Saturday, February 28, 2009
Tonight I am going to watch a rugby game, Ireland vs England. (I've become rather a fan of rugby. Like American football, except way faster, and more exciting, and the men are REALLY big and burly and yummy and they all pile on top of each other like squirming sweating sex puppies and honestly, from a red blooded female's perspective, it's like watching a smorgasbord of sweaty, muscly testosterone-fueled manliness and what, I ask you, can be better than that? Oh Lord, is it warm in here or is it just me? I think Janet understands. As does Pam.)
Ahem. (fanning her face in a delicate Southern Belle manner) Yes I do likes me some rugby.
We are going, in a rather large group of confessed sots, drunks, Irish, English, a lone Scot, horny rugby lovin' women and general mayhem-producers, to a pub in Oslo which I will not tell you the name of at present for fear of the police having a heads up of us intending to misbehave.
Ok, we aren't really that bad. We'll just get a bit soused and then holler alot. I mean, we are a bunch of 30++ (except of course, you, Eileen, though you only get a few more months before you have to face it like the rest of us) professionals with responsible jobs, mortgages, the occasional children and grown up type things hanging over us. some of us are even considered rather intelligent. We've got a rocket scientist, a few PhD's, some IT people, engineers and such amongst us. (Writing that just now, I fear I am sort of the stooge of the group. Funny, flirty, but certainly maybe not the brain trust, yaknowwutimean? Perhaps I am the Chronicler, the Samuel Pepys of the drunk brigade.)) So, we can't really get into THAT much trouble. Can we?
And certainly, we do not do undignified things. Not like making snow angels in the middle of very busy Olso streets. And then having them horribly defiled. Nor ending the evening in a Scottish bar (must respect all the Celts, you know) slurping down fine Scotch on wasted tastebuds and talking in random monosyllables and snorting with laughter. (Warning: If you are ever presented with a cognac and a spoon by a Norwegian guy named Ronny and told to snort, think long and hard about that decision. Amazing what peer pressure can do even if you are in your late thirties. My sinuses are still remarkably clear though.) Nor twisting Phil's hat up until he looks remarkably like that Holbein painting of Anne of Cleves with the Flying Nun headress and then making him pose for pictures. (Actually it is a remarkable resemblance.)
I have the milk thistle at the ready for when I get home and the large glass of water resides next to the bed.
Friday, February 27, 2009
OK so this Irish guy thinks that the credit crunch was caused by working women and they should give up their jobs, let the men get back to work and all will be well. Because if women weren’t making money, they wouldn’t spend it, thus increasing the debt load and the cycle of greed.
Granted it’s an opinion piece, but still, I thought we had at least gotten past this sort of crap?
EDIT: Two rants in a row that involve Irish companies or writers. Just want to say I have nothing against Irish people and in fact some of my favorite people in Norway are Irish. To be sure to be sure.
I mean, I know Ryanair sucks and I have stopped flying them.
Of all the idiotic stupid things I have ever heard of…….
I am just not willing to go through shit like that to save money. Sorry, my life is too short to put up with that and I refuse to do it.
I will never, ever as long as I live fly again with RyanAir or any airline that would treat me with such disregard. I have way too many other choices for flights and I can absolutely decide who gets my money.
US airlines would be wise to not follow this example. People will only take so much.
In other news: Yeay! Weekend! Yippee!
Thursday, February 26, 2009
Still, it was fun, I enjoyed it (though the fear was large in my brain) and I hope to go again Sunday. I was nervous as hell beforehand though, I felt as though I was giong to my execution, and had a brief panic when I was positive I bought the wrong size skis, but it all seemed to work out ok. I sure do understand what ski wax does now! That shit STICKS!
Was home in time to make dinner, which was created off the top of my head and was as follows:
One can black beans (drained)
One can corn (drained)
*One can Rotel (drained)
Half a pound or so of chopped, roasted chicken.
Half a pound of shredded mild white cheese (Monterrey Jack would be great, if I could get it in Norway!)
Mix all that up in a big bowl, season with garlic, cumin, some salt and pepper, a little chili powder, epazote, some dried onions if you want (or fresh, I was lazy), fresh or dried cilantro.
