There are only so many times you can check in on me and see me wearing that same bloody outfit.

I have reached a hitherto unknown level of eventlessness. Seriously, nothing has happened this week. My stress has come to that place where I just sit and stare into space for hours on end, have the occasional nervous breakdown/cup of tea/online conversation, watch an episode or two of Six Feet Under and go to bed. Lather, rinse, repeat if necessary. Or, in my case, if at all possible. Why can't I just be super-human like everyone else?

'What brought this on?' you may ask. Well firstly, there's school. My finished assignments left me behind on my reading to such a degree that even picking up a book seems to demand about the same amount of energy as a marathon, and much more than, say, getting a facial. Secondly, my social life is leaving me with almost no time to read at all. Being around people all day who want to 'have a quick cuppa' has become an exhausting rather than an energising element, because seriously, campus is like a minefield of friends and acquaintances who you know you really should call more often, and you end up downing a ridiculous amount of coffee every day just for the sake of 'that's what friends do, isn't it?'

Of course I end up, as Carrie Bradshaw so sweetly put it, 'shoulding all over myself'. The result? A mind that won't function due to all the caffeine and not a chance in Hell of getting through a single chapter. I am seriously considering just becoming some sort of hermit recluse with no phone, no internet access and no front door, just to get away from it all. I know this is all a consequence of the wonderful world of modern technology that I simply have to learn to deal with, and I know I would probably go crazy without it. Right now, though, the whole '24-hour Lizzy-access' thing is freaking me out a bit.

Also, I'm no longer with the boy. Most of you know that, I'm sure some still don't. It wasn't dramatic, and it feels right this time (even though my mind keeps switching from 'Hooray! I'm free!' to 'Help! I'm going to die alone!' at an annoying rate). Besides, there's one leeetle detail: We're still living together. It's going well enough, but it is weird, and I don't think there are any self-help books written specifically for this kind of situation, telling me what to do. Understandably enough, as I imagine there's a rather limited market for that sort of thing.

In the wise words of Montt Mardié, 'Let's get away from it all': I'm going on a weekend trip to Bergen with Julie, PI and Heidi. Or at least we'll be sharing a car on the way over, because our reasons for going are not connected in any way. There's supposedly a small flood over on that side of the country these days, but if all else fails I might at least get to try the whole recluse thing on for size. If it fits (or if I drown), I may never come back.

Only problem now is which book to bring. Having failed to track down my copy of Please Kill Me, I bought a new one today, since I've been wanting to reread it for months now. Another option is The Redneck Manifesto, by Jim Goad, which I've borrowed from someone (and since I'm the type of girl who actually plans on returning things when words like borrow and give back are kicked about, I'm thinking this one will advance to the near-top of my list, if nothing else then for the sake of 'because it should'). I have a couple of half-finished ones lying around, but none of them appeal to me at the moment (Ladies and gentlemen, the most redundant sentence of the evening). I'll figure it out.

Now, though? Book. Bed. Bergen.

It is becoming blatantly obvious to me how only posting ’pieces of substance’ totally kills my funny (and my will to write at all). Instead of succumbing to the evil perfectionist in me, I’m bringing out the fairy floss.

Ask me on Monday what I’ve been doing this weekend, and I’ll probably say ”oh, you know, nothing much”. I’m telling you now: I’ll be lying. This weekend I have turned to the dark side.

Well actually, I’d rather say I’ve turned to the bright side, but anyway, you know ’the other one’. This weekend I have spent about eighty percent of my waking hours - the eighty percent not being spent rummaging through the fridge, watching Six Feet Under, shopping or pampering - becoming acquainted with a particular breed of blogs, namely, beauty blogs.

I am known to many as ’that girl with all the shoes’, ’the girly one’ or more disconcertingly, ’the one with all the expensive lingerie’, and it is true, I am a very girly girl. What can I say? It’s fun. And although it can be time-consuming to a degree that no outsider will ever comprehend, it is also rewarding in ways that only the true GG (Girly Girl - I felt an abbreviation was in order) is able to appreciate. Of course it’s a waste of time; we know that two coats of mascara and religious moisturising will never help cure cancer, but in our defense: neither will football.

