Bagged lunch

We have stopped doing big lunches on Sunday. One day of this eating orgy is quite enough. Sunday is time to sleep in, skip breakfast, and then go out for hotdogs again. Before you continue shopping for more Christmas presents.

Met up with our friends at Cafe Norden.

Friend: "Oh. Hi. Wow. You have a Mulberry bag."
Me: "Yeah, so do you..? At least you had one yesterday? What happened?"
Friend: "My boyfriend barfed in it last night. He did not quite make it to the bathroom."
Me: "Oh. Right."

The rest of the afternoon was very quiet, as we were all in bag mourning. The poor bag was brought home, and hopefully - sometime in the future - it will be restored to its previous glory. If not, may it rest in peace.

Time to go home. Flying without an ID is no joke these days. No wallet = no ID. So - Saturday morning was spent on the phone with the embassy (closed) and the emergency line of the Norwegian Ministry of Foreign Affairs. They sent me an e-mail with a print of Mr. Incredible's passport. Then I had to forward it to the concierge at the hotel, for her to print it. Yes! We are going to show those nasty people at Scandinavian Airlines! We will be able to board your plane - even without the wallet! Ha!

Gate announcement at Kastrup Airport at 5.40 PM:
"We are now ready to board flight SK1470 to Oslo. Please keep your boarding passes ready for inspection. You will only need your boarding pass to board this plane. I repeat, there is no need to show your ID to board this plane."

WHAT THE F***.........?!

Lunch is (not) for wimps

You just gotta love Denmark. There is simply nothing NOT to love about Denmark. The people are mostly very laid-back and friendly. They serve great (but maybe not so healthy) food. The country is all flat, so no steep hills to climb. Very relaxing. Shopping is also way better than in Norway. Don't even get me started talking about Danish design. Hooray!

Most importantly, though, you are NEVER frowned upon if you happen to be a bit "happy" around lunch-time. The highlight of any trip to Copenhagen is Saturday lunch. This year, two people even flew up and down from Oslo on the day, not to miss it. I guess I should really keep "our" place a secret, to avoid it being crowded with (other) drunk Norwegians. But - since "sharing is caring" - I have left you a tiny clue. This place has it all. Great food, friendly waiters, and - last but not least - this is the place where we can sing, shout and do the limbo - during our meal. Talk about taking multitasking to a whole new level! We also try to speak Danish. Which is an extremely difficult language*.

I have no idea if the "fedtegrever" was any good. It is just too embarassing to ask what it is the third time you eat it. I skipped the herring (sild) and the eel (ål), though. Otherwise, most of it went down. We left the scene of the crime after FIVE hours, with a new reservation for 10 people. Same time/same place next year. I bet the waiters were thrilled. A big tip always helps.

At smørrebrød er ikke Mad,
Og Kierlighed er ikke Had,
Det er for tiden hvad jeg veed
Om Smørrebrød og Kierlighed.
(by Johan Herman Wessel)


As usual - bets were made as to who would make it to dinner. This year we had a success rate of 50%, out of which one person threw up on the table cloth. Classy.


* http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=s-mOy8VUEBk

27 dresses

 

Don't worry. I haven't run out of shoes just yet. I just didn't bring any to Copenhagen that you haven't already seen. That's all.

Sent Mr. Incredible off to taste the infamously strong gløgg at Hviids Vinstue (Kongens Nytorv) before lunch, while I browsed a few of my favorite shops. Met up for lunch at Tivoli Gardens, at "Den Skaldede Kok". I actually do shop quite well on three open sandwiches and a couple of glasses of aquavit. Went completely BERSERK at my "go-to" place for dresses - Monsoon. Not the most exclusive shop in the world, but I love the fact that they make things in larger sizes that do not scream "I-am-fat-and-I-am-trying-sooo-hard-to-hide-it" or "I-bet-I-look-tiny-in-this-tent". And do not cost an-arm-and-a-leg. They surely do know how to seduce a girl with their sequins and beadings. Clever people. Ended up buying 7. Or - maybe 8. Not sure. I haven't unpacked yet. So - wardrobe for upcoming Christmas cruise in the Caribbean is now in place. In fact, they are still/already IN THE SUITCASE. Very convenient.

