Notre Petite Maison

My brand new beige peep-toe espadrilles from Enzo Poli. Could not decide on which color to get, so I got them in black, too. Perfect summer shoes, and the wedge heel makes them wearable throughout a long day. Only drawback is that they make me taller than Mr. Incredible.

Spent all Sunday doing nothing but lounging by the pool on the roof terrace of our hotel. Ouch, sunburn! My last night in a French hotel in a while, I guess, as we - as of today - are the insanely happy owners of a villa 10 kilometers north-west of Cannes. My usual "yay!" does not quite cover this. I hear that people say that the greatest moment of their life was when they had a baby. Well, I wouldn't know, would I. So I guess I would have to say that owning (well, technically, there IS a bank involved, too) a house in Southern France also feels pretty awesome. It is somewhere up there on the top of my list together with marrying Mr. Incredible seven years ago. In case you were wondering.

Met up with the French real-estate agent this morning, at the house. The owner then explained to us all the technicalities of the house. Like the heating, which I did not think we would need to know much about, but it turns out that this is also the source of hot water. And it might be that we would want to take a shower at one stage.

I was also introduced to our gardener / pool boy. I hate to disappoint you, but real life is nothing like you see in the movies. Ours will hereby go by the name of "Quasimodo", although that is not his real name. But I guess you get the picture. And he does not wear tiny bathing shorts. He wears tired old soccer shirts. Today he was Figo. The most frightening thing about him, though, is perhaps that he does not speak a word of English. Or Norwegian. So, I have a very good reason to start taking my French lessons very seriously again.

Long flight home now. With Luftwaffe via Frankfurt. Our travel habits seem to be changing from now on. The normal thing for us is leaving home with two pieces of luggage. And returning home with five-ish. Now we arrived in France with five pieces, returning to Norway with two pieces. Being two EMPTY suitcases. Weird.

Still, it feels ok to have a second toothbrush permanently stored in a different country.

Yay.

- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad

Location:Ankunftbogen,Frankfurt,Germany

Gonflable

My last pair of Stuart Weitzman shoes. And, the first really expensive pair of shoes I bought. For a wedding in June 2000. Good party shoes, not so good walking shoes. As my feet were still a bit swollen after Friday's flight, they were good for the walk from the hotel over to Astoux for another seafood massacre. But as the wine drained my body of water, they kept falling off on our way back. So, I ended up walking down the Croisette barefoot last night. Very hippie-chic, I guess.

Today we spent all day shopping for stuff for the house. Unbelievably enough, we managed to get through this without any major discussions. Mr. Incredible hates shopping, but when shopping for things we actually need, he somehow manages to stay calm. I, on the other hand, has been known to love shopping. But not really for stuff we truly need. I worked hard not to fall into the optimization-trap, where I need to evaluate every single item I buy thoroughly to make sure everything I buy is perfect. No time for that with a ticking bomb husband in tow. You know perfectly well that he will only last for a limited number of hours before he has had enough. And then the shopping spree is over. Period.

In five hours we managed to purchase: a washer, a dryer, a Nespresso machine, a regular coffee maker, two hairdryers, an electrical toothbrush, an iron, a vacuum cleaner (nothing sucks like Electrolux), a refrigerator, a wine cabinet (important), a tool box, a hammer, a Weber gas barbecue, a barbecue cleaning brush, barbecue cleaning spray, an apron, a set of barbecue tools, a barbecue cover, an electrical screwdriver thingy, bits for that one, a wrench, pliers, a water (is that the actual word?), a measuring band, four sun beds, two small tables for the sun beds, two sun umbrellas, covers for those, an outdoor dining table, ten outside dining chairs (with armrest = optimal), a Fatboy buggle-up for lounging in the garden or in front of the TV, an inflatable extra bed (since the beds I have ordered do not arrive until the end of the month), and very importantly, an electrical pump for my inflatable toys.

Now, that last item I think I should elaborate on, as I know that certain in-duh-viduals will surely - ON PURPOSE - misunderstand what sort of inflatable "toys" we are talking about. Yes, I know you are out there.

The people that have been on vacation with yours truly before will, however, know that I love these huge silly inflatable toys that you can float around on in your pool. Precisely. The bigger, and more silly, the better. The last few years I have preferred this huge island with a palm-tree on it. Not easy to float around on, but looks amazing. The drawback with these toys is that it takes some breath to inflate one of them. Now, however, we do not need to take that issue into account when purchasing new ones.

The sky will now be the limit. Or, rather, the size of the pool.

