Voulez-vous coucher avec moi?

This morning I turned up at the office IN THE SAME SHOES as my close colleague. Mine was grey, hers black. We should perhaps set up a schedule to avoid this from happening again. Haha. My good old Clarks, the ones I though I had in THREE different colors. Turns out I have them in FOUR. Discovered a pair in tan at the back of the shoe closet. Got to love surprises like that.

Picked up another shipment from my favorite store in the whole wide web, Amazon, today. Looking forward to a new season of "Desperate Housewives" and "Hung"*. Good I do not have any big plans for the weekend.

By the way - something strange is going on in French class. Two of the students are apparently starting to hit it off. This female student literally sits in this guy´s lap! And she always laughs a bit too much every time he speaks. And he - for some reason - has to touch her arm every time she speaks. And - once they disappeared. During class. And they came back afterwards all giggly, and a bit out of breath. She even appeared to have that so-called "post-coital"-blush thing going on. Wow.

Hm. Maybe it is all part of my dirty imagination. Or, it might just be all this French-speaking that is getting to them. Or me? You know, French really is considered to be the most romantic-sounding language. Even the most boring sentence in Norwegian is believed to sound quite sexy in French. Really, I wouldn´t know. Never dated anybody - even remotely - French. I rather have this thing for the dialect from the area from where my husband comes from. (Oh, I can hear you all laughing at me now - you mean bastards!) But, really. I do.

*http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hung_(TV_series)

Why I love soccer. Not.

Dates back to my huge "Geox" fascination, three years ago. Since I have quite a few pairs of shoes - I never really tend to wear them out. Meaning I have quite a few in the back row of the closet that I do not really love anymore, but they are not quite worn down or out of fashion to the extent that I feel I can throw them away. This particular pair can still pass, worn in combination with my old faithful biker-style leather jacket. Without me looking like a complete nerd. I hope.

Ok. I am just wondering here. Did anybody just recently GLUE my husband to our couch? I just don´t know. Normally he changes positions or lies in different spots (it truly is a humongous couch), but if I did not really know for a fact that he has been out of the house to go to work and stuff over the last few days, I would suspect that he is actually stuck there. I just served him his supper, just in case he was not able to get it for himself. What if he really is attached to the sofa forever? Scary thought. Made me feel a bit like this weird woman in the movie "Misery", feeding her hostage. Although I did not break his legs or anything, I promise. Maybe he is just trying to qualify for the next Winter Olympics*.

Yesterday I went to see the guy that likes to torture my spine. Again. Now that I have been there quite a few times, I am starting to notice these little details around his office. As a consultant, I get to see a lot of different offices all the time, and it can be quite amusing. You can actually tell quite a lot about people by looking at what they keep lying around the premises. This guy is truly very, very (limiting on obsessive?) fascinated by all sorts of bones. He has a replica of a spine hanging in a corner. And the walls are covered by all those posters with scary monster-humans showing latin names of body parts you did not know, or wanted to know, existed. I guess this is all quite normal for a guy in his business. So - getting to the point here. The guy is a family man. I can tell because he has a picture of two adorable kids. That look very much like him. So far - so good. Then he has a picture of - what I guess - is his wife. This is where the weird thing comes in. His wife is actually wearing just a BIKINI! Can you believe that!? Weird. Never seen THAT before. I wonder if she is aware of the fact that she is out there on display - for all his clients to see?

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

Money never sleeps

Sister pair of the ones used yesterday. This is my favorite pair of the three. A bit retro, like bowling shoes, really. And, oh, so comfortable - with same Nike Air sole as the others.

Wall Street (1987) is one of my favorite movies. Don´t get me wrong, I have never seen Gordon Gekko (or Bud Fox) as heroes. And I just love it when the bad guys get caught at the end of the movie. Still, I find the cynicism and cockiness of the people in the movie quite fascinating, with insights like:

"Greed, for lack of a better word, is good." 

"If you want a friend, buy a dog."

"Lunch is for wimps."

Back in business school in the early nineties, this movie was considered waaaaay cool. Everybody really wanted to become a BSD* after graduation. Even the girls. (Except the ones that were aiming to become gold-diggers, or trophy wives, that is.) The world of finance was believed to be all glamour. Champagne, fast cars, cigars, guys in sharp suits, more champagne, suspenders and huge shoulder pads. I guess we saw the movie a few more times than what really was healthy.

