Drunk Texas Star

IMG-20120628-01607.jpg, a photo by karlakp on Flickr.

A night was had last night.

You've got one hungover Texpatriate blogging today. Last night was quite the night.

It started off innocuously enough. My friend Karen (The Blogless Scot) met some Texans carrying guitars on a tram, and found out they had a gig in Oslo on Thursday. She let me know about it,  so we decided to go for a bit of country music and boot scootin' fun.

It was so nice to feel that little bit of home. Hear the music, the Texas lilt of word and song, the way they would describe Texas landscapes and places in the music. Every song was about Texas in some way. It was balm for my soul. Brennen Leigh has a gorgeous voice, and she also writes some really good, funny and sweet duets that she sings with Noel McKay. There was a hysterical one about vacationing in Lubbock, which, if you know even a little bit about Texas, is not exactly a vacationing hot spot.

What was also fun about this show was that I, a Texan, attended it with a Welshwoman (my coworker Becky) and a Scot (Karen) where we sat with an Icelander who tried his best to dance with any of us, and on stage were Norwegians who I swear, when they sang, did better Texas accents than the real Texans. Those Norwegians WERE Texans when they sang. I loved it.

We left after Brennen Leigh's band were finished, and Karen and I said good night to Becky, as we live close to each other and Becky had to go a different direction,  just after the above picture was taken. (My phone died right after, so much for live tweeting the rest of the evening,) Karen and I walked up the block to encounter.....Pride Oslo. 

I should mention, I have been hankering to go out for a bit of dancing lately. Old skool, DJ beats, booty shakin', bass-thumping, thighs-are-tired dancing. So imagine my glee when there, right in the way for me to get home, is a freaking DJ playing some really good loud music, people dancing and laughing, bars in tents all around. It's like someone conveniently plonked a nightclub down for me to fall into. And fall into it Karen and I did.

We were greeted early on by a young Norwegian woman who shoved a shot (of vodka?) into Karen's face, who gamely necked it down. (A free shot in Norway? That's practically a miracle.) We grabbed some rosé at the bar (Gay Pride! Almost all the drinks were pink! Woo!) and commenced boogying. And boogying. AND boogying. What fun! We laughed, we drank (too much, oh too much), I was told how fabulous I was by admiring gay boys (well, I AM, dammit, and they loved my glasses) and Karen, being the most awesome people person, would randomly stop some pretty gay boy, start talking to him, and be his best friend within 3 seconds. That girl could charm the most mysterious spy into giving up all his secrets, she is just that easy to talk to. We were photographed by the official photographer of the party, so I think Karen and I have just been outed as Oslo's newest lesbian couple.

Needless to say, I thought, perhaps, when we first stumbled (literally) upon that party, that I was headed for a late night, and it was so.  We stumbled in, and hours later we staggered out of there around 2am, drunk as lords, giggling and laughing. Two Norwegian guys, also drunk, and hollering out their very NOT GAY status (gee, thanks, like I couldn't tell, gay boys would never have been such assholes) came up behind us as we left and grabbed a hearty handful of my ass. (I am not really sure what is going on, lately, but my ass seems to be an object of Norwegian drunk male desire.  Thats fine, I've worked hard on its improvement, but must they keep grabbing it? Can't they just nicely look?) We fended them off and then set off walking home, Karen and I, past the grounds of the Royal Palace and beyond. It was too late for a bus.

Karen, being possessed of quite possibly the world's smallest and most active bladder, which she tortures by filling with large amounts of cider and beer, realized, rather urgently, as we passed the Palace, that she had to pee. Luckily, it seems, Norwegian gardeners at the palace have nicely thought about errant Scottish bladders and have placed some very convenient bushes around the perimeters of the grounds. We found a likely prospect and Karen ducked behind it to offload some of the excess Bulmers. I was set to guard. Unfortunately, she kept making jokes while she was peeing, and I got rather giggly thinking about her peeing on the grounds of the Royal Palace behind a bush, and I kept laughing and she kept joking and one thing led to another and suddenly Karen's Pee Guard (me) went ass over applecorn into the protective pee bush. It was a big bush, a comfortable bush, and  the bit I landed in was nowhere near Karen's undignified activity, me being in the front of the bush (guard, remember?) her at the back. I really hope there is not a security camera anywhere that caught that on film, that bush rattling around as I extricated my giggling snorting self backwards out of it. I could hear Karen scuttling around back there, wondering what the hell was happening, and when she came out she said I was fired as guard for falling down on the job. That just made me laugh harder.

We carried on up the road, doing that walk where you are really quite sure you are going  perfectly straight until you catch yourself sort of veering off course, so you correct yourself, maybe too fast, and then sent yourself ricocheting in the other direction. You know that walk? Yeah, we bounced off each other like pinballs, bing bing bing!

We split off from each other, each of us having a further 2 blocks to go, and I wended my way home and upstairs. Home around 2am. Judging from the scatter of clothes, purse, shoes, etc, I pretty much just started undressing at the front door and left whatever I removed where it lay. Rich tried to wake me up this morning, was unsuccessful, and left me to it.

I woke up in full makeup, massive headache, one sock on and not much else, and the realization that I drunk facebooked my status for everyone to see before I passed out. I need a breathalizer for my computer.

Sunday miscellaneous, vintage jewelry and Ethiopian crosses

IMG-20120624-01598.jpg, a photo by karlakp on Flickr.

Rainy day blahs, tidying, fixing and making stuff.