White "post-shopping" gløgg back at the hotel with a few friends, before dinner at über-trendy Umami. Just before leaving for dinner, husband (not so incredible at the time) discovers that wallet is missing. Great. I should maybe add that this was - in fact - the SECOND time this happened - in ONE WEEK. Nothing less than impressive, I know.

After calling the "usual" list of credit card companies (which was really short this time, as most of the newly issued ones after the previous loss were still in the mail), we were left to worry about whether he would be allowed to fly home without any photo ID. A call to the always service-minded people of Scandinavian Airlines was not too comforting. So, what do you do? Order champagne. Then you feast on the best Japanese food in the area. Just before dessert is served, you discover that you have managed to put your dress on BACKWARDS. At that stage you do not even care to go to the restroom to turn it. You just do "the twist" while still seated at the table. I don't think anybody noticed. Really. Then you party - until six in the morning. That is exactly what you do.

Quotes of the day:
"The gløgg at Hviids was nowhere near as strong as last year!" (yeah, right...)
"I think I might just as well leave you with the aquavit bottle, sir..."
"We have a minibar in our room, come on!"

Winter equals snow....

Guess what! It actually snows at wintertime in some Scandinavian countries! Unbelievable, I know! Well, at least for people working in any sort of transportation business. Like, for instance, an airport....

You have been looking forward to your trip for AGES. You have a stressful day at work, run home early to pack your stuff. Hurry out to the airport. Check in and get rid of luggage. Struggle through the security control. Oh, well, not really. There is something called "fast track", you know. Then you run through the tax free to stock up on cheap deodorant and other necessities. After yelling at the cashier at the Seafood Bar for being out of Swedish Caviar (löjrom), you sit down to enjoy your glass of bottom-range bubbly. The weekend has arrived. Wheew.

Then you hear the airport announcement. It is snowing. In Copenhagen. And - guess where we are heading? You got it. Copenhagen. Our annual pre-Christmas weekend with good friends. A weekend that is ALWAYS far too short. So for the first time in almost 10 years, we decided to leave on a Thursday. So we could have a quiet day to ourselves before the real heavy drinkers arrive.

Normally, time flies. Especially when you need to catch a flight. But when you need to wait for that very same flight, time stands still. It is like a vacuum. A black hole. We finished our meal (some shitty crab followed by some equally shitty pretend-caviar). Browsed the shops - once more. Went to the business lounge and had a few hotdogs. Played Monopoly on iPad. Read papers. Updated Facebook. Ding-dong. A further delay. Great. Flush. That was the sound of our dinner reservation at the hotel going down the drain.

Arrived in Kastrup a good two hours late. Dinner was replaced by a red hot dog from the stand next to the luggage conveyor belt. Not a bad substitution, really, as these hotdogs are awesome. In fact, you should never spend more than 10 minutes on Danish soil before you chew into a red hot dog. Although I learnt recently from a very good friend, of US origin, that the Americans refer to hot dogs as "lips and assholes". It might indicate that it is not the BEST parts of the pig that goes into the hot dog. Doesn't really bother me that much, as long as it tastes great.

Now we are well settled at our home for the weekend. We have enjoyed a great breakfast including Eggs Benedict. And Mimosas. Although alcoholic beverages are not really allowed until after noon. Even on holiday. You need to make some exceptions to the rule from time to time.

Mr. Incredible is soaking in the bathtub, while yours truly is testing her new photo transfer from iPhone to iPad application, in combination with a new blogging software for her iPad. Nerdy, I know. I will try to make it up to you later this weekend.

- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad

Location:Kongens Nytorv,Copenhagen,Denmark

The spirit of Christmas

I know it is still just November, but I love the whole Christmas spectacle. Last weekend we finally got the invitations for the Christmas party out. I pride myself in sending out PROPER invitations every year. An e-mail just isn't the same. Of course, this takes some effort. Also, with pretty much the same guest list for 10+ years, I have to come up with new ideas every year. This year we went for the paper snowflake version above. I even got Mr. Incredible to help me cut a few snowflakes. Those of you that know him will be quite impressed by this fact, as he is not the most artsy/creative/patient person to walk this earth. I think the result was pretty cute though, if I may say so.

Time for Christmas shopping. Since there will be no family Christmas for us this year, we need to have all gifts ready in time for our traditional family-get-together-weekend in early December. I am just slightly stressed out about that. Just slightly.

Poor husband was dragged out of bed early (for a Saturday) to go to the toy store. A heavy hang-over is no acceptable excuse. We arrived with a carefully prepared list containing the names of the well-behaved (and thereby gift-worthy) children of friends and relatives. The store was pretty quiet, so I thought to myself - "Yes, this WAS a good idea! We beat the Christmas shopping rush.......!"

Oh, well. That was until this little top-to-toe pink devil (possible younger sister of little Damien of the movie The Omen*?) with blonde curls came running through the store screaming at the top of her lungs - clinging to a baby doll:

"BABY-BABY-BAAAAAAAAAAAAAAABYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY!!!!!!!!!"
(Apparently, she was not allowed to take the doll home, the spoilt little rugrat. Oh. So. Cute. NOT.)

I was just waiting for the kid's head to start spinning**, and I thought my dear husband would have a "falling down***" moment right then and there. We managed to escape to the LEGO department, only to be followed by the screaming kid, with her now NEGOTIATING(!) mum in tow. It was pretty obvious who was the REAL boss of that family. I know this is easy for me to say, having no kids of my own, but WHAT IS THE THING WITH SOME PARENTS?! Why couldn't the mum just tell her little princess(!) to shut the eff up? Argh!

We completed our shopping in less than fifteen minutes. Mr. Incredible was sent home in taxi with all the toys, while I calmed myself down shopping for gifts for the adults of the family. On average, customers do behave a lot better at Louis Vuitton than at the toy store, just so you know.

To celebrate getting through about 3/4 of our shopping list, we had a nice long late lunch at Nodee. Black cod and a good mersault (or two) really is a match made in heaven. Topped up with crispy duck and a basket of dim sum, you sleep quite well on the couch afterwards. I do love this time of year. And it is still not even December.


* http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Omen
**http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Exorcist_(film)
*** http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Falling_Down

The North Pole

Aerosoles. Very. Boring. Brand. But - as they say - "even a blind chicken finds a kernel of corn now and then". So - from time to time, they come up with something close to tolerable. These too would have been extremely boring if it wasn't for the amazing color. I certainly had a RED day today. Red shoes, red coat, red blouse, and - even - red leather gloves. What can I say. I never do anything half-way.  If I tell you "Oh, THIS! Just an old rag I found lying around my bedroom floor...", I might not really be telling the whole truth. I just don't know how to handle a compliment.

I am currently working with a client in the city centre. It is - in fact - shorter to go to the tram stop than to our garage, AND since the parking in the city centre is insanely expensive - and totally inconvenient - I get to suffer a lot using public transportation these days. The only way to survive this is to avoid ALL eye contact with other passengers, AND listen to your iPhone/iPod/other. Pump up the volume.

The following musical/public transportation experiences are currently available in Oslo - brought to you by courtesy of (?) our local transport company, Ruter, at the reasonable (?) price of NOK 40 (pre-purchased tickets sold at a discount):

The train: "Don't stand so close to me" (The Police) *
I have never taken the local train to/from the suburbs. So - in fact - I know very little about this. However, I think one of my Facebook friends described it pretty well in his status update yesterday. He had a special moment on the train, listening to this song on his way home from work. It really says it all, doesn't it?

