( May. 4th, 2009 03:41 pm)
I'm unwrapping porn today and the strangest thing is happening. People have started lingering by the counter after coming up from the basement (where we have all the porn that's for sale, over 6000 titles), asking if we're going to get new titles. I tell them the truth, that all the new titles have already been presented in the "new"-section downstairs. They eye the box next to me. I tell them that these movies are old titles that have already been shown downstairs. They linger. I tell them that they can feel free to look through it and they throw themselves at it as if it was the holy grail of porn. As if this one box will hold something much greater than what they were able to find downstairs.

They then buy the movies they brought up from the basement. As I told them, these movies are old.
I guy just came in, pointed towards our magazine of personal ads (mostly for prostitutes), gave me 3 bags, made high beeping noises and pointed towards the basement where we have all the porn.

I did the only thing I could think of. I took his bags, nodded in a calming way and made a suggestive wave towards the basement and off he went. I wonder what he's gonna buy.

Update: He bought 3 ridiculously dull straight pornos. I'm a little disappointed.
( May. 16th, 2008 12:55 pm)
As most of you know, I grew up in a lovely little town right outside Oslo, where the grass was greener, the birds sang more cheerfully and whatever else one says of the countryside to try and convince oneself that kids grow up to be happier and more well-adjusted if you keep them out of big cities. And though we lie about a lot of the good stuff about growing up outside of Oslo to make ourselves feel better about it, one thing is for certain: it makes me grateful to live in the city center now.

In Holmestrand everyone knew everyone, and that meant that there was very little wriggle room for any anti-social behavior. Everyone not only knew who the drunken bastard who hung out at the docks, but why he started drinking and what happened to his wife and kids. But in Oslo, there is room for the crazies to just be crazies. The drunken old weirdo who lives across the street who I'm quite sure likes to stare at me either because he's seen me running through the apartment naked or because he wants to kill me, is just that. I don't know his family or go to school with his sister. It's the same with the crazy guy who dresses in something in between a dress and a sheet who rides his bike to our local shop to buy his food every day. Sure, I have to interact with them, and they're definitely weird, but at the same time it leaves a lot of room to be slightly weird without anyone noticing or caring about it. Nobody's gonna mention to my mom when they meet at the grocery shop that I went shopping in a bathrobe, for instance.

I started thinking of this when I was on my way home this morning. I was walking down the street, minding my own business, when a middle aged, clearly high/drunk guy presses himself up against the wall to make room for me to get by him (mind you, this was a regular sized pavement with room for at least 3 people to pass each other comfortably with nobody having to brush up against any strangers). "Ladies first," he smiled and gave me a bow. I did the only thing I could think of; smiled back and said thank you. "Well, it's soon to be the 17th of May," he said in way of explanation as I kept walking home. And hey, it made my day feel a little better. I like the crazies.
( Nov. 5th, 2007 01:32 am)
I've realized what my problem is: I need a new image.

I have a tendency to create an image, or a persona, for myself. I then try to live up to that image and the extent to which I succeed in this determines how happy I am and how pleased I am with myself. Yeah, I know, it's probably not healthy or good, but it's what I've been doing for so long. For a good long time now, I've been the successful-young-woman-with-big-goals. The go-getter. The person who manages to juggle jobs and school and organizations and everything and still look great doing it 'cause as you all know; smoking, drinking and wearing pants suits makes everyone look extra hot. Then, I stopped managing to juggle everything, but I didn't manage to change the image. And that's where my problems started. My go-getter persona had a boyfriend, a job, an interesting field of study, a couple of organizations and a schedule to work out every once in a while. But the person I became had very little of that.

So I tried another image on for size. The young-working-sporty-woman-who-cares-about-girly-stuff, the sporty one It sorta worked. I tried (and failed) to quit smoking, started working out and buying shoes, and generally enjoyed the pleasure of doing a meaningless job for money. But then I managed to start smoking again, and I got terribly sick for 5 month which basically fucked up my plans to be a good worker and a sporty person. And to be completely honest, I didn't really like the sporty version anyways. I just wanted to lose weight.

