Right now? Not so proud to be a Texan.

News taken directly from the 'net:

"Texas lawmakers accomplished the one job they were constitutionally required to do: passing a state budget. They also placed more restrictions on abortion, gave Texas voters a say in banning gay marriage and declared the chuck wagon the state's official vehicle during their 140 day session that ends today. But Texas schoolchildren will have to wait. Lawmakers failed to agree on the marquee issue of 79th Legislature pumping more money into public schools while replacing Texas' share the wealth education funding system. Despite a last-minute surge of activity, House-Senate negotiations petered out over the weekend. The two Republican leaders, House Speaker Tom Craddick and Lieutenant Governor David Dewhurst, were at loggerheads, and the finger-pointing began."

Good thing they got that chuckwagon issue figured out, I was really worried, there.

And now for the small print, which is mostly cursing: Stupid ass fuckers, the lot of them. May they all burn in the hell of MY choice, which right now consists of lots of gay people waving down at them from Heaven going, "Nyah Nyah! Jesus wore a dress too, you assholes!". GAH!

Oh and I forgot....

I also heard, today, that our house break-in was part of a crime spree.

Apparently about 17 people have gotten broken into, the same way we were. It's a crime wave! All people in the area where we live. Organized crime. Wow.

Misery loves company and all; I'm glad we weren't the only ones.

Random Crapiosity

I like the word "crap". Especially as you can use it so many creative ways. Holy Crapping Crap. Crapness. The Great Crapinski. Crapiosity. Etc.

However, that was not the point of this crappish post at all. Just a fun, slightly vulgar digression.

Crapski. I forgot what I was going to write about....hmm. Ermm.....

Oh! Yeah.

I'm off to London tomorrow for a few days with Karen and the ever-so-fabulous Ben. Should be fun, and it will be nice to get away to somewhere warmer than here, if even by only a few degrees. It's just WRONG to have to wear a sweater AND a jacket in May, almost June. Grrr. But I need to get away for a bit, I have too much on my mind.

I just got news that a good friend of mine here is moving to Houston. This, after finding out a month or so ago that another good friend is moving as well. That is the serious downside of being an "expat trailing spouse". (Well, one of the downsides, another major one is being referred to as a "trailing spouse".) Just when you feel like you are a bit settled, when you have a nice group of pals, some folks to hang with every so often, someone has to move. And now I am losing two of the five or so that I really like to hang out with. Major bummer.

It's very unsettling, really, I know I feel constantly under the gun and a little wary of developing a friendship too deeply, as I am always afraid that person might have to go. I hit it off really well with one woman not long after moving here, then she got transferred to another country less than a year later, and it really threw me for a loop. Hard lesson, that. So whenever one of "my girls" has to go, it hurts, and honestly, it makes me pull back into my shell just a little bit deeper.

I won't even go into the fact how mad it makes me at the large multi-national company that my husband works for, that they move people with so little thought for the spouses, and with so little help or support for them in the process of moving. I know the husbands are just doing their jobs, but the company should think a bit more about what it does to the spouses and families. Sometimes I think we work for the one company that has the least support for spouses in all the multi-national corporations. I hear of the benefits folks get at other companies, and I am blown away. And when I say "we work" I mean it, because these companies basically get two employees for the price of one, when a trailing spouse comes along. One who goes to the office every day, the other to do all the support and grunt work behind the scenes. The mover, the housekeeper, the planner, the organizer. Why hire a person to plan moves and house sales, when you can get the wife to do it for free?

I won't say anymore, it could go on forever, but to all "trailing spouses" out there, man, I know there are benefits to our international lifestyles, but there sure are pitfalls, too. And I salute you for all you do. I know it's not easy.

Me as a South Park Character

my south park character, posted by karlakp.

Introducing Queen Evilla, Kick Ass Queen of the Earth
and Assorted Subsidiary Cosmoses

I have not had this much fun with a web site in YEARS. You can create yourself as a South Park character. How fucking cool is that? OMFG!

So, here's ME! I'm sort of a Sword Wielding Busty Goth Queen of Heaven, but with attitude and cool shades and stuff. Look she's got my hair!

Go do yourself! (Um, that came out wrong. I meant, go create yourself. Yeah, that's what I meant.) It's too much fun! And thanks Dave, for the link. When I take over the world, you are SO going to be my Darth...something. You, me and Okapi...Dude we are SO taking over this joint.