The ferry: "Sailing" (Rod Stewart) **
To me, this seems awfully romantic. I have a very good colleague that does this on a daily basis, and I am not so sure if she would agree. I did some research today, and according to my limited/exclusive survey, including ONE observation only, the ferry is not too noisy, and passengers have actually been known to talk to each other. Wow. I think I would have liked this.

The bus: "Lay, lady, lay" (Magnet & Gemma Hayes) ***
Most bus drivers in Oslo carry a very obvious death wish. I would, too, if I had to drive a bus full of grumpy passengers every day. As a result, they drive like maniacs. The bus is ALWAYS crowded. Really crowded. No seats available, so your only option is to hold on to a huge POLE for your bare life. Swinging here and there, as the bus turns. A bit like a pole dance with clothes on, really. Until the bus suddenly stops. And it all turns into more of a lap dance, as you suddenly lay across the lap of a total stranger. Classy. Love the song, hate the bus.

The subway: "Sweet harmony" (The Beloved) ****
Due to the frequent departures this is normally not so crowded. It actually allows space to breathe. And daydream. Quite entertaining. Hm. Would have been my main choice if the stop was closer to our apartment. And closer to the client's office at the other end.

The tram: "I saved the world today" (Eurythmics) *****
My favorite, if I was to use that word about something related to public transportation. It is quiet on the tram. You do not have to go underground (scary). You normally do get a seat (at least from my stop). So you can spend time listening to some motivational music on your way to work, trying to fool yourself into believing that your work actually DOES make a difference. As if.

Enjoy.

*http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KNIZofPB8ZM 

** http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-aDbLa5G5GE

*** http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Gv4JnFClVmo

**** http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8QBPQ1qDTeY

***** http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Zf052uxFF58

The winner takes it all

My brand new Tory Burch winter boots! Yay! Arrived in the mail yesterday. Shopping on the web is a wonderful thing. I just wish that the tax-free amount for purchases from abroad was a bit higher. The current limit of NOK 200 does not really get me very far. I mean, what do you get for that amount these days? Not a lot, I'll tell you. Anyway. I have been adoring these boots on the web for weeks. Showed picture to husband this weekend, and he said "I guess they are ok if you can actually manage walking in them". To quote Mr. Obama: "YES, WE CAN!" And they make me very tall. Maybe a bit too tall, as I actually get taller than husband. But I'll manage.

Dear Internet. I apologize for being a bit off(line) lately, but someone very dear to me is going through a bit of a rough patch (understatement of the year), and this has taken it's toll on yours truly. If it wasn't for my amazing husband, I don't know how I would have kept myself afloat. He should from now on only be referred to as "Mr. Incredible". Actually, one of my friends thinks he even resembles the "real" (well he is a cartoon hero) Mr. Incredible*. So it is not a bad comparison, really.

Tonight turned into game night, as Mr. Incredible's tennis partner called and cancelled at the very last minute. I offered to jump in, but Mr. I mumbled something about "pigs", "fly" and "hell freezes over", and somehow I got the impression that he does not really see me as an appropriate replacement. Which was good, because at last, my one year long period of nagging resulted in us FINALLY playing his "new" Monopoly board game, the Arsenal Football Club Edition. Previous Christmas present from myself. It is like regular monopoly, but the streets are replaced by soccer players. And the houses and hotels are replaced by stands and stadiums. Pretty neat.

We started off with very different strategies. Mr. I went for a "I am going to buy all my old heroes" kind of strategy. While I went for LOOKS. And nothing but looks. Except when I had to buy a not so handsome player to complete a collection to buy stands/stadiums.

Well, guess who won.... Can someone please tell the stupid person at the back of the class claiming that "good looks do not get you anywhere" to SHUT UP. It works.

