Considering

I am thinking about picking up my blogging.

17th of May

I hate this day. I love the fact that I am lucky enough to live in a sovereign country, and that we have a constitution to celebrate. I love the fact that we have lived in peace since 1945. I do! But I hate this day. Lord give me strength to get through the neverending parades. The neverending rain. The people. Oh - all the people! The national costume that gets so heavy after a while. The rain. The neverending rain. Yes, I do love this country. But I hate this day.

I'm your man!

Ok, two reasons for this title:

1) According to a (I'm pretty sure very scientifically based) test on the webpages of the Norwegian state tv channel (www.nrk.no) I have a predominantly male brain. I guess this is due to the fact that I like to park my car backing up instead of front in, and probably that I often prefer silence to talk, but since I'm pretty bad at directions and maps and good at multi-tasking, I don't know how I ended up being like 90 % male

2) Leonard Cohen is coming to Bergen in August, and I've got tickets! This will be my first Cohen concert ever, something that has been a dream for me ever since I watched Pump up the Volume back in the 90s, starring Christian Slater running a pirate radio station. I owe you for opening my musical eyes (ears?) to the wonderful world of Cohen, Christian!




Ok. Am I the only one who wants to start smoking when looking at these pictures?

I don't like alcohol

It might be a bit late in life for an epiphany at 35, but nevertheless: I don't like alcohol. I really gave it a try, but the fact is that I really don't like the taste of alcohol. I've never had one sip of wine which didn't make me want to spit it right out again, and however delicious a cold beer looks on a warm summer day, it can't deceive me anymore, for I know the Terrible Truth about Taste. For a while I really liked Jägermeister, but the truth is - I'm not too keen on that either anymore. And don't get me started on all those sugary drinks...

So, for the record, and for the world: My name is Darling Nikki, and I don't like alcohol!

Down and up again

English lesson, 11th grade.

Downer:

Student no 1: "Are you pregnant?"


Picking me up, at least a bit, later the same lesson:

Student no. 2: "How old are you? You look like you're 27."

Reflection from the teacher (me): What is going through the minds of 16 year old girls? I have no idea, but it is definitely not anything from the English curriculum.

Seven things I'm sick of

1) Blogs about interior. Or children. Or children & interior. Am I the only one who is not blogging about interior? Or children? Or children & interior?
2) People believing teachers have more vacation days than the rest of the population
3) The fact that there is British stand-up on NRK3 every freaking time I turn the tv on, regardless of time of day
3)E-mails from the Spanish tourist information
4)Paying for having the post office not put mail in our mailbox when we are out of town
5)New people at work acting like they have been there forever on the first day
6)Low-carb
7)People with nice gardens


To indulge everyone, here's my own pathetic attempt to embrace several of the things I'm sick of. Enjoy, or have a laugh, up to you.

I hate Bofiber

I rarely hate, but this company in Bergen, delivering TV, Internet and also providing telephone, has stirred up unknown feelings in me.

Yeah, stupid me for saying yes to the offer made by two young and not really convincing boys ringing my door bell one cold winter evening in 2009. I curse myself also, but not nearly as much as I curse Bofiber, who now, can you believe it, two years later STILL has not managed to provide us with TV, and Internet only via cabel, not wireless. It has been one long period of excuses, silence, unanswered e-mails and bills. BILLS! I don't know anymore how many times I have had to call their billing company to tell them that THERE IS STILL NO PRODUCT TO PAY FOR. (Yeah, I did call Bofiber directly, to tell them to tell their billing company to stop billing me, but, as usual, with no result).

And yes, I did try to get out of the whole deal, as they clearly did not keep their part of it, but it is hard to get out of something when you (yeah, again: stupid me) already paid a large amount of money. At least it is hard to get out of AND get a refund.

I have never come across anything as unprofessional as the way this company handles things. It goes without saying that I will never get my money's worth. The question is if I will ever get anything at all.

I'll take what I can get

So, this is what my life has become.

I turned 34 three days ago, and I just have to face it: I'm not in my spring of youth anymore. I remember a time when receiving attention from guys was not that uncommon. I remember appreciative looks. I remember beeing mistaken for one of my high school students. I remember it very vividly - it's not that long ago. But it is definitely something that mostly belongs to the past.

So, yesterday I was parking the car outside the grocery store, my two sons in the backseat, unusually warm September day, window open. A scruffy-looking drunkard, unshaved, dressed like a bum, in his sixties, passes outside the car, stops, looks at me, and shouts: "You're gorgeous!" As I get out of the car, he repeats: "You're gorgeous! But don't tell your husband that I said it - this will be our little secret".

I thank him, promise to keep it a secret and enter the store with my two sons and a lifted spirit. Shaking my head, yet smiling, I think to myself: This is what my life has become: I actually get happy from a compliment from a drunk guy in his sixties. What the heck - I'll take what I can get.

