After developing a record setting 5-6 intermediate crushes the last two weeks before Christmas, a few Stockholm boys are present in our imagination, where we are playing with the thought that they were celebrating Christmas with us.

One would charm grandma completely with his eloquence and tall, blond appearance. Another would be cuddled up, reading next to us in her turqoise leather sofas and join us for a Florida vintage shopping spree at the Goodwill stores. One would curse the capitalist ways as we drive along the Tamiami, and we would engage in delightful arguments over the Turkey.
The fourth would, au contraire, praise the entrepreneurial spirit, but besides that we're not sure what he would be up to. Another would most likely enjoy everything, but a highlight might be lying close together on a blanket on the beach.

Yes, yes, we know the difference between dream and reality. But to quote The Economist's end-of-year-issue further and The Idea of Progress; "Everytime someone tells you to "be realistic" they are asking you to compromise your ideals."

And that's something we try to avoid to the greatest extent.

Dec 2nd 2008, Oh my God! I mean, it is Jan 2nd 2009.

A guy called me today but I just said 'Hallå', then he said 'Hello' and then I said 'Hello?' and the call was canceled. Or I am assuming that he hung up. I hope it is the bearded guy Bill that I met at Union Pool on the year's last day. He was tall and very attractive with nice brown eyes and a real skepparkrans as a beard.

I started talking to his friend Will, who later introduced me to Bill. Their real name is actually William, but somewhere along the line they separately took a different road and turning into the sweeter, shy Will (a librarian at Parson’s school of design) and the more straight forward, charming Bill, who put his arm around me every time he came by and whispered ‘Fuck you’ in my ear, which at the time seem totally normal and I just whispered back. Being såhär efterklok, I realize that I should of course have said ‘Fuck me’ instead of just repeating the ‘Fuck you’.

I got my sweetness though when he was about to leave and came to say goodbye, and I was like ‘What, are you leaving? I thought we were gonna make out?’ He replied, most encouragingly, ‘Make out? Why?’ But before I even finished the sentence ‘Why? Well, that sort of answers the question” he grabs me and gives me a long, intense kiss that really takes me by surprise, which is rather weird under the circumstances of me actually getting what I just asked for.

RIP - He looks like a younger, nerdier Fares Fares

Stockholm, October 2009

We meet by coincidence a few weeks back at Riche.
Hadn't really thought about you at all and we smile at each other.
You're standing so close that I can feel your perfume stick to my clothes.

- So, have you acquired any gentleman-y skills since last time?
- No.

You ask what's going on in my life, what I'm doing tonight and tell me about your professional racquet ball career and a part time job as an accountant. We talk about ping pong and how much fun we had last time. We are clearly flirting with each other.

- Do you have a boyfriend?
- No. Do you have a girlfriend?
- No. (Pause.) Well, it's complicated. We are on a break.
- Aha, the famous 'break'. You know, I don't mind because it's not like I am gonna fall in love with you. I only want to sleep with you anyway.
- Really?
- Yeah, you can call me tomorrow, next week or the week after that. (We haven't learned to master the art of playing hard to get yet, and in this town we are happy with whatever is up for grabs.)
- I really appreciate the honesty, you say and laugh. Then you look up my number in your phone and I do the same, although I can't find you.
- I think I deleted it after last time.
You seem very surprised and suddenly you are a bit reluctant in giving it to me.
- Because of my whole girlfriend situation. You know it might not be so good if you text me.
- Well, at least I need to have it so I can see who's calling.

I get you number, we talk some more and then you are heading home.

Nina and I go to Spyan and as I am dancing I notice there aren't so many attractive guys and I have a distinct feeling that you wanted to go home with me tonight. But I am also just enjoying the prospect of our affiliation. So, I send a message saying;
"Hej och ursäkta för att jag kontaktar dig så sent. Vill bara upplysa om att firman snarast och oftast är i behov av dina administrativa tjänter. Mvh Xxxx AB"

You reply something like;
"Haha, I'm at Spy bar and I just saw you. That was a funny text but it's not working, I'm in love with my girlfriend."

At this point I ask myself why you just didn't come up and said 'Hi' or why you two hours ago said you did not have a romantic companion. But instead of being equally rude, I write back that "That's really wonderful and in that case I think you should be an ambassador for those couples how are actually in love. I just wanted to make out with you anyway."

