This is one of my favourite songs of all time. It really is impossibly beautiful, and deserves to be shared.
- Place:Sofa
- Mood:
calm
I'm not ready to admit defeat just yet, but this doesn't seem to be working out very well, does it? It's the Fridays and Saturdays that are the problem, simply because of the evening activity/tipsiness factor. I'll have to find a way to work around that.
Yesterday night was spent in the company of the lovely Mizz Dee and her posse. Supersoft and Radiostar were playing at Skuret, and I was pleasantly surprised by both. On Supersoft's part, this could have something to do with the fact that the last time I saw them play half the band were half-dead from various illnesses, but yesterday they played (and sang) brilliantly. It didn't matter that they stumbled a couple of times, that Ole (vocals) could barely hear himself for the first half of the concert or that the guitarist snapped a string; they sounded great and the audience had a fantastic time. Surely that must be the most important thing.
(Also, I got to talking with aforementioned guitarist's girlfriend, who turned out to be thoroughly lovely, and who is, to quote Lone, absolutely bursting with baby! I think I touched his tiny arse. I'm not going to tell him that when he grows up.)
Radiostar, too, were surprisingly good. Young, though - they looked more than a little like they were cutting high school biology class to be there - but they had some good stuff. And that singer? Could really sing. I mean, he was incredibly obnoxious, but when he finally just shut up and did his thing he was great. Unfortunately, the songs weren't. Sure, some of them had that bottom-jiggling swing thing going, but these boys seriously need to hire someone to write their songs for them, because this was like 'lyric writing according to the Yellow Pages'. I mean come on, it can't possibly be that hard to write a love song without rhyming 'take the chance' with 'romance'.
Can it?
Other than that, my life is exceptionally dull at the moment. Loads of school stuff, and trust me, you don't want to hear about that - Hell, I don't even want to hear about that! I went shopping (in the name of guilt-free retail therapy) for stationery and cute notebooks yesterday, and it was the definite high point of my school week; it's bad, I tell you. And indeed very dull.
The low point of my week took place at rehearsal on Thursday, when my fear of singing alone in front of people once again manifested itself, this time in the form of unstoppable crying. I don't mean that feminine tears-running-quietly-down-my-face kind of crying, I'm talking full-on violent sobbing. In front of, oh, say my entire choir? Yeah. And I hadn't even opened my mouth yet.
So this is how it goes: I become aware of the fact that I might have to sing - my heart rate quickens - I become short of breath - my whole body freezes up - I can't speak - I notice tears filling my eyes - I become dizzy - I can't breathe at all - I start crying, whilst not being able to breathe properly, thereby making all these horrible, choking noises - I run into the bathroom and sit with my head between my knees until I no longer feel like I'm going to faint. Basically, it's like a small anxiety attack.
And all because I'm afraid I won't be good enough. Every single time. Bet you can't imagine how cool I felt.
On a cheerier note, I have spent a chunk of my not-exactly-hard-earned cash on a ticket to go and see Iron and Wine in January. The last time I saw them was about a year and a half ago, and not only did that concert turn out to be the musical highlight of that year, it even salvaged my love life (my attitude towards music is nothing if not utilitarian). I doubt that will happen again, but I still think this is going to be a biggie. Another concert I'm dying to go to is American Music Club, and I might just treat myself to that one as a birthday present, but not before I know how badly the exams have gone. Then I can at least roughly calculate my February financial status according to the depth of the pit of bad mark depression, and the amount of comfort food and booze I'll need to climb out of it. There is a price to be paid for crappy marks, people. Quite literally.
Seeing as I have an at-home exam in this from Monday to Thursday, then four exams in five days two weeks after that, I won't be able to keep up this habit of vigorous posting, but I promise not to go AWOL. Now I'm going to break in my new flowery Marimekko notebooks and read, read, read for the rest of the evening. Wish me luck.
Yesterday night was spent in the company of the lovely Mizz Dee and her posse. Supersoft and Radiostar were playing at Skuret, and I was pleasantly surprised by both. On Supersoft's part, this could have something to do with the fact that the last time I saw them play half the band were half-dead from various illnesses, but yesterday they played (and sang) brilliantly. It didn't matter that they stumbled a couple of times, that Ole (vocals) could barely hear himself for the first half of the concert or that the guitarist snapped a string; they sounded great and the audience had a fantastic time. Surely that must be the most important thing.
