It is not new to any of you reader(s?) that I am quite a harebrain. In the morning I like to pretend like I am going to be teleported to a colder and more primitive dimension any minute. So if I was to suddenly be torn off the surface of this earth and plant my feet on alien grounds - what would I like to wear?

It is a natural thing to do anyway, when you have a cold room and you're going to work or to school, you do dress quickly anyway. But of course the "quick-I-have-school-waiting" rapid-dressing is less interesting and exciting than pretending to be on the very brink of embarking on an adventure. Socks, underwear, they come on first, a bit of perfume maybe, a top, jeans, a jumper, brushed hair, a bit of eyeliner maybe, some jewellery to trade myself out of slavery with. Rings, a bit of rouge, shoes, scarf and hairspray. If I am preparing myself for the sensation of cross-dimension teleporting I am sure I'll be ready for any day in this dull country, so though it is fucked up beyond reason and recognition - it is still sensible. It makes sense, it's not completely useless.

You can say I am paranoid in other ways too, I look over my shoulder, I look over my shoulder again, I speed up slightly, I keep tossing glances over my shoulder, I really start to pick up a stressful pace, I continue to look behind me and shortly after I'm running. Only a few minutes later I'll be gasping for breath and have eyes the size of licence-plates. Do not fret though, to be deranged is a tough job, and somebody's gotta do it. I am not the only nutcase in town, and you wont be seeing me tread on drains.

Ho-hum fluffy

Excerpt from one of today's e-mails:

buttock would never be of major concern to Henri. Pudding boy was his for the taking. Forrester's research also indicates that all may not be lost for local telephonecompanies, even as the migration to VoIP ramps up in the coming years. This is world class medicine. If you are the system administrator, please click here. While the average sales conversion rate on e-commerce sites is 4. One of the groups of cells which may be damaged is the lining of the gut, which it seams in my case has brought about a condition known as Irritable Bastard Syndrome. 49 Xetraorder - Jetzt handeln! 15CPEA is a 4 day conference followed by a 5 day school on continuum mechanics and engineering applications. Please follow the link below. Think about your personal value and unique talents. Kim found a little bar in a portacabin where we spent a few very humorous and warm hours. From an economic standpoint and legal standpoint, that sounds wrong.



The next licious step...

... has led us to the Lakebed Temple, in other words: the water temple.

This always makes me yawn and groan, because the watertemples in the Zelda games tend to be slightly dull. All the claustrophobic arm flapping, upstream swimming, water filling, refilling, emptying, splashing, wooshing, jellyfishing and mind blasting tap-water issues become quite a bore after a very short while.

I am of course not playing myself, in fact I have played little nintendo on my own, least of all Zelda games, I find them to be a more social thing. I am merely keeping my older brother Stinky company while he's gaming. Filling his bottomless glass of caffeine constantly while helping him solve the next issue on the agenda: Find a button to move the stairs to reach the chest to find the key to unlock the door at the other side of the building to enter the room to kill the creatures to use the bow to find another button to collect the cage full of treemonkeys. (warning: that was a forest-temple game spoiler, but I give you the alert now, or else you wouldn't have read what I wrote: FACE!).

Anyway, I guess I'll do like I did at the firetemple; fall asleep and make stinky wake me up for the bossfight.


aaaah Zeeeldaaaa

succumb to the dark side, fall over and let yourself bask in the wonderful greatness of The Legend of Zelda: Twilight Princess for Wii.

I've been waiting for years for this game to come out, and now it's finally here!
The family gathers around the television set and we throw ourselves around in excitement, joy and thrill.

The game is but the utmost second most perfect thing in the world.

I love it!
it is so great I do not know what direction to stand upright in, I am in fact so joyful I end up standing on my shoulder at times. Little sparks shoot through my stomach, just like I am a giant creature of wobbling nerdy-jelly.

Now forgive me, I must return to the screen and clap hands, it is simply too fantastic.

Here's the intro:

Christmas Eve!

Merry Christmas!


Many things surround our celebration of Christmas this time of year, and the things that have the strongest traditions related to Jesus' birthday is definitely food.

Julebrus means "Christmas pop", as in a bubbly sweet pink (or brown) liquid to be consumed during the Christmas Holiday. The closest thing overseas creatures can relate "julebrus" to, is probably "Cream soda". The NorwegianEgil Fredriksen drinks "Julebrus" three times a day, all year around. He is perhaps a tad more fanatic about the beverage than the common Norwegian is, though the grocery store down the road is currently completely sold out. This year as well.

