What I learned about Norway

I think this merits another bullet point post. I like not having to write full sentences, worry about transitions or any other such grammatical bullshit. Anyhow, today I'm writing more about my skiing trip.

First of all, the below picture is of the hytte we stayed at.

• It didn't have running water.
• That kind of sucked.
  
• However, it kind of reminded me of the time I lived in Oklahoma (yes I did and SHUTUP it was only for about 16 months) and worked at a homestead museum and I had to teach kids how homestead people lived in the 1880's and one of the things I had to show was how people did the washing up and stuff, so once I put that in my head and pretended I was all "Little Hytte In the Mountains" and shit it wasn't so bad.
  
• Water is DAMNED heavy. Especially in 6 gallon containers.
  
• Hytter in general, are, however, very nice and cozy.
  
• Like, here is the fireplace:
  
  
  • 
• The fireplace was very nice and kept the place very warm.
• As did the wall heaters EVERYWHERE.
• So the hytte has no running water, but it's got electricity out the wazzoo.
• Strange, no?
  
• There were three bedrooms, each with bunk beds.
• The bunk beds were very narrow.
• And the walls were paper thin.
  
• This is NOT a house for sex.
  
• Unless you get down by the fireplace, of course.
• This did not happen when I was there. I don't do girls.
  
• None of the other girls do, either.
  
• The incinerator toilet was out of order.
  
• That really sucked, as we ended up having to use what I named "Nemesis".
  
• Below, a picture of Nemesis.
  
  

Nemesis, originally uploaded by karlakp.

• As a Texan, you are trained from birth to NEVER expose your bare white ass in a wooden shed, in the dark, with no light and no gun, flamethrower or industrial quantities of bug spray. Because something WILL bite it. Obviously, visiting Nemesis was an exercise in ignoring my every basic instinct and exposing my nethers to what I was positive was Certain Death or At Least Real Ickyness.
  
• I found out on Sunday that the other two women also sort of restricted their water intake so that they would not have to go visit Nemesis in the middle of the night. So I was not the only one. This also explained why we drank so much water in the mornings.
  
• I did, once, visit Nemesis at 4 am and was really worried about mooses, elks or evil snowy winter creatures attacking me.
• This did not happen.
• But my ass was damned cold.
• Oh, and you know the term "steaming piles of shit"?
  
• It's true.
  
• Based in fact.
  
• I do not have photographic proof (lucky y'all) but the image is burned in my brain forever.
  
• Ick.
• Nemesisses...(Nemesii?) aside, I really enjoyed the skiing.
  
• Great workout.
• Wish I'd done it sooner.
• Especially as after skiing you get to sit around, drink hot cocoa, shoot the shit about 'the great powder/the icy conditions/or whatever', and eat waffles.
  
• Waffles are the traditional snack in Norway, and let me tell you, they are AWESOME slathered with sour cream and strawberry jam.
  
• Seriously yummy.
• And well deserved after 5 km of adrenaline-washed, heart pounding, stark fearing Newbie skiing.
  
• But damned if I didn't do it.
  
• And did even better the second time! Go me!
• But oh my god did I hurt the next day. Total body workout, and I so felt it.
  
• And I liked it so much I bought poles for Nordic Walking, so that I can continue that sort of work out but without the ice, snow, boots, or increased chance of falling.
  
• Nordic Walking will be my New Sport.
  
• I don't care how silly it looks.
  

perfectly good weekend shot to hell

I started sneezing Friday afternoon and haven't stopped since.

Motherfucking rhinovirus.

I have a REALLY busy week ahead at work and absolutely can't afford to be sick, so have done nothing but lay around and drink herbal teas and broth all weekend, hoping to clear up my head. Why must I always get sick after a trip? Dammit!

All that chicken stock I sent down the drain on Friday would have come in handy this weekend......

I added a bunch of pictures to my flickr account (link on left) so go there for more views of gay paree.....

Meet Karla, World's Biggest Dumb Ass

Shit, y'all, sometimes I wonder about my viability in this world.

Tonight, feeling a bit like I am coming down with a cold (and skipping the weekly pub night) I decided to make some chicken stock from the leftovers from the roast chicken I made the other night. (If you have not made the French Laundry recipe roast chicken, well, you are missing out on something good and it's so dead easy it's kind of embarrassing.) I always make stock from leftover chicken, since it's so expensive here I feel like it's wasting it to just chuck in the trash.