Dump it in a casserole dish, bake at a medium temperature (I did 210c, whatever that is in fahrenheit) for 15-20 minutes. Just until it's all melty good. Serve with rice, or tortilla chips as a dip, or on tortillas, whatever the hell you want. Would be yummy topped with some sour cream.
Took about 5 minutes to throw together. Vary at will.
*If you live in Norway you are largely fucked if you want Rotel. I bring it over from the States in my suitcase. A Texan without Rotel is like a Norwegian without skis. Unnatural.
Tuesday, February 24, 2009
I bought skis.
Cross country skis.
I've been skiing once. (scroll down the page for the story)
It went ok, mostly.
Except for the screaming.
But I am game to try again, even though it has been two years since I did it. (Yeah! Two years! I kind of can't believe it!)
So I have Fischer skis and Alpina boots with ankle support (I am old, and I don't want to hurt my ankles any more than I already did in my twenties. Sprains really hurt.) I have Swix poles. I have a wool undershirt and wool long johns. I have water/windproof pants. I have a fleece. I have a sporty outdoorsy "I've been to Svalbard and you haven't" Bergans jacket. I've been studying ski wax articles and learning lots. (Especially read the history portion of this article and let me know what you think, seriously.) I've got it all, people, all of it, there's nothing more I need.
Except the loss of my almost paralyzing fear of doing this. I mean, skiing sort of makes me do all the things I don't like: Be out in snow. Be cold. Be sweaty. Be sporty. Propel myself across icy winter landscapes. Wear plastic pants. Be in a very real position of hurting myself. Also be in the possible position of peeing outdoors. Possibly doing the last two things at once.
I don't like any of those things individually. But, put them together (except the peeing and hurting myself parts) as 'skiing' and it becomes something larger, something that I remember thinking was kind of cool (if also sort of heart poundingly scary as a newbie.)
So on Thursday I am going skiing with Pam, and then this weekend, barring injury or death, I hope to go again, maybe with Elaina and Kristin (and Pam of course if she is up for it). I hope to get someone else to go Thursday as well, as I think I will need two people to get my ass up after I fall. Or to carry me home after I die.
**Sample conversation when skiing:
Me: "AAAIIIYYEEEE!!! A HILL! A MOUNTAIN! I CAN'T GO DOWN IT, IT'S TOO SCARY!"
Kristin/Pam: "Karla, that is not a hill. That is a speedbump. You've gone into a driveway. Dumbass."
Me: "AAAIIYYEEEE! A speed bump! A road! It's too fast! I'm gonna DIIIE!!!!!."
Pam/Kristin: "Karla, you've just gone over the speedbump sitting on your skis. Are you going to go the whole trail that way?"
Me, looking up at them from a squatting postion on my skis: "Yes. Consider it a new way to sledge. I will push myself along with my poles. I'm calling it Midget Skiing. A new trend."
Me: "Hey! is that dude over there waxing his skis or is he just jerking off?" (I told you to read the history portion of that ski wax article!)
Monday, February 23, 2009
Sunday, February 22, 2009
- The beef satay was overcooked and dry (it had been broiling and was left in the oven as we scampered about trying to get the lights back on);
- the rice burned (see above, timer was out so didn't know how long it hgad been cooking.)(I usually make good rice);
- The peanut sauce was not very good, had a strange flavor I did not like (note to self, find peanut sauce recipe to be made from scratch);
- The wine was too peachy (rosé).
I have discovered some twitter streams from some people I very highly admire, them being:
I found them via this great article on Times UK listing the 50 top celebrity tweeters. Thanks Times!
I could also follow Britney, Misha and Demi, but I prefer my tweets to be a bit more enlightening than "OMFG y'all! I love Japan! I think all the tiny cars are so cute! –Britney". William Shatner also twitters. I...wonder...if...he...posts...like THIS? Russell Brand also twitters. I hope for some good scurrilous naughtiness from him.
And from John Cleese's twitter feed I discovered his podcast!
I'm in pig heaven.