I needed to fix a few items in my large vintage jewelry collection, some stuff inherited, some bought over time. Some stones and stuff had fallen out, so I gathered what I could find and stuck them back where they belong. I'm a bit woozy from the glue, right now. ;-)

There are some interesting items in my collections, the bracelet on the left is a very collectible signed bracelet by ART with green stones and little Buddhas all over it, the two brooches in the middle (green circle and topaz twist) were my grandmother's, from the 50's,  and they are both signed as well. (Vintage jewelry nerds are all about the stamp on the back.) The Maltese cross brooch is something I've had, I got it on Ebay, quite a few years ago. I liked the blue contrasted with the carnelian color.

The big honking bracelet at top I call the Cadillac, as it is huge and has the most interesting stones. I think it could be worth something on Ebay, even though it is not signed, but once I was out dancing and it fell off my wrist on the dance floor and practically exploded, stones went everywhere. I crawled around on that dance floor for about 10 minutes, weaving between people's boogying feet (though a bunch of people laughingly joined me in the search and it almost became a big writhing game of "GATOR!"), gathering stones all around, and got back all but one, which had broken too badly to be fixed. The bracelet has been glued back together rather successfully, and the one broken stone replaced by a facsimile of the original. Now when I wear it I take thread and tie it on to my wrist so it won't fall off. It weighs a ton, it is really a Cadillac of bracelets. hard to wear to work as it interferes with my accessing my keyboard.

The silver necklace at bottom I just made from some pieces given to me by a very sweet friend at work. She is Ethiopian, and the Ethiopians make the most gorgeous and unique silver crosses. (I suppose there is no surprise in the statement that i have a small collection of those as well? I was well into crosses as an ironic statement in college, and have some gorgeous ones.) Anyhow, she gave me the silver cross and some corollary small beads, which I strung onto a leather cord with a few extra bits for contrast.  I shall wear it to work tomorrow to surprise her.

It's a rainy Sunday. Time to do a few little put-off chores, read a little, watch a video. I'm skipping the workout today, can't face the weather or the spandex, plus I did have a little workout on Friday so that can tide me over until Monday. (Day 2. Ladies, you know what I mean.)

Greg Proops in London

When I was planning to go to London, I saw that Greg Proops was going to record one of his "Smartest Man in the World" podcasts while I was there, so I got some tickets in the hope that Bookhart, my dear friend from college and beyond, might come with me. I love his podcast, he just riffs on stuff, and he really is fucking amazingly intelligent. There is nothing he doesn't know something about.

Even if she couldn't come, I was still going to go, tickets were cheap, it was at the Soho Theatre on Dean Street, and I am comfortable doing these sorts of things on my own. Luckily, she did come with me, which made it way more fun.

I got to meet Greg Proops just before his show. I was in the bar, he was in the bar, I said hi. It was cool. He has a large head, (every celebrity I've ever met seems to have a large head, Anthony Hopkins having the BIGGEST one I have EVER seen), and he is about my height, no taller.

Here is the link to the podcast if you want to listen to it. Apparently there were some technical issues and they had to start it mid-stream, which means you miss some funny shit about penguins and Arctic exploration. (The best part, really.)

http://smartest.libsyn.com/webpage/formulae

If you know me and Bookhart, you can hear us laughing in the recording. (Well, I hear Bookhart, quite a bit, she has a deep and hearty laugh, I can't say that I hear myself, but maybe it's just one of those things that I know how Bookhart sounds when she laughs, but I am not actually sure how I sound, so can't identify myself?) (Also, I am not the 'Woo Girl" in the front. Promise. Why is there always a fucking 'Woo Girl" in the front row?)

If you get it off iTunes, it is the "Smartest Man in the World" podcast, and the episode is "Formulae".

midsummer night 2012

IMG-20120621-01581.jpg, a photo by karlakp on Flickr.

Reading in the park on Midsummer night. This was around 9pm.

brooches and ouches

IMG-20120616-01565.jpg, a photo by karlakp on Flickr

Me all dressed up for the big company party last night. (I wish I photographed better, but the dress looks nice.) There's a story about the brooches on my dress....

(edit)(the next day)
Last night my company had a big 50 year birthday party extravaganza. It was quite the shindig. We were all told to dress formal, so most of us showed up pretty well kitted out. I had planned to wear a long dress, but the weather was crap and I didn't really feel like worrying about the hem of my dress in wet, so I wore the shorter dress, above, instead. I like that dress, it's really comfortable and does good things for my curves. I went the extra mile and wore it with fishnets, it looks good like that.

Anyhow, if you look closely you will see there is a brooch at my waist, and if you look closer, you might see that there is another one just like it at my shoulder. The brooch is a vintage cameo with bronze rhinestones and filigree by HAR, just like this one on ebay, in fact. (That link probably won't be there long.) When I was in England, I went to Stratford-upon-Avon with my friends Jan and Pete, and we happened upon a little arts/crafts/vintage market right by the theatre in the middle of town. One table was nothing but vintage jewelry (a weakness of mine, one of many). I saw the brooch and realized, hmm, I think I have one of those. The lady selling the jewelry was very knowledgeable, and in general, jewelry geeks recognize each other as fellow souls, so we fell to talking about jewelry and so on, and she told me the history of the brooch, and was fair blown away when I told her that I already had one. It had been my grandmother's, my Omi, who had astoundingly good taste in all things, but especially in jewelry and brooches. (Though maybe, of course, I say her taste is so good because it is MY taste, most likely genetically inherited from her. It is scary how much alike she and I were in our tastes for things.)