So I spent two hours slowly simmering the chicken and veg and herbs and I came away with about 4 quarts of lovely, rich savory stock. The final step after cooking is to sieve out the bones and veg, so that you are left with a nice clear soup, a good base for whatever soup you later want to make.

So I set up my usual double sieve system in the sink, which is guaranteed to catch everything non-liquid, grab my pot of soup and pour it through.

Anyone notice what I did wrong? Anyone?

I forgot to put a FRIGGING BOWL UNDER THE SIEVE.

Before I realized it I had poured about 3/4 of the soup down the drain.

Thus giving me the Dumb Ass of the Year award.

In which this week finally kicks my ass

Fuck. (I mistyped that us "Fuick" which oddly pleases me, like a Buick gone bad.)

This will not be a penis weekend.

My friend that I was going with is sick and she cancelled on me. And I really didn't have the balls (haha) to go alone. I'm not mad at her, I understand being sick, but I was bummed because i was REALLY looking forward to tonight. It's been a shit week.

Fuick.

The theatre was nice enough to let me exchange the tickets for another night next week. This could be because I called them practically in tears, all "I can't see the penises tonight and I am so DEPRESSED and it's been HORRIBLE week and PLEASE can I exchange them?" Luckily it was a woman who was the ticket agent and she understood my penis angst, so she kindly said that if I got my unhappy ass over to the theatre ASAP she would exchange them for me. As it was almost end of work day and I had pretty much cleared up my stuff at work, I hotfooted it over there and she exchanged them for me, I even got better seats! It was all women working there, and I joked around with them and told them that I had been looking forward to the penises all week, and was even wearing my penis viewing outfit. That got a good hearty laugh out of them.

If you are curious what a penis viewing outfit is, in MY case (I am sure this varies from person to person) it was a black sweater dress with a deep v-neck, under which I wore a black slip with lace at the top. This was all worn over black tights with knee high black pirate boots. Over all this went my embroidered black Cavalli coat with the Persian lamb edging all over collar, cuffs and hem, tightly belted, Russian style. I looked, on hindsight, a bit like a really high class, yet modest Russian hooker. Appropriate for the viewing of penis puppets, no? Well, no, as I don't get to see them tonight.

Crappy crappy week. I need beer.

ya win some and ya lose some

Over on Vivi's blog she has been writing about how speaking a new language can be an up and down thing...sometimes you do it like a native and people treat you as such, and sometimes you just can't get it together. You never know when it will go right or wrong...but it can throw you for a loop either way.

Like today? I had to run some work errands and so stopped at Burger King for a burger at lunch. (I NEVER have Burger King in the US, but here it's actually the closest thing to a good burger I can get...so I treat myself sometimes.) So I ordered my usual...a Whopper with cheese uten mayo. Uten means "without". I order this all the time, in Norwegian, and never have problems.

So HOW I got a Whopper with cheese with not only EXTRA mayo but also two packets of mayo on the side, I don't know. But I did. Only thing I can think is somehow my pronunciation of "uten" sounded like "two" which is pronounced pretty much like the English two, but a bit rounder.

I don't know. I really don't. All I know is when I took it back the guy was all like "you ordered two mayonnaise" and I'm like, no I said "uten" and he said "yes, two". DAMMIT!!!! So I'm like, "INGEN Mayonnaise!" "Ikke Mayonnaise"! " NO mayonnaise!"

It was depressing. Very depressing. And kind of gross, with all that mayo. Ick.

In my sad little defense, he was not a native Norwegian either, and so I think we both had accents that neither of us understood...which happens alot here. Norwegian is not a difficult language to learn, but it's damned hard to pronounce.

THAT was an evening wasted

I thought I would do that new Blogger Two new layout thing... you know where it will let you upgrade your layout and it's supposed to be "simpler"?

Yeah, it's so simple it takes away all your choice.

I mean, I'm no html guru or anything, in fact, I know bubkus, but at least I've managed to tweak a few things on my blog by trial and error. The new layout thingy is easy to use, but if you need to tweak, say, side bar size or something, it's pretty near impossible to do. Especially when, as what happened to me, your Haloscan Commenting fucks up your sidebar widths and so they disappear when you enable the comments. So, I am left with a choice of having comments using haloscan, which I like for commenting and with which I have a long history, or not having sidebar items. All because of a width problem that I CAN'T FIX BECAUSE THERE IS NOT THE FLEXIBILITY ANY MORE!!!!!!