Well, actually (might as well use that as a transition) beef heaven. Just cut up some loverly red indrefilet (nice cut of red meat) to marinate for tonight's meal, beef satay. With peanut sauce. Because we are not allergic to peanuts and we love them! We love them LOTS! And meat! We love MEAT! In fact, I am on a carnivorous high. Nothing like cutting up some yummy cow while Soundgarden and Marilyn Manson and Fluke blasts in the background. Does this little black goth heart proud. Grrr baby GRRR! (We'll have some veggies and rice with it as well. See? I am a vegetarian too.)
Maybe I just needed a little color injection what with living in this white white snow bound world. Sort of sad that red meat is the most color I get to experience today. GOD I am so sick of snow. Sure it's pretty now, but that shit has got to melt sometime and then? Then it's a world of mud and slush. I was going to go for a walk today and take pictures of the snow bound world, but it started snowing AGAIN. So I did some organizing and red meat cutting instead.
I guess I can get some more color by sorting my laundry and doing that. Colors, whites, blacks. Sigh.
Saturday, February 21, 2009
Wednesday, February 18, 2009
Brancusi's The Kiss.
Art at the Palais Royal.
Quintessential PARIS: a street lamp. the place concorde. the eiffel tower. The obelisk.
along the Seine. The towers are The Conciergerie where Marie Antoinette was imprisoned.
And yes I know I haven't yet put up any pictures from our Christmas trip to SE Asia!
Tuesday, February 17, 2009
Our flight to
Saturday we wandered around, went along the Rue do Mouffetard and the small back streets and alleys of the left Bank. Lots of walking. Lunch I blogged about, where I discovered the hard way that I DO NOT like andouille sausage even a little bit. We did a Paris Walks tour of the
Valentine’s Day dinner! After a little rest in the hotel room, we went for a glass of wine at le Select. Dinner was at le Relais du Entrecote, a restaurant that I had been to in
After that we went to observe the very chic and (so it looked to me) incredibly self involved clientele at La Closerie Des Lilas. The place was packed with wildly gesticulating people having very important conversations, the women dressed either to meet someone or to keep the undivided attention of those they had already caught. (I was in my red velvet suit, no cleavage, alas. We’ve been together 20 years, I ain’t got nuthin’ that he ain’t seen a million times, showin’ it off doesn’t get me very far anymore.) It was one of Hemingway’s haunts. (Hemingway is to
Sunday we went and saw the Cluny Museum, which was WONDERFUL. We split up for a bit and I had Vietnamese at my favorite little Vietnamese place right around the corner from St Severin church (one of my favorites as well). We met back up afterwards and looked around the Montparnasse Cemetery where Andre Citroen and many others are buried. (Rich had wanted to go Saturday but I told him NO dead people on Valentine’s Day!). There’s a lovely little Brancusi statue on one tomb called The Kiss, very cute. We were going to see the catacombs at Denfert Rochereau but the lines were outrageous. Then we went and met an old
We waited outside (and I took photos, of which I posted one earlier) and watched as the fire department came and put it out. The awning of the building was totally destroyed, as was the roof of the patio area. Seems like the building itself was ok. No one was hurt. Bit of a party atmosphere all told. So we went back inside after the all clear (restaurant still full and blissfully ignorant) and carried on with our meal, which was cold, and when the bill came they charged us the full amount for everything, no fire discount or anything! I sort of think if we had not left our scarves upstairs when we ran, we would have left the meal and gone elsewhere. But they were our favorite scarves (both of ours) and we did not want to leave them.
Monday I caught a Paris Walks tour of the Revolution on the
And this I do say about
That’s our trip in a nutshell. I can’t say I was too lucky with the food this go round, so I guess I will just have to rectify that with another visit.
Monday, February 16, 2009
You ain't never had hot chocolate until you've had THIS hot chocolate. Wow. This is at Angelina on the Rue de Rivoli. Oddly enough the high of the hot cocoa (so rich and thick!) was balanced by the devastating low of the worst most expensive club sandwich I have ever had.
