....'s got a brand new bag

I am actually keeping track of the shoes I have now used since starting this project (please refer to the link under the header "my objective"), and today I have reached my 50th pair! Still there is plenty to choose from, but I am now starting to see that I might actually be able to complete this task within my self-imposed one-year-deadline.

Although I am in no way ranking my shoes here - I figured that the 50th pair should be special. Like my Chie Mihara slingbacks, above. I had a few other good candidates that are a bit more on the glam side, but at this time of year, those do not allow a lot of walking (outside). Since husband says there is NO WAY (strict now, is he?) we are taking a cab going to dinner tonight, I decided to go for quirky instead of glam.

We are celebrating Christmas again today. Going to a well-known local brown pub/restaurant for a somewhat premature Christmas dinner. "Lutefisk" (untranslatable - dried cod treated with lye - a real delicacy - to some) and "Pinnekjøtt" (="stick-meat"(?), über-salty pieces of sheep steamed over some sticks or something). These dishes are normally accompanied by beer and aquavit. I - however - prefer champagne with my sheep. Or - a nice Montrachet with the cod, on the very rare occasions I do eat that. Today the champagne will - of course - be replaced by sparkling water (or maybe they do have "Julebrus?"), but I guess I will have to get used to that - somehow.

Could not believe my luck when I found this incredible handbag today. Beautiful, isn´t it? Particularly that tag implying it was FIFTY PERCENT OFF! I was really just browsing the women´s department while the love of my life picked up his new tweed jacket after some alterations. Of course, the bag was far too expensive. Even at 50%. Luckily, my house version of Santa Claus is starting to get into his Christmas spirits, so he decided that I deserved to treat myself. Again. All-in-all, I sure am one lucky woman.

We finally managed to get some of our art back up on the walls today. About time, after a year without it. Thing is - we have this huge Christmas party (Lutefisk and the works) coming up in December (tradition), and we try to use that as a bit of an excuse to get things done around here. Since I am also having a small (is 24 people considered "small"?) party for my department at work on Friday, I figured we could just as well get as much as possible done this weekend. The sooner, the better. After all, it really is time to put away the barbecue and summer clothes in the attic again. 

I hate-hate-hate (!) winter. The only good things about winter are:

• Skiing (downhill, although no good at it, too scared)
• Christmas
• Cuddling under a woolen blanket (which is really a year-round type of activity)
• Being able to wear my fur coat (I know that is such a not politically correct thing to say)

In my next life I hope to be re-born a she-bear. Imagine eating all autumn to get as fat as possible. Then you hibernate for months (I love sleeping). When you wake up in the spring, you are skinny again. And you have all the he-bears running after you (even fighting over you), because they want to have sex.  Amazing. Talk about living a perfect life.

The final shot

These are from Marina Rinaldi. Love the fact that my favorite clothing brand came up with the idea to make boots that matched their clothes. Size wise. They are not particularly elegant, but work really well on days when I want to wear a dress to work, but without suffering in heels. Bought them in Barcelona on my way home from a cruise, summer 2005.

Today I was going to write about the first snowfall. Which happened during the night. A happy-happy-story about how all the local polar bears came out roaming the streets celebrating the first day of winter. But then something came up, and my day did not quite turn out as planned.

Time for my third visit to the fertility clinic - this week. And - did they have news for me! All the pharmacies in Norway AND Sweden (!) are now completely out of this stuff that I use for my daily 10-PM-shot. AND the replacement brand that they normally carry is gone too. Short. Empty. Sold out. Finito. Schluss.

Meaning that all the needlework I have meticulously carried out over the last week or so, would be for nothing. Without THAT VERY LAST SHOT of this particular liquid I would have to call the whole thing off. And do the whole thing again in January. Next year. Tik. Tok. Tik-tok. That would be my biological clock ticking. Even faster.

It may not come as a huge surprise that these news did not go down really well with yours truly. After injecting hormones for a week I am close enough to the edge as is. There were tears. And some words I will not repeat, in case people under 18 are reading this. Of course, it is NOBODY´s fault. Right. If I had met Mr. Nobody right then, he would have been in trouble. BIG trouble. You simply do NOT f*** around with a woman in my current state.

Anyway, coming to my senses, I tell the doctor that I am ready to fly ANYWHERE within Europe - immediately - to get hold of this one injection in time, so that I can continue my treatment. Being this close to my goal, I am not giving up due to stupid logistical challenges!