When I went to America, I became the back-packer. Ready to leave everything behind at the drop of a hat, wild and maybe a little bit crazy, driving across a country larger in size than Europe. Able to do anything. And I sorta fell in love with that persona. Part of me wanted to keep working, saving up money so I could continue traveling. Free of care I could go anywhere in the world, anytime, and be happy.

But somehow, when I moved back to Norway, the old version, the go-getter, snuck back in. And suddenly, I'm trying to find stuff to do outside of school so I won't seem like a slacker. Even though I'm not really a slacker. I read and do a lot of school work, in addition to making two larps at once. And I have a social life. When I came back I decided this should be enough, since doing too much makes me stressed and unhappy, but I keep looking for more, feeling inadequate because I'm doing so little.

So I need a new image. Something that will allow me to be happy with what I'm doing right now, and happy with myself while I'm doing it. Any ideas? Preferably it should have a nice catch-phrase and be able to hold it's own against the go-getter, a persona I'm used to and have managed to somehow put on default mode.

This icon is called "tinkerbell". I like her. I actually got my very first novelty mug from [livejournal.com profile] grimgram with her face on it. It's awesome.
( Oct. 6th, 2007 03:04 am)
I was going to write a long post about how nice it is to walk to school in the morning. It's a 45 minute walk, and I always go to school while most regular people drive, or ride the bus or tram to their work, so the streets are all mine. This means I can walk as fast as I want and not have to worry about bumping into strangers or ending up behind moziers (people who like to walk really slowly, called "tuslere" in Norwegian). But, since I've lost the recharger for my creative player, I'm instead going to focus on the fact that I've stopped having the patience I had when I was little.

When I was young, I would be prone to walk all by myself, exploring woods and streets and apartment buildings for hours on end. Every part of the world was an exciting new adventure and I needed no company or music to keep me from being bored. I tried to duplicate this feeling my taking a different route to school when I used up the last precious minutes of batteries left on my player, but instead of being an adventure, I found it to be a tiresome and time consuming way of reaching my school. I started trying to walk faster just to get there earlier and not having to spend more time in my own company than strictly necessary. And it's weird because normally I like spending time with me. But normally I also have something to occupy part of my brain, like music.

So my question to you guys is: Do you feel that as you grew up you lost the ability to enjoy just walking by yourself? Do you need constant entertaining to keep yourself occupied enough to enjoy the simple joy of walking (or studying)? And if so, why do you think that is? I'm seriously curious...

This icon is called "oh bloody hell"
Disturbing news reached me in the calm city of Sacramento today. I learned that once again had our so-called Princess Martha-Louise done something embarrassing. Did you guys know about this? I mean, seriously, angels? she's been a psychic from the time she was little? Gimme a break. Even if she was, that's no reason to make a school for it. Omfg. So there. 

In other, completely unrelated, news, I gave in and started playing guitar hero. Excellent game. I'm totally hooked. This will probably result in me doing nothing productive tomorrow at all. 

This icon is called "jude" and though many things in life is about love, my embarrassment about the Norwegian royal family has nothing at all to do with love. So there. Get rid of them. As soon as possible.
( Jan. 8th, 2007 12:05 pm)
So far, today has been a day of subtle weirdness. It started off nice enough with [Bad username or site: ”akselwestlund” @ livejournal.com] I have no idea why my lj keeps on assuming that some of you guys have bad usernames. This is akselwestlund making me breakfast, got worse when it turned out that the bus I heard was leaving at 7.45 actually left 7.35. I had to run, in my unpractical pretty shoes, waving my arms about and generally making a fool of myself to keep the bus from leaving without me. And that’s when the weird occurrences started. First, I’m sitting on the bus with my eyes closed but not sleeping and the bus voice announces that we’re at Lysaker station, I open my eyes and sure enough, that’s where we are. A bunch of people brush past me on their way into the bus. We drive on. About five minutes later the bus voice announces that we’re at Lysaker station. A little perturbed I open my eyes and see the same station once again, and once again a whole bunch of people brush past me on their way onto the bus. Weird neh? I get to work, have my coffee and start the day. But when I walk down to the eight floor to collect coffee mugs, suddenly, all around me is the sound of wind blowing. You know, the sound the wind makes when it’s blowing so hard you start fearing trees are gonna fall on you? That sound, but no actual wind (which would have freaked me out more since I was inside a stairway with no open doors or windows). Freaked out, I quickly got out of the stairway. When I walked back up, everything was normal. Okay, so this is not actually subtle weirdness, this is actual weirdness. What’s going on people? *actually a little freaked out*

