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

The airport security process (that's probably more of an inconvenience than a deterrent) has driven me to dress like I'm going to a slumber party whenever I fly.  I don sweatpants, easily removable shoes (once sports sandals) and my trusty Okayplayer hoodie.  The sweatpants are comfortable, but they also do not require a belt.  I breeze through security (wallet, keys, etc in carry-on), kick my shoes off and throw them in the bin.  I laugh in the face of the security agent that asks if I have anything in my pockets or if I'm wearing a belt.  Stupid question.  I'm Expat Jon! Miami was still Miami on my recent trip, so I had no use for that hoodie or those sweatpants once we landed.  My first order of business was to hang them up in the closet until it was time to head back to the lovely Swedish weather. Sure enough, on the last day, my travel outfit was waiting for me.  I took my shorts off and put my sweats on.  I was ready to get home...

Yesterday at work I saw a guy with an old rickety van broken down on the street.  I'm a nice guy and all, so I was ready to go out and give this guy a hand.  He looked to be a bit older and people were walking by while he was apparently trying to parallel park his big rickety van while it was in neutral. It looked to be a painstaking process.  He was going so slow.  I wanted to be the hero.  The American that swoops in and saves the day.  I'm the guy that sees the world and wants to help it.  Go on out there, Jon.  Save him! But did I save him?  Of course not.  And not because I've become a Swede.  No, that's not it at all.  I still have a grasp on my friendly, southern, American side.  The thing is, I've sworn off all vehicular assistance after this one incident: A few years back, I was working as a manager for FedEx in New Jersey.  Part of my responsibilities was to make sure the drivers weren't leaving customers'...

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...

It's 2001 and 19 year old me is still adjusting to my first official military assignment.  Of course, as luck would have it, Miami-bred me was assigned to Alaska.  Thanks, Uncle Sam!  I was determined to make the best of it and that I did.  Some of my best friends now are from that time.  But I digress.  Fall was coming, it was getting colder, but parties were still happening and I wasn't trying to be holed up in my dorm room. I went to a party with an old work buddy of mine.  She and her husband were the only people I knew there, but I made the best of the situation.  I am a social butterfly after all.  After a while, my friend told me that she and her husband were leaving.  They had a baby at home with a babysitter and they were going to turn in.  She must have seen the disappointment on my face because she asked if I really wanted to stay.  I said I would and she said she'd see if some other guys that she knew would give me...