Three about me

THREE NAMES YOU GO BY:
1. Karla
2. But you can call me Evil Ruler
3. I'll also answer to "Incredibly Sexy One"
4. That girl who's full of shit

THREE SCREEN NAMES YOU HAVE HAD:
1. karlagodwoman (goddess was taken!)
2. karlagoddess (note theme here?)
3. Evil Axis of Karla
4. That girl who's full of shit

THREE PHYSICAL THINGS YOU LIKE ABOUT YOURSELF:
1. Hands
2. Hair
3. small waist

THREE PHYSICAL THINGS YOU DON'T LIKE ABOUT YOURSELF:
1. fingernails
2. thighs
3. sun damage from sunburns when I was younger

THREE PARTS OF YOUR HERITAGE:
1. Texan
2. German
3. Jewish/Scottish/French

THREE THINGS THAT SCARE YOU:
1. Things with more than four legs or an exoskeleton (snakes and mice? No problem)
2. Not having something to look forward to
3. Cold dark enclosed places

THREE OF YOUR EVERYDAY ESSENTIALS:
1. mochachocalattayaya every AM
2. internet
3. possibility/anticipation/hope

THREE THINGS YOU ARE WEARING RIGHT NOW:
1. funky beaded embroidered denim skirt
2. Omega Watch (bought used, don't get excited)
3. Some of my new underwear...and yeah, it matches!

THREE OF YOUR FAVORITE BANDS OR MUSICAL ARTISTS:
1. NIN
2. Gary Numan
3. Neil Finn

THREE OF YOUR FAVORITE SONGS:
1. Closer...NIN
2. Days Go By....Dirty Vegas
3. Camel Walk....S.C.O.T.S.

THREE THINGS YOU WANT IN A RELATIONSHIP:
1. Strength
2. Humor
3. Dependability

TWO TRUTHS AND A LIE (in no particular order):
1. I'm proud to be a Texan
2. I love to travel
3. I support George Bush (ew, it hurts me to even write that...excuse me while I wash my hands)

THREE PHYSICAL THINGS ABOUT THE PREFERRED SEX THAT APPEAL TO YOU
1. huge dick (ok, kidding, let's go for tall)
2. eyes
3. broad shoulders/manly arms/muscles...oh don't get me started.

THREE OF YOUR FAVORITE HOBBIES:
1. Writing/blogging
2. making jewelry
3. planning next trip/traveling/sleeping after trip

THREE THINGS YOU WANT REALLY BADLY RIGHT NOW:
1. Money
2. To have it be easier to see my friends and loved ones in the States
3. A spanking new WRX and some fast fun roads to drive the shit out of it on

THREE CAREERS YOU'RE CONSIDERING/YOU'VE CONSIDERED:
1. Actress
2. Paleontologist
3. Parapsychologist (Note: these were all when I was 9)

THREE PLACES YOU WANT TO GO ON VACATION:
1. Thailand
2. Angkor Watt
3. India

THREE KIDS' NAMES YOU LIKE:
1. Montana
2. Tatiana
3. Bob (Hey, everyone likes Bob)

THREE THINGS YOU WANT TO DO BEFORE YOU DIE:
1. Have a kid
2. Circumnavigate the globe and write about it
3. Not ever say "Boy I wish I had done that".

THREE WAYS THAT YOU ARE STEREOTYPICALLY A GIRL/BOY:
1. I have an addiction to swirly, fun, very full skirts.
2. I like wearing corsets/tight belts/things that show off my Victorian figure
3. "EEEEK! A bug! Kill it! Kill it! Here's a shoe! I'll be in the other room!"

THREE CELEB CRUSHES:
1. John Cusack
2. Liam Neeson
3. Angelina Jolie

I stolded this from Kjersti.
And I'm tagging Bookhart.

My Take On Star Wars

So tonight we saw the last (third, what the fuck EVER) Star Wars movie. I can break it down into good, bad, annoying, and cool. And one over-arching piece of advice.

Good: Seeing how Darth Vader became Darth Vader. I found that very affecting, when he was all burnt and stuff, and was put into the suit. And after he was told he killed Padme (which I took as a lie, as he didn't kill her THEN, she died later of a broken heart) that totally sealed him into the dark side for sure. (Would for me, too, honestly.)
Also good, getting more story than in I and II. I read in Entertainment Weekly, that III had 60% of the "prequel"story, which left the other 40% to be spread around I and II. Goes a long way to explain Jar Jar Binks, time waster that he was.

