3
Visiting sister
'Few years ago I visited my sister in Bergen to come party at her school. It was a particularly good party - though at some point my sister completely vanished.
I was wandering around by myself at this party for several hours, half-dancing, half-chatting and half-searching for my sister. It was a wicked party and there were people everywhere. I got trapped in a room full of singing people and then told nasty stories about my sister to complete strangers to make sure her reputation lived un suitably unpolished.
Naturally (as time is quite natural) it was getting late - or as some would say - early. Coincidentally I ran into her flatmates and they suggested I'd just get myself home, with or without my sister, because somehow she always managed to get herself back to where she belonged. Whatever planet that may be. I have pondered about this.
Moments after I stepped outside I found my sister, getting followed out by two large guards and obviously arguing stubbornly with them. I said something along the lines of "I think this belongs to me" and grabbed my sister by the arm. Even though this was in late, shitting cold autumn she was wearing nothing but a toga and had a silk scarf tied around her curly head.
As we walked away and over to the taxi-queue she insisted on going into the little grocery department by the petrol station. Bamboozled I was unable to get a proper answer to why, so I guided her over to the queue.
Before I knew it, she had snuck to the front of the line and was accusing the guy first of stealing her taxi. There was a long line of people, and I felt as small as a tin of German sardines. Then again, I wasn't coming back for another year, I was cold and also considerably under influence - I obviously did not interfere with the conversing just to see where it could get me.
With a smug smile my sister elegantly pulled me into the taxi after a few nicely put comments and the taxi drove off, the driver even nodding at her remarks. He asked us where we were going and I didn't know so I looked helplessly at her, so she muttered and I nodded. And then she fell asleep.
Safely home we walked into the apartment and I started peeling off my clothes, my sister had sat down to have a bowl of fruits of the forest yoghurt with muesli. I fell flat into her double bed and snuggled into the duvet, all warm and comfortable and my feet throbbing of soreness from the shoes. Few minutes later Sigrid crawled into the bed and then let out a hearty belch.
I have not had fruits of the forest yoghurt muesli since.
I was wandering around by myself at this party for several hours, half-dancing, half-chatting and half-searching for my sister. It was a wicked party and there were people everywhere. I got trapped in a room full of singing people and then told nasty stories about my sister to complete strangers to make sure her reputation lived un suitably unpolished.
Naturally (as time is quite natural) it was getting late - or as some would say - early. Coincidentally I ran into her flatmates and they suggested I'd just get myself home, with or without my sister, because somehow she always managed to get herself back to where she belonged. Whatever planet that may be. I have pondered about this.
Moments after I stepped outside I found my sister, getting followed out by two large guards and obviously arguing stubbornly with them. I said something along the lines of "I think this belongs to me" and grabbed my sister by the arm. Even though this was in late, shitting cold autumn she was wearing nothing but a toga and had a silk scarf tied around her curly head.
As we walked away and over to the taxi-queue she insisted on going into the little grocery department by the petrol station. Bamboozled I was unable to get a proper answer to why, so I guided her over to the queue.
Before I knew it, she had snuck to the front of the line and was accusing the guy first of stealing her taxi. There was a long line of people, and I felt as small as a tin of German sardines. Then again, I wasn't coming back for another year, I was cold and also considerably under influence - I obviously did not interfere with the conversing just to see where it could get me.
With a smug smile my sister elegantly pulled me into the taxi after a few nicely put comments and the taxi drove off, the driver even nodding at her remarks. He asked us where we were going and I didn't know so I looked helplessly at her, so she muttered and I nodded. And then she fell asleep.
Safely home we walked into the apartment and I started peeling off my clothes, my sister had sat down to have a bowl of fruits of the forest yoghurt with muesli. I fell flat into her double bed and snuggled into the duvet, all warm and comfortable and my feet throbbing of soreness from the shoes. Few minutes later Sigrid crawled into the bed and then let out a hearty belch.
I have not had fruits of the forest yoghurt muesli since.
After walking home
After walking home from town, approximately 8 kilometres, being shitcold and freezing I obviously have to have a giant FLY – of all things, trapped in my room. And I don’t mind them usually, they don’t harm me much, except that constant buzzing. Well – this, as I said; was a particularly huge, black fly, and it couldn’t be called buzzing, because it was practically a sawmill.
Mad as I went, only short moments later, I decided that this poor fly, which was probably due dead in September, and not December during -15 degrees Celsius – had to die. At first I tried wacking it with a magazine, it was a Game Factor magazine, issue 54 that I stole at a kebab shop during a particular moist night out in October. But, predictably – my slightly sideways reflexes failed at putting this creature down. So I had to kill it with hairspray.
Now it’s very silent in my room, the only sound is the cracking of ice as my thighs are melting inside my pyjamas. And then there’s also the irregular pop of my braincells dying from all the hairspray-toxins circling around my head.
My feet are also a little soft after walking in the cold for one and a half hours.
Here is a preview of the gingerbread lighthouse by the way;
Mad as I went, only short moments later, I decided that this poor fly, which was probably due dead in September, and not December during -15 degrees Celsius – had to die. At first I tried wacking it with a magazine, it was a Game Factor magazine, issue 54 that I stole at a kebab shop during a particular moist night out in October. But, predictably – my slightly sideways reflexes failed at putting this creature down. So I had to kill it with hairspray.
Now it’s very silent in my room, the only sound is the cracking of ice as my thighs are melting inside my pyjamas. And then there’s also the irregular pop of my braincells dying from all the hairspray-toxins circling around my head.
My feet are also a little soft after walking in the cold for one and a half hours.
Here is a preview of the gingerbread lighthouse by the way;
Gingerbread Project day 1
The moment we've all been waiting for - is now finally here! As usual I have been busy in the kitchen, it was my stepdads suggestion that I this year made a gingerbread lighthouse! And, and I did. Of course. And I tell you what, and I shit you not - but working with melted sugar as glue hurts real bad. I want you to know I've been through much pain for this strange (though 100% edible) nautical piece of architecture. Hmm. Right.Without any further ado, (only a quick reminder of the prestigious Viking Ship back in 2005), I now present to you:
The Shazmazing Christmas Gingerbread Lighthouse of 2007!
I will be back later with some more images, and of course - the finished result!Above: Lighthouse paper model and Lighthouse gingerbread creation with gingerbread shed and gingerbread trees at display on a tray.
whoop!
Doesn't that make you feel all christmasy?
by
Tora
The Christmas Equation
You haven't gone on holiday just yet, have you? Well you better not have - because here is something for you to think of before you go and frolick in all the cake! The Christmas Equation, also known as Planck's Constant - is a clever little thing able to calculate your weight-gain per second during the Christmas festivites. Planck's Constant is also equal to h, which means heaviness. If you ever wonder about having that extra gingerbread otter, you may sit back and relax - because Planck is going to work out the end result for you, anyway.
The brilliant aspect of the formula is that you may choose if you want to have your answer in Square metres per second, or kilos per second. This opens up for some delightful elbowroom during the feasting on mulled wine, even if you are gaining 0,00614 kg/sec this only equals to 0,00614 m²/sec which is when converted to millimetres equal to 0 mm²/sec!
So mathematically - you're not gaining a milligram!
Merry Christmas!
(To anyone who may have heard that Planck's Constant has something to do with Quantum Mechanics, I wish to inform you that this is in fact wrong).
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