So I bought the brooch, as an homage to my grandmother and also thinking it might be cool to have a matched set. And, yep, it matched perfectly the one I already had, so last night's outfit was decorated with my grandmother's brooch and the one I bought in England, a perfect set, and I honestly think my grandmother would have approved.

Even though I was looking rather elegant and grown up, these company parties always, by the end of the evening, devolve into nothing more than a bunch of well-dressed former teenagers acting up and being stupid. It's a mix of factors: Norwegian penchant for drinking until you can't stand up anymore, Norwegian hospitality which demands lashings of alcohol and the reciprocal appreciation of that alcohol by guzzling as much of it as possible (also, it's free, better get it now!), the party starting very early (5pm!) and lasting very late (2am!), too long of a delay until dinner and then not enough food when it does come (we were STARVING and were about ready to go get cheeseburgers after the tiny appetizer).  Dinner was a three course affair, the food was good, but there just wasn't enough of it.

So, by the time dinner was over, people were in rare form from the drink. Once the dance floor opened, it was pretty crazy, and I don't think the dance floor was big enough to handle all the enthusiastic Norwegians. Enthusiastic, somewhat handsy Norwegians, judging by the number of ass-grabs I experienced out there. Then, at one point, during a particularly raucous song,  I was dancing with a guy, a coworker, who was actually a very good dancer, very strong lead, which I need as I don't actually know how to dance, when a woman flailed her arm out and popped me right in the nose. I heard it crack, a little "snick" noise. There was no blood, but I got biffed but hard, and I think my nose is a little broken. Not BADLY broken, but just enough to cause me some pain and if I rub my nose in one direction it kills. My face is sore today.

Ah well, over all it was a fun party. We even had entertainment by a Eurovision winner, Alexander Rybak? He won the Eurovision in 2009.

where i want to be

IMG-20120609-01504.jpg, a photo by karlakp on Flickr.

Wish i was back on this walk. That was a very nice day.

tea

IMG-20120610-01545.jpg, a photo by karlakp on Flickr.

Tea time!

Stratford upon Avon

IMG-20120610-01537.jpg, a photo by karlakp on Flickr.

Stratford upon Avon. Along the Avon.

Ancient English pub

IMG-20120609-01515.jpg, a photo by karlakp on Flickr.

Dinner and drinks, after a long walk, at an ancient pub by a millpond. This is the view from inside the pub, looking out to the pond.

A walk in the countryside near Leamington Spa

IMG-20120609-01496.jpg, a photo by karlakp on Flickr.

Walk in the English countryside. Gorgeous fields of wheat and the unfortunately named "rapeseed". Old church with graveyard, through and around to a stream and a millpond (with swans, of course) and a great pub, and then near that ruins! Every American's fantasy of what a walk in the English countryside should be. A GREAT day.

trying to make a change

IMG-20120608-01480.jpg, a photo by karlakp on Flickr.

Today I got a manicure.

The first one I have had since I was 16.

See, the deal is, I am a nail biter. (Wow, I feel like I just went to an AA meeting. Hello, I am a Nail Biter.) I pick, I pull, I nibble, I go at it like a little bunny. Nibble nibble nibble. That shit has to stop and stop now. I have HAD it with having shitty nails.

So I got over my embarrassment, my negative self image, and my reluctance to admit this nasty habit and went to a nail spa at Liberty's in London, and on the spur of the moment made an appointment.

It was the right place to go to, they practically specialize in people like me, people with nails that need extra TLC. The girl who did my manicure was SO sweet, and she told me she used to bite her nails, too, and it's hard to get over, but frequent manicures is the way to do it. Not only that, but she told me to go for red or bright colors that stand out, so you aren't tempted to mess with it, as it shows if you do and it makes you stop.

So. here I am. Jungle red.  I am keeping this shit UP. I don't want long nails, but I want to have SOME nails. God I can't stop looking at them. They will look GREAT with the red lace dress I bought at Jaeger.

Did I mention I love London?

I love London bullet post

Some reasons why I love London:

• Shoes, even at full price, are half the price of Norwegian ones. (I bought two pairs today.)
• People here are NICE.
• I bought some new glasses today, at a shop I had been to maybe 6 years ago. 
• The guy REMEMBERED me. Not only did he remember me, he remembered the glasses I bought, that I live in Oslo and that I am from Texas. Holy crap!
• I love my new glasses.
• I love people who love nerdy glasses. We are the blind, the proud, the nerdy!
• Today I saw a huge, manly, beefy tattooed guy standing outside a pub drinking...rosé. Real Men Drink Pink!
• Right after that, I went into a take away sushi place and there was another big burly tattooed guy buying a little sushi plate. 
• My sushi plate was bigger than his. Heh. 
• I like British guys, they live how they want and don't care what people think.
• They look great in suits too. 
• This hotel has the best bar ever. 
• Cozy, small, posh but comfortable. 
• Fabulous clientele (all in nerd glasses, so I fit right in) 
• Friendly staff. 
• Had lunch with my aunt and uncle today.
• I gave my aunt the ancient and HUGE family atlas that my grandparents had given me.
• She's the family historian so it seemed right to do so. 
• Also I don't have kids to hand it down to.
• She loved it. 
• That thing weighs a good 14 lbs. 
• A right bitch to carry in my suitcase.
• BUT I can buy stuff to take its place so yeay. 
• Anyhow, we went to a place called Delaunay, on Aldwych, a Viennese style restaurant. 
• It was REALLY good. 
• One of the best schnitzels I have ever had. 
• It was listed in this week's Time Out as one of the 100 places you have to eat in London.
• It started raining hard while we were eating. 
• I literally squelched through London today.
• Totally wore the wrong shoes. Little sandals?
• My feet were wet in seconds and, well, I squelched. 
• The shoes leaked dye or something and the soles of my feet are purple. 
• I hope that comes off. I don't want purple feet.
• So for dinner I had a little hotel room picnic on the floor consisting of my takeaway sushi and a glass of rosé from the bar downstairs. 
• Now I am going to watch Sunday's episode of Mad Men.
• I read what happened on Jezebel (damned spoilers) but I still can't believe it. 
• Tomorrow I wander some more, and then this weekend I will go visit some friends in Leamington Spa.
• I am going to be brave and not bring my laptop. 
• Yes, I am going MacCommando (ie, sans Mac.)
• Wish me luck.

