My little black book

There is something to be said about doing a little spring cleaning now and then, even if it is only November. In a last ditch effort to find some someone to keep me company at my favorite coffeeshop this afternoon, I scrolled through the "phone book" in my handy dandy, and most trustworthy Sony Ericsson mobile telephone. The first person listed is my friend A, a Portuguese exchange student who has similarly found himself stuck in Stockholm a year or two after he ever imagined he would be here. Thankfully, A is a pretty nice guy, as I think on a few occasions he has gotten strange text messages from me that were meant for other people, by virtue of being Number One on my phone list. Scrolling down a little further, I come to "Air France Sweden," which is a remnant of my ill-fated encounter with a dastardly melon--that literally left me reeling...for days--in Morocco. Air France Sweden was my lifeline back to civilization, AND western plumbing.

Then come the rest of the A's, A2 and A3, both who live in my building, and both whose intentions were a little bit more than neighborly. (A2, I promise, my only intention was to borrow the vacuum cleaner! There WAS NO ulterior motive, as much as you would like to think so!) To round out the A's, I come to another friend, who is listed by her blogger name user name, rather than her first name, probably because when I first met her, I only knew her internet "alias." I don't feel too bad about that, as she still calls me my other alter ego Curiosa.

This importation of usernames into real life also extends to my love life as well. There is "heterpeter" and "bad_bad_dog," both of which were internet dates, and only one of which made it past the coffee shop, and then only to the art museum. I'm going to take a wild stab in the dark and guess that "heterpeter" is "named Peter." But for the life of me, though, I cannot recall bad_bad_dog's real name. Nor am I sure if I want to.

Then there are the friends who have the same name. This is one of the few drawbacks of living in Sweden, as Swedish parents seem to be confined to a list of about 20 names, 10 for each gender. There is Marcus "with a C" and Markus "with a K." Then there is Fredrik, Freddie, and Fredrik, and although I'm pretty sure I know who Freddie is, I'm not alltogether certain which Fredrik is which. Then there are Lisa and Lisa, whose names are annotated with the descriptors "Lisa blond" and "Lisa brun." This is further complicated by the fact that "Lisa blond" has changed her mobile number several times, switching back and forth, until I'm not really sure which one she is using at the current moment. So anytime I want to talk to her, I take a chance and call "Lisa blond new," or sometimes I hedge my bets and try "Lisa blond old." I've got a 50/50 chance of being right, assuming she hasn't changed it once again. (Then, of course, there is T One and T2, but I guess that doesn't count, since its two phones, but one in the same person.)

And of course, I can't forget about my friends who are difficult to pinpoint geographically. There is "R Netherlands," "R Germany," and "R Lithuania." At the moment, she's in Libya, so I'm not entirely sure what number to call, or if I should just go ahead and add "R Libya" to the list.

Apparently sometimes, I also need to get in touch with myself. From my stint in Spring 2003 in Amsterdam, I picked up a Dutch mobile number, which I saved as "Me Holland" so I would remember it should I ever need to call myself.

But really, the one I am most curious about, the one furthest down on the list, the one I am tempted to pick up and call, is the one earmarked, "Vem?" ("Who?" in Swedish). It would be interesting to see who would answer, and to ask him/her, "Why are you in my little black book?"