Out of sheer desperation, I'm blatantly ignoring the fact that this post is copied straight off my Facebook. This is just to keep you from bugging me until I finish my 'On flirting' post. Don't get your hopes up, it's not a work of literary genius or anything, but my brain and I need to kiss and make up before anything further happens, blog-wise.

I think a 'This week' post would be suitable, in honour of our dear friend Julie who is is offline in all conceivable ways for the week.

I have been reading:
- One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest, for the umpteenth week in a row. It's been my bus/lunch book for ages (and as such it's ideal, it proving to me that people who are nuttier and more insane than my colleagues actually exist, at least in literature), but seeing as said colleagues are incapable of understanding the whole 'I'm reading, please leave me alone with my book because if I have to participate in one more conversation about what I'm doing next year, what my boyfriend is like, how lovely the weather is and where I got my shoes I WILL go ballistic' thing, my reading time is limited to ten minutes twice a day. And that doesn't do much good, now does it?
- gofugyourself.com - It is at all times the PERFECT distraction. I check for updates religiously.
- Friends' blogs, after having not followed them in a while.
- English Grammar: Theory and Use. I heart this book. Mari, feel free to hate me.

I've been listening to:
- The National's new album, Boxer. And pretty much everything they've ever recorded. They're my new favourites; the ultimate sad bastard music.
- My Språkteigen and Mark Kermode's Film Reviews podcasts (thanks to sootpigdog, I now have an intimate and caring one-way relationship with a gorgeous, witty Brit)
- The sound of silence, now that the overall-clad teenagers are finally back inside where they belong and I can get a good night's sleep for the first time in weeks.

I've been watching:
- Ugly Betty, just because I think she's absolutely fantabulous and I'm not afraid to admit it. Well, a little, but not as much as I am to reveal, say, that I still enjoy the afternoon re-re-reruns of The OC.
- Shooting Dogs, a very haunting film about the Rwanda 1994 situation. Not what you would call a cheerful watch, but to me a very good film which scarred my retinas for life.
- Hot Fuzz, which was the funniest film I've seen in a long, long time. I did the big-loud-laugh-followed-by-spontaneous-applause thing several times. No American comedy I have seen will ever reach the level of bumbling Brits with receding hairlines.

I've been doing:
- NOTHING, goddammit. I knew my laziness one day would come after me and bite me in the arse. But I have:
- Been to a birthday party for Ditte, which was bit awkward at first, seeing as I wasn't really in the group', but then turned fun when the other disconnected people arrived (and cake! And disgustlingly sweet punch!), and ended really, really pleasantly with my making a new friend and finding out that there still are some good guys out there, you just have to catch them when they're alone (and preferably drinking). Also, damn me for being so crap at accepting compliments. Must work on that.
- Had my hair cut with a pair of kitchen scissors. Anyone who has even met me will now need to take a few breaths before moving on, but I assure you, it looks really good, and all I have to pay is one spinach and ricotta pie (which you will receive some time this week, Elin!).
- Celebrating the Day of Many Flags with Julie, Heidi Karethe and Per Ivar, and some of their bunad-clad friends and relatives. The celebration included a fantastic lemon sorbet, cake at Pascal, a little walking, a lot of confusion and a lot of repeating lines like 'White leggings are murderers' and other comments on the general inappropriateness and/or tastelessness of other people's outfits of choice. Fun fun fun.

And finally, a list of the things I should have done, but haven't:
- Finished the Eurosong post for my blog, or any other posts for that matter. I will. Tonight.
- Planned my holiday. I'm not even sure where I'm going yet, so that really needs doing SOON.
- Called my grandmother. I'm a horrible person.

And on that note, let the working week begin.

Se, så fin lj jeg har fått! Har brukt uforholdsmessig mye tid på å få den sånn, mer grunnet min inkompetanse enn vanskelighetsgraden på oppgaven.

Dagen i dag har gått med til å sitte i solen med mor og nyte fridagen. Jeg har fått fregner på nesen og nerdet en hel del, så i grunnen har jeg hatt det ganske perfekt. Nå sitter jeg i en blomstrete sofa med ryggen mot armlenet og min trofaste gamle Dell på fanget. Drikker rødvin, hører på Monika Zetterlund som synger om en stor elefant.

