Snusmumriken

The world is a confusing place. One week ago. I’m sure it was a week ago, I was out drinking beer with random people at the pub. It was a nice evening, and as I walked home, I had this nice, fuzzy feeling in my tummy. When I walked home, I noted that the moon was a narrow narrow sickle. It thought it was pretty, and looked at it while I walked home.

Last night when I was on my way home from my yoga lesson, happy because I had been standing on my head and hands for the first time in my life, and in some sort of a relaxed trance because of all the yogaing, I noticed that it was almost full. Or.. you know… gibbous.

It had skipped a week. How can the moon skip a week? It’s very very confusing.

And btw. I still want these shoes. They look like shoes one has when one is little. Where can I find them?

Past
I’ve been planning a few posts, but i haven’t gotten as fas as to write any thing. Things are happening. I’ve gotten a part time job at NLI. I’m going to stockholm next thursday. Me and martine have bought tickets for finland in april, yesterday was a nasty snow-storm, and today my parents came visiting.

Present
This evening, i went to the housewarming of a friend of mine, and we ended up going out, and as there were people under 20 around, finding somewhere to go. The end of the story is that i ended up paying to get into some RnB place, and as I had paid to get in, for the first time in my life, i decided to enjoy it. I tried to dance and all. Fortunately there were likeminded people around saying “i know we paid to get in but… i really don’t feel comfortable here. Could we find a pub or something?” So we did. But I forgot my lovely home knitted westham scarf at the scary RnB place. I guess i need to return there later.

Random
Stevia is a sexy weed, in case you didn’t know. Sweeter than sugar and grown on the windowcill. Unfortunately, they are not in common sale in Norway. I got mine from Lene last year, and you can get one form me if you’d like to.

As virrvarr mentioned, I just made baby stevias, so if anyone in Oslo would like a stevia baby, they will be ready in some weeks.

Of course, you can’t exchange a spoonful of sugar iwth one of dried stevia. Stevia, beeing thirty times sweeter can make your food taste too sweet and rather bitter. You also have to add some other sort of emulgator. I’m still learning to use it, when i find some recipes that work well, i’ll post them here.

Yesterday was rather late, and my head was overloaded with school stuff, which in a way was underlined by the first beer being drunk while listening to one of my professors talking about postmodernist history. So when I reached uglebo later on, more was going on inside my head than outside. I might have zoned out quite a bit. Fortunately I woke up and danced weirdly after a few hours, and although i was very sober it was a rather late night. This morning i felt weird and groggy, but I woke up and headed down to the national library, knowing all too well that the best way of telling my mind to stop racing, is to find out all the stuff i’m wondering about. It worked.

Now that cafe amsterdam is gone, I have yet to find a new cafe that i can call mine. While Amsterdam existed, there was no need to go anywhere else, and now that it’s gone, there are dissapointingly few places that meets my qualifications. They must have inexpensive coffee, and give refills, the music mustn’t be too loud and I must be allowed to eat sandwiches out of my own lunchbox, because if I decide to go somewhere that isn’t school to work, I’ll be sitting there for hours on end. The lunchbox-issue is the biggest challenge, and to be honest I haven’t really been looking for lunchbox friendly cafes. Today I tried cafe Kristiania. They have deep leather sofas where you can curl up and read. The coffees cost 22kr, and the refills 10. They do sell food, so I doubt they are lunchboxfriendly, but i ate a slice of bread without anyone noticing anyway. Naughty me.

(This is one of the saddest songs i know)

This is going to be a post about a really nice weekend, but after fruitlessly searching the internet for an English way of saying “Julebord”, i realise that it migt be a scandinavian tradition, thus I need to start this entry with a little explanation:

A julebord is typically the first way of knowing that christmas is approaching. Wait. That’s a lie. After the “how to decorate your house for christmas” magazines pops up in shops in late september, and after the christmas marzipan appears in early october, the series of Julebord in november-december are the third pre-advent warning that christmas is approaching. The julebord is a party that takes place within a group of collegues, club- or organisation members, where christmas food is eaten and where people usually reach their maximum drunkenness limit.

I guess fortid’s julebord didn’t quite fit the stereotype. Firstly, it was a bit early in the month. Secondly, noone threw up on the floor. Thirdly, and most importantly: The food wasn’t christmas food at all, but rather the most impressive range of different dishes I’ve seen in a long time. We hardly had room for our plates at the table, because of the sheer amount of different dishes. It made me wish I had two stomachs, so that I could eat it all. It was also twice as much as anyone could ever hope to be able to eat. If the party had continued for another night, chances are there would still be leftovers.

After the party started to cool down around three o’clock, I ended up joining a few others for a nachspiel. Usually, I’m not too fond of nachspiels. I use to say that even saying the word makes me fall asleep. Friday night was a brilliant exception to that rule.

Kristian had brought his guitar, and we drank whisky and sang our way through several Beatles albums, and before I managed to even think about sleep, it was six o’clock.

I said I’d wake up when I got to the party, and it certainly looks like i was right about that. Needless to say, I had a rather quiet saturday night. I had a friend over for whisky, icecream and backgammon. Life is like it should be.

Whenever I’m done with what’s on my own homemade studyplan each day, I usually plan to reward myself with doing something fun. Usually, however, I reward myself with more studying. Yesterday however, I was done with my reading at two o’clock, and headed down to blitz to eat dinner with Karoline, the girl in red in the istanbul post.

At Karoline’s place, we watched Mio min Mio, which both of us thought we had seen before, but which neither of us had. Although the book made quite the impression on me when I was little, it wasn’t a good film at all. Not only was it too fast for the story, so it felt like something was lacking from every scene, it was also dubbed to Swedish from English, and the dubbed version was the only option. But it brought back childhood memories, and we ate copious amounts of popcorn. So it was all good.

After listening to one of Dan Fägerquist’s songs on the internet, we ended up returning to blitz for the concert. And it was good. He fumbled quite a bit at first, and needed some time to get started, but after about three songs he really put everything he’d got into the performance.

I’m almost surprised he didn’t fall off the chair.

Long live living
if living can be this

After eating unscrupulous amounts of pizza, the afterlarp of yesterday officially started at 2kokker, which they claim is a rather quiet place. This time, the music was loud, and played by a man in his sixties with a guitar. He played and slaughtered songs that everybody knew. As if by magic, he chose good songs, and transformed them into hardly recogniseable country/dansband versions of themselves. On my way to the bathroom, he jumped in front of me and, jammed an unfitting guitar solo (i guess i should be flattered, but i really had to pee) into a song that started it’s life with led zeppelin, but which must have died at 2kokker. We ran away from the place and ended up at queens around the corner. A bit hesitant as they proudly announced that sunday night was jam night, but the beer was cheap and cold, and the music infinitely better.

I often don’t like drinking. But there are some night when the amount of happyness i experience is directly proportional with the amount of beer i drink. And yesterday was one of those days. I might have freaked out when i realised that the guy i was having a meaningful conversation with was born in 1990, and I might have entered a the fog completely. But it was nice. It’s all nice.

Of course I woke up feeling more than averagely shabby today, but I was also more than averagely happy and I got to school and to class and I was dancing. I still am. The weather is perfectly grey and autumnal. My mind is foggy and odd. My appetite is non existant. I’m working well and all I really want to to is work more. And I have a date tonight.