The Julebrus is a very important part of our celebration, and whenever you would fancy some any other time of the year, you could always buy the "Eventyr Brus" which means "Fairytale Pop". It is actually widely discussed whether these two are actually the exact same thing, but I have not managed to get to the bottom of it. They look the same and taste the same, and when you burp these fluffed clouds of ghastly pink appear before you.

In 2003, 60. 000 litres of Julebrus was purchased and consumed by Snorewegians.
Be Amazed.



Simply because I can, and because I am not allowed to musix in this thing.

Santa Baby

Performed by Marilyn Monroe.

Merry Christmas and enjoy.


teh song has been removed, just in case someone come and track me down and stab me with baby giraffes.

I guess you'll have to go and find the song on youtube or something like that instead, talk with the copyright gentleman in my comments box, he'l probably tell you how to within legal boundaries get your greasy fingers on this song. :)
How can someone claim that a file is illegal though? I simply found the link, I didn't know that it was illegal to link to illegal things from a blog. I thought the internet was a place where you could borrow from others as long as you linked it from it's original habitat. Just like importing monkeys, if you go; but hey! They're from Malaysia, and I have their "birth certificate" (hellooootakethehundredquidIgiveyouhoney). And then you could get away with it just fine.

Seems I was wrong.

And, yes, I did actually run into a page telling me Monroe never did this song, but I owe her some for something, so I thought I'd give her credit for the song anyway. I mean; I heard this urban myth about her being brigher than einstein. I don't know about that, but I don't care either.

Never trust sources on the internet kids! That's what I'm telling you. Wikipedia is ripping you 000ooooooooOO00OOooO0oooooooff

merry teh christmas again.
And sorry about that. :)

post office

Beach Boutique II, yes, I think I like it. The Fatboy Slim and Groove Armada on it is really good anyway.

Originally drawn in 1850 by the famous architect John Allan Wilkinson Emerset (1825-1878) after a request from the Funky town government. The building process started late in 1852 at the corner of Church Street and Market street downtown Funky town by Market square.
The building of the post office was running slow during the first half period of the process because of the lack of manpower. This was due to the recent flow of workers to the Funky acres and Funkshire fields just north of Funky Town. The new growth in agriculture around the area led to the sudden up rise in the Funky Town economy. But the building of the post office was stopped in 1853 half finished when the project was “cancelled” as the building fund had ran out. The architectural monster had blown the budget of its hinges and was therefore considered an “insecure” project that could not be continued.
John Allan Wilkinson Emerset was furious after this incident and had the building reopened with funding from his very own bank account a short two months after. The government went back on the funding of the project three months later when the building was nearly done.
The post office was finished early 1854 and stood as clearly one of the most architectural pearls of the Funky Town settlement that far. The post office was opened by January 1855 with Tom A. Foster as first postmaster.
John Allan Wilkinson (the proud architect) was also the genious behind the Funky town city hall and known as the "inventor" of the funky architecture seen around funky town. The houses drawn by John A. Wilkinson is worth a fortune nowadays and is only affordable by the richer inhabitants of Funky Town.

With deep roots within the services of sending messages across the nation, the Funky Town postal service is still in business after over one hundred and fifty years in the trade. The ever so trustworthy and accurate services of the Funky town mail can always be trusted. The local stamps with pictures of her majesty the Queen and of course the Funky Town City hall are both famous prints first designed by the first Funky Town postmaster Tom A. Foster. The two stamps now have a value of over 200. 000 £ each and the two last samples are owned by the enthusiastic stamp collector, Philip Erma that lives in south eastern Funky Town at date. The Funky Town Post Office was designed by the very famous architect John Allen Wilkinson Emerset.


What is the difference between Jurassic Park and Microsoft?
One is an over-rated high tech theme park based on prehistoric information and populated mostly by dinosaurs, the other is a Steven Spielberg movie.

A story for December nights

She stood by the window and her hair was shimmering white in the light reflecting off the snow outside. He could not see that her cheeks were blushing, he could not see that she had dressed up nicely today - just for him. His eyes simply passed her, just like they had passed the desk, the fireplace, the bookshelves and the comfortable chair placed facing the desk. It was as if she was not even there.