Bad: 80% of the dialog.

Annoying: How Padme, formerly this strong kick ass girl, suddenly, due to love and pregnancy, becomes the whiniest, weepiest goober I've ever seen. Ugh. A study in how not to do romance.

Cool: The fight with Grievous, when he had four light sabers.

Advice: Hayden Christiansen? WASH YOUR HAIR!!!! PLEASE!!!!! What was UP with that horrible hair you were sporting? Were there budget cuts at LucasFilm and your hairdresser had to go? Oh My God, boy, DO something about that, PLEASE! (Nice pecs and stomach though, rowr.)

I noticed, in the theatre, that the usually noisy and restive Norwegians sat perfectly still, and, to my great surprise, NO ONE left to go to the bathroom. Not even the very pregnant woman sitting next to me. She was, however, pretty eager to get out of there when it ended.

Overall, I give it 6.5 out of 10 stars. Points deducted for some unsuspended disbelief, the dialog and whiny-assed Padme.

Loch Ness Monster Captured on Film

nessie, posted by karlakp.

I have long promised to post definitive proof of the Loch Ness Monster on this blog, proof captured on my recent trip to Scotland and Loch Ness. Others saw her, too. I was not alone. I was just quicker with the camera, an advantage of the disposables that I so swear by.

Without further ado: Here it is. Proof of the Loch Ness Monster.

loch ness proof, posted by karlakp.

The Loch Ness Monster. I came, I saw, I photoed.

Maybe you can sight Nessie yourself, here, online. They've got a webcam going.

loch ness monster, posted by karlakp.

She peaked up from behind a bluff....her inquisitive head lifted on her long graceful neck. She twisted her head and saw me, and with a wet snuffling, disappeared back into the water, not to be seen again. Lucky for me I had my disposable camera with me.

I bought the wrong kind of underwear

When I bought underwear earlier this week? I screwed up.

I shoulda bought these.

You won't see THAT at H&M or your local annoying grocery store...though it would go a long way to making Norwegians much happier grocery shoppers!

Possible Human Rights Violation?

Here is an article in Aftenposten about the deplorable state of the au pairs living in Norway. One of the quotes from the article is as follows:

"All of the girls I interviewed worked over 30 hours a week, many up to 45 hours."

Oh God NO! Everyone, we MUST do something NOW! OVER 30 HOURS A WEEK? This is just intolerable and must be stopped NOW! I'll provide the protest signs, you all meet me at the Storting tomorrow, ok? We'll protest this evil, horrible abuse of poor over-worked girls. Here's a chant: "Hey hey....ho ho....30 hours a week has got to go hey hey....ho ho....!"

The article goes on to say that these girls are forced to: "Scrub toilets, wake up in the middle of the night to comfort crying children and tons of housework, this is reality for many of them," Hovdan said."

Um....excuse me, but isn't that also called motherhood? I'm just checking here.......

blah

I guess this posting can just be called a "blahg".

Not much to report. Rainy shitty cool weather. The kind you want to nap through.

Monday I bought all new bras and underwear because I realized mine were in such a sad state of repair that it was embarrassing. Especially as I used to manage a Victoria's Secret. You'd think I, of all people, would have decent undies. But no, it was to a point where if something happened that necessitated my being picked up in an ambulance, I would make them first stop by my house so I could change into the one decent pair I still owned. That I save for special occasions. Like death.....
But it's all ok, now, I can die decently clad in soft microfibers and matching sets. All bought at H&M. I must say, though, that I like my American underwear size much better than my European one. My US size is size 7. With a 36D bra. Here I'm a 42 underwear (AYIIEEE! That's 6 times bigger!) and an 80D bra size. Damn that metric system to hell. It just sounds fat.

I took the car to the Subaru dealership to see what they would offer me for it. They will try to low ball me, of course, but their lowball is so laughably high by US standards that if I can just get them a little higher, I will get more for it than I paid for it new in 1997. A new 2005 Subaru WRX here costs about 425,000 kroner, which at today's exchange rate is $66,500. When I say cars are expensive as hell, I do not lie. Mine, I found out today, is the only Subaru Impreza Outback Sport in all of Norway, so yeah for me having the freak car!
My poor baby was pouting on the way home, I just know it. She will feel abandoned when I sign her away. I hope she goes to a good home.