pomegranate kir royal

IMG-20120606-01446.jpg, a photo by karlakp on Flickr.

Unbearably posh Kir Royal at the hotel bar in London. How I like it.

The hotel has a lending library with old books, I found an old favorite Georgette Heyer in there and snagged it. I am now snuggled in to this very soft bed in a very old Georgian building, looking out onto a square in Clerkenwell, and I will remain here until the morning wrapped in luxurious linens, vintage books and free internet at my command.  (Just like home, Big Bang Theory is on. That show is ubiquitous.)

crazy beautiful

IMG-20120531-01433.jpg, a photo by karlakp on Flickr.

Wow, the weirdest thing just happened. I went out on the balcony to water the flowers and saw that it was raining. Well, it was raining and the sun was out and there was a rainbow right over me. It was stunningly lovely. Then I looked again.

Wait, what? It was only raining in a 10 sq ft area, right off my balcony. Wtf? A tiny little rain shower, concentrated right in that small area, only there, right centered as if it was for me alone. I peered up and over and it wasn't coming from the roof, it was coming from the sky. No rain just a few feet to the left or right. A guy on his bike road by on the sidewalk, below me, and rode right through the little shower, looked up confusedly as he got spritzed, and carried on. The shower lasted 10 minutes or so, just a little tiny micro-rain.

I have seen some strange concentrated showers before (once in Austin it rained in my front yard, but not in the back) but never one this small. You can see below, on the street, where it is wet, and then dry all around.

So crazy. So beautiful.

muscles., construction and flowers

Perhaps it was a mistake to go have a workout today where I concentrated on my legs, when afterwards I just had to run up and down five flights of stairs 20 times moving stuff from the basement to the attics. It's like doing Stairmaster after a heavy workout AND a bike ride.

Our building is going to have yet ANOTHER round of construction work done to it, and this time it's pretty major. Right now they are re-roofing, which entails scaffolding and the constant sound of slate being cut and stuff falling from the roof. Starting June 1 they are going to tear up the basement (hence us moving all of our stuff out of storage down there), and dig all around the base of the building, and in the courtyard, and will close the coffee shop downstairs, as they rebuild the 120 year old foundations. Apparently the whole building is on wooden piers and they need to be replaced with concrete. Of course, I upped the insurance, I mean, what if the whole joint collapses? That loveliness is due to continue until the end of November.

Yippee. It seems I am just never going to find a peaceful, quiet, non-construction zone place to live in Norway. At least I'm getting some good workouts out of it. That's something, right?

Speaking of workouts, yesterday I rode my bike over to where the flower and plant sellers hangout by the Oslo Cathedral and bought my summer balcony plants. (See previous picture.) It took a bit of thinking as to how I was going to carry 12 plants home on my bike, but I rigged a basket on the back and loaded them up carefully. I felt so bloody cliché European, riding my bike with baskets full of flowers, down the (really very rough) cobbled streets and trying not to mow down the dawdling tourists. It was fun, and something I have always wanted to do. I only needed a big baguette sticking off the back to finish the picture I have always carried in my head. I am definitely in much better shape than last year, I can ride my bike anywhere and have very few problems with the hills, unlike last summer where they killed me. Well, they still hurt, and I huff and puff, of course, but I can make it up the hill without walking the bike, so that is progress. My legs are so much stronger now, I can see the definition and I am no longer sore after a ride.

I came home, got into my bikini, and pottered about in the sun filling the balcony planters with fresh dirt, pelargoniums and some other little flowers, all in shades of fuschia and pink. I miss real gardening, so for right now I just have to content myself with the balcony plants and the occasional extra pot or two. That's ok, at least I got to get my hands dirty in the cool dark dirt.

Flower day...transport

IMG-20120527-01423.jpg, a photo by karlakp on Flickr.

Time to plant the balcony flowers! When I bought this bike, I imagined it looking just like this on a summer day.

vintage summer

IMG-20120526-01391.jpg, a photo by karlakp on Flickr.

Today's outfit ca 1979 Greek Islands gauze halter and maxi skirt that my mother -in -law gave me. It's a heatwave in Oslo!

Crazy, heady days of summer

Summer has hit Oslo with a body slam of no small force.

WHAM! and it's warm. In fact, it's not even warm, it's pretty hot. Today it's supposed to hit 30C. That's above 80F for you US types. Now, I know, 80F doesn't seem that hot, until you realize that generally there is no air conditioning here, except in office buildings, and so it gets pretty warm in people's homes. Houses and apartments here are designed to keep IN warmth, not breathe it out, so it gets really hot inside.