Sunday, February 15, 2009
The building next door to us caught fire as we started eating dinner. I was wondering why everyone was running out of the room. Fire fire! We are still outside. Waiting to resume our meal.
Cell phone pic of moi Rich took of me being artsy or something, last night. We had a wonderful dinner at Le Relais du Entrecôte. They only serve one thing: steak with fries, but they do it spectacularly, if a little hurried. That and a bottle of vin rouge, that's all a gal from Texas wants on her Parisian Valentine's Day.
Saturday, February 14, 2009
I ordered andouille sausage for lunch. WTF was I thinking? Smells like ass and tastes even worse! Ugh yuck ptooey! Reminds me of the time I ordered kidney by mistake. Also on a trip to Paris. The house rosé, however, is excellent. Mmmmm....
Friday, February 13, 2009
Thursday, February 12, 2009
Sorry, time got away. Work is getting wacky, my team is exponentially increasing and I am having to spend some time smacking people down and saying things like, 'No I am NOT your bitch, you can do that yourself', and other such nice-isms that make me feel stressed. Better to establish borders and expectations now then get pissed off later. But it is hard to say no, even if it is for my own sanity.
And it's FUCKING COLD outside and I am so tired of pants and socks and boots and sweaters and coats and CLOTHES. I feel so hemmed in and closed up and covered up and I just want to BREATHE in loose lightweight clothes and warm (not interior) air. I want to run free and not fear that I am going to break my ass or my back on the ice. I want to NOT ITCH. I did sign up for a work sponsored yoga class that starts in a couple weeks, I have high hopes for that. Maybe I can wear loose clothes and breathe then. Possibly even not itch for a little while. Damn all this wool.
Speaking of wool....and, to stretch that thought, berets....we are off to Paris this weekend. yes, Valentine's in Paris. Awww.....
But, if you know Europe, February is about as unromantic a month as can exist, so Paris is going to be cold and grey, judging by the forecast, with chance of snow. (Though, it sure won't be colder than here, that I know.) We are flying into Charles de Gaulle, the armpit of the universe, so I don't have much hope of a nice travel experience. Every time I have gone through that airport I have ended up pissed off, confused and sans luggage. I am hoping, however that it will be of short duration so that upon arrival and for the rest of the weekend I can:
- Drink enough red wine to replace my blood with it
- Eat entrecote and frittes until I can't stand the sight of them
- Stroll about in langorous walks along the Seine (snow permitting), arm in arm with my husband.
- Poke about in the Marais district
- Drink more red wine, possibly change it up a bit with rosé
- Say bonjour to every damn person who crosses my path
- See if I can get some tickets to see Dita von Teese at the Crazy Horse.
- (Ok that last one might be hard to do.)
- Kiss my husband on Valentine's Day.
- (That one seems pretty possible.)
Sunday, February 08, 2009
Saturday, February 07, 2009
Summer. Sigh. It DOES exist, doesn't it?
I'm currently downloading my pictures from SE Asia onto the external hard drive. It's taking a long time. 4 gigs of photos on the first card, (1300 pics) and the second card holds 8 gigs but I am pretty sure I didn't fill that one up, so lets say another 700 more. So almost 2000 photos from that trip. Skippy the Wonder Camera (my Lumix, LOVE MY LUMIX) really does take beautiful shots, though maybe I can also credit my eye for a little of that. So for the next few weeks you can look forward to (or dread, whichever way you go) pictures off Cambodia, Luala Lumpur, Bali, Java, Railay Beach and surrounding areas, and whatever the hell else I snapped on my little wonder camera.
This blog reached a landmark this week. Over 200k hits. Thank you all for visiting. (Or finding me through whatever wierdo search you are doing on google. Yes, I do use naughty words.) I see others with MILLIONS of hits but I am not that ambitious. I just like to have a few folks who come by every so often to say hi, that I can also say hi to via this little web diary. My kind of party, intimate and cozy.