I booked a trip to London next week, to hang out with Karen. She's moving back to Canada end of the month. Ryan-fucking-Air for the flight, but at just over $100 round trip, it's the obvious option. I'll just pack light and take a xanax before I go, so I don't kill anyone.

I've also booked a super special, extra secret surprise trip for Rich's birthday, his 40th. I can't tell you where we are going, as he will read this, but I can say I am totally psyched about it.

And in July I will go to England again, this time on the ferry from Kristiansand with my friend Lesley, to her home town of Lewes. That should be a nice time, Lesley makes me laugh so hard I snort, and it will be a welcome break from the packing and the moving.

Can this post be any more boring?

Next post, more about Budapest, I promise.

The power of the link

The Manolo linked to me about my Eurovision post...and my hit count has SKYROCKETED.

It all goes to show the power of the big dogs on the web. Here's lil' ol' me, with a hit count of about 125 a day (which, honestly, I am thrilled about, I feel like the popular kid in class) and then Manolo links to me....and so far I have gotten about 700 hits in one day from his link. Sheesh!

The Manolo, he is the all powerful, he is the most generous of the benefactors, sharing the wealth and the linkage of the web.

I bought a pair of the shoes today, in the honor of the Manolo. Cute ones, too. The Manolo would approve.

Eurovision song contest; what's not to love?

First, I need to quote from the brilliant Terry Wogan, the British commentator for the eurovision Song Contest:

"The Eurovision Song Contest is rubbish," he declares. "It is a piece of huge, grandiose, magnificent rubbish...and I love it. The British are the only people in Europe to have got the joke, while everybody else takes it terribly seriously. Even in Ireland, where there is wonderful cynicism, they think it's a song contest rather than an exercise in foolishness."

"Anyway, it's no longer a song contest. It's a dancing contest with scantily clad girls galloping in the background while the presenters paw each other."

Last night Rich and I stayed up until 1:30 am to watch the most stunningly cheesy event in worldwide television, the Eurovision Song Contest. 600 million people watch this soul sucking event. It's like a train wreck you can't look away from. We are lucky enough to get the BBC broadcast of it, complete with Wogan's guffaw inducing commentary. (My favorites? When the show first started and the announcer was about to talk, Terry quips, in his deepest baritone, "And now, here is a man with a very deep voice". I also giggled at his comments on the dancers, usually along the lines of "And look, not a bit of cellulite on that stage at present". )

If he did not comment, I know I would not be able to stomach it. It's just bloody awful. And bloody wonderful. I want to make a drinking game out of it. Do they even show it in the US? I know I never saw it. If they do, you can bet that when I get back to Austin, I am so having a party and everyone will get plastered. You almost have to be drunk to watch it properly. I mean, if you are gonna throw up, you might as well at least be drunk when doing it.

They've been doing the contest for fifty years. The Eurovision is where we first met Abba and Celine Dion. (Whether that is a good thing or not, is entirely your choice.) Eurovision is where you get to see some of the most humdrum, plastic, pre-programmed and robotic acts in the world. Where you see costumes so bad, you really just have to wonder who the hell came up with them. (Like the Hungarian act. Could they not afford the other half of her pants? Surely they could have come up with the 50 forints need to give her two pant legs, and not just one?) Where you see that pop music is truly only about how you look, and apparently this year, about how many drums you can fit on a stage a la Stomp. Every act had a big drum number. Do they all have the same manager? And the same, apparently one-eyed, costume designer?

The show was broadcast from Kiev, Ukraine, and I gotta give them big props for doing a great job. The Ukraine has been through so much in the past year, it felt like this was their big celebration of freedom. Too bad their "hosts" were wooden androids with the spontaneity of a tree stump. My God they were bad. Hilariously, wondrously, impersonate-ably, bad. They are supposed to act like they are hot for each other, this man and woman, but you could tell they could hardly stand to be near each other. Absolutely no chemistry, but lots of fake smiles and oh-so-stilted witty banter.

And why is it that though the broadcast is in English, and all the bands and the presenters and everyone speaks English, the French and ONLY the French get their own translations? At the end of the show, all the residents of all countries in Europe (39 of them!) call in and vote for whom they think should win. These votes are tabulated and then a representative for each country calls in to the show (via satellite) and announces which act gets the points from that country. Everyone does this in English EXCEPT the French. And the announcements/point awards from each country are also translated into French. How come the French get special treatment, and not the Germans? I think there might be more German speakers than French in Europe. And what about Italians or Spanish? That has always bugged me. The French are the ONLY ones to not speak English. And after you have heard the French word for "points" repeated 9 times for each of the 39 countries voting, you really start to hate that damn word.