(Also, I got to talking with aforementioned guitarist's girlfriend, who turned out to be thoroughly lovely, and who is, to quote Lone, absolutely bursting with baby! I think I touched his tiny arse. I'm not going to tell him that when he grows up.)
Radiostar, too, were surprisingly good. Young, though - they looked more than a little like they were cutting high school biology class to be there - but they had some good stuff. And that singer? Could really sing. I mean, he was incredibly obnoxious, but when he finally just shut up and did his thing he was great. Unfortunately, the songs weren't. Sure, some of them had that bottom-jiggling swing thing going, but these boys seriously need to hire someone to write their songs for them, because this was like 'lyric writing according to the Yellow Pages'. I mean come on, it can't possibly be that hard to write a love song without rhyming 'take the chance' with 'romance'.
Can it?
Other than that, my life is exceptionally dull at the moment. Loads of school stuff, and trust me, you don't want to hear about that - Hell, I don't even want to hear about that! I went shopping (in the name of guilt-free retail therapy) for stationery and cute notebooks yesterday, and it was the definite high point of my school week; it's bad, I tell you. And indeed very dull.
The low point of my week took place at rehearsal on Thursday, when my fear of singing alone in front of people once again manifested itself, this time in the form of unstoppable crying. I don't mean that feminine tears-running-quietly-down-my-face kind of crying, I'm talking full-on violent sobbing. In front of, oh, say my entire choir? Yeah. And I hadn't even opened my mouth yet.
So this is how it goes: I become aware of the fact that I might have to sing - my heart rate quickens - I become short of breath - my whole body freezes up - I can't speak - I notice tears filling my eyes - I become dizzy - I can't breathe at all - I start crying, whilst not being able to breathe properly, thereby making all these horrible, choking noises - I run into the bathroom and sit with my head between my knees until I no longer feel like I'm going to faint. Basically, it's like a small anxiety attack.
And all because I'm afraid I won't be good enough. Every single time. Bet you can't imagine how cool I felt.
On a cheerier note, I have spent a chunk of my not-exactly-hard-earned cash on a ticket to go and see Iron and Wine in January. The last time I saw them was about a year and a half ago, and not only did that concert turn out to be the musical highlight of that year, it even salvaged my love life (my attitude towards music is nothing if not utilitarian). I doubt that will happen again, but I still think this is going to be a biggie. Another concert I'm dying to go to is American Music Club, and I might just treat myself to that one as a birthday present, but not before I know how badly the exams have gone. Then I can at least roughly calculate my February financial status according to the depth of the pit of bad mark depression, and the amount of comfort food and booze I'll need to climb out of it. There is a price to be paid for crappy marks, people. Quite literally.
Seeing as I have an at-home exam in this from Monday to Thursday, then four exams in five days two weeks after that, I won't be able to keep up this habit of vigorous posting, but I promise not to go AWOL. Now I'm going to break in my new flowery Marimekko notebooks and read, read, read for the rest of the evening. Wish me luck.
- Place:Sofa
- Mood:
working - Noise:American Music Club - Love Songs for Patriots
And just when I thought my day wouldn't get any better, Arne stumbled across this little tidbit (for the Norwegian-speakers among you):
I'll tell you one thing, Montt: You can come stand under my umbrella any time you like.
Goodnight!
I'll tell you one thing, Montt: You can come stand under my umbrella any time you like.
Goodnight!
- Place:Bed
- Mood:
amused - Noise:Montt Mardié - Paraply
Today, the first snow fell. It wasn't much, and it didn't settle because it's still a little too warm out. Tiny flakes, floating slowly but determinedly down towards the unfriendly ground. Like leftover confetti from a party in the clouds, bearing a festive promise it was not able to keep. I'm starting to get used to that sort of thing now.
I have been idling my way to stardom today. I slept until noon, which almost never happens, and haven't left my pyjama bottoms since. I put off showering until just now, so my hair is still a bit damp, undecided as to whether or not it feels like behaving. It's just one of those days. Again.
I feel like Heather Armstrong's sub-heading, "All about my stupid, boring life", would be very appropriate for my journal nowadays, and whose fault is that? Entirely my own. I admit it: I'm not even making the slightest effort to have a life at the moment. This is mostly because of my being afraid my social life will start overwhelming me again (being one of those people who is physically unable to utter the word 'no', this can happen quite suddenly). Does the 'My flat is my world' philosophy help, even the slightest bit? Probably not. Am I happier this way? I doubt it. Do I acknowledge the possibility of a logical connection here in any way? Certainly not! Where's the fun in that? I like learning things the hard way. Gives me stories to tell my future grandchildren (of whom there will be how many if I keep up this routine?).