Jeg har ikke lyst til å legge meg og jeg har ikke lyst til å dra på jobb i morgen, og når jeg ikke har lyst til slikt føler jeg meg alltid litt bad-ass. Ikke sånn å forstå at jeg kommer til å legge meg sent eller skulke jobben, men jeg blir stadig mer begeistret for den siden av meg som forstår at å sitte i en luke livet ut ikke er noe jeg kunne klart over lengre tid uten å ha pådratt meg noen form for alvorlig hjernedeformasjon først. Hjernecellene mine går i demonstrasjonstog rundt og rundt med paroler som 'Gå din vei! Gå din vei! Dette æ'kke no' for deg!' (ja, hjernecellene mine snakker ønskantslang). Helst hadde jeg sluttet på dagen, men jeg har ikke råd til det og må jobbe i halvannen måned til og så sannsynligvis i hele juli. Jeg får vel holde ut med bråket i hodet mitt så lenge. Innerst inne er jeg jo litt stolt over at jeg makter å være såpass opprørsk som jeg er.

Nå skal det sies at man kommer langt med flinkhet. Men det er pokkers slitsomt hvis man vil snu.

I's raining again.
Even so, this is my happy hour. The hour of alone time I get after I get home from choir rehearsal and before I go to bed on Thursday nights; it's sacred, for lack of a better word, and so, so quiet. Hours of work (usually, if not today), German and singing, followed by the deafening silence that is the drive home with dad, accompanied by the monotonous screeching of overemployed windscreen wipers; then walking in the front door, up the steps, past the living room and into the bedroom, shutting the door, standing still for a bit...

My now:
Elliott Smith
Cold leftover potatoes
Cold feet (as always)
Hardly any cars
Looking at my reflection in the window, wondering if tomorrow will be as bad a hair day as today
Breathing slowly
No sense whatsoever of tomorrow being Friday
Need a hug

On a less rainy note:
- Congrats to Eviepie who is now allowed to drive me places without a chaperone; hoorah!
- Thank you, wonderful boyfriend person you, for Orphans. It's so beautiful, I'm speechless. Yeah, well, you know the rest.
- Thank you, people in general, for putting up with me. Can't always imagine why - I'm not THAT good a cook - but don't stop. I love you much more than I do all my annoying habits put together, so let me know.
- Thank you, Buffalo shoes, for the GORGEOUS peep-toes I've finally decided to keep. I never thought I'd say this, but something good actually did come out of that brand of yours, in the end.
- Thank you, God, for poodles
- And mum, for the beautiful scarf
- And both my parents, for not making me have to go through life with a birthday in November, which Meg March in Little Women calls 'the most disagreeable month in the whole year', and rightly so.
- Thank you, women at work, for giving me so much to write about. Still to come: Overambitious brassieres, velveteen jumpsuits and a little phenomenon I like to call porcupine snag.
- Thank yous with hugs for all my friends are in order. I've got rhythm, I've got music, I've got my gals, who could ask for anything more?



I bid you goodnight. Now: Radka Toneff, one cup of tea, remove every trace of make-up, brush teeth, sleep sleep sleep sleep sleep.

I hope it doesn't rain tomorrow.

Emotional post down, rant to go.

Now, I know I'm being superficial, but one of the topics about which I could talk or write the most would have to be my morbid fascination for my co-workers' behavioural patterns, and in particular their outfits. Every morning when I step into the office building, I experience a jittery feeling of anticipation. My quasi-policewoman eyes wander in search of crimes commited against poor, defenseless waistlines and other body parts that have done nothing to deserve this kind of cruelty.