"Un Pwaah" " Deuh Pwaah" "Twah Pwaah".......... AAAGGHH! Up to the number 12, 39 effing times!!!!!!

Greece was the winner. As for who I was rooting for, it was, in order of preference: Latvia, Moldova, Malta, Ukraine and Norway.

Norway wins, hands down, for the most cheesy retro silliness ever. A pseudo-ironic yet also serious faux-80's hair band called "WigWam". Wow, it was just mind boggling. Only in Norway would these guys ever get as far as they have. Like the Darkness mixed with Rat, Poison and Guns n Roses, with a little Spinal Tap all rolled in. One of their songs (I see ads on TV for their album constantly) is entitled "It's Hard to Be a Rock n Roller".

Overall, though, I give this Eurovision a 10. Or, as my nightmares will remind me, "Dix Pwaah".

By the way, Tracey over at Studio Zoe posted on Eurovision last year. Here is her post. What a stud she is...she even VOTED! But I would have voted for Germany, too. Is Schlager like kitsch?

Clowns

Clowns, posted by blackbird.

I got this off of Blackbird's flickr site.
This is the funniest thing I have ever seen. Unless you are a clown, of course. Then maybe it's not so funny.

In Which the Austin Connection Surfaces

Rich and I, during our wanderings around Budapest, kept passing a little place that we were both intrigued by. In an old building, it had a nice ornate sign outside embellished with grapes and vines, so it was obviously wine focused, but when you looked into the interior it looked like nothing so much as a total 1950's dive bar/lounge. Tattered linoleum, an old counter covered in flaking formica, home made art on the walls, a back room filled with benches, locals splayed about inside emitting a miasma of smoke so thick you could chew it. Old style leftover decor from the time when Hungary was still under the control of Russia and the communists. A time warp.

In other words, our kind of place.

So, one night after a nice (cheap!) meal at a local restaurant, we ventured inside. I was a bit trepidatious, as I figured a place like that, so obviously for the locals, would be a bit unwelcoming for us tourists. It's called a Borozo, or wine bar, of the old style. Not one of them new fangled schmantzy expensive ones. Wine in Hungary is the drink of the common man, beer being an aspirational drink brought in by foreigners at different times in the past. Your nice average locals go to the Borozo, where decent Hungarian wines can be had for about 50 cents a glass, ladelled out from a bucket by the guy behind the counter. It's not a wine snobs' wine bar, in fact it's the absolute opposite, but the wine is good, cheap and plentiful. And the atmosphere? Well, it's like stepping back in time.

Rich got the red wine. I wanted a Tokaji, which is the justifiably famous white wine grown in Hungary. The man, who spoke tolerably good English, asked if I wanted sweet or dry. I asked for medium. I learned quickly in our days there that sweet Tokaji is a dessert wine kind of sweet, and I wanted something in the middle.

The man paused a second, shrugged and said, "Ok". Then he ladeled out half a glass of dry, half a glass of sweet, mixed the two and said, "Here is medium". I just giggled and said thanks. I loved his prosaic handling of my request.

We paid the man his dollar for the wines and sat on a nearby bench, I with my compromise wine and Rich with his musky, rich red. The glasses were tumblers, held about 6 ounces, and were filled to the brim. You get alot of wine for your money in these places.

There were two rooms in the place, a back room filled with people, and the front, where the bar was, not so full. The back room was where the action was, but there was no seats for us to join the fray, so we say up front, where the people in there sat, drank, and focussed on the TV on the wall.

There was a movie with Dennis Quaid and Meg Ryan playing. I was impressed at their fluent Hungarian. Really good. Who knew they were such good linguists?

Suddenly, there on the screen, was the Texas Capitol building. And there was Congress Street! And holy crap, is that a scene in the Continental Club? By God, it was! We were watching D.O.A., a Meg Ryan Dennis Quaid flick filmed in Austin in 1987-1988. I remember it because people would point out to me the house in Hyde Park where they filmed it, and all the gossip flying about town when Meg and Dennis got together during the filming of the movie. I was in college then, and living not far from the filming locations.

