fucking-amal.com

OK, OK.
Here's another one of Inga.
Inga Fredlund, Stockholm, 30+, blogs almost everyday on Myspace.


Erica is divorced, lives in Stockholm but was born in Trollhättan.
Divorce probably not down to Inga, but hey.

From the left. Johanna Larsson, Elinor Johansson and Lisa Skagerstam
Judging by Lisa's eyebrows this was probably taken around the time FÅ was made.
But then they are drinking booze. (whatever that says about anyone's age)

Well, I certainly recognise her in that one!

fish wrote: But then they are drinking booze. (whatever that says about anyone's age)

I believe they start young in Sweden, like being bottle-fed booze from birth, a bit like the Aussies

She's got you there, fishy!

I'm so (hic) embarassed.

What are YOU doing now?

answer the question.

Right now I am bored outta my skull. I am on usual Saturday night routine. I have everything set out. I have tossed the salad in a fine vinagrette which will like totally bypass the tastebuds of its ultimate consumers. I have started drinking too early. In a few minutes I will go inspect the stables make sure everything is secure and that the stablettes have done their work for the day properly. Then they will descend on my place and eat out on pasta and pizza. There will be the usual arguments about which horror flick they want to see. After that there will be the usual arguments about whether I'll allow them to see a porno flick that they ''borrowed'' off their brother. There will be the usual chariot race out in the yard of local oversexed boys on low CC motorbikes. Mr Fingernail engine grease meets Miss fingernail horseshit. Furtive fumblings and squelching sounds you try to drown out of your mind. Most won't go anywhere. Most will sprawl out on sleeping bags or each other, drunken oblivious. I will relax and drink myself to oblivion. In the morning I will pick my way through the carnage of bodies and feed the beasts. After I've given the horses their breakfast, my army of occupation will devour an enormous fry up of heart-attack-on-a-plate full English breakfast. With a bit of luck they will go away, shovel horseshit to their hearts content, gossip about who did what to whom, and let me crawl back into bed.

I need to get a life.

You need a life. Badly.

Me? It's not yet 8:00am on Sunday, I'm taking a few minutes to see who else in the world is still alive, and awake. My son is still asleep so I've probably got another hour or so of solitude. Plan out what I need to do around the house or garden. Plan meals for the day. Try and think of some outside activity to stimulate his(/my) interest. Wait for him to decide all he wants to do is play video games all day (that'll be a change ), give in to avoid any conflict. Listen to another heap of my brain cells atrophy.

And yet with all this awaiting me I still have time to feel sorry for you.

A life. Yeah. I remember what that was like. Think I need a new one too.

Ah, a life. I vaguely recall what having one of those was like. It was an awful long time ago now, though. So long, in fact, that I'm starting to think I must have dreamed it and life has in fact always been this dull.

Well.
What a pathetic bunch we are.

Good thing we know how to laugh at ourselves then, isn't it?

Well, if we don't, somebody else will.

Cheer up guys, at least you're not dead yet

Trust Magnus to cheer us all up.

Agnes&Elin Forever! wrote:Cheer up guys, at least you're not dead yet

That's cheered me up heaps.
At least I'm still looking at the green side of the grass.

Another pic of Jill Ung from Facebook.
No context given.