Offense #1: The shoes
I love shoes, I really do. I love them like I love expensive lingerie: They're tiny and beautiful, need special care and can make a girl feel like a million dollars without makin it look like that's what she spent to attain it. My love of shoes is but a side-effect of my love of feet, to whom one should always be as nice as possible.
But apparently, that's just me. In the real world, the rules are as follows:
- Shoes should always be black, because black goes with everything. If you want colour, dress them up with a nice, bright pair of socks.
- Trainers, though, can be any colour in the world, because they're trainers and go with everything anyway.
- DO NOT WEAR HEELS. If you must, let the shoes themselves be as orthopaedic-looking as possible. No heels higher than one inch. None that are higher than they are wide. If you can, wear the shoes down so badly first that the heels are crooked and make that unmistakably metallic sound of nail-against-floor. And above all, DO NOT enter a shoemaker's. Ever.
- To avoid sexual harassment (one prefers to stick to the other kinds), and conceal as effectively as possible that you've ever had something remotely similar to a functional sex life, nun's shoes are always a safe bet. No man will ever look at you again, and you get to be in the happy situation that you're entitled to complaining about it to absolutely everyone.

Offense #2: Eccentric knitwear
Where do I even begin? There is no hope of making any sense of this trend, passed on from ancient times down to women who are just old enough to overlook the fact that they're starting to look like their mothers. I'm sure you all know more or less what I'm talking about. Women, more often than not in their mid- or late fifties, more often than not with their hair cut unflatteringly short, with some odd, kind of artsy, vaguely fish-shaped object for a jumper. I know you know.

There are two categories:
1) Ethnic knits. These aren't necessarily universally unflattering in form, but always, ALWAYS, look uncomfortably unnatural on the women sporting them. You know, lots of earth tones, lama wool, strangely crafted sleeves/necklines etc. The women adopting this look are often divorcees rediscovering their true selves through pottery classes and charter trips to Morocco. Dark lipstick, dyed hair and BIG jewellery, just because 'I'm not afraid to be seen any more! I'm a WOMAN with a WOMAN's body, and I no-one can make me feel like anything less!' Calm down, honey. No-one's trying.

2) General menopause knits, for lack of a better name. These aren't as discriminating as the ethnic ones, and can affect anyone who isn't careful. We're talking thick, loosely-knit yarn in 'artsy' colours (purple, orange etc.), usually with some cutesy details that REALLY don't need to be there. But those aren't really the central flaws. You see, there is one thing that all pieces of clothing have in common: they hang. They seem to want to avoid touching the body of the person wearing these sources of visual evil (as, can I imagine, do their husbands). ALL articles in this category have that sort of A-line thing going, which means the only bits of the body that they cling to are those that stick out and get in the way of gravity. On mannequins, those bits are always a pair of neat little sit-up breasts. On the customers, there's ALWAYS a belly. The rest of the body is drowning in a sea of squiggly edges, long tops (often a little shorter in front because of the aforementioned belly factor - yikes), big scarves, pompoms and layers, and things like waistlines and sexy hip curves become a thing of the past. As a contrast to the ethnic-knit lady, the menopause knit woman is making a statement more in the lines of 'I AM afraid to be seen, but who needs to see ME when they can see this wonderful PURPLE MOCK-PATCHWORK KNITTED WRAP VEST with FRINGE DETAILS. I am no woman, but an INDIVIDUAL with no real personality other than MY PURPLE VEST and my CONSTANT DISAPPROVAL of EVERYTHING else other than MY PURPLE VEST.'

Welcome to Etaten.

The soundtrack of my ideal life would have to be 'Haustpop til ein sjokoladepike'. I can hardly stop smiling, and I suspect that's the point; there've been some ups and more downs this autumn. Each song on this comp is like a hug. And, of course, there are a few extra happy factors emerging nowadays that don't exactly do any harm...

But seriously:
I feel seen again. It's horrible, the fleeting feeling I've been having that no-one really notices my cheerful, though at times incompetent presence. And I can live with being a dumb brunette, if that's my only other option.

The upside of being overlooked in all conversations (bar the most trivial, unoffensive ones): There's no demand that I "either beat 'em or join 'em". No-one insists I refuse to work late, so as to up their own chances of pay rises, simply because I've been taught to do about three different things, each of which seldom takes me more than fifteen minutes. I occasionally smile, or make coffee. That more or less covers it. Nobody expects more of me, so I'm mostly left alone to think or work or surf the net for covetable lingerie/shoes (I WANT marabou slippers!). Instead of paying attention at morning meetings, I get to pretend I'm memorising who is and isn't there (very useful for the call-transferring part of my duties). The truth is, that pretty much takes me five seconds to see, so the rest of the time I gat to spend saoaking up the atmosphere.