Shit! So if you came by here today and it looked different, it's because it was. But then I had to revert back to the old style because I couldn't fix the comment problem and don't feel like spending another two hours on it. Not now.....not tonight.

Shit.

Back to some more pics tomorrow.
_____________________________

****Another hour and a half later*****Gah! I think I've got it fixed. This was not my first choice of template, but at least all the bits seem to be working together......whaddya think? A little travel-y looking, no?

I join Mags in hearty disgust.

So, Christopher Hitchens writes an article in Vanity Fair that women aren't funny.

A bigger load of bullshit I have never read. He posits that women aren't funny because they don't need to be. That there is no reason for us to be and no payoff, because, basically, we've got "other attributes" (read: tits). He also goes on to say that we are better than men at finding what is "not funny". Huh? Maybe we are more subtle about it and don't always think a fart is fall over funny (though, admittedly, 9 times out of 10 I do...).

The funniest people in my life are women. When I laugh hard, it's with the goils.

My friend Lesley, here in Norway, routinely has me snorting wine out my nose. Karla May has me laughing so hard I can't breathe. Mags is one of the funniest I've ever known, both in person and in word. Drunk OR sober. My mom? Goofball extraordinaire. My friend Anne in Houston? Surrealist pun humor at its best.

I am a loyal reader of Vanity Fair, but this is a total piece of crap and I hope he is VILLIFIED by VF's largely FEMALE and liberal audience.....

ggrrgggsniffbleagh

So yesterday I went to the local Apotek (pharmacy) so see if I could find ANYTHING to help me with this cold/plague. Besides a small and expensive selection of weak cough medicines and nose sprays, there wasn't much. Norway has very strict rules on medicines, and so stuff like Nyquil (which contains alchohol) and most of the sinus stuff (which has stuff to make you sleepy or just feel floaty) you could buy in the US is verboten. (Norway's alcohol rules are so strict that rubbing alcohol is sold by prescription here, in case someone would use it to make moonshine. Seriously. I shit you not.) And dammit, I wanted some good old- knock- me- on- my- ass SOMETHING to make me forget who I was and blowtorch the snot right outta me.

No luck. I bought whatever they had, but really, saltwater nasal spray (called, humorously enough for me, Miwana, like "Me wanna nose spray!") or even Otrivin (yet another nose spray that works for a bit, but doesn't solve my myriad other problems) just does not give me the yaya's that a good heapin' does of Sudafed or Contac does. Dammit.

So there I was after my trip to the Apotek. I was in my sweats, with my scummy old sheepskin lined Ugg slides and my horrid but warm down coat that feels like a walking duvet, shuffling through the little shopping center and blowing continuously into a ragged tissue, when I saw a Fashion Gal of the first order. She had on her beautiful warm toned expensive brown sweater, her just perfect jeans tucked into fierce boots and she carried the latest Chloe Paddington bag, the one with the big lock on it (that I have looked at in the shops, but that lock weighs like 2 lbs and I'll be damned if I want a purse that's even HEAVIER than what I already carry and has a big stupid lock on it). And I'm looking at her sashaying around, and I'm thinking, "Hey! HEY! I'm a Fashion Gal too, you know! Just because I am having an off day and feel like death warmed over and look like the village idiot, does not mean that you are any more fabulous than me! I'm just on a break! A break from fabulousness! You just wait til I feel better! I've got nice handbags at home, too, you know! I'm just too sick to carry one right now!"

I hate being caught on an off day. Whatever. I blew my nose and shuffled home in a fog of snot, dizzyness and chills. I promise I will return to fabulousness next week. This week? Lost cause.

Worst. Fucking. Cold. Ever.

Brief pause/rant in the middle of all the Turkey fun.

This fucking cold will NOT let go of me. It's the 5th day of this peice of shit and I swear, now? I really think I do have the plague. Minus the buboes and death. Hopefully. You can never be too sure.

What really sucks about all this is that every day this cold is different. One day was the deep chest cough. Then the sore throat. Then the combo of the two. That hurt, no lie.

Monday I didn't go to work becuase I thought I'd take it easy and make sure I was ok, that was the day I felt weak and dizzy. Yesterday I did go to work and had to come home with bad chills. And now? Oh now is fun. Now is the Snot Monster. My nose is so snotty it itches to breathe through it. I look like a medieval idiot, sitting here with my mouth open, my face droopy and bleary eyes, just trying to see or breathe. I'm hawkin' up loogies the size of....well, really big loogies.