I think someone will be looking for revenge this weekend. OR, the game will simply be discarded as "stupid", hence it does not really count. Oh, well. We'll se about THAT.

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

The chicken or the egg?

"The Shoes of Christmas Past". VERY red. VERY uncomfortable. The only way to get by wearing these are by drinking lots of the dangerous air-fuel-graded "gløgg"*. Will get back to the ordeals of proper "gløgg"-making as we get closer to Christmas.

I am starting to realize that I am a summer shoe kind of girl. Very much so. I do not really have that many pairs of shoes that go well with snow. And, the ones I have - look awful. So I will postpone wearing those as long as I can. This means that I am actually having a bit of a tough time picking new pairs of shoes from the shoe closet these days, as I can not really wear SANDALS, can I?  Well. Why not? Instead of wearing all my comfortable and booooooring slippers around the house, I could go totally out there, and wear some amazing shoes lounging on the couch! Starting today! Not as painful either....

You surely can picture me lying on the couch in these strappy sky-high sandals, with my husband running around - catering to my every whim? Sounds like a plan! Uhm. Just for the record. In case I gave you a somewhat wrong impression of the whole situation. I should add the MINOR detail that I will in fact be wearing my far-too-big Calvin Klein pajama bottoms and a hoodie with those shoes. Just so you do not get any funny ideas about what REALLY goes on at our house on a normal Saturday. 

Even though I am occasionally served genitalia-shaped eggs for breakfast.

We have this unspoken deal at our house, that I get up to make my husband breakfast on weekdays, as he starts work before me. Then he needs to return the favor on weekends. Today, he apparently put some extra effort into it. I guess I would have found it SOMEWHAT more romantic if he had managed to serve me a heart-shaped egg.

Then again, I guess it was me that actually purchased this** in the first place. At the time I was getting a bit tired of the good-old "eggs benedict"***.

* http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Glogg
** http://www.giftmonger.com/acatalog/Rude_Penis_Shaped_Egg_Fryer.html
***http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Eggs_Benedict

Don't worry, be happy

I have great news for you. This "global warming" thing is a huge hoax. This week we had temperatures around ZERO in Oslo. And SNOW. Ouch! I think snow should just stay up in the mountains. Where it belongs. Wore my new-ish brown boots* today. They are NO GOOD on snow. Too slippery. I almost did not make it up the hill where we live on my way home from the pub. And it was not because of me being in a drunken stupor. I promise. You know that I am a good girl.

This evening, I went to our local pub. According to honey-bunny, this pub is the sole reason why he chose to buy our apartment in the first place. The pub is called Highbury. Of course. It is the home turf of the Arsenal supporters in Oslo, including dear husband. Except on Thursday nights, when they have a pub quiz, and "normal" people are allowed on the premises. It is actually very convenient to have a pub this close to your house. It provides a great place to park my dear husband on Saturdays, while I do my shopping. When I come to pick him up, he is normally very happy. Unless - heaven forbid (I am even afraid to write it, as I do not want to jinx his team) - they LOOSE. Fortunately, they mostly win, so he is happy. And does not mind a bit that I have been shopping like Greece on speed for 2 x 45 minutes. Making me happy, too. I even have a credit limit at this pub. Without applying for it. Since they know my husband so well, I do not need to leave my credit card at the bar when ordering. As they say, "You are Mrs. H aren't you, we know where you live". Hm. Not sure if this is a good thing.

Anyway. Time for another pub quiz. This thing started quite a few years back, and it has remained very popular. It is a great way of gathering your friends on a weeknight without too much effort. Nothing needs to be prepared in advance, and people just turn up if they can. Very casual. Apart from providing the possibility to meet up, and drink wine (which I rarely do during the week), you get the possibility to prove how truly brilliant you and your friends are - compared to the other MORONS in the pub.