Rich and I started laughing and freaking out, at how strange it was to be watching a movie filmed in our hometown, while sitting in this completely foreign (to us) place. So strange to see such familiar landmarks right there on screen, with Dennis Quaid cursing in Hungarian and Meg's oddly high pitched voice sighing her lines in soft sibilances. And then thinking about where our lives were in 1988, and us having no clue that we might be watching that movie, the subject of so much Austin gossip, in 2005 in Budapest Hungary. Strange how life works out at times, isn't it?

We told the bartender that the movie was filmed in our hometown, but I think he was less than impressed. He just shrugged, and spooned out Rich another cheap wine.

She's Baaa-aacck!

I'm back from Budapest.

Just got back a few minutes ago.

We had a great time, what an interesting city! And Budapest is CHEAP. I found it hard to spend money. I repeat, I (Queen Shopper) found it hard to spend money. Oh, shit, I have to pick my Mom up off the floor, she just fainted at that statement. But yes, the shopping still is not quite up to the usual EU standards, and prices are really cheap, so it was hard to go nuts and spend too much. Plus Hungarian money? Wierd. 200 forints to the dollar, and I can tell you that 1000 forints ($5.00) goes a helluva long way. Rich and I got two glasses of wine at a borozo (Soviet style wine bar) for 250 forints....but more on the borozo later.

The lack of internet cafes in Budapest is complete and distressing in the extreme. The one I did manage to find consisted of two ancient computers (do the numbers 486x mean anything?), one of which was broken, the other being used by a very smelly, moist fat man looking at porn. I did not stay. So sorry for my silence of late.

I am a bit pooped, so will make this a short post, with more to come tomorrow and days following, but will leave you with this vivid piece of travel information:

Toilet paper in Budapest is not so much quilted as it is corrugated. If you like soft paper, I suggest bringing your own sandpaper or butcher paper, it would be a vast improvement over the usual stuff provided in toilets everywhere.

official badge of evil

Okapi has made me my very own badge. She made it honor of this post.

This is the coolest thing EVER. I think I managed to get it on the sidebar, at the top of the buttons. I am not sure that I did it right, however, so if I did it wrong, Okpai, you will tell me, yes? (I am not sure how Idid it, actually, but it worked, and so I am not one to quibble. You know, evil and all? Quibbling is not evil...just annoying. )

You are my Official Evil Compatriate, Class 1. Go forth and be Evil.

easy for them to say

I'm going to Budapest tomorrow. So it might be a bit quiet on the Texpatriate pages for a few days.

I know nothing about Budapest, but just found out that it is famous for its spas and thermal baths. This is very good news. Very good news indeed. I am a spa WHORE, people. I love them spas. Gimme hot water in which to immerse myself and I am a happy camper.

I also just looked up how to get to the hotel. Here are the directions:

From the airport:

- take the LRI Airport minibus (shuttlebus),
- take the BKV Plussz-Reptér bus to Köbánya-Kispest then take Metro 3 to Deák tér, change to line no.2 then ride to Batthyány tér then take tram no.19 for 1 stop to Halász utca

Uh-oh! Maybe there is a spa on the way.....

Driving my Penis

I was talking to Rich the other day, saying how I was feeling a bit sad at the idea of selling my car.

You see, like all good Texans, I have never been without a car from the moment I got my drivers license at age 16. My car is an extension of myself, a suggestion of who I am and the way I want to be seen. It's a part of me, like an arm. It's also damned useful, and, more importantly, really fun to drive. Sometimes it's my release; to just drive, anywhere, is to feel free and unencumbered, I can crank the music and fly wherever I want. But, since moving to Norway, my beloved little Subaru is becoming more of a luxury than a necessity. So the decision has been made to sell it, to help with the expenses of the posh new pad.

But, though I know it's the right decision, I can't help but have some pangs about it. I mean, no car means I must rely on (gasp!) public transportation! Raise your hand if you are from Texas and have used public transportation for anything more than a class trip or a trip to the airport. Yeah, see? No hands.

So I was trying to express these feeling to Rich, of loss of freedom and possibilities unexplored.

He just looked at me and said "So? I've never owned my own car." (Which is true, but he was always provided a company car, so it's not like he never had one.)

"And", he continued, "it's not like you use it all the time. It just sits in the garage. And you could rent one if you needed one."