This is seriously pissing me off, y'all, not least because I don't have the medicine for ALL these contingencies. I have cough medicine (expectorant/decongestant). I have Nyquil (nightimesnifflingsneezingcoughingachingstuffyheadfeverso I can be stoned medicine). And I have Benadryl, see the desciption for Nyquil, except it's really only all about being stoned. I can't take the second two and be a functioning adult human in the daytime, and the cough stuff is doing fuck all for the itchiness and heaviness in the middle of my face.

The only thing worse than me having this? Is when Rich gets it. Because a) things hit men harder and b) I really am a shitty nurse.

Back to regularly schedule travel goofiness.

CrankyButt Jones

I had this friend, Sandy, who always came up with whimsical names for people in certain moods. (I say "had" a friend only because i haven't heard from him in yonks, but it can easily be amended to 'have' if only I ever hear from him again). Anyhow, I am not sure if it is Sandy's term or if it just sounds like a Sandy-ism, but today I am CrankyButt Jones and that ain't no lie.

AAAAGGGH.

Jesus. You know when you are THIS close to just going off? That's me. Right now. Today was a litany of Things I Hate.

Today we got our Norwegian visas updated and pasted into our passports. It took over three months for the visas to get approved. So today we got to be officially re-residented. The new visas require a passport photo. It seems stupid to have yet ANOTHER passport photo on a visa which is inside a passport, which already has a photo in it, but whatthefuckever, that's the red tape brigade for you and so we brought photos along. BUT, they said mine was not good enough, (no duh, when are mine EVER?) and I had to retake it. So I down to the lobby to get yet another fucking passport photo and the machine stole my last 5 kroners, and I had to go begging from a not very happy woman at the post office for change. I finally got the picture (after three failed first tries including one with me adjusting my hair, another with me looking like I was yawning and the third where i was fighting off a sneeze, but all showing me with my lovely 'wet hair because I wasn't expecting a passport photo today dammit' expression) and brought it back upstairs. Only to have the woman behind the counter sheepishly tell me that she already had the photo I had brought with me LAST time and it was ok to use! All that frustration and 40 kroners wasted! Did I mention I hate having my picture taken?

Gah!

Then, because I wanted to truly torture myself, I ambled over to the Turkish embassy to get my visa for my upcoming trip to Turkey. Because, yes, I could get one on entry to the country, but from my experience that stuff always takes AT LEAST an hour or more and after a very early morning flight facing the crowds at the visa office is NOT my thing. So I thought I'd beat the rush by getting one here instead. An hour of holiday time is so much more valuable than a few hours of home time, I reasoned. Why, oh why do I listen to myself?

The Turkish embassy is in a lovely old house in the west side of town. I got buzzed through three different gates and doors to be met by a small glassed in room wherein sat three men smoking furiously. I think that was their job, to smoke in that room. They pointed me to a lined sheet of paper on which, I assumed, I was to fill in name, address, and reason for visit, etc., and then I went and sat down in a different, non smoking, but equally small waiting room to wait for them to call me in. After a while of sitting, however, I noticed that there was no communication between those with the pad of paper and those doing the work, so just HOW was I supposed to get my visa stuff going when no one knew what I was there for? It was not a take a number situation. Everyone just sort of hung around, like sitting in this dowdy room was the way life was and that was that. I went up to the inevitable glass security window through which you must shout (this being an embassy specialty) and hollered that I was an AMERICAN and I needed a VISA. Everyone else hollered too, so I was not special. The guy behind the shout window waved at a woman in the corner and said his colleague would take care of me.

But he never told her about me, so when she appeared at the window half an hour later on an apparently random mission, I pounced and asked her what I needed to do for a visa. She said "Go to Turkey, get one there". Haha. Thanks.

I explained that I had a wierd schedule and would rather do it ahead of time, if possible. She gave me a form to fill out and told me to wait some more. Ok.

After another half hour I brandished the form and passport in her face, and she checked it over and said "ok", gave me an encouraging smile and took it back to another room. She was back in five minutes. She told me her boss said they could not accept my passport.

Whafuck? Why not?
It's not good, she said. It's bad and he has never seen one like it.
Whafuck? Why? Steam began to erupt from my nostrils.
It is bad. He won't do it.
*fffrrrppppppp* (steam sound)

Apparently, the bureaucratic twat behind the desk to whom she answers had never seen an American passport to which extra pages have been added. When you get your passport, you have 25 or so numbered pages. When you have pages added, they are lettered, A-Z, and are fairly randomly stuck in between the numbered pages, in my case between pages 12 and 13 and then again, for I have done this twice, between pages 16 and 17. (You can add pages three times at no cost, fyi.) This woman's boss (she told me with a roll of her eyes) did not believe that my lettered pages were legit because he had never seen them. He said my passport must be a fraud. He would alert the American embassy.