He greeted her dryly, his eyes still glaring through a pair of spectacles and focusing on completely different things than her. He was in fact, completely oblivious of her presence for other matters than for business. She hid that she was disappointed, it was not the first time he had let her down, and it was nearly becoming a habit for her. Very carefully she had twirled her hair up in a top and had fastened it with pearly pins that morning, thinking of him. Standing before him now, she constantly brushed her skirt and blazer suit with her very thin hands, straightening creases to look her very best for him. Still he took no notice.

Gently she put the folders and the alphabetically sorted paperwork on his desk, she'd spent the entire night preparing his morning - a bit jittery she hoped he could not see the bags underneath her eyes. She had tried very hard to hide them, but we all know that that never works. Suddenly he looked up at her, his rough hand had grabbed the papers, and she had not let go of them, because she had been thinking about other things. Now blushing more clearly, like a pale apple bursting in to colour, she attempted to hide her face in her shirt's collar.
"You look very tired" he said crisply. Her knees made a little swoop, though she managed to stand up straight.
-"I was working very late with these folders sir" she said, not realising that she had sounded a bit bitter, but her voice was still soft and clear. And he still took no notice of her.

Even at lunch, when she brought him croissants and coffee, he did not look up at her. The only times he did, he would lean a bit to the right before criticizing something, it could be about her, about her work, about the potted plants in the hallway, about traffic, or about anything else which he could complain about. She loved it so when he did, because then she could hear his voice a little. She'd tip her head very gently, and she'd listen with every cell in her body, every bone and straw of hair would listen intently to what was on his heart.

Her friends found her a fool, telling her to stop spending her time working so hard and trying to make herself noticed by him. "He doesn't give you a damn!" her friend had said. "He is more like 'I acknowledge your existence', but there is nothing more than that honey, he is using you". She smiled, he looked so adorable when reading something he liked to read, you'd had to be really good to actually tell, the difference from when he was reading something he did not like, was simply that he was frowning a little bit less when enjoying what he was reading.

It was nearly seven, she wanted to leave the office a bit earlier than usual, because it was one of her friend's birthday that day. With high heels put on just for the sake of him, she limped through the hallways, every other office was empty, people had left long ago. With blistered toes and swollen heels, she rounded the last corner, knocked once; and entered. Across his desk leant a woman, blonde, cheap curls leaning over his paperwork, a large cleavage revealed to his spectacles. Without thinking at the sight of this, she simply stepped backwards out the door and closed it. She thought that she'd start to cry when something like this happened, but for some strange reason she felt no different. It was obvious that she had not yet realised what she had just seen. Even when driving the company car, even when eating cake and handing over presents, even when drinking wine and talking to her friends, even when laughing, even when walking home, she could not get her brain to process the images now tattooed to the inside of her eyelids.

The following morning she went to work wearing a pair of lazy jeans. Her hair was tangled up with itself, and her face was looking very miserable and tired. There was no alphabetically sorted folders in her suitcase, and there were no stilettoes on her feet, there was not a professional smile to be seen, and there was not, not a beating heart inside her ribcage. Without passion she whacked the starbucks on to her boss' desk, she slammed the folders so hard, they nearly hit his face. Before leaving his office, she made a little grunt as a 'good morning'. She sat surfing the web all day, she did not stop by with lunch for him either, at five, she left along with all her other co-workers. When she came home she ate take-away, and she fell asleep, a pale face drooling over her kitchen counter. No heart beating in her chest, fine white light from the open fridge made her hair shimmer in white.


Fried Rice

"Hey! Chinese guy, we'd like some 'flied lice' please!"
- "it's called 'frried rrice' you plick!"



I appreciate the concern Richard! But now I am here, and I am back and I have bought a new pair of shoes! Unfortunately I do not have a picture of the freshly aquired deliciously-licious shoes (which by the way is my shoe pair # 28), but I do have a lot of other pictures, just like I bought other things, besides shoes.

Bask in the danish-ness of my photos, lindsay - here's some flashing photos from Copenhagen:

Tivoli, at night.

White, lit tree.

hot chocolate.

Golden, lit tree.

Créme Brulée at "Peder Oxe's"

Streets of Copenhagen at night.

Gates of Tivoli

Streets of Tivoli.

Chinese Quarters, Tivoli.

lit, lovely lake, Tivoli.