Location:Rue Frédéric Amouretti,Cannes,France

Paper, rock, scissors

My second pair of Minnetonka moccasins. Soft suede shoes was perhaps not the best choice in rainy Oslo this morning, but there was a plan behind it. I saved these specially for today, as they make really good driving shoes. And - we were at one stage worried that today would be the day that we had to take to the road. And DRIVE down to France for the weekend. The volcano ashes floating around Europe earlier this week had us scared for a moment there. So, when we got stuck in traffic out of Oslo this afternoon, we just laughed. As we could easily have been stuck in traffic outside Copenhagen by that time. Knowing that we had 21 more hours to go.

A day of great achievements. Finally took the second car to the garage and had the tyres changed for the summer. Then, I had to go to the police station to pick up copies of our non-existing criminal records. Having a thing for (certain types of) uniforms, this was, of course, a highlight of the day. I do not know what it is, but certain types of uniforms can make someone that - in reality - looks like S. H. I. T. look quite hot. It does not work with all kinds of uniforms, though. Airline purser? No, thanks. Pilot? Ok, maybe.

Lost my concentration there for a bit. Ok. Next on my agenda was dropping the police documents off at the child welfare centre. Their report recommending us as adoptive parents was completed this week. And the papers from the police was the only piece missing. The process took us about six months. Which I guess is not too bad. Not particularly fast, but not very slow either. We have heard of worse.

Our application will be forwarded to the main adoption authority in Norway on Monday. Which hopefully will end up with a "yes". I do not think I could handle anything else, to be honest. But I do not dare taking anything for granted.

So, big day for us today! And that was even before I got to work. Where I struggled with an update all day, finishing the upload two minutes before Mr. Incredible came to pick me up. I still feel like I have a small knot in my stomach as things went a bit fast there in the end. Well, I will be back to fix any discrepancies next week, anyway.

Now I am enjoying the great people-watching in the business lounge at Oslo Airport. Or, perhaps even more, listening in on all the VERY LOUD phone conversations around. We just lost one of the better ones, a guy that was flying to HOOOONG! KOOOONG! On business. And he was calling everyone in his phone book to keep them updated. As if they would be interested. Well, he is off now. In case you wondered. To Hong Kong, I think it was.

Was a bit bummed out that there were no hotdogs being served in the lounge today. But for once they served bubbly wine. Which I could only take a small sip of, as I will be the one picking up our rental car tonight. Bummer.

I know, I should have followed the advice I got during lunch today. Having two glasses of wine BEFORE being picked up today would easily have eliminated the possibility of me driving at all tonight. Instead, I ended up loosing a stupid game in the car.

Superwoman

My "I-wish-I-was-young-(or-at-least-born)-during-the-1930s" shoes. From Bianco. Fits well with the current retro trend following "Mad Men" and "Boardwalk Empire". But they are actually quite old. I think I bought them during the previous round of retro-glam, following the release of the movie "Chicago". In 2002. For some reason I haven't used them that much, but for heels they are not too bad. Although I must admit that I brought back-up shoes for today. Just in case these got painful.

Things have been kind of crazy since I got back from New York last Wednesday. Funny thing, apparently I am not supposed to take time off from work, because what happens is that I have to put in TWICE the hours that I take off - before I leave. And then the same amount of hours after I get back. How can that be? I guess the true answer to that question is that having fun motivates me. Work hard, play hard.

Still, the result is that I now feel like a dish-rag. A very tired dish-rag. That some dog has been chewing on for a good while. All day I have been looking forward to getting back into bed, and sleeeeep. In fact, I really feel like hiding under a blanket. And maybe cry a little. I know it is just stress. Because, really, I have nothing to be sad about. At around 9 PM tomorrow night I will be somewhere in the air above Germany, sipping a glass of champagne. Yay. On my way to France to close the transaction on the house. Finally!

But before that - I should really build some automatic reclassifications of intercompany transactions for a client. How terribly exciting.

I put a spell on you

Comfy flat working shoes from Rizzo (again!). They were almost ruined this morning, when I decided they needed a little polish before work. I managed to mistake our "quick polish" sponge in a plastic box with CROCS BUTTER. Yup. The yucky grease that you perhaps did not know existed, but which is a must if you want to keep your Crocs in shape. Does NOT look too great on leather shoes. Trust me.

What a morning! It did not end with the Crocs-butter episode, ohno. I do not know what it is. Whether things like these also happen to other people, or whether this is all just me. Me - the walking disaster area.

