day.  It was a soft core porn period piece.  No thank you.  Then I heard there were some elements of fantasy.  Dragons?  Ghosts?  Magic?  Nah.  This wasn't a show for me.  Then Saturday Night Live spoofed it as if it was directed by a horny 13 year old obsessed with nudity and that confirmed my decision. This may have continued to be my view on this show if we had stayed in the States.  There are countless shows on countless channels to keep you busy in the US.  That's not so much the case here.  The shows on TV here are mostly cooking competitions, some type of singing show or a reality show from the US or UK.  I'm surprised there isn't a reality singin...

I was born a little thick baby.  Not too big, not too small.  I guess at six pounds, I was a little bit bigger than most twins, but nothing special.  Being a twin, I always had that reference point.  I was the thicker twin.  The "big one".  My brother was always the "skinny one".  In all actuality I was kind of chunky.  Like five ham sandwiches away from being a fat kid.  Luckily I loved to play sports and stay active.  If the internet would have been around I would have been a fat ass for sure!  But it wasn't and I wasn't. My family called the weight "baby fat".  My chubby cheeks and big legs were filled with baby fat.  Doesn't that just sound cute?  The problem comes when I become an adult and my body is surrounded by "grown up fat".  Then "Tiffany From Across the Street" came into my life.  That was the summer that I turned 13.  I will never forget that summer.  It was in Chicago.  I had ...

I've stood by my word to smile and nod at, hold doors for, say hello to, laugh and overall connect with strangers here.  But sometimes my happy, approachable Americanness backfires on me.  It's the drunks.  The drunks here make me wish I was a stone cold Swede.  For some reason if there is a loud, obnoxious drunk, he/she will engage with me.  It's gotten to the point where I just expect it now. A few weeks ago I was heading out to meet my friend in the city.  It was about the normal time when people are going to begin their evening of partying.  No one should be plastered at this time of night.  The ride back home, maybe.  That's when people could have had too much to drink.  But now?  No.  So naturally, this drunk is completely passed out on the train in the group of seats next to me.  And naturally, my first instinct is to take a picture of him.  Don't judge me.  I have an Instagram account to keep interestin...

Money is money.  This is a fact.  I know this in my mind.  But I just can't make Swedish kronor (crowns) seem like money in my head.  Maybe it's all of the colors.  I'm used to greenbacks.  Dollar dollar bills y'all.  And the stubborn American in me wants all "money" to be like our money.  But it's not.  And that's where we have a problem. First of all, I have a self-diagnosed mild case of OCD.  So American money suits me.  All of the bills are the same color, size and shape.   This makes the money easy to stack and fold together and keeps away the brain twitches that I get whenever something is just not right.  Or someone I'm walking with splits a pole.  Or when the only pen available to write with is not black (so unprofessional).  I think you get it.  Greenbacks are good for me.  But Swedish money looks like this: Browns, pinks, yellows and purples.  Tell me thos...