Christmastree, Tivoli.

Bubble-lamps, Tivoli.

Succulent, delicious at "Peder Oxe's"

Redcurrant jelly at "Peder Oxe's"

Strawberry Colada.

There are more where those came from, you might catch them later!


December 13th

Is the day of St. Lucia. A day which all young Norwegian girls tremble, curl and uncurl in the lust of being that years "Lucia". She will wear a crown with candlelights and walk at the very beginning of a parade. Every school and kindergarten with a sensible amount of self-respect will have one.

Problem is, it is always her, you know her, the silent, uninteresting girl, with all the features of a good-looking young child, but with all the attributes of somebody boring; that ends up becoming the Lucia. It's got to do with the hair, she's got long, straight, blonde hair. God knows who decided that the Lucia has to have long, sleek, silky, blonde hair. Probably the mother of a child with such a crown of golden locks, I tell you, probably that. Of course having stumps of mousy-brown hair will not seem as attractive as having long, blonde hair, but, inevitably, chicks with mousy-brown hair tend to be more interesting than the silent, boring ones.

I guess though, that the amount of interest given to the Lucia, will be because of her looks, and not because of what a fantastically creative and fun girl she is. It is not the inside that counts, because people will not be able to see what she is like on the inside, unless they get to talk to her.

It is through Lucia, Norwegian girls are challenged first with the lust for good-looks -not necessarily for good-looking men-, but for their own look to be good. And it is also a revealing chapter behind the creation of blonde-jokes. There is a lot of hate going on because of this shallow selection of a "chosen one". It's not like blondes will be hated forever, but for a good while they will be both adored and loathed, which is often the price beautiful people have to pay for their appearance.
The Lucia might find her lunch to be eaten, or her coat to have been put in the toilet, there is no end to the wickedness of the jealous young girls around her, because young girls know, they all know so very well;

If you can't beat them - try again.
And they do.


ze labels!

Well, I suddenly found another feature assosiated with google-blogging which I can enjoy. Well, it's got to do with labels, still. But it's actually quite amusing, to the bottom right you should be able to see all the different labels under which I'm posting, sorted with the most frequent on top.

I'm also moving the poll from the sidebar and into this post (if you've even noticed a poll) because it's making such a mess on the right here.


Blog-readers reader-frequency Viking-survey:


Christmas Cakes

In Norway, it was common for a good housewife to bake "Seven kinds" (sju slag), meaning seven different kinds of Christmas cakes. If not, you'd have the choice between twelve or twenty. So, either seven, twelve, twenty or nothing. Few do that nowadays, but if you still feel up to it, at least here's seven suggestions:












I've tried!

But the new google-blogging it denying me to get my drawn header up, it's refusing to admit that I ever had one up there - ever. And it will not let me go back to the original kind of blogging.
I do like these labels and all the structures, the haste, ease and elegance of the new google-way of blogging, but I wish it would not be so incredibly stubborn all the time.

In other news, I've hid my conditioner because my sister is coming home (it's a Bumble & Bumble Thickening Hair Conditioner) and now I don't seem to find it! Well, I guess since I can't, neither can she. So it's all good really, as long as I can retrieve it when xmas is over, something which is quite unlikely - but at least she will not have put her grubby hands on it!

When helping a man out at work, he was buying knives, he asked me a question about the box-set, and I make a thinking-expression - naturally. And he laughed at me! I do know that my facial-expressions can be amusing, but he laughed! I could answer the question of course. yes yes.

Today I'm going to go visit my grandmother at the hospital, I made her a nice card.

Tea and Otters

I realised that I started 45 minutes earlier than usual today, but here I am, whoop.

Here's some Monday morning Advice:
  1. Always drink a cup of hot tea in the morning

  2. Never lick an otter whom which is not in the family on the nose, without asking first.


So today I changed the blog to Google

Yes, I'm now using my Google-account to blog. There are of course a lot of positive features, which I am certain I'll get back to in due time - by that I mean; whenever I find out what it is.

I can post with labels...




I get so many entertaining e-mails.

This one is about an arrse going up on Wallstreet.


Viking at Work

I was at work tonight, if you don't know what my job is, well then you can either read about it from last year, or you can read what I'm writing right now.
I work at a "Crockerie", this means that I work in a store that sells glassware, cutlery, kitchen-stuff, kettles, christmas-decorations, hideous things made of plastic, and napkins, mountains of napkins. I know this all sounds rather gay, but I enjoy it quite a lot.