I shat a brick right there on the floor. Was this total idiot seriously telling me (through her) that he believed I had a fake passport? A fake passport that had five Norwegian visas, stamps from 15 or more countries, and my picture and signature in at least three different places in it? And i am standing there with my big ol' American accent, not speaking Norwegian and definitely NOT taking this sort of thing in a patient manner?

I looked at the lady. She raised her eyebrows. I told her to take me to her leader. She grinned, broadly, as I guess many people do not ask that, especially tall American women, and led me directly through to The Man Behind the Desk. Who disdainfully thumbed my passport and pointed out the shoddiness of the added pages, taped in, not numbered, how could America be so lax with a passport? This is a bad passport, he said. Bad. Not good. Bad quality.

I politely said that if it was THAT bad, how come Morrocco, Egypt, Cambodia, Thailand, Laos and so many other countries had deigned to stamp it AND on lettered, not numbered, pages? I was going to meet my father in Turkey, his favorite country in all the world, I said, did he want me to miss seeing my father? I was not responsible for the shoddiness of the American system of passport pagination. If they are ok with it, why is Turkey not ok with it? Isn't America the most secure country in the world? (Gleam of eye, here. He looked at me. I almost winked.)

He harrumphed and made an official sort of sound and gesture that meant, "Woman, you go sit in the very small reception room with the temperamental child and the very old magazines whilst I ruminate on this Massive and Very Dangerous Security Issue. I am at work Saving the World from your evil passport and must consult with the Very Important People sitting in the glass smoking room".

I went back to the waiting room, after winking at the woman (now my best friend) in the other office.

I was finally approved, after another 20 minutes, however they are holding my passport hostage overnight so that they can make up the visa and insert in onto what I can only guess will be the last remaining numbered page in my passport.

When I was on the way home from all this (AND I worked today people!) I went to the grocery store and my bank card would not work. And Norway does not take credit cards at grocery stores. Only the Norwegian bank cards. So I went to get cash. The machine would not even take my card in. Nor would the other machine. Or the other machine. My card just died.

I have no access to money. And I can't get a new card before I go to Turkey. I'm fucked.

AND our internet was down when I got home so I could not even find the number of who to call nor could I get online to the US bank to at least do some money switching on that account, so to be able to use the US bank card. (Though WHAT money I would use is the issue right now.It's all freaking HERE!)

I threw a fit, called Rich at work in an absolute freak out. He finally said, after hearing ALL This shit that I dealt with today, look , give it up, dig around for some coins and go buy a bottle of wine. Yes I know we are not drinking, but. you. need. wine.

I am now drinking a cheapish bottle of Argentinian red and looking at a very red piece of steak in the fridge that is about to moo its last. At least the internet started up again.

Today isn't even Friday the 13th yet. I fear, people. I fear.

blood! gore! lasers!

I try to keep the blog fun and funny, but sometimes dammit, I just don’t feel it. The weather lately has been rainy and dreary in the extreme, the days are getting shorter and I really, really just find it hard to get out of bed. However, pretty much everyone I talk to is also feeling the same way, so I know it’s just this time of year. No snow yet to brighten the light, the rain is a sad drizzle and I can feel nature withdrawing for the upcoming winter. The Darkness is approaching.

Blah.

There has been a bit of excitement here and there, though. The other day we had this freak electrical storm with massive (and very close) bursts of lightning and thunder. And, as we live in what is basically a tin box on the roof of a building, I definitely was worried about that lightning. I made Rich sit down, because if that lightning came through the ceiling, it would hit his big ol’ head first thing, him being the tallest thing in the house.

Then on Tuesday morning, Rich was getting ready for work and I was desperately trying to not wake up (“just five more minutes and I’ll get up…ok, five more…OK ok five more…”). I heard Rich go "Ow...oh...ooh!" in the bathroom. Not a normal holler, but like, with an edge to it. I knew it wasn't the usual cut himself shaving ow...it was quietly panicked, with a bit of an upturn in his voice that means ‘eek!’