Which brings back me to what I started on last night: The inexplicable mystery that is workwear for women over a certain age. No workplace can escape, I think, from this phenomenon that is slightly middle-heavy, severely ill-clad forty- and fifty-somethings. It doesn't seem to matter whether they're single, married, mothers or maids, there is NO WAY OUT of this labyrinth of sensible shoes, misplaced belts and 'ethnic' knitted jumpers that is 'Offentlig sektor'. Sweet lord.


Today's topic: Belt abuse

I'm curious to know who told the somewhat Venus-like (as in 'of Milo') R that the très now extremely-cinching-belt-at-the-waist-look would work for her. I don't stand a chance in Hell of pulling that one off myself, so imagine the person in question: Think Sandy from Grease. Then add thirty years of emotional overeating and heroin abuse, give her a shower but keep the hair EXACTLY AS IT WAS WHEN SHE WAS FIFTEEN (shoulder-length, limp, bleached with darkish roots). Et puis, add belt. I thought I could avoid mentioning this, but it does need saying: it's one of those really broad, embellished leather belts that looked fantastic two years ago on Kate Moss' hips. Yes, HIPS.

Then imagine the trend catching on.

So: How do these things happen? Do they not see? Do they not notice their digestion slowly failing? Do they not cherish, as I do, the ability to bend forwards?

To be continued, and boy will it be continued...

A bottle of wine, some apple crumble and a long girly chat later, my level of chipper has upped and I'm back in 'How may I help you?' mode. The good way.

I've missed my LJ. It's hard to explain why, but just writing and venting all the goods and bads out of my head and into - uh - the Internet, seems to function rather well both in terms of improving on my current state of frustration and as a way of keeping people updated, so as to avoid the 'What? You don't go to uni?' chat for the umpteenth time.

So just to make myself clear after the rant orgy that was this afternoon: My life in general does not suck. It feels like I have to make an effort to have what I can consider to be a good life, but I really don't mind that after years and years of slacking off. I'm getting used to it, and it's pretty exhausting sometimes, but also somewhat rewarding. I've never felt this responsible in my entire life, and it was about bloody time.

My favourite things these days are:

- Learning better German. I'm not very good, but for the first time in what feels like years I'm actually making an effort to learn something. This 'not being top of the class' business is working, but both in that way, the good one, and in the other way, the 'I suck so much, and I don't get it, and everything's horrible, and I'm never going to amount to anything other than a receptionist'. Which more or less gives me the kick in the arse that I need to stop whining and start working.

- Apple crumble, just because I can't eat apples raw any more, and because it's SO easy, SO satisfying and turnd out yummy every single time. Apple pieces. Sugar. Cinnamon. Crumble. Bake. Hot - hot - HOT!!! - ow! Consume. With ice-cream. Run frantically up and down staircase a few times for fear of gaining weight. Give up. Eat more.

- My all-time favourite work colleague M. The definite highlight of my day.

- Christmas carols.

- A couple of new insights. Always useful.

- A relationship and living-together-ship that's working out. Really well. I feel pleasantly calm talking about it; it's the one thing I'm not at all worried whether or not will work out. It's just so, so good this time.

- Salmon. Mashed potatoes. Comfort foods, for the times when my body just screams at me that I SHOULD HAVE GONE INTO HIBERNATION A LONG TIME AGO and I NEED FOOD; TONS OF IT!!!!!

- Making my own decisions and sticking to them, slowly learning to handle being disliked.

List-making is always the simplest place to start. Then comes the more difficult bit: writing something at once coherent and of interest to anyone but myself.

*thinking time*

Nope, too late for that kind of deep thought. I was, however, very pleasantly surprised today. Feels grand. Thanks, you.

Nighttime now. Tidy, then bedbed. I haven't been this calm in weeks.

My brain is turning to mush, but then, who would notice?