I am having so much fun that when Nina leaves I decide to stay by myself at Spy bar. That in itself is an indication that you really should go home.

The next day around lunch I receive a text from you that might just be the most peculiar/appalling/funny thing we've ever received in an inbox;

"Hej Xxxx, jag har som sagt tjej. Bad dig å inte skicka sms ändå har du skickat. Radera mitt nummer är du snäll. Mvh Xxxx"

My brother told us a while back about a guy that spent the first half of the day in bed just chillin' and the second half of the day writing his diary and making up stuff that he'd made during the first half. We wanna make out with that guy.

RIP - "The Russian" Callahan

Feb 22nd or 23rd, Brooklyn 2009

"Yesterday we went to Union Pool. Dance and Pabst and a Russian who thought I was "beautiful".

As the were closing, we wanted to go to an after party and Ellen spotted this guy wearing a fur hat and said 'He looks like he is having a party'. Then you came up to me as I was dancing and we started talking at the same time. Yes, you were having an party. And yes, you only wanted beautiful people like me there. I took your number but somehow didn't save it in the phone, although I did manage to save your address.

March 7th, 2009

"I met 'The Russsian' today again. Thomas. I find him extremely attractive. I just want to do him. I need too. Our paths will cross again. He said 'Are you Jewish?' I said 'No, I'm Swedish. But at least they both end with an ish.' He is hot."

Postcard sent from Stockholm, March 18th, 2009

"Dear Thomas,
Stockholm is a fair city without any of the excitement, dirt and passion New York serves up so gallantly. I remember your address, although you still have not lived up to your after party invitations. I also remeber you being a very handsome and attractive gentleman. Look forward to seeing you soon.
Love, xxxx"

June 14th, Brooklyn 2009

"I long for days of less intensity, alcohol and dancing. The big thing that has happen since last time though is what I've been waiting for - namely that I should meet the Russian.
Rightly so, on Friday when Ann and I are walking towards Enid's a man is coming towards us and at first I think he is drunk because he is staring a me. Then he goes like 'You don't recognize me?' and I'm like 'Yeah, it's you!'. You take me to the side and we exchange numbers for real. Apparently, he broke his collarbone after the last time we met. We're talking and he goes 'I'm not supposed to say this but you are giving me a hard on right now'. (I love that stuff!) We make out then and there and it is maybe 9 pm."

I end up spending the night at your place (an interior writer would probably describe it as noveau American, combining classic style with things found on the street). The apartment is beautiful, we have the same shower curtain. You smell great. I don't sleep at all. In the morning we drink som apple-beet juice that you made yourself. As I leave, I say "See you later" and actually believe it.

Then I send you an anonymous letter of admiration, but you should know it's from me because it contains cinnamon gum and condoms. When I text you, you do not reply leading up to "Sorry dude. I don't play hard to get. What part of 'a Swedish girl with no patience wants you to do her' don't you get? I thought you were intelligent, Thomas".

Message sent on July 12th, 2009

"So, this is the last medium I'll use to get to you before I'll reclaim my pride. I've tried to be patient but haven't seen you around and not being used to the universe not working in my favor, I turn to facebook. I don't have a huge crush on you and I do not suffer from a obsessive-compulsive-whatever disorder BUT you are just so damn attractive and you give me goosebumps and I would like to spend more time with you. I am most certain it would be fun.

xoxo "

July 20-something, The Hamptons, 2009

"The Russian biked past me on Bedford as I was walking to work Thursday. I waved first and he waved back. Then I started to laugh and smiled a bit embarssed but still amused by it all and he made something of a smirk. It feels good to know that he is alive, even if he apparently isn't into me. It is quite possible that I wouldn't have cared if he had kept in touch, but there is something about the way we have met and the turquoise shorts he was wearing that makes me believe that we would be a good team."

I text you a bunch of silly stuff when I'm drunk in the category of "Seriously dude, does this happen to you a lot? Well, of course it does. I just want to be with you. Kiss you at least once more before I leave the country." And then the whole "I wanna make out with you all the time"-debacle, which makes my day, but breaks my heart since I've apparently qualified for a position where I'm the only person on earth you could not send that joke to. I take making out seriously, and you know it.

I want to send you "Live a little", but as I'm busy playing pool with two Mexicans at 5 pm I decide not to. The last thing you get is something in the style of "You should be flattered". I hope you are.

But I guess it just ain't gonna work out.