After working for some years, we now know that it is mostly all about HARD WORK. Like in any other job. I actually tried doing the investment thing for a while, but it was not for me. I kept waking up in the middle of the night having nightmares about the retired people not getting their pensions because I had f***ed up and lost all of their money. I did ok, but I just could not take the pressure. And - I guess it is really enough to have one person in the household with a mood correlating with the DJIA**.

Of course, I had quite high expectations when I heard that there was a sequel coming out. Money never sleeps. With a quite funny trailer showing Gordon Gekko being released from prison and being given back his huge/ancient mobile phone. Ha ha. So - time to hit the cinema. Commercials before the movie starts are sometimes quite entertaining. The highlight this time was the Danish actor Mads Mikkelsen (hunk alert!) starring in a commercial for Star Tour. A charter travel company. Do you think Mads Mikkelsen really books his vacations through Star Tour?! Get real! I have news for you. Santa Claus does not really exist. Nor does the Easter Bunny.

Anyway. Movie was a great disappointment. Gordon Gekko has now gone soft on us. He is getting old, and has completely lost his edge. And he is being super-bearish***. Which is just too depressing. For me the highlights were seeing the regional office of a Swedish bank in Manhattan during the opening scene (when Shia LaBeuf gets off his bike when going to the office). And realizing that it is not just my husband that has a serious crush on Maria Bartiromo****. At our house we watch Squawk Box and Closing Bell on CNBC all the time. Husband claims that it is purely professional. I hear what he says, but I do not really believe him. Hello? Just look at the woman!!

* http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Liar's_Poker
** http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Dow_Jones_Industrial_Average
*** http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Market_trend
**** http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Maria_Bartiromo

Art hell

Result of bargain hunt in Cole Haan outlet store outside San Francisco two years ago. Brought home a total of three pairs at a 80% mark-down, so I practically made money out of that transaction. Yeah, right.  Not too fan of the velcro strap (really for people that do not know how to tie their own shoelaces), but very comfortable - as they are fitted with a Nike Air sole.

Time for our monthly social event at some bar near the office on Friday night. Should have gone home early, but - of course - did not. So, getting up for gallery visit with entire family on Saturday was a bit painful. Which is a bit of an understatement. Having fun together helps building a great team, but you should really not underestimate the effect of suffering together either. Felt somewhat better after text recap with other girls. Apparently I was not alone.

Family day at Henie Onstad Art Centre. Hell. Hell. Hell. Screaming, sugar-fuelled, children running around. Grumpy parents that all wish they were somewhere else. Without kids. Huge exhibition of some abstract pieces of art by Joan Miro*, all named "Femme", "Oiseau" or - any combination of the two. This guy apparently really liked his women and birds (my French classes are starting to pay off, yay!). And I think he liked to get involved with some strong and most probably illegal chemical substances while working. Oh, well. I guess I am not much of an art connoiseur.

To top it all off - there was a clown. A VERY scary clown - on a bicycle. Inside. Honking a horn, and winding up all the already quite wound-up children to new levels of over-excitement by building ballon animals upon (very loud!) requests. I do not like balloons either. Except the helium ones that you see high up in the sky from time to time. Knowing that somewhere there is a screaming child without a balloon. I am mean, I know. Moahaha.

Managed to get through gallery hell, long lunch with more family, and then logging on to get some work done. Amazing dinner with mum, dad and lovely husband. Think I fell asleep while still brushing teeth. Incredible how much you can actually manage to cram into one day.

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

The straw that broke the camel´s back

Loyal friends. Have the same ones in navy blue (which are now banned after the airport incident on Tuesday, even though they were not really involved) and grey. From Clarks. A brand selling really plain shoes, bordering on straight-out-boring. They typically make those brown leather sandals that people put socks in, if that gives you an idea. Then - suddenly - these came along. Heels not too high, and they go with everything. I am crossing my fingers that next season they will finally be available in red. Would love that.

Finally got husband back from NY. Only to send him off to Stockholm again this morning. As a proof that absence really makes the heart grow fonder - I got up BEFORE 6AM today to cook my husband an omelette for breakfast. If that is not true love, then I do not know what is. Or maybe I´m still jet-lagged after my flight on Tuesday, who knows.

Another crazy week at work. I really do enjoy it, but I think maybe my back is trying to tell me that I have had my dose of fun for a while now. So, I have made a new friend this week: Mr. Chiropractor. Very. Scary. Man. I mean, he breaks people´s bones for a living. I can still recall the the sound my spine made when he sat on it. Three times. Good thing is that I actually feel a lot better. So I am seeing him again tomorrow.