So I got up and went to him, and he had gashed the living shit out of his hand on the sharp edge of the shower wall. This shower has been a problem from the start. It’s made of glass blocks and it’s edged with this aluminum strip that was not put on flush and so the edges are KNIFE sharp. It’s actually a hazard. Here we are in this posh flat, and they build the shower in the cheapest way possible? I don’t get it. Anyhow, he got the top of his hand but good and it just sliced like a ripe peach. Really gross. You could see the workings of his hand. He was trembling and freaked out, but it wasn’t bleeding that badly and he said it did not hurt. We put a towel on it while I looked around for a bandage and he got dressed. I bandaged it up and was surprised that I did not feel sick. Not sure why, I always thought I was a squeamish git but apparently not. I found something to wear and managed to get my hair somewhat down from its pillow-centric state and then we had to find someone to stitch him up.

SO, we weren't sure where to go to get it fixed. The hospital? That's in the next town, about an 8 minute train ride away by express train, or an expensive cab ride. Couldn't think of anywhere else to go, it was 8am and would anything be open anyhow? Our doctor is in a town that is not on the express train line, and we didn't know of a local place we could go. Did we have to be registered at a doctor to go there?. Are any of the legesenters (local doctor's offices) open and could we go w/o an appointment? Is there an emergency clinic? Maybe we should have figured this out sooner?

Rich insisted he was ok to take the train, his hand really wasn’t bleeding, just sort of oozing, and the train is actually quicker than a cab in the morning rush hour. As we waited for the train I called work to say I'd be late. My boss, who rocks, said the local legesenter was very good and we could probably get in there, because she had gone there in an emergency once as well.. And best of all, it was only about 300 feet away.

So we skipped catching the train and went there. We waited about 15 minutes, while I fumed over the rude woman who kept cutting and pushing in front of EVERYONE who walked in wanting to know when SHE was going to get in. I tried shooting her dead with the laser beams in my eyes, but they obviously don’t work without coffee as the energy booster. The woman behind the glass told her to chill out, and she would be called in due time, that emergencies come first. (In my head I did the little “ha ha” from the Simpsons. You know the one…) They called in Rich fairly quickly and Boy-o got five stitches, a tetanus shot and a little talk about how lucky he is that he didn't slice tendons.
While he got stitched, I ran to 7-11 to get a coffee and ran into one of his co-workers, Grant, who’s Scottish (not that this is germain to the discussion, but I just like to always say that Grant is Scottish) and told him that Rich was SPEWING blood everywhere, like a fountain, or like the Black Knight ("It's just a flesh wound!").
OK, not.
But I did tell Grant that Rich was hurt and to spread it around work so that he’d get lots of sympathy the next day. After the doctor Rich spent the rest of the day home with the TV and a cup of coffee. The stitches are very nicely done, and I think he will have minimal scarring. It all cost about $60 and took a little over an hour from start to finish, so woo to the Norwegian health care system. I’ve always been very pleased with the health care here. Way better than in the States, at least for basic stuff. I don’t know about hospitals, but have heard mostly good things.

I went on directly to work afterwards and felt pretty gross without a shower and with some pretty bad bedhead as well. Not my most glamorous day at work…..

rising above

Sorry I have been such a lame blogger of late. You know how sometimes the world just decides to make you its bitch and you just sort of have to go with it? It's kind of been like that. Everything's ok, in general, just a sort of low ebb that has cast me into a time of thinking and pondering. We all have those at times. My mom (and my aunt and probably my good friends too) would be telling me to stop thinking and just go out into the world and BE, and I am slowly working my way back to that now. In fact, my aunt bought me a book entitled "Women Who Think Too Much" but I haven't read it yet because, well, I think it might be too thought provoking. How's that for a conundrum?

Anyhow, the world is carrying on in its inexorable movement forwards. Fall is slowly gaining its hold on Norway, and today is one of those perfect crisp clear days you get sometimes in Texas. You know, right after that first Blue Norther runs through and blows away all the heat and guck and just leaves you with "Ahhhh'? It's like that outside. So, I am going to grab the iPod, go for a walk and wander away the thoughts and worries.

However, I did want to leave you with one thing:



While I was in the US this statue(?) appeared in the plaza outside our flat. I am of two minds about it.

First mind is: Aw how cute. And up close, it's really pretty because that mottled texture is actually tiny bits of mirror and porcelain all mosaic-ed into the surface. The kids love climbing on it and it is so Bambi/Creatures of the Forest cute.