This doctor has worked with hormonally disturbed women in more than thirty years, so I guess he has seen and heard quite a bit. But - he actually took me seriously. Good for him. I am an extremely stubborn girl. Sometimes a bit too much, as I never seem to take "no" for an answer. Which FOR ONCE turned out to be a good thing.

I stopped by the pharmacy, still in tears, to try to get some contact information for some well-stocked pharmacies in Denmark. They started making some calls. Only to find out that YES (!), there was actually a clinic in Oslo (!) that had ONE single shot left of my medication. Wheew! I did not know that the distance between heaven and hell was that short. Scared the living daylights out of the cleaning lady when suddenly bursting into apartment to pick up my prescriptions.

So. Exiting times. Maybe a bit too exciting for my taste, but hopefully this will all be worth it in the end.

Just for the record, if we are lucky enough to really have a child after this whole ordeal, there will have to be consequences. First of all, poor thing, you are now officially grounded. Until well into your teenage years. Secondly, all your weekly allowances for the first six or seven years are withdrawn. It has all been spent on these insanely expensive medications, so forget about buying your own Lego for a while. This is all for putting your possible future mum through so much trouble.

Feliz Navidad

I am completely aware of the fact that the calendar tells us that is is still just OCTOBER. But - my inner child just loves Christmas. And - a very important part of my Christmas celebration is the "Julebrus". This is a very special kind of soda that is produced just for Christmas. All parts of Norway have their own local brand. I am, however, lucky enough to come from the part of Norway that has THE BEST Julebrus. Today I stopped by the grocery store to buy some asparagus (!), and - BEHOLD - there was a whole pallet of my hometown JULEBRUS. Right in front of me!

I take it the shop assistant thought I had lost it. Right there on the spot. Literally jumping with joy, and taking a photo of her soda. Which I sent to my dear Dad by MMS immediately, as the annual Julebrus launch is a very big thing for me. Most grown-ups are more interested in the Juleøl (beer) launch. I don´t care too much about that. On Christmas Eve, I drink Julebrus with my dinner. And not the very strong Juleøl mixed with the fatal aquavit. (I have learnt my lesson with aquavit. I never remember having the second glass, so then I figure that there is not really a big point in me drinking it.)

I know it is early, but I think this calls for a small celebration. In combination with my Julebrus, I prepared a peculiar little snack we call a "læfsbuss". Which is a kind of potato tortilla. Filled with just about any sort of meat. The most "Christmassy" filling is, however, the "Sylte", and some strong mustard. Sylte is a kind of pressed ham that people used to make out of the yucky bits left over from when they slaughtered a pig for Christmas. Today it is made of normal pork meat (with just a few yucky bits thrown in for texture/taste). Yum.

I have now finished my first bottle of the magnificent Julebrus - with two pieces of Læfsbuss, and the conclusion is - I am still a child. The first Christmas I celebrated with my in-laws, I sent a huge box containing 12 bottles of my Julebrus IN THE MAIL to my father-in-law. Just in case. For me it simply would not be Christmas without it. Even the smell of it is special!

Which brings me to this huge dilemma I have. We are celebrating Christmas in the Caribbean this year. Of, course, I really look forward to that.  But I doubt that I will be able to get my hands on any of my dear-old Julebrus over there. And I am not sure that I trust the American customs officers to leave my bottles alone if I fill up my suitcase with them either. They might find them suspicious. So, what should I do?

I am considering contacting the cruise line. Maybe I will be able to ship some to them in advance. The second option is splitting one bottle into three 100 ml bottles and carrying it together with my hand luggage toiletries. I am truly desperate here. It just won´t be Christmas without it.

Delirious

Converse All-Stars. The perfect shoe for any gig. EXCEPT when you go to Bergen (the rainy capital of Norway). I was, as usual, wearing a pair of long, bootcut jeans (do so NOT have the body for any other type of jeans, just ask my dress-sense-goddesses - Trinny and Susannah*). In a city where it POURS constantly, you should NEVER wear trousers that swipe the ground. EVER. I was soaked up to my knees just by standing in the rain for 20 minutes. Including stupid, stupid shoes. Shit.

So - back to Bergen. The city where I spent my student years. And - traveling all by myself. I am such a sad person, a real looser, I know. But - I figured - if I could travel to Oslo at fifteen (22 years ago!) to see Prince in concert without my parents, I should be able to cope on a Monday night alone in Bergen at my current age.