Yesterday´s french class was interesting. I actually discovered that there is a VERY thin line between when you find stupid people slightly amusing, and when they become totally annoying. Miss Fashion Management did not really have a good day in class yesterday. I really can´t see why she bothers at all. The good news are that if Darwin´s theory of "Survival of the fittest" is anything to go by, she will starve to death during her first month in Paris, as she will not be able to communicate with anyone. And, of course, "Ihihihi!" she had not done her homework. Which apparently was just hilarious. Duh.

In (the) navy

After being out of fashion for years, it is now back. I actually thought this was a good thing. I have always liked navy.

Well, maybe I need to reconsider. Apparently, navy is NOT the new black after all. Just got back from the airport. I was offered the employee discount when picking up some dinner on my way to the airport express. I guess my all-navy-blue ensemble of navy satin shirt, navy knitted dress and navy trench-coat was a bit OTT. No wonder the girl at the teller thought I worked for an airline.

Red-eye blues

My new brown boots. Bought them in Nice this summer, and have been saving them for autumn. From Marina Rinaldi (of course!), but I think they are a bit Ralph Lauren-ish. I love that country-style look. If I could just get my hands on a brown tweed jacket and I would be ready to go hunting. Boom.

You might not be aware of this, but it is actually possible to become jet-lagged by flying domestic. Norway is not a particularly wide country - and (theoretically) we are all in the same time zone (as most of Western Europe). Except me. I am always behind. And - unfortunately - there are mornings when I have to to drag my not-so-bony derriere out of bed a good six hours before my body clock says it is time. To catch a flight. That really does hurt.

I am flying out to Stavanger tomorrow for a full day meeting with a client. I look forward to the meeting. But, I could really do without flying out so early. Or - even flying at all. I know about videoconferencing, yes, but sometimes that just will not do. From time to time you actually need to see people face-to-face. Secretly, I am crossing my fingers that somebody will come up with the technology to teleport people from one place to another very soon. In my case, I would then teleport myself out in the morning. Then I would teleport 90% of my body weight back home in the evening. The remaining 10% I would send to some skinny person that I do not like. Would be a blast. If you know of such a project I would be more than happy to volunteer to be their guinea pig.

Apart from the getting-up-early business, I have a few other objections to flying early:

1) Extremely awake and talkative taxi drivers. I know they have been working for many hours throughout the night, and mostly alone. So they have a right to a social life as well. But - for goodness´ sake - can´t they please just shut the f*** up?

2) Security checks. For some reason, all the individuals (I was very close to calling them another i-word, but that would not be nice) that NEVER fly, gather at the airport really early in the morning. In addition to not being used to the security screening, they are ON VACATION. So there is no need to hurry, you see. They actually seem to be enjoying the whole process, as they try to make the thing last as long as possible. They take FOREVER to get all their stuff ready for security screening, and then have to walk through the body screening thing four times. First time they forgot to remove their keys. Second time it is their cell phone. Third time it is the huge belt-buckle. And on the last attempt they remove all the spare change, a can of soda and their shoes. This guy is the very same guy you will se five minutes later, having a beer. At 6AM. After all, he is on vacation, you know.

I guess we can not really rule out the fact that I might actually be the problem here. I love sleeping. And getting up at 4.30 AM to catch a flight is not really my kind of fun. I am really no good until after 10 AM. Which is a pity, really, as work tends to start before that on most days. Oh, it´s a struggle.

London calling

These have been my signature boots for years, and I have killed something around six pairs of these over the years. They are from a Norwegian high-street brand, Bianco. Used to love their shoes, but now that they have decided NOT to make my favorite boots anymore, they are no longer my friends.

Crazy day at work on Friday. Very typical when you plan on leaving early. Missed the train. Was stopped in airport security as they did not like the Norwegian brown goat cheese in my handbag (gift). Was able to withdraw GBP, buy headset for iPhone and pick up a bottle of bubbly from tax free - all in less than five minutes. Boarded plane on final call, still on the phone with work. Always great to start your weekend with your shoulders level with your earlobes. Wheew. Good thing I had treated myself to a ticket in economy extra and had free access to champagne. At this time I wish they had it on tap. With a hose going straight to seat 6A.

Catching up on our lives the last six months over dinner at Plateau, Canary Wharf. Raspberry and passion fruit martinis at Roka after. Very pleased to discover that friend´s new apartment was straight on the Thames - just like her previous ones, with an amazing view.