On my way to the tram stop, I happened to look down. Just to discover that my blouse had very conveniently unbuttoned itself. In a very strategic area. Leaving approximately 50% of my décolletage on display. Just terrific! I closed the button, only to discover that it had slid open again as I was leaving the tram. Being in a hurry - and on my way out  to see a client - the issue at hand had to be fixed. Immedately. I instantly thought of "The Larry-bag"*. The bag I in a moment of desillusion decided to leave at the office a couple of weeks ago. To celebrate the fact that I finally have an office again. Or at least a designated desk that I share with the rest of my team. Accompanied by My Very Own Locker (it even has a lock and a key!). Which was depressingly empty. And screaming to be filled with SOMETHING. So I left my precious Larry-bag in there. Very stupid decision, yes. I see that now.

Ok. What now. No time to run into the office to fetch my emergency kit. So I entered the nearest pharmacy. Hoping that they would have something, anything that I could use to keep my stupid blouse shut. I was even willing to go for TAPE at this stage. As you know, tape - or more specifically DUCT tape - will fix ANY problem, just look at MacGyver. Fortunately, the pharmacy sold safety pins. So I did not have to walk around with sports tape covering my front all day. Genious!

So. I enter our client's office. Very careful not to upset the misbehaving button again. I did not even dare stopping by my client's desk. I just popped my head in - very quickly - saying "Hi" and "Can I use Roberto's office today?". Which turned out to be a very wise decision. Because, just as I entered the above mentioned office, I hear a sound.

"Pop."
The sound of a button. Coming loose.
Then...
"Click. Click-click-click."
A loose button falling to the floor. And then bouncing away.

No. This is NOT happening! I dropped all my things, and started searching for the stupid button. Which was nowhere to be seen. A consultant crawling around the floor looking for a button does not look very professional. So I soon had to give up the search. Safety pins really are a great invention, though.

My 12 safety pins got me safely through the day at the client's office. Our office meeting in the afternoon (at which time I carefully picked up the Larry-bag and put it safely back in my back-pack again). Dinner with my sister. And FINALLY. The highlight of today. Rocking with a 65-year-old. Bryan Ferry.

By the way, do you think Lady Gaga will still be touring, selling out her concerts, when she turns 65? Just wondering.

* http://dayinshoes.blogspot.com/2010/12/larry-bag.html

The King of Smalltalk

Shoes from Rizzo again. Swedish brand that has a flagship in my neighborhood. We are talking SAME BLOCK. Located less than 100 meters away from my bedroom. That close. It has been brought to my attention on several occasions that WHITE SHOES are a big no-no. I do not really care. I like white shoes in the summer. Today, however, I guess I went a bit over-the-top as I wore them with a skirt, a white shirt AND my NYC Women's Yacht Club "blazer". "Heeeeel-loooooo?" I should know better than dressing like the queen of preppy for a full day session of training close to where I grew up. Really, I do. If you dress like a presumed a-hole, you will most certainly be treated like one. Nobody, I mean NOBODY, talked to me during lunch. I guess I did not look that approachable. Even though I wore my "approachable" glasses today. The pair without frames. Will definitely go for jeans tomorrow.

Stopped by the local grocery store to pick up some lunch on my way in this morning, as the variety of "no-carb" food at the client cafeteria is pretty limited. Unless, of course, I would dare go for the buffet with the fillings for everybody else's sandwiches. Which would not be a polite thing to do, being sort-of a guest at this place.

It is always nice walking into our local grocery store. It is now run by a guy I went to school with. Who now looks exactly like his father did when we grew up. AND - he has - after being brought up to be "The perfect shop-keeper", attained some skills that I truly envy. He can talk. To ANYONE. About ANYTHING. I do not know how he does it, but it surely is a special talent. That runs in this guy's family. Strangely enough, this guy was quite shy in school. (But then again, so was I. I guess you grow out of some things.)

Mostly, I appreciate this smalltalk. It is nice coming into the shop and being asked how you are doing (not in the "American way", where they do not really expect/want an answer). But, sometimes, sometimes it gets a bit too much.

There are a few things I have learnt from (years of) experience - NEVER to purchase in this particular store. As you do not always need conversations like:

- TKOST: "Oh. Buying sugar and yeast? Gong home to bake bread, are we?"

- Customer (not me!): "Eh, NO. We are actually setting up a batch of MOONSHINE."

- TKOST: "Ohohohohoh! Condoms, ey?"
- Customer (SO not me!): "Pssst. We are going to fill them with cocaine, swallow them and smuggle it to Honduras."

 - TKOST: "Aaaah. Buying sanitary napkins! That time of month again, is it?"
- Customer (me!): "!?"