It all felt a bit like living my life backwards. First person I bump into at the gate upon arrival? My last ex-boyfriend. From 19 years back. (My next boyfriend happened to be THE ONE, "the-one-that-did-not-manage-to-get-away" a. k. a. my dear husband.) Of course, I looked like shit, after sleeping on the plane. A word of advice: You should ALWAYS look your best when you run into an ex. At least the ones that dumped you. So they can see what they are missing out on. Bummer.

Anyway. It was actually nice to be back in Bergen. Even better - now that I did not have to stay in my old dorm! And I do travel with much better luggage these days.

Left early to get to the concert venue, after shooting up two out of my now three daily doses of hormones. Got two new types to add to the cocktail today, just HI-LA-RI-OUS. The last one even goes in my thigh. Ouch!

At eight-thirty, I continued my time travel. When Prince finally entered the stage - I was fifteen again. And it felt great. There he was! Just five-or-so meters away! Iiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii! Oh-my-God-oh-my-God-oh-my-God! Suddenly it did no longer matter that I had paid an arm and a leg to be there. Meaning TWO tickets to the "Golden Circle", one bought my a mistake, as the default order at Ticketmaster is TWO. They apparently ASSUME that all their customers have friends - stupid! The concert never sold out, so I did not manage to sell the extra ticket. Even at half price. Well, whatever.

He looked a bit anxious when entering the stage. I am not sure what he was expecting. I guess it was not exactly the grandest concert arena he had played. But after he had the whole crowd jumping/waving/clapping on his second number, his sly smile - and that dangerous look in his eyes - were back. Just like in the old days. And, he delivered a great list of his top songs, mixed with some really funky covers. Standing still was impossible. I even joined in on his "bird" dance. Yikes! I waited for my favorite song - "If I was your girlfriend" - in vain, but when he rounded it all off by getting back on stage after his second round of encores, with a beautiful version of "Sometimes it snows in April", I forgave him on the spot. Wow!

By the way, when I grow up, I want to be Sheila E. Please?

Must. Sleep. Now. Have a really early flight back to Oslo tomorrow morning, as I could not take any time off from work.

PS. To continue my travel back in time - at the airport on my way back - I bumped into the first friend I made when I moved to Bergen. What are the odds of that? I think I should buy a lotto ticket this week.

* http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Trinny_and_Susannah

Let´s go crazy

Crocs. Oh please! Admit it! You have them, too. I guess my shoe closet sort of reflects my personality. I think I will try to categorize all the pictures when I am done with this project in the summer. I will set up this really cool pie chart that will summarize "the essence" of who I am - in shoe terms. So, I might be a 1% Crocs girl (most probably less than that). If it is any comfort, I bought these in Rio de Janeiro. And they are the gold version. So - maybe they are a slight bit glam after all. If Crocs can ever be glam.

Started this really entertaining daily hormone injection procedure on Thursday. I feel a bit like a junkie. This time around I got this terrible kit including four bottles, two needles and a syringe. I think it is just the spoon, lighter and rubber band that is missing! The good thing is that the whole procedure of mixing all of this stuff together requires so much attention to detail  - that I almost forget to worry about the whole "giving-myself-an-injection-in-the-stomach-is-going-to-bloody-hurt" thing. Which I guess is good. What I do not like is that I am in fact injecting other women´s ovulation hormones - hormones that have (in some mysterious way) been extracted from their PEE. My god. That really is something. So - this better work.

In addition to this fun procedure, we have the very interesting side effects. My personality is changing. Maybe for the better, I don´t know.

Yesterday I just wanted to sleep (well, maybe not such a big change there). But - in the evening I went to this party with my handball team, but went home before ten PM. Never happened before.

Today I suddenly turned into the "Energizer Bunny"* (or Duracell as we have here in Norway). This rabbit has been running around our apartment all day, getting things done that I should have done a year ago - or more. Suddenly I am this "Domestic Goddess". What is that all about? This is weird. I wonder who I will be tomorrow?

Well. At least I know WHERE I will be. Going to Bergen tomorrow night, to see one of the great heroes of my teenage years - Prince. I have been saying for years that I would be willing to travel quite a bit to see him in concert again. And - I am a woman that stick to her words.

* http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Energizer_Bunny

Groundhog day (the movie)

Time for handball practice. Which requires special shoes, of course. Since my back has not been so cooperative this last month, today is my first practice this season. If Monday´s session at the gym was painful, this will be worse. I am a goal keeper. A fact that I guess will confirm, once again, that I am partly insane. Who would voluntarily try to get hit by a ball?! I started playing when I was ten. After two years I was asked to be a goalie. Simply because I have never been one to run very fast.