Well today I got the job of unpacking this crate of new wares that had just arrived, and it was all kinds of strange things in it. Plastic bonsai-trees (two different kinds even!), fake flowers in white, gold and red, some red plates with matching candle-lights and some very ugly napkins. There was more too, but that's hardly very interesting.

So, as I was saying, I was standing there, unpacking stuff - when a woman parked her kid seated in a shopping-cart next to me and shot off to look at napkins. She clearly didn't mean for me to look after the girl or anything, but the kid looked so incredibly bored I just had to do something. In the back-room of the store we have this large bowl of sweets, so I got her this lemon-caramel called "Fox". Just the second these very grateful, sweaty, children-fingers wrapped themselves tightly around the "Fox", emitting a thin, real "thankyou"; I felt my heart sink heavily.

What if her mother was going to kill me because I gave her child candy? Most parents do not like it when their children accept sweets from strangers, and why would this be any different?
Well, I was wearing a name-tag, but you know what I mean.

The next five minutes I spent half-unpacking wares, half-standing with my heart in my mouth, focusing hard on the little kid and for her to eat up, eat up as quick as possible. I watched with horror that the child was clenching the Fox so hard it was melting and spreading everywhere (this was a child of about three or four I think), but she was, according to her satisfied expression, enjoying it. When licking her little fingers she went all crosseyed, I was about to do the same, because I felt like fainting. And constantly her mother was walking around, my fear increasing steadily.

Suddenly her mother came out of nowhere, she had paid and was ready to leave. I was feeling a bit safer, because the girl was done eating, and was now looking around, out on the world of napkins. But the girl then whispered something to her mother, I could not hear it, and had to pretend like I was working, though I had a hard time focusing on the plastic bonsai trees.

"Did she get sweets off you?" her mother asks me, and I feel terrified to the tip of my toes to my freckled nose. -"Yes" I said, surprisingly calm. "She looked like she could need some". To my astonishment, her mother beamed back at me and winked with one eye.
Then they left.

And I had to sit down on a carboard-box full of red flowers for a bit.


I'm thinking .... Chocolate!

Yes! I know, and right about when did I start to think?

Wll I'm not exactly sure, but I 'think' it must've been about the left side of Christmas 2001.

Anyway, back to the chocolate. And who's better at whipping up that chocolate than our very favourite Nigella?

- Because you need a lot of sugar and butter to maintain those fabulous breasts!


Today it was significantly colder than it has been previously this week. The ground was all sparkly with little crystals of ice, and a young man tripped and fell in front of the gas station. He literally rolled over and landed on his face.

I had coffee this morning, so I laughed - naturally.

Anyway. The frost had spread twirling roses of ice on the trashcans by the porch, and all the cars were covered in frost too. It is one thing to see the stars when you wake up, because it is early when you wake up. But it is something completely different to actually see the stars when you leave the house, because it is supposed to be late by then. It was ten to eight though, so it was quite early.

Some trees still have leaves on them, and the forecast predict no snow for Christmas.
So much for living in flipping Snoreway!

The Snow is Back!

It had to be done.

It just had to!

Good Afternoon December 6th

Perhaps you were here at this time last year, when I told you things about December 6th you didn't know before.

Well if you didn't, read the entire post here.

And I bumped into this Norwegian Advent Calendar for day 6. It's all quite strange.

Aaah gaad, I have to stop posting! But I just discovered that I had already drafted this post once previously for latter use, and it happened to be all about December 6th, so I couldn't save it for later!
*sighs* Sorry pumpkin, you've just got to learn to live with it.

In other news, today there's 18 days left until Christmas eve! How do you like this little angel?


Pixures plix

I just rediscovered Rita, which is a free downloadable paint program for mac!

I've tested it out some more just now, though it is just a free limited edition - it's not that bad. The old Mushroom and Muffins blog header I made for Liv-Elin, was made using Rita.

Here are some photos, just because I can:

î That's me in a hat.

î That's the characters from my recent animation.

î Eeeerhm... yes.



Jude Law

Gief plix.

Adam Brody?

A life?


'Tis a New! Layout.

Yes, and it's considerably more lively than previously.

Hopes you all likes it too.
it is actually quite

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