In retrospect, I see that I should have used the CLASSIC phrase from Monty Python / "The Meaning of Life" / The restaurant scene, where one of the female restaurant guests exclaim:
"Gotta dash. You see I am having a raaaaather heavy period. Bleeeeeding all over myself!"*

I never tend to handle awkward situations like these right. I always do come up with the PERFECT reply. About SIX MONTHS later.

* http://youtu.be/BlK62rjQWLk (around 3:08)

On the road again

My Adidas ballerina shoes. Bought during Easter 2008. The year that Mr. Incredible fractured his ancle and we could not visit the "cabin-in-law". Took the ferry to Kiel. Shoe shopping (my record - six pairs in ONE shop), beer and pizza. Before we took the ferry back. Often referred to as a "cruise" to Germany, but - no. It is a ferry, only - with a spa. Back to the shoes. Not on the top of my list. Very comfortable, although they are part of a strange range that Adidas refer to as H.F.F. Or handbags (!) for feet. Really? I looove handbags, but I could never imagine wearing them as shoes, no. Does not make sense. I wish these shoes did not have the white idiot plastic toe. If they had kept the whole shoe in that cute black fabric they would have gone up at least forty places on my shoe ranking (still well below the hundreds, but hey).

Staying with my parents for a few days. Drove up this evening, as I have two more training classes left with the client from last week. Starting tomorrow. Which means that I have spent most of today, and a lot of this evening (so far) working on a monster spreadsheet to get it in shape for tomorrow morning.

And - OF COURSE - I forgot thar this particular client does maintenance on their IT network on Sundays. So, I am working in an offline spreadsheet, with heavy links to Hyperion. A bit like working in the dark. Or without glasses. Or something.

Hopefully everything will be up again early tomorrow. As I will be. Need to test this properly before the class starts at ten. So have my alarm set at 5.30. AM. Yikes.

What a life.

Working-class hero

Wedge peep-toe pumps from Gabor. I have two pairs of these in different colors. I like to wear open-toe shoes at work in the summer. They are somewhat summery, but they still look professional. And wedges are extremely comfortable.

Yesterday turned out to be a quite long day. In Norway you have this expression about the "8 to 4" job. Which I guess is what you refer to as "9 to 5" elsewhere (I know my Dolly Parton, alright). Only, for most, this does not mean working from 8 am to 4 am in the morning, I guess. It was good that I was staying in a hotel more than 200 kilometers away from home, as Mr. Incredible would never have let me work that long hours. But sometimes a girl has to do what a girl has to do, right?

First session of training for a very important client (Just for the record, to me - all my clients are equally important, and they are ALL very important. Indirectly, they help me pay for my shoes, you know.) Unfortunately, things were not quite in the shape that we had planned for. Mostly this was due to technical stuff (of course), but I am sad to say that part of it was our fault. So I had to take some matters into my own hands that were originally not my responsibility. As I was sort of "held hostage" at the client site, anyway.

I do not mind putting some extra hours in either, really, as long as I have an employer that sees that this flexibility has to go both ways. Which my current employer really does. So that part is ok, no worries.

What really bothers me, though, is the fact that the hotel I stayed at seemed to be THE PARTY PLACE of this godforsaken place. So, tonight, I give you:

The Local Annual Conference for The Steel Worker's Union!

Nobody can make noise like 150 steel workers on free booze. Yay. Don't get me wrong, I do not have anything against steel workers. Not at all. In fact, genetically, I am 50% steel worker myself. (Yes, my dear dad is a welder). But, please, why-oh-why do you need to party like animals on a Thursday night (I know why, it is because you prefer to spent your PAID working hours, and NOT your precious weekend time on being hung over, I KNOW that). But, still? In my hotel backyard? Why?

So, to entertain me while setting up security, re-building calculation rules on global sales distributions and doing general housekeeping in our precious training application, I had a BAND. With a crowd of drunken males singing along. Yay.

Yup. The steel worker union does not play around when planning a party, no. There was a band specializing in Swedish Pop Music. We are NOT talking the very stylish ABBA, ohno. We are talking ancient Eurosong contributions (and other C.R.A.P.), like:

"Dover, Calais"
"Främling"
"Fångad av en stormvind"
"Diggiloo, diggiley"
"Hey, Mickey"

I could name more, but it would bring the memories back, and I am trying really hard to get over this. I had TWO hours of sleep last night. My jet lag made last night very bearable. But today has been real PAIN. Fortunately, the training class today was better, but I still have a tough weekend and a heavy date with an MS Excel spreadsheet ahead of me. And it feels like my head is going to explode. As I did some heavy carb-loading last night. Something my body does not appreciate. Want more of that sugaaaaar!