Second mind? Holy shit that thing is EVIL. Is it a rat or a deer? See the eyes? The empty, alien slanted eyes? I bet those things glow red at night and suck in the life force of any thing that passes by. It is aimed directly at our flat...I am sure this is why I am so tired. And you see the innocent child sitting so delicately and trustingly in its paw? If you take your eyes away from that rat/deer/alien, for even a second, that hand pops up to the statue's mouth and it opens into a nightmarish slavering maw that EATS CHILDREN whole. But it's all done in a time warp sort of thing so that no one can see it because it happens too fast, yet scarily slow for the victim, so that the child is in an endless hell of getting its legs and arms eaten off. (Like that time in Buffy? Season 6? Where she had the tiny pin on her? That made time warp and flash but no one noticed it but her? Because the Triumvirate were trying to fuck with her head? Yeah, like that.)

I swear, I leave for a week and the forces of cartoon evil come to my doorstep. It's. Looking. At. Me.

Definitely worse "from" than "to"

I can definitively tell you that the jet lag is worse coming from the US than to it. When you leave the US to go to Europe you are guaranteed a loss of a night's sleep. When you go to the US, it's just a really long day.

Anyhow, I left my parents at 11am US time and got to ST Louis by 2pm. Returned the rent car (and boy were those folks at Avis NICE. I was not expecting that, but everyone was really NICE.) Got to the airport and waited in the stupid American Airlines line. St Louis is alos apparently a hub for the military and there were army guys everywhere, all so young. SO YOUNG.

The flights from St Louis to Chicago and from Chicago to Heathrow were fine. The Chicago to London leg was PACKED. There was not one free seat. Luckily I had an aisle seat, but unluckily the lady sitting next to me had some sort of bladder problem so every time I even began to drift off for a nap, she'd tap my shoulder so she could get out. I started to hate her.....

The flight attendant for my area had neon pink dragon lady nails, a big blonde hairsprayed bun on her head and the attitude you would expect from someone who had such things. Lots of eye rolling and fake sweetness, but you just knew she'd like to poke those nails into most of our eyes.

Got to Heathrow in plenty of time, with a couple of hours to shop, even, but that was all taken away by the LONGEST FUCKING SECURITY LINE IN THE UNIVERSE. I had to transfer from Terminal Three to Terminal Four, and some genius obviously underbudgeted for security there, because there were about 1000 people in line for security and there was...ONE...yes ONE...security machine working. And the line was like one of those lines at Disney Land/World, where it keeeps snaking around but you never see the end of it? Each time I thought I was there....nope, another false end. GOD it was annoying. And we had no water, no nothing. I was dehydrated like crazy. There were these tables all along that circuitous route where we were supposed to deposit any lotions, etc, we had because they weren't allowed through security? So at each table I would use someone's left behind hand lotion or whatever, and moisturized whatever part of me was dry and cracking. The folks around me caught on and so we all had soft hands and un-ragged cuticles.

Finally got through that and told them (after I got my stuff, of ocurse) that they really needed to open a second line. They apologized in the inimitable Britsh way....

Got back to oslo at 6pm (11am US time, so 24 hours straight, once again), was in bed by 7:30 and got up today at 2pm. To say I was tired was an understatement.

I still am.

Will everyone please say a little prayer/send good thoughts to my dear friend Karla May? She's having a helluva time at the hospital and could use the karmic good feeling right about now.......

and the world turns upside down yet again.

OK, so today my husband got an email from the company travel organizer warning about new emergency regulations for flights out of Britain. I know that security needs to be tight, and I also know they just reported an airplane bomb plot was thwarted but put yourself in the position of someone, say, going from the UK to Houston. And now read these rules, and wonder, seriously, how the hell you are going to be anywhere near comfortable for the very long flight. No iPod, no purse! No liquid items AT ALL....I know I am fairly dependent on my eye drops. No makeup, ladies! Are books allowed? A guy from Australia in one of the news articles said he was was facing a 24 hour flight with nothing to read. Isn't that one version of hell?

What about theft issues when you are forced to check your computer and electronic equipment? iPods are easy little things to steal! Anyway, below are the rules. I hope they don't last too long, as I am going to London end of this month.
Oh Damn. I just saw this...I am so hosed. And a good friend of mine is due to go to Yorkshire tomorrow early in the AM. I just called her to warn her to check what's going on....
_____________________________________________

Here is a briefing from BA regarding hand baggage.

British Airways, acting on instruction from the UK Government, wishes to advise passengers that no items of hand baggage can be carried on board any aircraft departing any UK airport.

The UK Government has advised that this instruction will apply to ALL AIRLINES operating from UK airports.