I have been idling my way to stardom today. I slept until noon, which almost never happens, and haven't left my pyjama bottoms since. I put off showering until just now, so my hair is still a bit damp, undecided as to whether or not it feels like behaving. It's just one of those days. Again.
I feel like Heather Armstrong's sub-heading, "All about my stupid, boring life", would be very appropriate for my journal nowadays, and whose fault is that? Entirely my own. I admit it: I'm not even making the slightest effort to have a life at the moment. This is mostly because of my being afraid my social life will start overwhelming me again (being one of those people who is physically unable to utter the word 'no', this can happen quite suddenly). Does the 'My flat is my world' philosophy help, even the slightest bit? Probably not. Am I happier this way? I doubt it. Do I acknowledge the possibility of a logical connection here in any way? Certainly not! Where's the fun in that? I like learning things the hard way. Gives me stories to tell my future grandchildren (of whom there will be how many if I keep up this routine?).
- Place:Home
- Mood:
high - Noise:The Bangles - All Over The Place
The highlights of last week can be divided into all sorts of categories, so I thought I'd figure out some creative way of listing them that wasn't just a bleak copy of Julie's Sunday posts. But then I'm too much of a perfectionist to experiment without serious preparation, so if I want to get to bed at all I'll have to save the spontaneity for later.
I've been reading:
- Slouching towards Bethlehem, a collection of short essays by Joan Didion which I highly recommend. The piece 'On Self-Respect' is just wonderful.
- Morgenbladet, as always. I love that newspaper, both for the wonderful writing and for fitting into almost all my handbags when folded correctly.
- Every article I could find about Berlin, to be prepared for my upcoming holiday.
I've been listening to:
- Sufjan Stevens' pre-Michigan cd 'Seven Swans', which is ridiculously beautiful.
- More The National. I can't seem to figure out why I love the sound of their music so much, but I think it's a combination of some fantastic lyrics and the drums. The drumming on most of Boxer is just insane, and listening to Brainy really loud on my iPod on my way to work gived me an insane little kick every time. Other bands that have the same effect are The Shins and The New Pornographers.
- Montt Mardié, who makes every walk through the nasty parts of town feel like a Hollywood film.
- A little David Bowie, a little Beethoven, a little Keith Jarrett.
I've been out and about:
- At three concerts: Kvindelige Studenters Sangforening's summer concert, which was amazing. Taxfree Turkeys' concert on Saturday was great fun. Norwegian Indie Festival (which in itself passed would have passed me right by, had it not been for the fact that my friends are much smarter than me and keep up with this kind of thing) hosted a Love-Fi concert which I wasn't planning to attend at all, but I'm very glad I went because that singer has a great voice.
- Picking up my shoes from the shoemaker's, which had been a much more pleasurable experience had I actually been able to afford repairing them in the first place. They are my Lisbon shoes, though, and they deserve all the love they can get.
- Getting tipsy in some of Oslo's murkier pubs, which is always a pleasure. Especially when you can be sure that paparazzp-Dee will put all the photos on Facebook the secod she gets home.
- Drinking champagne and having Julie's home-made crème brulée to celebrate her finishing exams. We had finished off a bottle by seven o'clock, which was a first,and watched Mean Girls. It was fantastically girly.
- Catching up with a classmate from middle school (yes, I know, that is a contradiction of terms, I'm getting to it). I'll have to save that story for tomorrow, though, because I need sleep. At least I've got all the boring bits out of the way now so that I can focus on the highlights of the weekend.
Good night!
I've been reading:
- Slouching towards Bethlehem, a collection of short essays by Joan Didion which I highly recommend. The piece 'On Self-Respect' is just wonderful.
- Morgenbladet, as always. I love that newspaper, both for the wonderful writing and for fitting into almost all my handbags when folded correctly.
- Every article I could find about Berlin, to be prepared for my upcoming holiday.
I've been listening to:
- Sufjan Stevens' pre-Michigan cd 'Seven Swans', which is ridiculously beautiful.
- More The National. I can't seem to figure out why I love the sound of their music so much, but I think it's a combination of some fantastic lyrics and the drums. The drumming on most of Boxer is just insane, and listening to Brainy really loud on my iPod on my way to work gived me an insane little kick every time. Other bands that have the same effect are The Shins and The New Pornographers.
- Montt Mardié, who makes every walk through the nasty parts of town feel like a Hollywood film.