Lazy Saturday breakfast talking about some real important aspects of life, including the flowers and the bees and toilet habits. Upped the glamour factor a bit by "flying" over to Bond Street in my friend´s Porsche for some shopping. Spend my usual hour-or-so in Marina Rinaldi. Like their autumn collection quite a lot this year, but was somehow able to keep to self-imposed austerity measures (at least, to some extent). Then - queuing up at Apple Store. Left the store with a huge smile and two iPads. Finally.

Lunch at Hush, then back to the apartment for a nap. Shopping really is exhausting. Or was it yesterday´s martinis getting the best of us?

Met up with The Duke of Pembridge (another close London-based friend) at E&O, on his home turf in Notting Hill. Awfully cool place. Must have been a bit tipsy already, as I actually ATE the squid put in front of me. Finished the evening at Home House, a private club in Marylebone. Really appreciate having friends with memberships to such incredible places.

Tried having Sunday brunch in Pret-a-Manger, before doing some last-minute shopping. Was able to eat one single Swedish meatball, and it was coming back up to greet me for hours after. Then it is nice to know that you have at least an hour in a taxi ahead of you to get to the airport. With some driver that loves swimming in his cologne before going to work.

Heathrow has never been on my list of favorite airports. Especially when you arrive a bit later than planned, and need to get your shopping stamped by customs. I might not be the most frugal person, but at least I always take the tax off before flying home. It was SO not my plan that there would be a full flight to Osaka with hoards of LV- and Gucci-loving Japanese people in the same line. Had to cut my losses and go straight to security. Was lucky to get the papers stamped after security.

I hate coming home to an empty apartment. Called NY and woke up very jet-lagged husband in the middle of his afternoon nap. Not a good move. It is a good thing I have my new iPad to keep me company.

By the way, this might come as a huge disappointment to you all, but I did not even try on a single shoe while in London. I am not sure if I am starting to loose it, but even Jimmy Choo could not tempt me this time. And I only read about the new "Shoe Heaven" (opening in Selfridges this weekend) at the time when I was safely back in the airport on Sunday. A bit of a bummer, but I think it was probably all for the best.

When the cat's away, the mice will play

Yes, I know. My very first pair of Birkenstocks. I must have been unconscious. Pink "birkies"!? Must be a limited collector´s edition. About seven years old, and used a lot. As you can tell by the look of them. Yuck. Really comfortable, but I hate seeing my footprints in them. Double-yuck. Just because you love shoes does not mean that you necessarily love feet too. For the record - worked out of my home office today. Would not be caught dead in these outside the house. Well, maybe on the way to and from the grocery store, but that would be stretching it to the very limit.

So, "The Cat" is going to New York for a few days. Very good excuse for "The Mouse" to go to London. Visiting my friend. Not so practical to have one of your closest friends located a two-hour flight away, but having a close friend in London definitely has its benefits. And, really, I see her just as often as some of my friends that live in Oslo. Except the ones I work with, that is. (That is really why I have this hidden agenda of trying to talk all of my friends into starting working in the same place as me. Would be very convenient. It really is a pity that most of them are not by far as overly enthusiastic about financial reporting solutions as I am. Those suckers simply do not see the beauty of properly set up intercompany reconciliations.)

Sorry, got a bit carried away there.

I find London quite glamorous. I know my friend might not agree with me on that, but to me - even going to Tesco or Waitrose to buy groceries is an adventure, as the grocery stores in Norway mostly suck. A typical weekend in London would include great food, great wine, serious high-quality black-belt-level shopping, and lots of giggles. If husband comes along, it will most definitely also include a soccer game involving Arsenal, which is ok, but it is also good not to waste precious shopping time on a Saturday afternoon match. Although we DID really have a great time when he booked us all a VIP box at Emirates. I am not that big a soccer fan, but I sure know to appreciate the possibility of ogling Thierry Henry´s ass when he is bending down - preparing for a corner shot. While enjoying a glass of white. (Yeah, I know, he has left the club now, dear! I still weep when I think of that and David Seaman´s terrible porn-star mustache. And, yeah, I know that David Seaman is now retired. But I still remember his pre-mustache looks with great joy.)

For those of you that are starting to get an understanding of who I am, you know that tonight will be a night of frenetic packing. However, London is not the worst place to go if I should happen to (accidentally, I promise!) leave something really critical at home. Like the right shoes.