Last night, for example, I had the windows open full bore in the bedroom, but no air came in whatsoever, it was a breezeless night, and I was uncomfortably hot.

It lead to a sleepless night.

But I got up this morning, and insouciantly tossed on a white linen sundress, bounced out of the flat with wet hair,  got on my bike, and rode to work, the breeze drying my hair, the sun warming my skin.  I think that just that ease of getting dressed in 15 minutes and not having to layer on 40 different types of clothes, is worth a little bit of sleeplessness.

And yeah, you can see a LOT of skin around Oslo right now. All the women are using every excuse to wear their showiest, flirtiest sundresses, and all the guys are hard at work showing off their pecs and toned abs. It makes for a VERY pleasant atmosphere of beautiful people watching. In general, the people watching here is some of the best in the world, perhaps, maybe, Stockholm excepted. (GOD people are gorgeous in Stockholm.)

I went to the park yesterday (see previous picture of my little parking space) and the park was PACKED with bikini and shorts clad people, white skin everywhere, as far as the eye could see. It was the whitest place I have ever been. Almost everyone had 'engangsgriller' (one use grills) and were happily grilling hot dogs and meats, drinking beer or water, and playing soccer (oh and I found out too late there were RUGBY PLAYERS having a practice, damn I was in the wrong place to see that!). I was there for a few hours, wishing someone would bring me rose, (no luck) and finally left when the smoke from 1000 little grills got a bit thick, and also, made me hungry what with all that roasty food smell.

I decided yesterday I need a minion, preferably a nice, loin-cloth clad, strong-handed male minion, who can bring me chilled wine, rub sunscreen on the places I can't get to, bring me morning coffee or sushi when wanted, and generally act to smooth the way for me so that I may waft about oblivious and pampered. I would be nice to my minion, I really would. He wouldn't even have to be an evil minion, just slightly naughty. I'd never make him do anything too onerous, he'd mostly be there to take care of the small tasks I abhor, carry things, find places for all my shoes which keep escaping their storage, and do the occasional unguent-application and back scratching, and perhaps read to me and tell me stories. In today's economy, I wonder if I could get a minion at a decent market rate?

parking

IMG-20120524-01375.jpg, a photo by karlakp on Flickr.

My parking place.....

perfection

IMG-20120521-01367.jpg, a photo by karlakp on Flickr.

Fucking gorgeous roses.

I want to be just like my mom

Today is Mother's Day in the US. I won't go into my feelings on why or why not one day a year is even enough to tell someone like a mother thank you, or why in general days like this drive me nuts because it's so manufactured and false, and that I think if you love someone you should show them that love EVERYDAY, and if you want to send them a gift just SEND IT and don't wait for a retail-sanctioned holiday. Ok, well I kind of did go into my feelings on that, whatever, I'll stop. (gets off high horse)(trips and falls. I never was much for horses)

So, my mom. She's fucking awesome. Granted, we hated each other from my age 13 to about 17 (I was a total and complete pain in the ass and I still wonder why she didn't just cage me up and leave me for the dogs to gnaw on). Mom didn't understand my American teenage ways, her being post-war German, and I didn't understand her making fun of my American teenage ways. I mean, there I was, angsting over if that guy liked me, or if my butt looked big, or if my hair looked JUST so, and she grew up worrying about having enough food or if she would get a new pair of shoes that year. I was a spoiled little prat, and she was just wondering what the hell she foisted onto the world when she made me. Here's Mom at about age 16. It's a black and white photo, but what is not shown is the wondrous deep red of her hair. (Mom says that when God was giving out hair (and ass), someone in our family went through the line twice.) The woman has HAIR. Huge thick curly red HAIR. They called her Simba (the lion) when she was growing up. 

Mom met my Dad in the 60's and he brought her over to the US. It was a hard time for her, being an immigrant, but she jumped in and made her life. She was told, for a variety of reasons, she would never be able to have kids, so imagine her surprise when she found out she was pregnant with me...at 5 months along. She had no idea. So from being a woman who would never have kids, she actually ended up having two of the biggest, liveliest, healthiest kids imaginable. (My brother came along 16 months after me.)

The picture below is from when I was about 11 or so. I'm not entirely sure. It's from the days when we all wore prairie style clothes inspired by "Little House on the Prairie" and it's obviously right before I became a snarling teenage arsehole beast, because she and I are smiling at each other. (Well, she's smiling, I am obviously trying to hide the piece of cake I had just shoved in my cakehole.) Poor Mom. What an out-and-out HOTTIE she is, here, I mean, that body? That hair? And here she has this great galumphing still-growing cake-snorting lump of a daughter in glasses, some sort of braid, a prairie skirt and with absurdly large hands to drag around. If anything is going to cramp your style, it would have been me. However, I will say that if this is my genetic heritage, than WHA-HEY! Let's go with it.  Let that genetic lottery smack me right upside the head! Happy to accept! DAMN she's hot. Seriously. Hot.

I will say, the similarities in our appearance as I have gotten older are noticeable. I may not have quite the striking hottiness of mom, I mean, she is pretty damned unique in that, but this picture shows that blood will out. I was sent this picture by someone (my sister-in-law?) and didn't really notice how we are dressed the same, same expression, same jewelry style, same large hair, until it was pointed out to me. Then I was like, damn! That's kind of scary!