- A little David Bowie, a little Beethoven, a little Keith Jarrett.
I've been out and about:
- At three concerts: Kvindelige Studenters Sangforening's summer concert, which was amazing. Taxfree Turkeys' concert on Saturday was great fun. Norwegian Indie Festival (which in itself passed would have passed me right by, had it not been for the fact that my friends are much smarter than me and keep up with this kind of thing) hosted a Love-Fi concert which I wasn't planning to attend at all, but I'm very glad I went because that singer has a great voice.
- Picking up my shoes from the shoemaker's, which had been a much more pleasurable experience had I actually been able to afford repairing them in the first place. They are my Lisbon shoes, though, and they deserve all the love they can get.
- Getting tipsy in some of Oslo's murkier pubs, which is always a pleasure. Especially when you can be sure that paparazzp-Dee will put all the photos on Facebook the secod she gets home.
- Drinking champagne and having Julie's home-made crème brulée to celebrate her finishing exams. We had finished off a bottle by seven o'clock, which was a first,and watched Mean Girls. It was fantastically girly.
- Catching up with a classmate from middle school (yes, I know, that is a contradiction of terms, I'm getting to it). I'll have to save that story for tomorrow, though, because I need sleep. At least I've got all the boring bits out of the way now so that I can focus on the highlights of the weekend.
Good night!
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![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif)
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-a
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.
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-a
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.
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.
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.
'If you yould save me from the ranks of the freaks who suspect they could never love anyone...'
This is my favourite thing in the world. The hours before anyone else bothers to get out of bed. Tea; big pot, big cup. Sitting on the couch with my back against the armrest, and it's raining again. Music that is more silent than the room I'm in, erasing the sound of passing cars on wet paving and the voices of the three or four people that have walked past with their dogs and children.
I've figured out that I've yet to become one of those people who, when asked, describe their lives as 'oh, just another week at the office'. I can hardly remember the working hours, seeing as they're all more or less the same and very, very uninteresting. On the other hand, I can recall in perfect detail what's been going on from the second I've left work every single day this week. It seems my brain shuts down during those eight hours each day, and I'm pretty sure that's a sign that I'm bored to pieces and wouldn't be able to cope in any other way.
'All the feelings you've got for me are like you were a dog. Oh what a feeling for a dog.'
I've caught a cold, and that means:
- I have virtually no sense of humour, and also my memory of all the bitchiness I was planning on using as a cheap entertainment strategy has somehow escaped.
- My throat is killing me.
- My head feels like an extremely heavy ball of cotton wool.
- I've been sleeping in funny positions all night so as to keep warm in new, creative ways, so today I can barely move my neck.
- Just writing this is taking me ages.
- And all that yummy rhubarb tea is wasted on my dysfunctional taste buds.
Anyone who can't guess what's next? Oh c'mon, try. Yes! Of course! Another list! My never-failing plan B. I'm so predictable.
'She was lying on the floor counting stretch marks, she hadn't been a virgin and he hadn't been a god, so she named the baby Elvis to make up for the royalty he lacked.'
'Things I learned yesterday' (working title: 'Liz goes all Oprah on you'):
- I NEED to see Anne Ternmeim next week. I need to. No two ways about it.
- My German stinks, in the words of Mark Kermode, 'more than a very stinky thing indeed'.
- I don't care that the cheesecake at Bacchus always tastes the same, because it's always so freaking good. Oh, and avoid the Chianti. Bah.
- I can actually get away with wearing a miniskirt, if only just barely. That was really on Thursday, but it needed saying. I'm finally at peace with the lower half of me, and I've been waiting for this since I was twelve.
- Being caught singing Christmas carols in the restroom in mid-November can be pretty embarassing. And also kind of funny.
- The bras from La Senza are SUCH a wierd fit. Corset-like push without the lacing, made from material that's so synthetic that you break out in a rash just looking at it (would make for lovely Christmas decorations, though). I'll never feel comfortable defying gravity like that, but at least now I know that I can.
- The new friends you make are so much more random when you're out of the whole school system nightmare, and I love this, but it's also a bit of a tough cookie. There are some really lovely people out there towards whom I experience this massive tenderness that can't be explained, let alone expressed without the usual number of misunderstandings. All I can do is hope they don't disappear from my life like they sometimes have done.
'And I need your loving like the sunshine. Everybody's gotta learn sometime.'
Still to come: My wishlist for Christmas and another rant about work people. But first, breakfast.