"But it doesn't matter 'cause I'm packing plastic

And that's what makes my life so fucking fantastic"

(The Fear, Lily Allen)

Pardon my French

Shoes by Sofie Schnoor. I am not sure if that is the name of a real person (boy - was I disappointed when I found out that Jimmy Choo is not a live person!), but I still think it is a really cool name. Picked up these in Copenhagen in May, sort of as a consolation for the Gucci ballet flats that I ended up buying later anyway. If I was to take a second first name, it would be Sofie. I think I would loose maybe 25 pounds by taking that name, as it is a typical name for a really skinny person. Might be because it reminds me of Aunt Sofie in the Norwegian children´s story. A skinny and super-bitchy old spinster of a woman (in my imagination, that is). If my low carb diet should for some reason crash and burn (like so many diets before), I might give this a try.

Wednesday and time for French class again. Fourth session, so now we are half-way through what they refer to as level ZERO. So far I have picked up quite a few new words, but I am not really sure if they are the actual words I was looking for. Today´s homework included the phrases: "Je suis martienne. Je suis verte. Je suis tres amusante."* I hope I will NEVER get in a situation where I will need to use these phrases. Ever. Again.

Our teacher ("Le Professeur") is a bit on the strict side. Whenever you manage to give a wrong answer, or a wrong pronunciation, she makes you repeat in class until everybody´s ears start bleeding. So better get it right the first time. One of the women in the group is now so on the edge that I am afraid she will start crying the next time she gets something wrong. Poor girl. I am of the understanding that this way of teaching is veeerrry Frrrench indeed. The teacher does, however, not look anything like the stereotypical petit French woman. No, FINALLY I know where all the croissants are going. Good to have that sorted out.

Mrs. Croissant is sending me about twenty years back in time. To my upper secondary education, and those amazing German classes with the troll of a teacher and her poodle (Topsy!). My oh my. She also knew how to play her power games. I had the same German teacher for TWO VERY LONG YEARS (for both of us, I guess). For some reason that woman never got to learn my name. I remained "you-with-the-ponytail-at-the-back-of-the-class" throughout it all. Even on days when I wore my hair down. I wonder whose German grade is really printed on my diploma. If you ask my husband, I actually struck a good deal there, as my German sucks. My diploma does not reveal that fact.

* I am a martian. I am green. I am really funny.

Fight Club

My SixtySeven boots. Comfortable to walk in for about two hours, then they start to be a REAL pain. Still, I like to wear them going to work, as very few clients pay me to walk around a lot anyway.

Time for the autumn street market in Oslo's supposedly finest shopping street. The street is closed for cars, and people gather from near and far in search of a bargain. The shops set up market stalls on the street and do their very best to get rid of the crap they have been hanging on to for years, hoping for it to come back into fashion. Or for some IDIOT to buy it. As the value of these goods have been written off years ago, they can even sell it cash, without bothering about receipts or VAT or any of that inconvenient stuff. The whole things is a bit like Bond Street in London suddenly turning into Camden market, if you know what I mean. Except that Bogstadveien is not really comparable to Bond Street.

If I am home, I always go. The street is only two blocks away from our apartment, and - even though I never really find a lot of stuff for myself - there are always a few bargains to be found if you look carefully - and in the right places. As a bonus, the people-watching is great. Something happens to us all when we THINK we can save a lot of money:

1) We are willing to buy ANYTHING, as long as it is a well-known brand and there's a mark-down. It does not matter that it is only available in a colour that NOBODY can carry off. Oh, no - if it is Ralph Lauren - then we gotta have it.

2) We tend to loose all of our manners (if we ever had any), and pure basic instincts take over. Moms run over people with their strollers. There is a tremendous amount of pushing and shoving. The phrases "excuse me" and "sorry" seize to exist.

It can get ugly. Really ugly. If you are the kind of (sick) guy that gets off on female catfights, this would be the place to go. You would have plenty to work on for months (or - at least until the next street market). The worst fights tend to break out in shops that sell high-profile brands that for some reason mostly attract customers that can not really afford to wear that very same brand. Today there were riots outside the Diesel flagship store. People were pushing and pulling to get to the front of the stalls. Quite a spectacle. I simply had to sit down and enjoy it all from a distance - with a glass of white wine.

Say "cheeeeeese"!

Looking back at this week, it has not really been a week for fab shoes. When I am busy and tired I tend to focus on comfort. I will try to get a grip on it and be better next week. Today´s shoes are from my favorite clothing brand. This is the kind of shoes that the stylish (but middle-aged) female Italian tourists wear when traveling (as seen in Vigeland Park). I think I would have to take up smoking to be more Italian than this.

Wheeew! I had such a fun day at work today, but with back-to-back meetings all day - you feel like a limp dishrag in the end. I simply can´t handle that much fun in one day. (By the way, please do not tell the local tax authorities that I actually enjoy my job so much - they might decide to increase my taxes.)