Below is a picture I took of Mom last November. In that strange quirk of time that happens as women and daughters get older, I think in this picture Mom is my age. I seem to get older but she never does. Hmm. I will say, she is like me in that it is hard to get a good picture of her. Which is why I have very few good shots of either of us. We both have very mobile, expressionistic faces, and it is hard to get a shot where we aren't looking like deers in headlights.

I love this picture of her. I took it with my brand new iTouch that I had just bought that day. We were walking the dogs in the woods, on my parents land in Missouri.  Just a test shot, and boom, there it was, my favorite picture of my mom. The way the light catches her hair, her expression which is at once inquisitive, welcoming, interested in what is around her (so her). I get a bit teary-eyed writing this. She's just so fucking awesome and I don't know that I will ever grow into the person that she is. The goofy, funny, gorgeous, strong, no-bullshit, generous, loving, supportive and wonderful person that she is. The woman who can still kick my ass (literally, she is strong, she can KICK MY ASS), but also soothe me with a hand on my forehead and, if we are not in the same country, our Saturday phone call.

(Ironically, I am not sure if Mom will see this. She has a laptop but never uses it. Maybe Dad will see this and get her to pause in her busy day for a minute or two to read it. Dad, can you tell Mom to read this?)  I love you Mom.  Not that I don't tell you that all the time. If I can be 1/10th the person you are, I consider my life well lived. Happy Mother's Day.

difference between Austin and Oslo, with regard to gym clothes

Going to the gym or out for a workout in Austin meant the following:

• Find t shirt.
• Find shorts
• Sunscreen your face
• Throw on sneakers
• Go (you're just going to sweat, so why bother dressing up?)

Going to the gym in Oslo is substantially more fraught with etiquette, dress codes and pain in the assness: 

• Observe weather.
• If wet, carry sneakers and wear rain/snow boots, as the gym has a 'no outdoor shoes' policy so you have to make sure not to track in any wet on the gym floor.
• If not wet, can dispense with boots, but...
• Is it cold?
• If yes, layers. 
• Leggings or long gym pants, in requisite sweat-wicking sports fabric, plenty of lycra.
• Tight tank top (must show off arms and toned abs at all times, no baggy shirts allowed for women) worn over sport bra or with sport bra built in.
• Fleece over that (can't go OUTSIDE in a tight tank top)
• Jacket over all.  
• All the clothes must be the proper sort of 'sporty gym' clothes, as opposed to 'sporty bicycling', 'sporty walking', 'sporty running', 'sporty skiing" (that to be subdivided between x-country and downhill) or 'sporty hiking' outfits. Yes, the differences are there, they exist, and boy you better follow them or you will get looked at. You should see the looks I get riding my bike to work in (gasp!) STREET CLOTHES! I'm not kitted out in neon bicycle racing wear! How DARE I! (I'd look a right idiot if I did, it's a damn Dutch bike with a basket and flowers. Sport gear on that bike? yeah, no. It's a five minute ride to work, btw. Why would I change clothes?)
• I always get looked at when I'm at the gym, anyhow. I dare to wear gym trousers that aren't leggings sometimes, they are more like those low rise baggy hip-hop tracky pants. I still wear them with the tight tank top, though. Can't risk too much opprobrium. 

 I am going to the gym today, and right now I am wearing a t-shirt and shorts. So in Austin I could pop right out the door and be done. But, no, I now need to go change and dress up for the gym. Luckily it's not raining, but it is a bit chilly, so no shorts today. 

Off I go, properly clad and wishing I could just be back in my t shirt.

Nice to wake up to

some pictures

                                                Getting instructions before the activities.

                                                                    Jesus that's high!

                                                         Climbing the pole (the first time).

                                                                   karla on a wire!

                                  This is not me but you get a sense of how high that pole was.

Jumping from the pole to the swing. (The ropes were for support, they didn't have anything to do with my forcing myself to jump except knowing that I wouldn't die (i hoped).

                                         This was the hardest part, trying to stand on the pole.

                               Coming down after the jump. that harness was kind of tight. Ow.

                                      Me and my team after the climbing. Feeling well chuffed.

What I did at work today

Well today was an interesting day.

I need to preface this by saying that this week is a hard week workwise for me, I'm deeply enmeshed in these semi-annual week-long meetings that not only do I have to plan, organize and manage but that I then must attend. I also plan and attend all pre-and post meeting activities, such as dinners, team builds, etc. It makes for very long days, lots of hard work and a really exhausting schedule.

This isn't made easier by the fact that when we have the post-meeting dinners, we do tend to drink a bit because, let's face it, it's been a really long day. So last night we had our kick-off dinner at a lovely koselig restaurant in Oslo, a place called Engebret Cafe, and the wine and conversation all flowed easily and fast. It was a really good evening after a long long day.

Cut to today.

Guess who had a hangover.

So I go in to work, 4 hours of meeting and then it's time for the team build! Oh yippee!

There were a few things about this whole enterprise I wasn't too keen on.

1. I think team builds are cheesy. So having to plan one, when I don't like them, was certainly an exercise in WTF? (Like, one of the proposed activities from the event planner was something called "Funballz". I was definitely NOT going to suggest doing something called 'funballz' with my all male team.)
2. The team build I did end up choosing was an outdoorsy thing, something with climbing and ropes, I wasn't too sure of the details, but she said it was fun, and it was out in a muddy field, on a forecast rainy day.
3. I don't mind outdoorsy, but doing it in mud, on a rainy day, possibly a cold rainy day, meant that I had to wear woolie long johns and plastic rain pants, which I HATE. If you even know me a little, you will know I am not a plastic sport pants kind of person. I'll go to a gym, I'll ski, whatever but I really have never liked sports clothes. I am just not a sporty clothes kind of girl.
4. Did I mention the hangover? And the possibility of hanging upside down? The hurl quotient is very high on that one. Very high indeed. 