This is my favourite thing in the world. The hours before anyone else bothers to get out of bed. Tea; big pot, big cup. Sitting on the couch with my back against the armrest, and it's raining again. Music that is more silent than the room I'm in, erasing the sound of passing cars on wet paving and the voices of the three or four people that have walked past with their dogs and children.
I've figured out that I've yet to become one of those people who, when asked, describe their lives as 'oh, just another week at the office'. I can hardly remember the working hours, seeing as they're all more or less the same and very, very uninteresting. On the other hand, I can recall in perfect detail what's been going on from the second I've left work every single day this week. It seems my brain shuts down during those eight hours each day, and I'm pretty sure that's a sign that I'm bored to pieces and wouldn't be able to cope in any other way.
'All the feelings you've got for me are like you were a dog. Oh what a feeling for a dog.'
I've caught a cold, and that means:
- I have virtually no sense of humour, and also my memory of all the bitchiness I was planning on using as a cheap entertainment strategy has somehow escaped.
- My throat is killing me.
- My head feels like an extremely heavy ball of cotton wool.
- I've been sleeping in funny positions all night so as to keep warm in new, creative ways, so today I can barely move my neck.
- Just writing this is taking me ages.
- And all that yummy rhubarb tea is wasted on my dysfunctional taste buds.
Anyone who can't guess what's next? Oh c'mon, try. Yes! Of course! Another list! My never-failing plan B. I'm so predictable.
'She was lying on the floor counting stretch marks, she hadn't been a virgin and he hadn't been a god, so she named the baby Elvis to make up for the royalty he lacked.'
'Things I learned yesterday' (working title: 'Liz goes all Oprah on you'):
- I NEED to see Anne Ternmeim next week. I need to. No two ways about it.
- My German stinks, in the words of Mark Kermode, 'more than a very stinky thing indeed'.
- I don't care that the cheesecake at Bacchus always tastes the same, because it's always so freaking good. Oh, and avoid the Chianti. Bah.
- I can actually get away with wearing a miniskirt, if only just barely. That was really on Thursday, but it needed saying. I'm finally at peace with the lower half of me, and I've been waiting for this since I was twelve.
- Being caught singing Christmas carols in the restroom in mid-November can be pretty embarassing. And also kind of funny.
- The bras from La Senza are SUCH a wierd fit. Corset-like push without the lacing, made from material that's so synthetic that you break out in a rash just looking at it (would make for lovely Christmas decorations, though). I'll never feel comfortable defying gravity like that, but at least now I know that I can.
- The new friends you make are so much more random when you're out of the whole school system nightmare, and I love this, but it's also a bit of a tough cookie. There are some really lovely people out there towards whom I experience this massive tenderness that can't be explained, let alone expressed without the usual number of misunderstandings. All I can do is hope they don't disappear from my life like they sometimes have done.
'And I need your loving like the sunshine. Everybody's gotta learn sometime.'
Still to come: My wishlist for Christmas and another rant about work people. But first, breakfast.
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-loo
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...
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-loo
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...
Today has been one of those really bad shopping days. I haven't been shopping for months now, due to general broke-ness, but today I was planning to get my hands on a pretty summer dress of some sort. No such luck, unfortunately. Now, this is exactly why I don't enjoy shopping at this time of year: The colours that are in fashion are those that don't suit me at all (light blue, beige, white and dusky pink - igh) and most dresses bear more than a passing resemblance to pillow cases with spaghetti straps ('When did HM start making bed linen? No wait, I'm sorry, those are actually meant to be worn by people!'). So after hours at my favourite place in the world, Sandvika Storsenter (insert laugh track of choice here), in various shops, trying in vain to make the round bits inside the pillow cases look less like potatoes and more like breasts, I gave up, bought John Freida Brilliant Brunette shampoo and conditioner on sale, and went home, which bring us up to date.
So now I'm back at home on the balcony, in my bathing suit, listening to Pulp, which is my ultimate summer music. Next to the computer there is a small bowl of crisps and an emptied glass of Coca-Cola, because hey, it's Friday. Oh, and I'm officially mortal: I got my first B (in BritLit, the exam at which I got completely carried away, and then kicked myself for it). And I aced translation, which is good. Now all I have to do is wait for the DREADED BritCiv mark... Jeez, I haven't been this nervous for a very long time. Calm down, woman. Pass and be happy. And shut up.