I did not even have time to eat my packed lunch. Lunch "on-the-go" is a bit of a challenge since I am trying to keep my carbs to a minimum. I try to defend myself against all the evil (screaming!) carbs by always keeping an omelette handy. "Is that an omelette in your handbag, or are you just happy to see me?" Problem is, I never do have the time to actually eat this when I am busy, and I always forget to bring cutlery. Once I managed to eat my "Emergency Handbag Omelette" (EHO?) using a ruler. The old girl scout returns when you least expect her to.

As you are not supposed to go grocery shopping on an empty stomach, I went straight for my local deli - "Fromagerie" - on the way home. I simply refuse to abide to stupid rules like that. Life is too short not to stuff your face with amazing food when you feel like it. This shop actually works a bit like a drug dealer, with the first hit being "on the house" (or - at least that is what I have heard). Except in this case there are no needles involved, just "teeny-weeny" pieces of delicious, mouth-watering cheese. And - no carbs. Just fat-fat-fat and loads of protein. Ahhhh. Went completely berserk, as I always do when I enter this shop. I must do something about my serious Pata Negra* addiction someday soon.

Now I am quite ready for a romantic threesome with husband and a bottle of Vosne-Romanee. I guess maybe our old friends Moet & Chandon will show up at some stage. I learned today that they get on really well with Langres**.

P.S. Honey, are you coming home soon? Leave that stupid office now, will you?

For today´s session in adult education, please refer to:

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

** http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Langres_(cheese)

Post kick-off stress syndrome

As much as I adore my Fiorentini+Baker biker boots (SJP* has them too!), I cannot help but feeling a bit down about the fact that it is time to wear them again. Autumn is here. I will most probably not be wearing sandals for a while now. At least not until Christmas, that is (yay!). Booked my flight to the Caribbean yesterday. 99 days to go.

Work is a tad (too) hectic these days. Great fun, but there is not really time for so much else. All work and no play makes me a dull girl, indeed. Well, I guess I played enough this weekend, anyway.

Arrived at my French class late today, ran out of a meeting in the office and managed to hop on the wrong tram. I had not had the time to do my homework, so I had to pull something similar to the good old "the dog ate my homework" excuse. I blamed having to work for 14 hours straight yesterday. I could tell that the two lawyers were really impressed, and that I had their sympathy. The female executive, that I now know works in Human Resources somewhere, gave me a worried look. And, finally, our "hope for the future" just looked at me, thinking "I am soooo never getting a job like that. Seeeeriously. You have to work thaaaat much, and it is not even in faaaaashion. Duh."

You may not be aware of it, but I read people´s minds really well. Your are hereby warned.

* SJP is the actress that plays the main character in SATC. A real style icon. If none of this makes any sense to you, please go away. Now. Or please google it or something, you twit.

Bad shoe day

My husband hates these. They were actually GONE for six months after we moved back into our apartment after renovating it last year. I have a pretty good idea who hid them under the bed (very original hiding place). Good thing he did not have the guts to throw them away.

This is the kind of shoes I wear when I feel really, really sorry for myself. Woke up with a terrible cold this morning. The kind that sits behind your eyes and makes your eyes run when you look at bright light. Like, for instance, a computer screen. Called in sick, only to end up having one of my busier working days. It is good to feel useful, but sometimes it would be good to just be able to pull a blanket over your head and forget about the world. At least on days like these. As a consultant that is not always easy. I once got back to see a client after I had been down with a flu for a week. The client asked me when I would be able to deliver the working days "lost" when I was ill. Hm. How would "NEVER" work for you? Yikes.

Carpet burns and hickies

Sugar in the mooorning. Not.

I hate waking up not remembering WHEN - or even worse - not remembering at all THAT I went to bed. It does not happen as often as it used to, now that I am such a mature and grown-up person. But it still happens. For some reason it happens more frequently in connection with events at work. I think it might be that when I go to other parties, I am too caught up in making sure that my husband is ok, so that when I go out without him - I totally forget to look after myself. Bad excuse, I know. But maybe an explanation of sorts.

Anyway. Great party last night. I think. It was one of those where you do not really expect it to be much fun, simply because you have not slept the night before, and can not think of anything you would like to do than just sleeeeeeeeep. I guess the turnaround happened sometime in the middle of a half-bottle of prosecco that I shared with my colleague before we went to our rooms to get changed for dinner. There was dancing. There was karaoke. Bottles and bottles of wine. And - as always, I am talking FAR too much. I never learn. I feel sorry for the people that have to bear with me.