Camping life and crashing cars

I'm back from this year's summer holiday trip. Since we just replaced our tiny, red, three door Citroën with a bigger, red, five door Citroën (totally coincidental, I don't as of yet feel any loyalty toward any particular car brand), using the car as transportation seemed like the reasonable thing to do. Some may say (actually: many have already said) that a change of car was about time. I don't know. True, we have three kids, true, the car had an appoinment with the shop as often as I have an appointment with my hairdresser (actually says more about how rarely I see my hairdresser than it says about the car), but it served its purpose. It took us where we needed to be, and we even managed to bring with us whatever luggage we needed. Or the size of the car made us sensible packers, I don't know.

Anywho, we packed our stuff and our kids into the new car and took it to Denmark, for one week of camping life and amusement parks. I would say it went fairly well. I don't think sleeping in a sleeping bag in a tent ever will be my preferred choice of sleeping arrangements, but for a few days it's ok. The lack of showers doesn't bother me that much, the absence of a fridge bothers me more. And I don't like eating my breakfast on the ground. (What I have mentioned here are of course stuff it is possible to do something about, but I'm not a very advanced camper, so it will have to wait for the next time around).

Denmark is a cute and flat country. I have only been to Copenhagen before, so it was nice to see the more rural parts of the country this time. And now I realize that I'm starting to sound a bit dumb and dull, so I'll leave the geography part at that. Legoland and Fårup were nice - I'm a sucker for roller coasters and other scary rides, but I realize now that 1)I have been getting a lot older or 2)It has been way too long since the last time I visited an amusement park, because a couple of the rides really freaked me out. But in a good way. I guess.

On the way back we stopped a couple of days in the southern part of the country, and then a couple of days in Stavanger, where my in-laws live. And there our lovely new car ended up looking not so lovely anymore. On my way out of a roundabout, a crazy German youngster in a rental car came rushing from the right, and there was no way I could avoid hitting him. ( I say "crazy" - he seemed pretty normal. I say "youngster", but when he first stepped out of the car I ballparked him to be in his late thirties, at least older than me. He turned out to be born in 1985. 1985!) So, there we go, our new car is a wreck (not technically, I guess, but in my mind it is). I kind of miss the old one. Yes, it was small, but at least it looked good.

Two world wars, 16 American presidents, 30 Norwegian prime ministers, three daughters, ten grandchildren and six great grandchildren: Rest in peace, grandma!

I came back from my grandma's funeral last night. She lived her entire life in the eastern part of Norway, and that's also where she was buried. She had reached a respectable age - she turned 95 in March - so this wasn't exactly what you would refer to as a tragic death. For the same reason, her death could hardly be called unexpected either, but somehow it still was. I guess that's what happens when one reaches a certain age - they start to look immortal.

My grandmother was always this active, sharp, witty lady. She lived in her big three floor house with my grandfather until she was well past 90, and none of them were particularly keen on moving into the senior center where they lived her last couple of years. What do I know - maybe that move was what started the downfall. The truth is that she changed after moving into the small apartment down the street from their old house. But that could also be due to my grandpa and the way he started to forget more and more, so that grandma had to keep saying the same things over and over again. I guess that gets to you after a while.

I will always remember my grandma as the funny, warm, generous woman that she was all the 33 years I had the privilege of knowing her. As a kid, I spent every summer at my grandparen't house with my family, and I remember the summers as endless days of sun, badminton, water sprinklers, strawberries and cakes and waffles in the garden. I can never remember that it rained, although it must have. In the evenings we watched MTV or crime shows, which was paradise for kids who grew up with no TV at home. My grandma was an amazing story teller, and I loved listening to all the funny real life stories she told us.

Now there will be no more stories. Rest in peace, grandma, this one's for you.

Twenty-ten

Ok,I admit it, it's kind of late. But I really planned on saying this early this year, so I guess it's ok. I, Darling Nikki, officially and solemnly declare, despite the wishes of Norsk Språkråd, that I will call this year TWENTYTEN. Twentyten it is, twentyten it shall remain (until twentyeleven). In your face, Sylfest Lomheim!

What II?

I can't even do simple math anymore? It's been FOUR months????

What?

Three months since my last entry? Time sure flies when you're having fun.

Yo-yo

I am thinking about getting a yoyo.

Snow tires and saving money

Let me first of all make one thing clear: I do not change the tires on our car. My husband does. Not because we are a family where we divide domestic chores in a traditional/conservative way - because we don't - but let's just say that I once had a bad experience with changing tires on my parents' car, and since then I've let others handle that particular task.

My husband doesn't particularly like changing tires. He does it, and he does it without complaining, but he doesn't like it. So when I saw this add in the newspaper that it was possible to have the tires changed at a car store today for next to no money (NOK 25 per tire), I figured this could be something good for the enTIRE family.

So we brought our two sons,went to Auto23, filled out a registration form, and were shown into a cafeteria were we could wait, since it probably would take something like 1,5 hours. Oh, what a delight. In the cafeteria they were serving waffles, Christmas cookies, chocolate, pizza, coffee and soda. FOR FREE! So, with three persons able to eat and drink, it didn't take long before we had gotten our money's worth in food and drink alone, long before the snow tires were on. And when our car was ready, there was a goody bag on the front seat, containing even more stuff, ranging from pens to perfume samples.