On Thursday I had a departmental dinner with my work group. Me and my boys (8 of the 12 I have on my team) all went out for steaks at a place in Oslo, called Trancher. (If you live in Oslo, that is a good place for a steak. The wine and the service was very good too. Can recomend. Good boy food.) It's interesting, working with all boys. I mean, I've always been an earthier sort of gal, so boys don't make me nervous or shy or anything. And a dirty joke never offends me. Which is good as my boys tell some doozies. I've gotten used to living in boy land. Most of my friends here are boys as well (though I do have a small cadre of very awesome female friends, and you gals know who you are) and I feel like I am an honorary boy, except with much better tits. It's fun being the female in the midst of boys as it's like having a bunch of brothers but you can also flirt a little and enjoy being a girl at the same time.
Not sure why I am on that tangent. Guess I was just thinking of the high school me and how I used to think boys were a foreign species. I tried so hard to make them like me, when, if I had just relaxed and been myself, it would have been fine.
Tonight I am going to go watch a rugby game at an Irish bar in Oslo and eat chinese food. Amongst the attendees will be Irish, English, American, Norwegian, Scottish, Swiss, South African and I am sure some other nationalities. Of course, we will all root for the Irish team. I don't want to get my butt kicked for rooting for the other team by someone named Paddy. Or by someone named Eileen. (grin)
Tuesday, February 03, 2009
It’s damned cold outside. I’ve never actually seen it be this cold for such a long time here in
As my dad says, it’s colder than a witch’s tits. (I always wondered, when I was a kid, how did he know this?)
Anyhow, today, I am a poster child for wool. Wool socks, long johns, heavy wool skirt, merino undershirt and cashmere sweater over that. Heavy wool coat and cashmere scarf. Wool gloves, wool hat. Wool lined boots even! Wool wool everywhere and not a sheep in sight.
I never in a million years, before I moved to
I still don’t want to go outside, even with a whole sheep’s worth of wool on me. It’s too cold, and if your hands are out in the open, to, say, send a text message or listen to your iPod, they hurt and burn within minutes. Everything is covered in ice and it is hard and unforgiving and unsociable outside. Everyone’s all muffled and just trying to get into the warmth. You know it’s cold when even Norwegians start talking about how cold it is. Usually they are not perturbed.
And to think less than a month ago I was in
Monday, February 02, 2009
Tonight I made a dinner that I saw Nigella make on her show.
Her show is on ALL the time here. I think, for Rich, it's a bit like porn. Though he does not cook, he loves his food, and I always catch him watching her show with an avid interest. Besides the food, he also gets to watch her regularly fellate a spoon as she tastes whatever thing she cooked. It kind of cracks me up. There she is, busty as all get out, moaning as she ever so felinely licks the spoon/fork/mixing beaters she just used to whip up some simple yet alarmingly decadent creation. She gives the camera a sly sidelong look as though to say, "Yes, boys, I know you would kill to be this spoon I just made culinary love to." (All can be seen in the picture on the left. See what I mean?)
I can't say that I hate her, my husband's food porn goddess. She's curvy and busty and not a size 4 and I kind of fucking love her. Even if she does blow her utensils in front of my husband.
Anyhow, sometime this weekend, I am not sure when as I was WAY to busy trying to get my wreck of a flat back into shape (mission accomplished, it looks better than it did before) she did a really quick and simple dinner dish that looked awful damn yummy. We had the tv on while we worked. Rich was all like, "Make that! Make that!" and even went to the store to get the stuff. The store, however, was closed as it was after 6pm on a Saturday. Boo. He had to put up with frozen pizza instead.
So I got the ingredients today, after work, which were:
scallops. chorizo. a lemon.
Cut up the chorizo in small bites. Saute. Remove. Throw the scallops into the hot chorizo grease. Saute. Add back the chorizo, toss, and squeeze some lemon juice over it. Toss in a handful of fresh parsley. (I used cilantro which I like better and adds a nice freshness). Serve.
Cooking does not get any easier than that, my friends. It was way yummy. Fork fellating yummy.
I roasted some small yellowy potatoes to go with, tossed before roasting in olive oil, paprika, garlic, and a bit of lemon juice, salt and pepper. Yum.
Thanks Nigella. I heart you. You are my food porn goddess. My husband can watch you lick your whole kitchen for all I care, as long as I get another meal like that.