Being grown-up, you no longer have this cool thing with instant feedback and acknowledgement. As a kid, you delivered your homework to the teacher almost every day, and got immediate praise and golden sticker-stars-and-hearts-and-angels-and-whatnot when you did well. No such thing in the grown-up world. Well, except on the rare occasions that you do decide to change jobs. Then there is no limit to the amount of praise you get, particularly from your soon-to-be ex-employer. The sun shines out of your ass, and in the end it sounds like you actually ran the place all by yourself, and now they will go out of business because you leave. To avoid having to change employers too often (might look a bit suspicious on your CV), the pub quiz is the perfect evening entertainment to keep your feeling of self somewhat intact.

We normally do quite well. As long as we are in the top 10, we can leave the pub with our confidence still in place. Well. This week was sort of a downturn. 14th out of 22 teams is not really where we see ourselves. One team member volunteered to put a pocket atlas on his Christmas wish list this year. My contribution is generally to send out the quiz invitation, and fill in the answer sheet. Being an accountant (deep inside), I am very precise. Once in a blue moon I also provide an actual (correct) answer, but I see myself more as a kind of facilitator. This way I get to take part in the success when we do well, but it is never really my fault when we do not quite make it. I just happened to be there.

* http://dayinshoes.blogspot.com/2010/09/red-eye-blues.html

Chattanooga Choo Shoe

Pedro Garcia, again. I normally wear these with jeans, as they are a bit OTT. But a girl can never wear too much bling, can she? Part of shopping spree in Tallinn last autumn. Fell in love instantly, and could not leave shop without them. Shoes like these do not really go well with the Norwegian climate. I guess that is one of the reasons why galoshes are getting back into fashion. Shit. Does galoshes count as shoes? Blimey. I guess you should expect some future galosh posts then. No doubt.

Time for father-in-law's 60th birthday party. Flat shoes above are brought along in case I have to dance. If my own father's 60th this summer is something to go by, this party will be A BLAST. That party ended with the police stopping by to ask us to keep it down. Hilarious! Can you imagine a bunch of 60-year-olds doing the Macarena in a house in the middle of a farm field, and the cops turn up? Apparently they were just patrolling the area. We could not really figure out how any of the neighbors could complain - as they were all at the party - dancing. Ok. It was perhaps a bit loud. I guess I should have gotten the message when two crystal oil lamps on top of one of the loudspeakers exploded. Oops. Was not really my fault. It is my dad that has this insanely over-dimensioned sound system. I just brought the iPod. Not that I really needed to, with his record collection.

Anyway, time for big party up north. Husband's original home town. And we are taking the TRAIN. Slow, but convenient. I like the train. On my list of "things-to-do-before-I-die" (a list that strangely enough just grows the more I actually get to see of the world) are:

1) Orient Express from London via Venice to Istanbul ("Venice, yay! Istanbul, yay!")

2) ROVOS Rail, South Africa ("See the Great Five while sitting on your ass, drinking wine!")

3) The Trans-Siberean Railway ("Hm. Not quite sure what to do in Vladivostok, though.")

As you see, I prefer the good-old-train experience. I actually get quite queasy when I take one of these fast / modern trains. Motion sickness. So the TGV is not my thing. And the restaurant cart is no longer what it used to be. No white table cloth. No waiter. Fortunately, this can easily be solved by bringing you own "train picnic". I guess it is not really allowed, but as long as you behave and act very discreet about it, you should not get in trouble (I know this for a fact, as I have done my fair share of these). 

You need:

• Plenty of wine. Always at least one more bottle than you think.
• Wine opener
• Crisps (helps fight motion sickness)
• Mouth-watering finger food (I prefer Pata Negra and fresh olives)
• Lots of smelly cheese (this way you can pretend that the foul smell that spreads throughout the train after about half an hour is coming from the cheese and not from the other passengers taking their shoes off...)
• Good company
• Patience
• A deck of cards

It might not be the Orient Express, but it works.