I just kind of looked at him and said "Yeah, maybe. Still....you don't use your penis all the time, but you would miss it wouldn't you? Even though it just sits in your shorts? It's nice to know it's there, waiting for you when you need it. And rental penises are just not the same as having your own, are they?"

I think he got the point. So, when I sell my penis, I know I can rent another one, but damn I will miss having my own.

JOIN

Bookhart just posted the coolest image ever on her blog. Her 'Austin Talisman'. I remember her having that poster in her dorm in college.

Read her story. Damn she rocks.

Did I mention.....

sauna nyah nyah, originally uploaded by karlakp.

the sauna?

Don't hate me. I'm just a lucky geek.

The wait is over

We got the flat.

Thank Effing God! I was starting to rattle and shake from nerves, like a punked out old car in its last throes of life. I was really worried that the Gods of Cool would see right through me, know that I was not hip enough for such a sweet joint, and throw a wrench in the works. No matter how much you pretend and dress yourself up in your own personal version of hip, once a dork always a dork. And I am the Uber dork. (Is there a twelve step program for dorks? If so, tell me where.)

But yeah, we got the flat. SWEEET!

Groovy gatherings and cocktail parties to come. I need to start wearing tight 60's dresses and stiletto heels.*

(*Note to self: learn to walk in heels.)
(*Additional note to self: Might want to learn how to walk without falling over in flat shoes, first.)
(*Additional additonal note to self: Do they do training wheels for stilettos? That might be an option.)
(**Addendum to additional notes: Drink less coffee.)

that is scottish

that is scottish, originally uploaded by karlakp.

I managed to get a tourist free shot of a guard at Edinburgh Castle. I like the pompom on his hat. This picture could be anytime from 1850-now, don't you think?

Serendipitous Knight

R001-002, originally uploaded by karlakp.

A serendipitous moment at Edinburgh castle. There goes a knight on his way to work, duffel bag in hand.
I was just standing there, being all touristy, and there he went, clanking past me. It was really crowded that day, but somehow I managed to get a picture of this guy just walking by, with no one else getting into the frame. I am so glad I had black and white film in the camera.

Tracey over at Studio Zoe has given me a great idea for a story to go with him. All about your Average Joe Knight (OoH! good title!) going about his daily Knight grind.....

Hello? Goodbye.

My Hello photo posting software has stopped working. No matter what I do, install, un-install, delete and do it all again, it WILL NOT LET ME LOG IN. I think that the new Windows service pack has something to do with it, that they are not compatible, but whatever, I refuse to mess with it. Life is too short to argue with a computer. I am not one to go on and on messing with software and operating systems. Uh uh, no way. It works or it does not. If it doesn't, I go somewhere else.

I found Flickr. I'll be using that from now on, as soon as it get it figured out. But it looks pretty cool so far. And more flexible than Hello.

Wish me luck.

I know why guns are not legal here

Gggrrrrr....aaarrrggg.

It's one of those days. Started off by going to the grocery store and having a lady RUN OVER MY FOOT with her cart. Apparently I was in her way, and she wanted to get by me.

Hey, Cart Lady, ever hear of the phrase "Excuse me?" I know it's not often used here in Norway, but it will certainly make me move out of the way better than you crashing your cart into me. I am a fairly large obstacle and running your cart into me will just make you stop, NOT GO! And, you punk ass BITCH, I was wearing tall sandals, and so if you think you can push past me by crushing my toes with your cart wheels, well, you are about to open up a 6'2" can of major pissed off Texan whoop ass on your sorry Norwegian rude self. Really, just freaking say "Excuse me" and I will happily move aside. I promise!

AND, while I am on a roll here, hey you, little Miss Check Out Girl? Yeah, you. When you see me with 4 litres of milk, a dozen cans of various food stuffs, vegetables, bread, chicken and other assorted cold products, do you REALLY need to ask if I need a bag? And when I say yes, maybe, just by the law of averages and numbers larger than 10, you might be able to notice that I need MORE THAN ONE!? I am paying for them, after all, and yes, I do need more than one. Unless you enjoy me picking up all my broken groceries from the floor after the one stinking bag you give me breaks because it is overloaded with 15 pounds of stuff?????? YES I NEED THE FUCKING BAG!