For the past two days I have got to know a woman who takes a picture of her outfit every day, because, and I quote, ’It takes so long to figure out what to wear most days, I might as well journal it!’ There’s Princess Poochie, who spends all her money on supporting a rather expensive shoe habit, stating her defense in her sub-heading: ’When you can't do something truly useful, you tend to redirect that pent up energy into something useless but available, like snappy dressing.’ I have got to know a girl from Bristol whose makeup blog has inspired me and made me laugh throughout most of the weekend (and, to be quite honest, it’s thanks to her that I’m brave enough to ’grow down’ a bit). There are hundreds of girls like these who keep journals about one of the most politically incorrect subjects known to (wo-)man, and you know what? I think it’s wonderful.

Because there is something thoroughly satisfying about a good makeup day. And what’s more, it’s nice to not feel guilty about that.


About three years ago, I had an experience of the kind I thought was reserved for those enigmatic creatures who make up ’the A crowd’: A friend of mine told me that, when she went shopping, she sometimes caught herself thinking ’What would Sjokoladepiken do?’ I was stunned. Shocked, in fact; she must have been drunk, or ironic, or confusing me with someone else. I was never one of 'the popular girls' (I was fresh out of high school at the time, so the I’d say the term was still applicable). On the contrary, I barely knew how to have a conversation before I was about seventeen; I was short, chubby, had flat hair and less-than-fashionable clothing, and then out of the blue, ’What would Sjokoladepiken do?’

Thing is, I was so caught up in the surprise that I never actually got around to answering it. Even now it feels so weirdly self-indulgent that I think I’ll have to do so in third person.

You see, Sjokoladepiken doesn’t do fashionista. She hardly ever goes shopping. She doesn’t care much about changing her hairstyle three times a year; she can’t even bring herself to dye it, for all the money and upkeep it would take. She doesn’t own clothes that scream ’sex kitten’ or ’job interview’, in fact none of her clothes scream anything at all. Sjokoladepiken nails one single look, known as ’pulled together’.
I'll tell you how.


To be continued.

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!

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.

Det er tungt å skrive. Det er ikke ofte jeg synes det, men nå er det så lenge siden jeg har produsert noen mer sammenhengende form for tekst enn en handleliste eller et fødselsdagskort at hjernen min ikke lenger sender impulser direkte til fingrene når den jobber. I tillegg skriver jeg på en fremmed datamaskin, så ha litt tålmodighet.

Jeg har hatt en av de gode helgene, de som er som store, myke puter av tid mellom arbeidsukene og hindrer dem i å dunke borti hverandre og slite hverandre ut. Grunnen til dette kan være at jeg har brukt en uke nå på å bare tenke, tenke masse, og løsne på knuten av tanker og planer og ansvar og nervøsitet som holdt på å vokse seg større enn hodet mitt. I grunnen var det til dels av samme grunn at jeg sluttet å sjokoladepike, men en av tingene jeg har lært meg nå er at jeg ikke blir mindre stresset av å ha færre ting å gjøre. Jeg har visst ikke overvurdert meg selv slik som jeg trodde, men undervurdert evnen min til å prioritere. Det er godt å vite, spesielt nå som jeg har kjedet meg så mye så lenge, at jeg ikke må velge mellom de to ondene rastløshet og overbelastning. Eller mellom LJ og tid for meg selv.

Nyttige ting jeg har gjort i det siste, som vil bli blogget om:
- Jeg har bestemt både det ene og det andre når det gjelder hva jeg skal drive med fra august av, spesielt på den akademiske fronten
- Jeg har blitt skikkelig glad i og flink til å lage mat igjen, til både min og kjæresteguttens fornøyelse (alle som tenkte på et ordspill med ordet 'fordøyelse' nå, rekk opp hånden. Bra, det var ikke bare meg)
- Jeg har lagt mine første helt egne sommerferieplaner
- Jeg har snakket masse med min tøffe mormor, og har lært hvordan Norge virkelig var på femtitallet

