I want/need recommendations for good cd's. I think I should probably work up a decent selection. Easier said than done? Gods, I want to be twenty. So I could work up a legal collection of liquor too. Anyway, yes. Fling at me some music good! Some music that you think I'll like. Pwez?
And whatcha all doing for easter? I want to go down south, Norway.
Morning. I woke up at 7.33 am. Ehehe, lets just say I'm shocked for myself. But I guess that's spring for you. I have an appointment with my doctor at 13.00 hours, but before that, nothing. So I'm just sitting here, in the sun, basking, and thinking about how beautiful and magical Norway is. There is no place like Norway. There truly isn't. Magic has stained this land, and courses through every vein of every being and every non-being. I wish humanity had more modesty. Who needs a grand house to live comfortably? There's a huge pine in my garden. And magpies are building a nest in it. They struggle like maniacs to get those little twigs lodged in just the right position and place. I never really noticed magpies before. I never really noticed alot of things before. I generally feel more aware, lately, of little things. I have joy in life, again. Haha, I feel like a little kid again, and I never thought I would. I see magic in the little things. I love it.
I am curious .. of other people. I want to know why they do and say the things they do. There is a man, Aune Sand. He pokes my curiousity. So do they all. I see the world like this. A major part who loves to be shocked, enjoys the rage of it and the indignation they feel when shocked. They seek out shock, and scandal, so they'll have something to fill their lives with. They are the people who read the gossip magazines, just to feel shock. Then there is the minority, the ones who like to shock. The shockers. Aune Sand and his Donna 'Dorata, Marianne Aulie, are good examples of such. They thrive in other people's indignation. They simply love it. It makes their day. Just to be able to say something shocking, to have it printed somewhere so the eyes of the shockees can dance upon their scandalous words. Why? It's so obvious, it's so ridiculous, and damn me, if I ever become either one. I guess it's need. Need.
Oh, what a beaufitul day! I feel the scourge of creativeness lashing at my tender bottom's flesh. Woe. And since I am of yet unsuperceeded genius, I have come up with a solution. I am gonna write my own little c(r)ookbook. And Line is going to provide a recipe for it. So shall you all, eventually, my little pawns.
If I ever decide to become a superhero, I will become La Matadora. I will be a manfighter. I'll engage any cruel* person in a fight for their life, just like the matadori engage the bulls. (*People whom I consider cruel, par example; bullfighters.) I'll continuously stab at their shoulders and necks with my thing stings, dance around them and tease them, just like they would a bull. Humiliate and enrage them, then slowly kill them, and after their dead, cut their ears off as proof of my victory, and eat their testicles - of course finely prepared by some eccentric chéf.
Bullfighting is possibly the most despicable thing I can imagine, right up there on the shelf with animal cruelty in general. I would not hesitate to kill the bastards, were I given a chance.
Anyway, yesterday mother and I had this long conversation about vomit and retching. Since I now wake up relatively early every morning I now get to witness my brothers getting up, and experience that particular trauma of seeing them all with that which is natural, but disturbing. That, however, is a digression. My one brother, Håkon, frequently, or so I'm told, forgets to open his bedroom window before going to bed. So that morning, when I passed the door to his room, this waft of incredible stench hit me smack in the nostrils, and I started retching. It smells like very dead people. And I have serious difficulty getting myself under control again, once it happens. It happened too, with Sigurd, when he had the flu. I went into his room, to get something, when he was sleeping. And it smelled like a motherfucker. I retched for 15 minutes after, crying and laughing at the hilarity of it. Jesus. Mother have no such trouble with the boys though. Since they are her kids she can't be disgusted by them. That is fascinating. But! That doesn't mean she too doesn't retches easily. Because she does. There is this woman who I work with. She obviously has some serious problem. This causes her to chew her tongue. Alot. The noise can make me retch. Also. When she chews her tongue, spit sort of ventures outside her mouth, and she froths abit. This makes me retch. She also has very, very obscenely dirty hands. That makes me retch. It's hilarious. I've kept myself under strict control these last days, and avoided retching more than 2 times, and I am proud of that. I have to keep my mind firmly in place, lest it wander of and think of disgusting things. I am refining my sense of oblivion to all that is disgusting.