I'm very much feeling like 'little sister growing up' these days. The growing pains I missed out on in middle school are hitting all the more brutally now. So far, my impression of the 'adult world' is:
- You're simply a small, and in most cases easily replaceable, part of a great big machinery.
- It suits only the very self-confident among us, seeing as no praise is ever given, and being told what to do is pretty much the only form of acknowledgment you receive.
- Nobody is ever particularly interested in getting to know more about you than the ways in which you are not quite as good as them.
- A workplace is so hierarchical, it's not even slightly amusing. It's actually just really, really bad.
- People in general are entirely incapable of simply being friendly and polite towards others.
- It's cold, lonely, dull and pointless - no wonder people go mad. I'm so close to wringing a few people's necks each day, because they just can't seem to want to wrap their heads around the ideas of civility and humanity being completely appropriate ways of communicating with other people.

'So you finally figured it out, did you?'
I'm waiting for the 'I told you so's.

On a day-to-day basis, the statistics of my receptionist job are as follows:
Number of confiscated licenses to register: 5 to 20
Number of people to whom I only have to hand out a form and take it back when it's filled out: 40
Number of idiots who just can't understand that I can't just give them their permits and money back: 100 000 000 and counting
Number of 'thank you's received: 4 (other employees' included)
Number of 'fuck you's received: 10
Number of 'would you?'s received: 7

Thoughts:
- 'I'd smack his face/hang up the phone right now if it weren't for this bullet-proof glass/the fact that I'm getting paid to do this.' - 20
- 'Why is it so difficult to say 'hello' when you meet someone, or 'thank you' when you do them a favour you really have no reason to do?' - 100+
- 'Self-absorbed arsehole...' - 20
- 'If I walked around here naked, would they notice the elephant in the room?' - 7, in dull moments mostly
- 'HOW ON EARTH did that man get to be boss of ANYTHING?' - 50, but it's always the same guy
- 'Why am I here?' - plenty
- 'Your mother did a really, really bad job, but I'm not allowed to tell you that' - an exclusive club of 5-10 members

What's the deal? Are these people just not taught to be polite, or do they just deem it superfluous by their own reasoning? In any case, I strongly believe in 'please' and 'thank you', and in taking 'no' for an answer. Realising that that's a pretty rare quality, my attitude towards how I should act towards others, and how I should treat my job, strangers and my future, has more or less deteriorated. I've become ruder and more frustrated than ever.

Ok, LJ has apparently lost its 'save entry for now' function, so I'll just have to post this and write more later.

Be polite!

It's my last day of working here at Statens Hus, goddag! and I'm not too sad to be going. It's still interesting-ish, but women over 55 are starting to get on my nerves. All that 'Can't wait to be a granny' and 'Oh, I stumbled upon the most WONDERFUL matching set of white crocheted sitting room accessories at Jysk for only 30 kroner!' I mean, I love older women, they are the stuff that life is made of, but I'm being brainwashed here.

The tourist groups outside the window are multiplying, and I have a new friend.

New stuff:
- We have a couch now! Or we will, this afternoon. Looking forward to it a lot, getting tired of chairs with a rug over them that are supposed to bear some sort of resemblance to a couch. Trust me, it doesn't. Our couch: A good quality beige Bauhaus sofa, very pillowy, very soft but not too soft. Second-hand, with one small, almost unnoticeable stain and in desperate need of a couple of coloured pillows.
- Ikea. Wow. Never fail to amaze me, those checkout lines.
- Friend.
- Breaking out the lilac eyeshadow, in a desperate attempt to make summer last a little longer.

That whole London terrory thing freaks me out. But a pat on the provebial back(side) of Scotland Yard.

Also, after a four day long craving, I finally gave up and bought myself a scone from the bakery right next door. Yummo. *salivating*

Can't wait to get a sofa.

Wow, work today has been fun! It's not even lunch yet, and people are calling and dropping by and wanting me to do things for them - hoorah! I'm starting to like life as a sentralborddame. Ask me again in a few months.

Having lunch INside soon, and then I think I'll go for a little stroll along Aker Brygge. Maybe buy some fruit or something else yummy - btw I recommend müsliboller from Baker Hansen; yummo.

Moving out soon, it tickles....