Sunday, lunch. First of all: Why do people keep serving me their fish gratain when I am hung over? I crave burgers and pizza on days like these, can you hear me?! Then, we had a short debrief. Comparing bruises, most of them acquired hanging on to the rigs of the tall ship for our bare lives on Friday*. One girl had one that looked very much like a hickey. Who knows what goes on when the whole company shares one very dark bedroom for one night. Then we had the carpet burns. On our chins. Really cute. Apparently there was some sharp edge on the front of our uniform sailor jackets that had caused this. Nice.

Four hour busride to get home (so glad it was not another tall ship sailing adventure). Slept most of the way, then started planning Christmas Party with people on bus. I am not sure if that was a sign that the healing from yesterday's battles was on its way. Or whether I am simply an incurable party animal.

I love my couch. Going to bed now. Sleep tight, you. I know I will.

* Just for the record - I was not among the people climbing the rigs. Somebody had to volunteer to take photos to document it all, you know. AND - I am afraid of heights.

Hoy!

I got the first feeling that something wasn't quite right as I got off the tram and turned around the bend below the Akershus fortress. No rigs in sight. As I got closer, I saw all my neatly dressed colleagues in their matching navy blue sailor jackets. Hm. No ship. On the other hand - there was our HR Coordinator constantly on the phone, gesticulating and shouting "No, no, no!"

Turned out that the ship was somewehere else. Not at another dock in town, but in another town. Three and a half hour away by bus. So, as we are quite used to when it comes to public transportation in Norway - what was supposed to be one type of transportation, ended up being a busride. Fortunately, you can always count on the bus.

After lunch in Kragerø, it was time for embarkation. No canapees, no sparkling wine. All we got was a piece of string with a key on it, and a muster number. I got number 8. At least I was lucky enough to get a bed. Some people ended up in hammocks.

I was assigned to the 4-8 watch, or the "dog watch". Since the departure was so delayed, it was six o'clock before we got started. I was assigned the role as lookout, meaning that I was to stay in the front of the ship (I guess this has some funny maritime word for it that I do not remember), looking out for any large objects (including boats, containers or wooden logs) that might come in our way. Then, if I saw something, I was supposed to ring a bell, depending on the location of the object. For a while I thought we were going to ram straight into the Color Line ferry from Oslo to Kiel, but as I did not know whether to ring the bell one, two or three times - I pretended like nothing was happening. The only other object spotted was a white plastic bag. Some people pointed out to me that I missed an empty Coke bottle on the starboard side. Imagine what could have happened if it had been an iceberg?

In general, I really enjoy staring at the ocean. Sitting in a deck chair with a crappy chic-lit paperback and some bubbly really is my kind of vacation. And (maybe because I was born in the sign of the Aquarius) - water makes me calm (unless I am below it). But this is obviously a whole different story when you HAVE TO keep staring at the freaking ocean CONSTANTLY because other people's lives depend on you. Boy, that was boring! And - we were sailing in the opposite direction of the sunset, so I could not really enjoy that either. To top it all off, it was freeezing.

Since we had to be back on watch again at four, we went to bed early. Lights out at ten. Of course, the two other shifts could not go to bed at the same time. So I can totally relate to what the link below refers to as "dog sleep". It is really unfair waking up in the morning - feeling like shit - when you did not have one drop of alcohol the night before. I also regret packing too light. There was a couple of hours during that night that I regretted packing my fleece sleeping bag liner to allow space for more shoes, instead of bringing my proper sleeping bag. Brrrrrr.

In spite of the lack of sleep, the morning watch was still better. The sunrise was stunning. Otherwise, I spent most of the morning pretending that I was working on something or other (which is a special talent of mine) - while struggling to stay awake. To illustrate what an excellent team player I am, I volunteered to help scrub the decks. Haha. Don't tell my husband that I CAN actually clean. Then he will get rid of our maid immediately.

Yawn.

For explanation of the term "dog watch", please refer til this link in Wikipedia: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Dog_watch

Navigare necesse est

More flats. Danish, I think. Must be designed in the island of Mols, as NOBODY in their right mind would consider designing shoes with blush pink suede lining. Or buy them, for that sake. They do not look too tempting after being worn a couple of times. Purchased as (flat) backup shoes for work conference in San Francisco two years ago. The trip when I forgot that I had already packed my shoes (too much wine), and ended up packing 9 pairs of shoes and one furry pink slipper.