Ignorance is bliss

Comfortable, but OH, so boring. As they go with both pants and dresses/skirts, they are perfect for traveling. And (clean) patent shoes can spice up any outfit. I think I got these at the street market in Bogstadveien*.

You are going to hate me now. Maybe you already do, but now you will get another reason. No reason to postpone it, so I am just going to say it. I picked up my coat from summer storage today. Here we go. I have a fur coat. And - I LOVE IT! There. I have said it. Wow. Good to have THAT off my chest, I must say.

Fur is very much not the thing to wear in Norway (or anywhere else) right now. There was this thing in the media last week. About some poor creatures suffering badly. I could not read it. Did not want to look at it. I just don't want to know. 

You see, I got this fur coat as a gift 10 years ago. It is made of mink, but not the kind that lives in a cage. No, it was nothing like that. These were free-range minks. That roamed free in this huge green field. The grass was so green, almost luminescent, and SO fluffy. The little minks were running around playing all day, with their tiny mink feet just barely touching the ground, as they were so happy. In the end, they all died a natural death. I think. I am a little bit unsure about the part of the story where someone took their furs and turned them into a coat. But I guess that someone had only the best intentions.

As I said, I do not want to know. Being a person that thinks far too much, I would most probably starve to death if I started to REALLY think about all all the suffering animals in the world. I once heard that even carrots scream when you pull them out of the ground. Stuff like that gives me nightmares.

So, I think the best thing I can do is wear my fur coat as must as possible during winter. So these poor buggers did not all die in vain. This way they have at least died for a purpose. Even if that purpose is just to keep me warm.

* http://dayinshoes.blogspot.com/2010/09/fight-club.html

Get a room...!

Ahem. THIRD (and final!) pair of wedding shoes. Extremely cute with the marabou trim and all. Still, totally USELESS. But, since I have promised to wear all the shoes in my shoe closet this year, I wore these for two whole hours this evening, watching TV and recovering after a huge dinner. By coincidence, I happened to zap by a program showing the place where we actually got married! The son on this estate is taking part in a reality show searching for his future spouse. Quite entertaining. Although, normally, I would never watch that sort of stuff. No. I spend all my evenings reading Kafka and Dostojevski. While flossing. Such a sensible girl.

My dear husband´s birthday. I bought him this funny print showing these "Skiraffes", by the Norwegian artist Eli Hovdenak. You might recognize me as the scared-stiff-one in the upper right corner. 

As usual on any kind of occasion, big or small, we went out for dinner at Theatercafeen. Not the most exciting food in the world, but we both just love the atmosphere. The place can seem a bit formal and intimidating during your first visits. I guess the secret is to not take the place too seriously. A good Monday night - in spite of the waitress managing to seriously piss me off - even BEFORE we had managed to place our orders. Well done! 

As usual, I asked for the sommelier's wine list. The poor waitress just looked blankly at me, before she explained to me that this list only contained EXPENSIVE wines. Ouch! Who the hell is she to tell my what I can or can not afford?! I was THIS CLOSE to ordering a bottle of the delicious Vega Sicilia Unico*, just to show her. But that would have been just too childish. Even for me. But, I truly hate it when people in shops/restaurants/hotels - make assumptions about people like that! It is none of their business. If I want the wine list, then give it to me. Now. Bitch.

Anyway. I am such a forgiving soul. At least after behaving like a real bitch myself. She had to take my glass of champagne back, as it was not fizzy enough. Hah.

The evening improved after that. My husband claims that he is not much of a romantic, but we must be doing something right. Once, on our annual skiing weekend, we were approached by these two guys who had seen us both wearing wedding bands, but suspected that we were really married to somebody else. They could inform us that married people simply did not behave like we did. In public. Sure. I guess I should have been really embarrassed, but to be honest, thinking of it actually makes me kind of proud. I am just totally shameless.

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