Because I’m writing this in word and then posting it when I’m done reading my flist (so as not to bother you guys with a myriad of posts in one day), you’ll have to bear with the jumpyness of themes in this entry. Now, I’m annoyed! Why, oh why does the power point organization chart I’m trying to make refuse to work for me? I’ve managed to get the squares the right size and amount, but now the little connecting lines refuse to work and the color scheme refuses to change. Stupid retardo program! Gah!

”meme” )
( Nov. 12th, 2006 08:13 pm)
Legion of Fate!
Apply directly to your interests!
Apply directly to your interests!
Apply Directly to your interests!

Join the legion of fate! here's how!
1) Add the words “legion of fate” to your LiveJournal interests list.
2) Click on the interest to see how many Fate Legionnaires there are.
3) Repost this in your journal, with the membership number updated.
Number of members so far: 21
As I am sure most of you already know, IKEA is both a place of wonder and of dark and mysterious things. It is not a place one enters without good cause, but since I had a quest (furniture and curtains) I believed that this would be enough. You see, a trip to IKEA holds many dangers, and not only to ones pocketbook, but also to ones mind. I have found that there are three stages in the lures of IKEA: First, Stage one, "wonderment". The questing agent will be overcome with the sheer size and amount of things actually there. If one does not catch oneself and make sure one keep focus already at this stage, it might already be too late, for stage two is harder to fight. Stage two, "euphoria". The questing agent gets side-tracked from his/her quest by all the easy, cheap, beautiful, funny (and so forth) things inside this seeming wonderland and starts buying randomly. This leads our hero to lose sight of the target and will keep him inside the beast that is IKEA long enough to have to face: Stage three, "panic, confusion, desperation". I must confess gentle readers, that I let myself succumb to stage two of the IKEA experience, and was trapped in there as so many others. Suddenly, nomatter where I tried to go, I ended up in the Markethall, seemingly like being trapped inside a video game with no save function so that every time you take a wrong turn, you end up at the beginning again. On the second floor I realized that they had marked the way to the exit with arrows on the floor, but before long I realized the truth; this was IKEAs way of mocking me. Of trying to get me to go through every room I had already visited yet again. I left the path to find my own way out of this maze and ended up in the self-serve warehouse. Now, the signs told me that this was the way to check-out point, but since there was only one way in there, and four ways out (I kid you not, that place is like a magical maze), finding my way was even more difficult now that I had hopes of survival. As my hopes slowly gave way to my final resignation though, there they were. The final frontier. People who were going to take my money and let me walk out of this hellhole. I got there, I was in line, when my friend turned to me and said "I still haven't gotten that lamp," and I had to turn back with her. For, gentle readers, we all know that the saying "leave no man behind", is most important in situations like these.