OH, and I'm so not done yet. Now we are on to you, Miss Dirty Looks at the Plant Store Girl. Now, you were hogging the whole aisle, just standing there right in the middle of it. I was loaded down with plants, because I am trying like hell to be a good neighbor and make my yard look a little better for the big Norwegian Independence Day coming up. See, I am TRYING here. Trying to fit in with the Norwegian customs and get the yard all nice in respect for YOUR holiday. So, when I say EXCUSE ME, (and in Norwegian, mind you) maybe you could move aside for me? I know, you have never heard that phrase before, but maybe you could move your FAT ASS out of my way so that I can get by. No, instead you give me a dirty look like I am personally insulting you by walking down YOUR aisle. Well, fuck you too, because I could have, and by then would gleefully have, run a cart into your low-rise-with -the -back -fat -hanging -over-the-waist- jeaned ass, but I did not because I know how I felt when that damn lady did it to me earlier. I was trying to be NICE. But hey, fuck you too, I'll play your games, and so from now on? I just push and shove, just like you, and fuck being polite. Why bother? Really?

ANY questions? Repeat after me: "Please", "excuse me" and "thank you". That's really all I want. It's not too much to ask!!!!!!!!!

And no, I have not heard about the flat yet, except the landlord is still reading the contract. Either it's a really big contract or he is a really slow reader.

Dear Mom

Dear Mom,

First let me apologize for not sending you a card. However, having known me all my life, you know that I am terrible at actually mailing stuff. I think I have a slight post office phobia. I have three care packages sitting here right now that have yet to be sent, and I believe the small children for whom the presents are meant will be in college bythe time they get them.

That being said, I am also sorry that I have not sent you flowers. I wanted to, but my credit cards were stolen and I still have not gotten the replacements. My purchasing power is shot to hell. Rich seems gleeful about this. I wonder why.

Now that it is firmly established that I am a shit-assed non-present sending daughter, let me tell you the following:

I love you more each time I talk to you. You totally rock, and i am so glad that i can count you as a friend now, and some one I can talk to as a person and as a woman. I know I wasn't an easy kid to raise (though compared to that brother of mine, I was a fair walk in the park, wasn't I?) and I sometimes wish I could go back and just kick my own ass for some of the stuff I did and said when I was younger. But I guess that's part of getting older, isn't it, wising up and realizing what an ABSOLUTE BONEHEAD you've been all your life. I am still a bonehead, but at least now I recognize it, and I just want to say thanks for dealing with me all these years. By rights, and you would have been forgiven, I am sure, you should have put me in the burlap sack and tossed my annoying ass in the pond, there to sink or swim, but you didn't and for that I say thank you.

You are one hell of a wonderful woman; patient, kind, funny, goofy and opinionated.
When you sing "You Are My Sunshine" in your vaguely Marlene Deitrich Teutonic lilt, (after my ears stop bleeding), I laugh and sing along with you.
When I am sick, the first thing I say is "I want my MOMMY!"
When I buy that 6th pair of cute black sandals, or that skirt that shows off my waist just so, I think "Gee, I need to tell Mom about this. She'd understand!".
When you tell Dad to "Stop grunting!", I grimace because I realize that I say the same damned thing to Rich when HE chews too loudly, and that I have become my mother . But you know what? It ain't so bad. There are worse people I could be.

I can't think of any at the moment, but I know there are....

Mom I love you so much and just want to wish you a very happy Mother's Day, even if I am lame and not there and didn't send a card (see:"Phobia").

Can I make it up to you in jewelry when next I see you? Somehow, methinks you won't say no...

Love,
Karla

So today, when I was putting back a cast iron pot and it fell out of the stupid frigging cabinet that it is supposed to stay in, because the stupid frigging cabinet is too small for my rather large collection of cooking pots, and they all fall out and usually land on my toe and it really pisses me off ..... I thought longingly of this kitchen in the flat that I am STILL WAITING TO HEAR ON.

The corner fridge? It's in the corner! Right there! Yeah, over on the left, you can barely see it, next to the separate freezer.

Oh man, excuse me, please, I need another cold shower. I have house lust.

So I am Hunter S Thompson ?

You are Spider Jerusalem.
Spider is THE journalist of the future. He smokes,
he does drugs, and he kicks ass. The drugs are
going to eventually kill him but not before he
gets his way. And his way is the demise of the
failed American dream. Although full of hate,
he cares about his city. All he wants to bring
the world is truth. Spider Jerusalem,
conscience of the City. Frightening thought,
but he's the only one we've got.


What Gritty No Nonsense Comic Book Character are You?
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Well, at least I am a writer.....an ASS kicking writer!