Unyttige ting jeg har brukt tid på i det siste, som sannsynligvis ikke vil bli blogget om, men muligens referert til, og som derfor kan være gode å vite om:
- Jeg har vært over gjennomsnittet huslig. Det vil si at jeg har brukt uforholdsmessig mye tid på ting som å lage fantastiske måltider til kjærestegutt, å bake absurde bursdagscookies til Katrinesvigerinne, vaske av kjøkkenbenken, vaske og legge bort vinterklær, ta fram og stryke sommerklær, og se på Oprah.
- Pollenallergi
- Jeg har lest i 'kvinnebøker' fra førtitallet, åttitallet og i dag, sammenlignet og konkludert med at jeg uansett vil finne ut at jeg er for tykk og har for ustelte negler til at noen mann som leser de samme bøkene kommer til å ville ha meg. Som dere skjønner er dette meget bekymringsverdig.
- Jeg har oppdaget fantastiske Bloglines (eller 'Hvordan bli skikkelig imponert av tanken på hvor mye man kunne ha gjort på den overflødige tiden man har brukt på nettsurfing den trege måten de siste ti årene'-siden)

Tanken som flest ganger per dag flyr gjennom hodet mitt:
Hurra, jeg skal tilbake til universitetet snart!

So I get it now. People nag, and it works, so here I am. I haven't felt like updating in ages, and not even now, really, but here's a quick recap of my goings-on this weekend. Baby steps:

1) Arne and I went to the theatre on Friday, and it was a very fun evening. I single-handedly started a round of applause in the middle of the play, which made me feel good, it being the premiere and there being tons of v important people there. Got me thinking, I should do this more often.

2) Been trying to read a lot, or at least more than usual, and have been enjoying books ranging from Tale of Two Cities to Doppler, and also quite a few essays on literature, language and other topics that stimulate my geeky side. Today I read one of Cora Sandel's really long short stories, and I now remember why I like her so much.

3) Went to see Dreamgirls with Julie today (free tickets), and it's all bubbly and colourful and musicaly and shoop-shoo-ah-y in ways that I had forgotten were entertaining. Kind of a silly 'hold hands and skip afterwards' story of solidarity and friendship and all of that, by which I am not wholly impressed, but seeing as it's a musical, bland stories are allowed, so long as the costumes are good and the film doesn't slow down at any point. It was no time to be artsy, and they didn't try to be, so I was left with a single feeling: the little drag queen in me was fed and happy.

4) Had the girls over today (I feel like a member of the DAR when I say that, but as of yet none of us have nicknames like Minnie or Kitty or Bitsy. Be warned, though). Evening consisted of the usual: Cake, ice-cream (with three different toppings, the hostess in me not resting for a second), tea and the perfect movie, 8 Femmes by Francois Ozon. Little mini-me drag queen jumping of joy by now, preventing me from going to bed.

That's it, really. I'm sleepy, working tomorrow, expecting a very dull week.....



....with the exception of Tuesday, when I turn 21. Hah! Now that you've read this, there is no acceptable excuse not to send me a congrats-sms! *snigger*

Now go to bed!

The Great Food Wreck Day is coming to an end. I've never seen the LOTR films, so all I know about hobbits is the 'second breakfast' thing, but I can honestly say that, based on that, I feel like a hobbit. I've had two of pretty much every meal I've eaten today. No matter what anyone else claims, I think I can safely say that no-no, I am the walrus. Jeez , hormones. Can't they find someone less dull to bother?

Monday mornings have something very special about them, and not in that 'God, it's MONday, I'm SO tired and SO not ready to go to work/school' way. They're seldom as bad as their reputation (mostly, of course, because one is too tired to notice spilled coffee/being late/neighbour's dog/people who smell bad enough to be genuinely annoyed by. Oh no, those treats are for the other four days of the working week). Mine tend to be particularly drowsy, slow and inefficient. I always sleep in a little. I'm always more than my usual five minutes late. I'm always too tired to consume food or coffee before leaving the house, which leaves me with fifteen precious minutes to improve my exterior from 'sleepy...no, sleeping, actually' to 'fab fab f...you have eye glop. Ok, fab again'. The steps up from Grønland underground station always carry the same stench of alcoholics' piss, followed by the unmistakeable smell of processed meat products from the truck outside the Deli de Luca. Always the same. The same strollers, the same dogs, the same old woman who never really seems to notice that you hold the door open for her practically every day, so as to keep intact some droopy kind of civility, even at ten to eight in the morning on a Monday when you know that everyone in the world is mildly PMS-ridden.

And at work I got to decorate the Christmas tree.