Had my hair cut today. And colored. Went for a very blonde color, as I do not like people to expect too much of me. Staying blonde is therefore quite comfortable, even though I suspect that I am really a brunette (with grey hairs) by now. Why is it that when you decide that your hair looks like shit and you need to do something about it, you wake up the morning of your hairdresser appointment to realize that your hair has never looked better, ever? Beats me.

I am looking very much forward to tomorrow. It is finally time for the autumn kick-off with work. This is the main (work) event of the year. Imagine around 100 business intelligence geeks, on an old tall ship built in 1927, sailing into the sunset. Quite a sight, isn't it? No, seriously - this is something I have always wanted to do (maybe not together with 99 other geeks, but still). I am not really expecting a lot of luxury onboard a ship like this, except maybe at least a SMALL spa and a jacuzzi. No casino, I guess. And the tax free shopping will be quite limited, even though we ARE going to cross the border. The worst part is, perhaps, that there will be no champagne. This is a so-called "dry ship". Meaning - no alcohol. At all. Kind of interesting to spend 24 hours straight with my colleagues - entirely SOBER. I mean, we do not actually drink while working, but all of our SOCIAL activities seem to involve some kind of drinking. Which makes sense, I guess, as most of us are quite introvert and shy. We tend to open up a bit more after a beer or fifteen. Me in particular. In "track & field" terms, I guess I am to concider something of a party rabbit. The one that tries to drag the rest of the field to the point of no return.

Maybe you will find this hard to believe, but in spite of us all being (really loveable) geeks (or maybe just because of that?) this is the most fun place I have ever worked. Of course, I sometimes experience things here too that make me want to pull my teeth out, but - hey, such things happen everywhere. At least we are not (yet!) one of those huge corporations flowing over with corporate bullshit (which I am allergic to). I guess we will get there eventually, but by that time I will hopefully have retired to an imaginary vineyard in Southern France. Anyway, when things sometimes get too much, at least it helps being with the right people. Even at times when we are wearing the exact same jacket, all 100 of us.

Now it is time to get my stuff together for the weekend. I had to buy a new bag today, as I only have these monster ones, and luggage capacity onboard is limited. I normally concider my 90 litre North Face duffel to be quite limited, but to show that I am indeed a team player, I have now gone out and bought the medium size 70 litre. In company pink.

Packing for trips with work is always difficult. If I decide to wear sweatpants and a hoodie during the conference session, everyone else seem to turn up in a really sharp suit. I never get it right. I really do not have a lot of time to try on stuff tonight either, as I have two status reports to write, and a project that is starting to eat me alive. Must. Stay. Calm.

I really want to wear my new sequin jacket during dinner on Saturday, but I am not sure if I have the guts. Might be a bit more Vegas than Gothenburg.

Allô, allô!

Summer of 2008. Nice, France. Walked into my all-time-favorite store in the whole-wide-world, Marina Rinaldi (Max Mara for fatties). And - BOOM! Every year, the shop assistants close the doors of the shop when I get there - so I can have the place all to myself. They quite obviously work on commission. Those cynical bastards.

Wednesday. Time for my weekly French class. I was told that I could expect to meet quite a lot of typical high maintenance "kept" women in this place, as they tend to do these classes to keep their minds occupied with something other than shopping and their ugly little dogs. This was not true. At all. I am actually a bit disappointed, as I seem to be the only one of those, and I don´t have a dog. Not even an ugly one.

The group consists of:

• A really charming gourmet chef from Trinidad
• A business woman that recently bought an estate in Puligny-Montrachet (why do I not have friends like that?)
• An altruistic kindergarten teacher on a mission to save the world by dating a (Francophone) African
• A lawyer with a French boyfriend
• Her much more intelligent friend (also a lawyer)
• A spoiled (male) brat with rich parents
• Another spoiled (female) brat with rich parents
• Me

The two young ones are quite interesting. The guy just wants to learn French and then move to France and do nothing. As long as his dad pays, I guess that is ok. The girl, however, is very ambitious. She is nineteen years old, and is going to learn basic French before she moves to Paris in January. For a three-month course in FASHION MANAGEMENT. I am not sure where she thinks that will get her, but I get the impression that she believes that she will be discovered by Chanel or some other major fashion house before the end of those three months.

Don´t get me wrong, I do appreciate ambitious people. Really, I do. But what I miss sometimes is a link between ambitions and actual skills and experience. It seems that some young people have been told their whole lives that they are sooo special, and that the sun shines out of their asses. Could we have a little reality check here, please? Your parents are supposed to think you are special - after all - they are your parents! To the rest of us you are just another spoiled brat. Hard work is what gets you anywhere in this world. Please, grow up.

Shit, now I feel really ancient.