No more IKEA EVER! (or until next time I have to move probably)
( May. 27th, 2006 04:34 pm)
Today started out as the worst day ever. I woke up from a nightmare, dead tired, and barely managed to get out of bed. Then, reminiscing about my nightmare, I walked towards the bathroom, and stumbled across the threshold barely managing to keep my head out of the toilet. I kid you not, I was this close *holds up fingers*. Then, I figure, this is not going to be a good day, but I keep going. Get down to the subway station, jumping on the tram that would get me to work on time. I walk down to my job thinking, maybe this day wasn't so bad after all, and then realize that I've forgotten my keys. I had to wake up my neighbor, [livejournal.com profile] 45_hasle who had been partying hard last night and didn't get home till about 3a.m., and hassle him to look through all my personals to try and find my keys. Then he sent them down with a taxi and it cost me 200kr! This made my card bounce when I tried to buy food later (argh!). Luckily the new girl showed up 15 minutes early for work, so I had time to fix everything before opening the store. And now, three cups of coffee and a large batch of sushi later, I feel so much better. I dread to say this, but maybe this day won't turn out all bad...

Still, focus on the important bit: I almost fell into the toilet...I wonder if I would have been magically moved to another world?
( Mar. 23rd, 2006 12:16 am)
I had a really freaky dream last night, in fact, I'm still freaked out. Could anyone help me figure out what its really about?

At the start me and my roomie, Marthe, was talking about hairdressers. She was trying to explain the way to the nearest headdresser from where I would be living, since I was a nine year old girl whos parents and siblings had all just died. I took the tram to the orphanage, and when I stepped in the door, I became this 9 year old girl with very blond, very long hair and blue blue eyes. I pretty much looked like those little girls you see in barbiedoll commercials, you know, cute as cupcakes. In the orphanage there were 6 kids (me included), a middle-aged man with a cowboy hat and an old lady. The old lady was the boss. Of the kids there was 4 undistinctive ones, me and a boy of twelve named Robert with black hair. I knew "Robert" was really Marthe, even though he clearly was a boy.

I was standing in front of the grown mans desk, when suddenly four indians appeared behind him. I knew they couldn't be real indians, because real indians don't live on Carl Berner (the place I was in my dream) and naturally deduced that they must have been demons. The man in the cowboy hat disapeared, and I knew I had to find him, since the demons got him. I started looking through cupboards, but the only thing I found was a blood drenched suicide note saying that he couldn't take it. I opened the door, and tried to look into one of the closets, but even though I knew I was standing in the hall, I could see my own legs as I was looking out from inside the closet. I slammed the door shut and whent to see the old lady.

I told the old lady everything that had happened, including the man with the cowboyhat's blood drenched suicide note, but the old lady just looked at me with a strange smile and said: "I've never heard of anyone who could talk about the demons and survive." I went back to look for the man, but as I was walking down the hall, suddenly, right in front of me, three copies of me as a 9 year old girl appeared. They were talking in scary voices and I couldn't understand them. Then, suddenly, all the children were gone and I was all alone in the big house. I managed to drag Robert/Marthe out of the closet I'd stared out of before, and we started saving the children together. When finally we'd gotten allmost everyone out and I was carrying the last two in my arms, Robert/Marthe stopped right inside the front door, turned towards the hallway closet and said "I have to go down to the unsinging lakes". He opened the door and whent inside. I spent only a second making sure the other kids got away before following him inside, but even so there were noone on the steps (that shouldn't even have been there) leading downwards. I followed after.
( Nov. 29th, 2005 07:32 pm)
This must be my very worst exam ever. On Sunday I got news that a relative of mine died, I took a break and coped. Then I decided that I would survive as long as we didn't get the 150 pages I didn't have time to read. Lo and behold! Not only did I get exactly that, I also got an assignment so big it could house ten lesbian transvestites. Then, on Monday, whilst I was trying, and failing, to come up with something worthwhile for my essay, my mom calls with more bad news about my family. I take some time, but eventually cope and start writing. Today, I realized that the essay is probably going to be my worst so far, but I figure I'll deal. Then, through the mystery means that only belong to someone as clumsy as me, I manage to drive a size 3 or 3.5 nittingneedle a cm into my foot. It has yet to stop bleeding. I wonder what happens next... Scratch that, I don't even want to know!




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