Ok, so that was where I was at this morning. 4 hour meeting, hungover,  plastic pants, outdoorsy/muddy/rainy, possibility of vomit and something involving ropes and heights. (I am not particularly afraid of heights, by the way, thank God.)

A bus picked us up at 1pm and took us to the site. It wasn't too cold, maybe 50F, so that was ok, and it threatened rain but it seemed to be holding off. Good so far. There was a lot of mud. And, it seemed, a lot of very tall poles with wires running between them. Wires and poles and a wooden suspension bridge and....is that a swing? Up there, 35 feet up in the air? 

What the.....?

Oh holy hell. I didn't anticipate THIS. THIS is 10 metre high 'activities' involving climbing up a pole and then doing something very pointless, wobbly and unnecessary way high up in the air, all while attached to safety ropes that wrap around your groin, ass and hips. (I was actually pretty glad to not be a guy right about then, because those safety harnesses really emphasize and squeeze the male anatomy just so, in such a way that cannot be comfortable but is kind of fun for the girls to observe, ifyouknowwhatImean.)

The guys were PSYCHED. You would have thought I'd presented them with naked women covered in beer and potato chips or something. They were eager to climb and happy to fall. Me? I was just pretty sure I was gonna hurl. 

What followed was two hours of hard climbing, wobbly tight rope walking, balance beams, wooden suspension bridges (with no damned handrails!) and other such uncomfortable things, oh so high up in the air, some of which I did well on, and others not so much. (I didn't make it onto the suspension bridge. I got hung up at the top of the pole and couldn't fathom how to get from HERE to THERE without a lot of botheration and bruising, so I just told the safety guy (aka the guy holding the rope keeping me alive) to let me fall.) I honestly can't remember the last time my heart beat that fast, that I breathed that heavy, that I concentrated that hard. 

The last thing on the list was what they called the "Bunny Hop". Not that a bunny would ever be stupid enough to do this, but there you go, the Bunny Hop.  I wasn't going to do it. I didn't want to do it. (I did it.) So one by one we climbed up yet another pole, which you then had to stand up on top of (this is much harder than it would seem, getting from the side of the pole to the top of the pole with no hand holds or anything to pull yourself up with, the pole is the circumference of a dinner plate). Once you manage that, after, in my case, a substantial amount of cursing, you then are required to 'bunny hop' from the pole to a circus swing located maybe 5 or 6 feet away but from 35 feet up, standing on a pole, looking across at it and the yawning gap that is down, on an increasingly windy day, looks to be a mile away. This time you are double harnessed with ropes on your back, held below by a very strong guy and the help of a simple yet brilliant system of clips, pulleys and what looks like a log fence that creates friction. 

So, top of pole, doing your best Mr Miyagi, He tells you he is going to count to 2 and then you hop. I was all, "Can't I at least have 3?" but in Norway, I guess, they only go to two. And when he says hop, you need to hop because he is catching you with the rope and it takes coordination. 

"Ready?"

"No?"

"READY?"

(heart pounding so hard I thought it might escape, legs getting shaky, that damned circus swing zooming farther and farther away....)

"OK....."

"Oone!...... Twoo!....HOP!"

"SHIIIIT!" (I hopped. I grabbed the bar, it was wet, my hands slipped off and I was deftly caught by the ropes and left swinging in the air.)

I'll have pictures tomorrow. 

I'm still buzzed, I really am. And that hangover? It's GONE. 

Semi annual switcheroo

IMG-20120422-01275.jpg, a photo by karlakp on Flickr.

Wardrobe switchout, winter to summer. This is part one, dresses and skirts. More pants and tops to come later. Argh. My summer wardrobe is substantially larger than my winter one, as I am a creature of warmth.

Edit: Well, I found some of my pants but none, and I mean NONE of them fit anymore. It's rather comical how large they all are. I am going to have to find a seamstress to take them in, and that is going to be an expensive proposition here in Norway. Might be cheaper to just buy new pants. More humorous to go entirely without, though, eh?

ah, balls

Balls is my new favorite curse word. It's in regular rotation in my vocabulary now. It's just so...round. And satisfying. BALLS. Since I work with men, it's especially satisfying, as I'm surrounded by the damned owners of the things all the time.

Anyhow, balls. Blogger changed their, well, everything. I am writing a post just so I can figure out how the hell to make a post. Isn't it bad enough that Facebook keeps going and changing stuff on me, now Blogger has to go and do it too? Dang newfangled fancy pants web developers.

Get offa mah lawn!

Things are poppin' all around me, it always gets busy in spring, somehow. So I am tired from everything that has been happening lately and next week I have my semi-annual round of meetings that lasts ALL WEEK and with social events EVERY night. And a busy weekend to follow as well.

Our apartment is now completely covered in scaffolding and there is a layer of green netting over it. The light that comes in has a distinct green tinge and it's not exactly enlivening. I makes me just want to stay in bed.

Which is what I might do all weekend, I am extraordinarily tired.

son of a bitch

It seems that everywhere we live in Norway is somehow doomed to be worked on, remodeled, reconstructed, or be in a construction zone.