Passengers may only take through the airport security search point, the following items:

Travel documents essential for the journey (eg passports, tickets and visas)
Pocket sized wallets and pocked sized purses plus contents (for example money, credit cards and identity cards). HANDBAGS ARE NOT PERMITTED.
Prescribed medicines essential for the duration of the flight, except in liquid form unless verified as authentic.
Spectacles and sunglasses, without cases.
Contact lenses, without bottles of solution.
For those traveling with an infant: baby food, milk and sanitary items essential for the flight.
Keys (but no electrical key fobs).

EVERY OTHER ITEM must be carried in customer’s hold luggage.

For clarity, passengers are advised that no electrical or battery powered items including laptops, mobile phones, ipods, remote controls etc can be carried in the cabin and must be checked in as HOLD LUGGAGE.

Customers are advised to check-in as normal but to expect delays at all UK airports.

three. friggin'. days.

Today is a holiday weekend in Norway. Labor Day, May 1.

And it has rained the whole time.

Sum total of my accomplishments is making veggie quesadillas (none with Jesus on them, though one resembled Mickey Mouse quite closely), a couple of necklaces for Mother's Day (any mothers related to me who are reading this blog, um, those necklaces are for other mothers, not you, so pretend you did not read that, 'k?) and watching Buffy, Season 7, which I was saving for when I got back from Thailand. Saving, ironically enough, for a rainy day.

That was "A" rainy day, ONE! Not THREE! And this is supposed to last through Thursday.

Dammit.

Anyhow, I am low enery and not feeling very bloggy. Which is good as this holiday is all about NOT working and having a day of rest. So I have an excuse to be lazy. Finally.

I have posted a couple of pictures on the Big Head Blog, though, so go over there for photo jollies, ok? I'll get going again later.

zzzz......

flaccid

Sorry dudes.

I am just not in the blogging frame of mind these past couple of days. I've started the blog about the trip to London four times and quit each time. It's like I can't get my blog stiffy anymore.

Am I tired? Depressed? Just plain boring? I know I feel like lately there is more stuff I CAN'T say for fear of offending someone, whether husband (yes dear, you), family, Norwegians, Americans, Martians, that guy down in South America, whatever, than I can say. Everyone telling me not to write this, not to say that, quit taking the Lord's name in vain (which I am really very good at, by the way), be careful of this other thing. More people reading this than I ever dreamed of. Including some I'd rather didn't. And I think that's got me a little tongue tied right now. And I feel like I gotta be funny and cute and right now I don't feel very funny and cute. I pretty much wanna tell everyone to fuck off....and really, what fun is it to come to a blog where the writer is telling you to fuck off? You'd probably do so, and then what's the point of me writing?

I know, I know, fuck all those people who don't like what I say. I know I KNOW.

Problem is right now I'm not pleasing myself much either.

Maybe I'll get my blog-erection back later today....let's hope. Maybe I need some form of blogger's viagra.....Blogagra? Then I could marathon blog.....hmm....

mean people suck

It seems I have some people here in Norway that don't like me very much. They think that I am complaining about their country.

Hmm..let's see. Things are expensive here. There is alot of snow on the ground. It's cold. Winters are long. Norwegians (nice ones, friendly ones, of which there are many!) talk about it all the time. These things are all true. Anyone who says they are not true is obviously insane.

I have never, not once said that I hated Norway on this blog. Not once. Do I dislike some aspects of it here? Why sure. I'm a summer girl from Texas living in a place that invented winter sports. Snow, to me, = wet, sticky cold and hard to walk in. Hmm, maybe not a natural fit. But there is alot here that I do like. And I have written about that as well. Summers, the water, the beauty of the country, these are all things I appreciate.

So, to Anonymous:

Your comments are giving a very bad impression of Norwegians. Now all my friends and family (and I do have a lot of them, mind you, as I am very lucky and very loved) are going to think that Norwegians are small minded, mean and nasty. All because of you. YOU, not me. YOU are giving a bad impression of your OWN country by doing this. Is this how you want Norway to be seen??

Why on earth are you wasting your energy on posting to my website if you don't like it? Why are you spending your time on me if you don't like me? Isn't your energy better spent elsewhere? You can go read something else. Here, I'll give you a topic. Go do something that makes you happy instead of reading something that does not entertain you. That way we are all happy and you don't bother with me and I am not bothered with you.

It's not ME that needs the life. It's you. I feel bad for you. You must be really sad. I'm sorry for you.