My Lady Chatterley reading is progressing slowly but surely (I haven't been reading it all this time, I started it again a bit over a week ago), and I like it. More because of the subject matter and the characters, less because of the writing, because as a novel it really isn't all that good. A bit incoherent and slow, but I like Constance Chatterley, so I'm anxious to see how she ends up. Only about 200 pages left before I find out... But so far she's been having a lot of sex with Mellors, the keeper of the estate where the crippled Baronet and Lady Chatterley live, and I think she might be pregnant. They've even had simultaneous orgasms, which was an enjoyable episode:
'We came off together that time,' he said.
She did not answer.
'It's good when it's like that. Most folks live their lives through and they never know it,' he said, speaking rather dreamily.
She looked into his brooding face.
'Do they?' she said. 'Are you glad?'
He looked back into her eyes. 'Glad,' he said. 'Ay, but never mind.' He did not want her to talk. And he bent over her and kissed her, and she felt, so she must kiss him for ever.
At last she sat up.
'Don't people often come off together?' she asked with naïve curiosity.
'A good many of them never. You can see by the raw look of them.' He spoke unwittingly, regretting he had begun.
'Have you come off like that with any other woman?'
He looked at her amused.
'I don't know,' he said. 'I don't know.'
I have no idea what I'm doing tonight, really. Feel like doing something; Pulp has that effect on me, since it is one of the few bands to whose music I want to dance. Might check out Sandvika's bustling nightlife with Eva, the boy being away and all. I'll dress up a bit, put on make-up and pretty shoes and look presentable-ish, seeing as I'm bound to meet someone I know but would prefer not to see. That's what I'll do: Take a shower, wash my hair with my new coconut-scented shampoo, put on nail varnish and a nice skirt and see what I can make of it. I hope the weather stays like this forever; getting dressed has never been so easy, and I save SO much money on bus tickets now that I bicycle everywhere. Also, in a few weeks' time I'll be positively fit, compared to my normal state of bodily decay. Hoorah! Makes up for the crisps and coke, too...
May everyone have a gorgeous Friday night!
So now I'm back at home on the balcony, in my bathing suit, listening to Pulp, which is my ultimate summer music. Next to the computer there is a small bowl of crisps and an emptied glass of Coca-Cola, because hey, it's Friday. Oh, and I'm officially mortal: I got my first B (in BritLit, the exam at which I got completely carried away, and then kicked myself for it). And I aced translation, which is good. Now all I have to do is wait for the DREADED BritCiv mark... Jeez, I haven't been this nervous for a very long time. Calm down, woman. Pass and be happy. And shut up.
My Lady Chatterley reading is progressing slowly but surely (I haven't been reading it all this time, I started it again a bit over a week ago), and I like it. More because of the subject matter and the characters, less because of the writing, because as a novel it really isn't all that good. A bit incoherent and slow, but I like Constance Chatterley, so I'm anxious to see how she ends up. Only about 200 pages left before I find out... But so far she's been having a lot of sex with Mellors, the keeper of the estate where the crippled Baronet and Lady Chatterley live, and I think she might be pregnant. They've even had simultaneous orgasms, which was an enjoyable episode:
'We came off together that time,' he said.
She did not answer.
'It's good when it's like that. Most folks live their lives through and they never know it,' he said, speaking rather dreamily.
She looked into his brooding face.
'Do they?' she said. 'Are you glad?'
He looked back into her eyes. 'Glad,' he said. 'Ay, but never mind.' He did not want her to talk. And he bent over her and kissed her, and she felt, so she must kiss him for ever.
At last she sat up.
'Don't people often come off together?' she asked with naïve curiosity.
'A good many of them never. You can see by the raw look of them.' He spoke unwittingly, regretting he had begun.
'Have you come off like that with any other woman?'
He looked at her amused.
'I don't know,' he said. 'I don't know.'
I have no idea what I'm doing tonight, really. Feel like doing something; Pulp has that effect on me, since it is one of the few bands to whose music I want to dance. Might check out Sandvika's bustling nightlife with Eva, the boy being away and all. I'll dress up a bit, put on make-up and pretty shoes and look presentable-ish, seeing as I'm bound to meet someone I know but would prefer not to see. That's what I'll do: Take a shower, wash my hair with my new coconut-scented shampoo, put on nail varnish and a nice skirt and see what I can make of it. I hope the weather stays like this forever; getting dressed has never been so easy, and I save SO much money on bus tickets now that I bicycle everywhere. Also, in a few weeks' time I'll be positively fit, compared to my normal state of bodily decay. Hoorah! Makes up for the crisps and coke, too...
May everyone have a gorgeous Friday night!
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