I have not learned anything today. Nor have I done anything worth mentioning (Got up, been late, arrived at work, been verbally harrassed by strangers, received a wonderfully comforting hug, snagged my panty-hose, been knickerless, screamed from frustration, danced, chatted, got stuff done, felt guilty for not getting other stuff done, laughed, and not been able to stop, applied and re-applied lipstick, been confused, read almost half a small book while walking, had marvellous head-banging-against-the-wall-sex, sat motionlessly in front of the computer staring at my German work, given up and blogged instead).

So all I have is a German fable I found in a book:
A group of porcupines need to huddle together for warmth, but are in danger of hurting each other with their spines. When they find the optimum distance to share each other's warmth without putting each other's eyes out, their state of contrived co-operation is called good manners.


I'm going to go back to reading my book now.

There is something very strange about summer. People change, seem happier, but at the same time less naïve. I am paralysed by all the girls in microminis and hotpants, but not sure by whom I am more thrown off: those who can pull them off or those who can't. Work is still good-but-slightly-boring, particularly good because I work right next to the City Hall and the view is just gorgeous; all statues and fountains and boats and people. 

Still an hour till lunch, though. 

Shrimps and white wine with dad, bro and Katrin from Schneeberg yesterday. Yum... My German was somewhat deteriorated, but got better during the evening, and I've promised myself not to rely too much on my English with her today. I mean, after all, I have told my future employees that my German is very good and my French ok, but  I have discovered now that my German needs a bit of practice to return to 'very good', and my French is SO much worse than it was. How in the world did I pass that subject, let alone ace it? I do wish language skills were more important than they are; it would motivate me to practice, and people would understand each other better. I LOVE my new book, 'Språkets Mønstre', even though it's very designed to be a schoolbook (it seems as if not a single person in history had bought a book like that for fun before, even though I know lots of people who do), pardoning its dryness at least once a page. I forgive you, book. May I adopt you? Would you call me 'mummy'? 

My impatience is tickled by:
- The CD that CDON still has to send me, that I ordered yonks ago, but which apparently is sold out from the label at the moment. Bah.
- Flat stuff in general, finding a replacement person specifically. I would much prefer to pay 11 000 kr in one go to paying 16 000, if I could choose. Cold feet should be outlawed.
- The really nice weather, and my slight peckishness,making me eager to have lunch out in the sun pretty darn snappy.

Also, a hug would be good. I'm so, so sleepy.

I have just finished the book with which I've been having a tremendous time for the past few days: Eats, Shoots & Leaves: The Zero Tolerance Approach to Punctuation. It really is a treasure of a book, containing not only rules for punctuation in English (I'm afraid my Norwegian punctuation is suffering from neglect after this last year's intense focus on English), but amusing examples of mistakes, proving that punctuation has quite a say in matters of conveying a specific meaning with text. There are categories of all the different kinds of mistakes concerning the apostrophe or the comma, like the greengrocer's apostrophe (trouser's reduced, or the lovely find Next week: nouns and apostrophe's!, an ad from the BBC website advertising a grammar course for children), the mistaking of singular possessive for plural possessive (like for example Pupil's Entrance, and I quote, (on a very selective school, presumably), and Nude Reader's Wives (intending "Readers' Nude Wives", of course, but conjuring up an interesting picture of polygamous nude reader attended by middle-aged women in housecoats and fluffy slippers). One of my favourites is a mistake spotted on a sign in New York a while ago, saying Nigger's out, under which someone else had added But he'll be back shortly. This kind of thing makes me want to become a grammarian. And I just might do that. Now I'll return to my well-rested Lady Chatterley; hopefully I'll be done with her soon.

My head is an absolute mess because of all the thinking and planning and sorting out that is required of me at the moment; I'm not very good at this kind of thing, so it's all moving very slowly. I can say that there has been a major change of plans. More than that I hardly know myself, but I think it's going to work out, even well, if I'm lucky! Let me know when this vagueness becomes annoying.

Right now my major concerns are how I'm going to handle taking thirteen young girls to Gothenburg for a week, and what I will get for my brother, who turns twenty-four on Saturday. Any ideas are welcome, seeing as mine are few and very bad. I have a feeling I'm taking on a little more than I can actually handle, but hey, in the wise words of - uh - Beck, "everybody's got to learn sometime".

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!