When I got to business school, I just quit. To make it to the school team you had to be either a really good player (not me), be one of the "popular girls" that could attract a crowd (yeah, right!) - or have a rich dad (I have the world´s best dad, but that did not count). So, I gave up. Tried playing for a local team for a while, but most of the players were more focused on being able to smoke as many cigarettes as possible during the break. And instead of warming up beforehand, they spent the time shaving their legs.

Eleven years after - I picked it up again. Now I am an Old Girl. Officially. Playing with a great bunch of other officially Old Girls. We even win a match from time to time.

Being repeatedly hit by a ball will be the perfect end to this perfect day. You will not believe how painful it is when you haven´t been hit by a ball in months. It takes a while to get used to it again. That´s the trick. But after a day like this it really does not matter. You see, I have been in public transportation hell.

Started off nicely by missing the bus by ten meters at a quarter to seven - IN THE MORNING. Breakfast with close friend at a forbidden carb-ridden place (bakery!). I gave in and had a cinnamon roll. Sorry.

Then I managed to get on THE WRONG BUS on the way from breakfast to client. You know that weird feeling you get when the bus suddenly turns in a place it was not supposed to? Hate that.

You think this was the end of it? Ha. Think again. Got on the tram to get to christmas party planning meeting after work. Pushed the button for tram to stop, but it did not. Until the NEXT STOP, that is. Which was miles away (not literally, but in today´s work shoes it was). SEVEN minutes to wait for the return one. Because, I just missed that one too.

In the end it felt like I was in a movie. Where things just happened to repeat itself. Again and again. 

You can all come out now, I know that I am on candid camera.

Les chaussures, j´adore ca!

From May 2006, I think. My first, but now one of quite a few pairs from Pedro Garcia. Window shopping in Rue de Rennes, Paris, suddenly turned into REAL shopping. Fell in love instantly. They are half-a-size too small, but simply worth cramming my toes into. The skull with the Swarovski crystals , "ah, j´adore ca"!

And - they remind me of this great trip to Paris with a close friend. (That is what souvenir shoes are for - memories!) Champagne and macaroons at Ladurée*. Lunch at Brasserie Lipp in St. Germain, being served by the world´s rudest waiters. And - more champagne (in a paper bag - we are very clever) on the TGV down to Lyon, for a work conference. I think I really should to go to Paris to practice my newly acquired French skills. Sometime soon. Only - SAS is opening a direct flight to NY again. Tempting. Oh, the decisions.

Wednesday = French class again. We are now approaching the end of level ZERO. We are at the stage where we need to start adding some gesticulation and all the "oh"-ing and "ah"-ing ("la-la-la" is level 1). This whole spectacle is to make the little French we speak a bit more credible, and steal the attention away from bad grammar.

This does not come very naturally for a person with my background. The part of Norway that I originally come from is not really known for outbursts of emotion, to put it that way. Just listen to our Minister of Finance**, that will give you an idea. As you can see, this was a tough evening for me. That is - until the teacher wrote "Le champagne brut, j´adore ca!! J´aime ca!!" on her whiteboard. When asked to pronounce THAT with gusto, I had no problems whatsoever. So I guess the things you say in this manner must truly come from the heart.

We were, of course, also taught how to respond to things we did NOT fancy. I was not really impressed when the chef (?) exclaimed that he HATES olives. Give me a break! Olives?! Really sophisticated taste buds for a gourmet chef then. NOT. It makes me wonder whether this guy is actually more of a burger "chef". At McD´s, maybe?

To be honest, I haven´t really had as much time available for my studies as I had hoped. So - I asked the teacher yesterday if it maybe could be a good idea for me to do level zero again, before continuing to level 1. Should NOT have done that. It was like opening a box of very angry wasps. So, now I know what the French think of the Norwegian school system. And the (lack of) learning habits we acquire through that. We are lazy, you see. Wow. Sorry. Wonder why the French speak other languages - like "iiiiiingliiiiish" so badly then.

Was happy to get an e-mail from the NY office of our concierge service telling me that my Tory Burch shoes have now been reserved at the store, and that they are now just figuring out how big my discount should be (when you buy shoes in bulk, you get a discount). I must book a pedicure, so that my feet look their very best when the new members of my shoe family arrives. I am all butterflies, when I think of them. Oh. Ah.

* http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ladurée
** http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=neSZaUxc1Og&feature=related ***
*** I tried linking to a clip there where he speaks English, but he came out so differently in another language. Quite professional, in a way.