Our first place, where we lived for three years, overlooked a giant construction site where they basically took out half a mountain to build a big shopping complex. There were huge klieg lights on at all hours, so in winter at night we had orange artifical light streaming in the windows constantly (never remember seeing the moon) and the dynamiting of the rock was so loud that I had to push glassware back onto the shelves or it would start to vibrate off.

From there we moved to another place, a new, modern, brand new apartment in a posh building. Which apparently wasn't built right and was in imminent danger of falling down. (That building and the debacle of its construction made the front cover of the Norwegian engineering magazine and when we gave our address, people would say, "Oh, you live in THAT building?" Nice.) Those of you who have read my blog for a while might remember that we had to move out for a month and a half so that they could basically tear down our walls and ceilings and bolt the apartment back together properly. That was a total and utter pain in the ass, that was.

We lived there four years. We finally moved out when they needed to come in AGAIN and do more tearing down to fix the stuff they didn't fix the first time.

So now. We've been in our Oslo flat for almost three years. For the past year or more there has been scaffolding at the back, in the courtyard, over the kitchen window, which meant my morning coffee making was interrupted by workmen going up and down the ladder while I stood there in my underwear and a tank top. (I really need to wear more clothes when I am at home, I finally have gotten a few robes to cover with.) There was constant drilling and hammering and banging and noise. Doors were constantly left unlocked by the careless construction workers so that strangers could get in the back stairs and into our storage and steal stuff. Dust and mess everywhere. They finally took that scaffolding down about a month ago, and it was so nice to have the light coming in the window again.

But...

Now they are putting scaffolding all over the FRONT of the building, which is WAY worse than anything that has happened in all our previous places. It means the following:

• Having to keep the curtains drawn 24/7;


• No light in summer (summer light is CRUCIAL if you live in Norway, it's the only reason you survive the winter because you get that summer reward);


• Have to keep the windows closed for security and dust, meaning no AIR and we don't have air conditioning;


• The balcony will be unuseable for sunbathing or sitting and enjoying morning coffee as it will be covered;


• The feeling that someone could look in on you in your own house at any time, like living in a fishbowl;


• They usually then hang a great huge banner across the building, about midway up, advertising the scaffolding or construction company doing the work, and blocking any possible view from the windows. Guess whose apartment is midway up the building?

Getting dressed this morning was an exercise in duck and cover, as I hadn't closed the curtains in my dressing room and that is where I keep my clothes. And I didn't have much on to be decent enough to close the curtains, and they were right outside building the fucking scaffolding. I hope they enjoyed the fucking view, and judging by the 'hello' I got as I left for work this morning, they did.

I'm so upset about this. I really am. I hate this, I hate it I hate it. I get claustrophobic if I have to close curtains, if I can't wake up to immediately see light and see the sky. I have never used blackout curtains for that reason, I can't stand being out of touch with the passage of the sun, it freaks me out. I honestly don't know how I will survive a summer with closed curtains and being shut in, my stomach is tense and slightly nauseous at the mere thought.

I think I will do a lot of traveling this summer. I can't bear to be shut into my own house like that. I can't bear it.

The man in the hoodie outside my dining room this morning. Like an image from a nightmare.

Oslo at night

IMG-20120417-01267.jpg, a photo by karlakp on Flickr.

Midnight. Oslo tube station

Today made up for yesterday

After yesterday's suck, and last night's suck remedy (getting plastered) I figured today would be Suck Day 2: Electric Boogaloo.

But it turned out fucking awesome.

I woke up with an impending hangover, and was a bit leery of getting out of bed. Luckily last night I had the presence of mind to do the following before hitting the sack: I drank a good quantity of water, took two milk thistle capsules, swallowed a Benadryl and took vitamin B. (Apparently antihistamines are a good hangover preventative as they ward off the immune response that causes the hangover).

So this morning I was a bit squishy, but all in all, not too bad, considering what I deserved.

I had to go to work to take care of some stuff that has looming deadlines, that for one reason or another I couldn't finish. Things that have really been stressing me out. Surprise! A hangover gives you a definite attitude of 'who the fuck cares' so I kind of breezed through what I needed to do with a minimum of fuss and bother. That devil-may-care attitude is something I need to remember in future.

My traditional breakfast food would be a breakfast taco, but as that is not available here, instead I had a big piece of chocolate cake from a bakery en route to the office. Really good hangover food, is cake. Nom nom.

After work I trundled over to Bogstadveien (Oslo's shopping street) to check out the latest H&M collections. And discovered by accident that today was the big Bogstadveien Outdoor Shopping Festival! SCORE! So not only did I get some pretty awesome stuff at H&M, but I found the sale from hell at Høyer and got a black leather and linen strapless sheath dress (By Malene Birger) for 400 nok, (down from 3500), a white muslin dress from Ralph Lauren for 400 (down from 1500) and a really sweet 50's style knee length pleated circle skirt (oh so mad men) for 250 nok, (down from 2800)!!!!! I decided that my luck was too good at that point and walked home, a nice walk through some posh streets with grand fin de siecle apartments, and happened by another shop where I scored the PERFECT pair of Katherine Hepburn style wide legged pleated pants for 75% off.

I am so psyched, because my weight loss and working out is paying off in SPADES in just being able to buy these clothes alone. I couldn't have fit a size 40 sheath dress last year. This year? Like butter. Wow does that dress fit nice.

Cherry on the cake....it's a gorgeous day. A cute boy smiled and said hi to me, for no reason. That has never happened to me in Norway, ever. Must've been my goofy grin.