Ahh, the feeling of saving money. There's not much that can beat it. And yes, I'm sure Auto23 achieved what they wanted too - a possible future customer with a quite positive view of their store.

The art of whispering

Today I attended a course. It was quite a good one, an English course about India. Well, to be painfully truthful I only turned up for lunch at 12, and stayed until 2, but I swear it was a good one. I just didn't have time for more. The pressure of being a breastfeeding mum etc.

Anyway, sitting there in the auditorium with two of my colleagues watching a Bollywood movie, I was once again reminded that there are people among us who do not know how to whisper. This time it was one of my colleagues speaking to my other colleague. In something far from a whisper. And she seemed to have lots on her mind.

I was glad I had to leave.

Picture taken from http://popartmachine.com

It's a tie!

I turned 33 this month. The next time I will have an equally satisfying birthday is when I turn 44. Until then it will all just be a bunch of away wins and then a few home wins, until I again will experience the ultimate pleasure of a new tie. Ahh, I cannot wait!

Bulldozers and stolen cars

This spring in my hometown, people were awoken by the sound of this bulldozer at 5.30 in the morning. It was a man in his early twenties who according to the local newspaper "went berserk" with it, and, among other things tore down a tree, a brick wall and a fence. I found the story quite amusing. When I went to my parents' house this summer, I realized that the tree that was torn down was in our very own backyard! It had not quite fallen to the ground, it was merely, still, in the process of falling, and if so should happen, ruining my parents' rosebushes. This made the story even more amusing.

When at my parents' house, something else occured. My parents' car was stolen. Well, I would say that "stolen" is a bit of an exaggeration. See, it is my brother who uses the car, and for some reason he always leaves the key in the ignition. So also this particular evening, outside the local bowling alley. That someone couldn't resist the urge to take this 97' Mondeo stationwagon for a spin then, is only too understandable, and could hardly be called theft.

Well, before the car was even reported stolen, my parents received a phonecall from the police, who could tell that the car was found, with the stealer/spinner passed out in the driver's seat. The roadtrip had come to a sudden stop because the person who took the car clumsily enough had filled gas on it instead of diesel. And as far as owning up to his crime, the driver admitted to having taken the car, so summa summarum this turned out to be a sunshine story (apart from the hassle with removing the gasoline).

Ok, so here we have two quite amusing stories. But it is about to become even more amusing. As it is, the person who went berserk with the bulldozer and the person who stole the Mondeo is the very same guy! So, what is it - does he have it in for my family or something? Well, I don't know. And, frankly my dear, I don't give a damn. My dad, on the other hand, being a very kind man, felt sorry for this guy whose background was quite turbulent, and came up with the great idea of just giving the car to him, since he obviously did not own his own vehicle. A nice and noble idea, but the guy turned out to not have his driver's license, so we all figured it wasn't such a smart move after all.

A nice summer it has been, filled with vandalism, grand theft auto and amazing grace.

Trash, trampoline and the party girl

I really only have the title. Isn't it the most wonderful title? Trash, trampoline and the party girl. I love it. Unfortunately it is not my own title - it's Bono's. You should listen to the song - it makes you want to jump on a trampoline. My beloved flatmate of two years (98-Y2K) said it when I played the CD once: "I feel like jumping on a trampoline!" And this was without any knowledge of the title, and without the word trampoline being mentioned in the text. That's the power of the beautiful, beautiful Trash, trampoline and the party girl

Midsummer blues

I don't know why I haven't blogged about this before, at this point it seems a somewhat uncurrent affair. Anyway, I'll take my chances, although we've already reached what is almost mid-July.

Norway, as you know, is blessed with long, light summer nights. Already in the very beginning of March, it is pretty light pretty late and pretty early, and this goes on well into August. Still, this never fails: Each year, around the 22nd of June, I am suddenly hit by a wave of depression. Actually, I don't want to offend those who are really diagnosed with depression, which I am not, so let's modify it to struck by a sudden feeling of sadness. Why am I sad when the summer is at its highest and the days at their longest? Because this is it, of course. This is as good as it gets. This is when the sun turns, and, although slowly, the days start getting shorter and shorter, until there is hardly any daylight left. And so I have my midsummer blues. And to tell you the truth, I don't really lose that feeling until we are approaching Christmas, and the whole process once again is reversed. From then on things only get better.

When I am writing this, I realize what a complex person I really am. You see, the thing is that I kind of prefer the dark. The endless summer nights are stressful. I mean: Vi skal ikkje sova burt sumarnatta and all that. You can't go to bed when it's light, the kids definitely don't want to go to sleep, and when you (for some reason) wake up at 5 or 6 or some other ungodly time, it's so light outside that you can't seem to go back to sleep again.

So why do I get my midsummer blues when the sun turns? I don't know, but I do.