I'm currently trying my best to eat a whole bowl of rice. It's proving difficult. Rice is good, but a whole bowl of it isn't. I've put some soy sauce on it though. I need to eat the entire bowl! It's good for me. I have to. Amagad, there is so much rice left in this bowl. I'm not even hungry anymore. Damn. -picks at the rice with her fork- So. Anyway. I've washed the house today, yes yes. Vacuumed and washed. It's amazing what fragrance of soap can do for a house though. I almost feel it cleaning itself up the moment I open the soap bottle. It smells kinda nice. Pine tree. Uhuh. Goddamn though, it was hard work. Ouf. This rice is making me wanna die, a little bit. More soy sauce. I felt kinda silly washing the floor in the lounge. We have some carpenters outside, building a new hallway and stuff. I had a plummer's crack the size of grand canyon, and I bet they all saw it and laughed. Well well. Maybe I just like having a plummer's crack. You'll never know. My hand is still sore from having made all those toasts this weekend. Yesterday, my thumb was kinda blue too. But it's still sore. I'm never going to volunteer for kitchen-service again. Well. Who knows, maybe I will. It was pretty amusing. Better than emptying spitbuckets. God, the thought makes me retch. Erf. Tomorrow I absolutely have to call a councilor at the University. It's vital. I might want to study in Copenhagen, Mom has kinda realised that for me. Last night I sort of had a little breakdown at the dinner table. But they forced me, really. Mom thought I looked abit sad, so she was adamant about finding out why. She's never like that. Anyway, she made me cry like a baby. And then she realised she's been a bad mom. After having realised that (I've been trying to tell her for ages, in clear words, and all of a sudden, when I refuse to talk about what's wrong, she gets it. Amazing.) she almost rubbed my contacts out of my eyes with cuddling. Yes, I know it sounds abit .. weird, but that's how she is. I had to tell her to let me go. Then she cried like a baby, and I had to call H to get him to come talk to me about our problems, which was one of the reasons for me being sad in the first place. So when he came, we talked, he left, Mom came down and asked if everything was alright, cause she didn't want me to be all snot and tears. Which was nice. My bowl of rice still isn't empty. Jesus. (Has nothing to do with this, I just like the name, and the sound.) I should go get ready for TKD now. I really should. This entry is getting pretty long. I'm sorry. If it bothers you, tell me to put it under a cut. I know how these things can be bothersome. I read through my old journal (PyroTechGoddess) and it nearly made me pee my pants with laughter. It's pretty amusing. Anyway, I have to go now cause Morten thinks the sound of my typing is annoying and maddening, and he's reading the paper so. Have a nice day.
I'm so sore aaall over. I feel like my muscles are pulled too tight over my bones. But it's worth it. What won't we do for our Club, eh? The Norwegian Championship TKD was a sucess. People are slobs. Banana peel, orange peel and nut shells don't magically disappear if you throw them on the floor. Neither does your sandwiches, your dirty socks, your wet, sweaty towel.. =( Get with it, and throw the waste in the bin! I'm never going to empty a spitbucket again, someone else can do that. Overall though, it went great, and we have worked up huge amounts of creds! One competitor ended up in the hospital, with a possible neck injury. Let's hope he's lucky!
It's snowing today. Muchly. And my hair is curly, haha, I didn't wake up with a dreadlump, I woke up with cuuurls! Well, almost curls. Wavy/Curly. It's snowing, but it's not very cold. Only -4 celcius. Yesterday it showed -9 C, and it was definitely alot colder. I have to go out and get some groceries today though. =( I don't want to go out. Haha. But no choice, if I don't wanna starve. :p
me and the hensimeister went shopping yesterday, which was so fun, hah. it made me feel good! I felt so girly. And we bought shoes! amagad. I'm turning into a shoe-girl. =/ I'm not sure if I'm comfortable with that, but hey. Shoes and purses. haha.
Åh! Jeg lurer sånn. Når stenger polet på Østerås? Og når Line sier at det fikset seg, hva betyr det? At hun har kjøpt vin? Eller skal jeg fortsatt kjøpe vin? Jeg er så forvirret. Men. Jeg kjøper vin. Fordi ingen har sagt at jeg ikke skal det. Så da gjør jeg det. Hvis polet stenger kl 17.00, så har jeg fortsatt 45 minutter. Det er sant.
In Noway (<-- This, of course, is a typo. It's supposed to be Norway.), there's a monopoly on wine. The state sells wine. I like it. But then again, I don't. After 6PM there is no buying alcohol. Anywhere. Unless you find some old person who makes his own booze at home, but that's risky. Hm.