I will be arriving in Oslo very soon now. Where the love of my life is waiting for me in the kitchen with the tapas and cheese he has picked up from our local "Fromagerie" on his way from work. He is the best, he really is.

You know what the worst thing is, though? I think I would have LOVED being at that party downstairs at the hotel last night.

Logical vs. Eco-logical

My Voltan shoes. Perfect work shoes for the summer, as they are airy but still dressed. And good for travel, as they go with everything from jeans to a proper dress.

Arrived in Karlstad, Sweden, late on Wednesday evening. Was greeted by a stiff-upper-lip receptionist who with great joy could inform me that the hotel I had just entered was a Clarion COLLECTION hotel. And that they most certainly did not have a reservation in my name. If I had, I doubt that I could ever have been worthy of staying in that upper-class establishment in the centre of the world that Karlstad is known to be.

It turned out that the Clarion hotel for us mere mortals was placed on the other side of the railway station. Ok. How many hotels are there in this town when there are TWO from the same chain across the road from the railway station?

I was greeted by a party of old farts having their cigarettes outside the hotel entrance. Apparently, the local division of the "Old Gentlemen's Association" had their annual party on the inside. Cool. Except for the fact that, OF COURSE, I got a room with a view. A view straight down into the atrium where THE party was held. So not only did I get to SEE it, the sound effects of forty drunken men - including their taste in music (or rather, the lack thereof) was included. Very generous.

Being more than tired, I managed to fall asleep anyway. To be frank, I was so tired I could not have bothered to go down and ask for another room.

In the morning, I spotted the nice little flyer on my nightstand. At "Choice" hotels they serve a breakfast that is 100% ecological. Oh, cool. You know, to be honest, Peter Pan, I DON'T GIVE A RAT'S ASS WHETHER YOUR STUPID MEATBALLS* ARE ECOLOGICAL! Just provide me with a hairdryer and some hair conditioner, and I would be perfectly happy. You politically correct , "saving-the-world"-wannabe. You. Will. Never. Be. Bill. Gates. Ask that gorgeous blonde wife of yours to stay in one of your establishments without hair conditioner and a hair dryer, and I bet she would be somewhat grumpy, too. Am I right?

Gah.

Fortunately, I managed to pull myself together in time for breakfast with the client downstairs. I hope she didn't notice my bad hair. After all, it was not my hair that made them hire me in the first place, I hope.

* http://youtu.be/sY_Yf4zz-yo

Arrivals and departures

My new trainers from Nike. Picked up at the Nike Store outlet on Monday. These, and the other pair purchased at the same time, has been the cause of much ridicule over the past 48 hours. Mr. Incredible (who turns into his alter ego "Mr. Annoying" when we go shopping) has repeatedly pointed out to me that he does not know anyone who:

A) Has as many pairs of trainers as I do

B) Has as little real use for them as I do, since I practically NEVER work out (SO not true!)

Hah. Talk to the hand.

Got home at around eleven this morning, after waiting for our luggage at the airport FOREVER. Unpacked everything, slept for an hour, worked for three hours. Then packed a new bag, and hopped on the train - bound for Karlstad, Sweden. I was planning on driving, but with my serious jetlag I was afraid I might fall asleep behind the steering wheel. That would have been a real bummer, right.

So now I am enjoying the lovely scenery (pine trees), and some truly interesting places like:

• Lillestrøm
• Årnes
• Skarnes
• Kongsvinger
• Charlottenberg

We just left Arvika. In less than an hour I will be at my final destination. Where I will be working the rest of this week.

At least I got eight hours at home before I had to leave again, not bad.

Leaving New York

On the plane home. The last day of any vacation is always sad. You are restless because you need to catch your flight. And you can not do anything too time consuming, in case you get delayed.

The check-in at Newark was not half as exciting as the one in Oslo close to a week ago. I think I forgot to tell you about it. We were standing at the front of the check-in line, when I look to my right and see this "has-been" of a Norwegian singer checking in in the aisle next to me. I tend to get starstruck quite easily, so I could not help staring. Then, by chance, I looked to my left. And. OH. MY. GOD. You will not believe this. It was Mags. From A-ha. Technically also a "has-been" after their last concert in December, but - WOW. I just stood there, totally paralysed. The only thing that could have made it even more embarrassing would be if I had started screaming. You know, the way Beatles-fans used to do. Iiiiiiiiiiiiiiii! I screamed on the inside, though.

I apologize for getting a bit carried away there for a second. Ok. Where were we? Got up early this morning to pack all of our bags (they have doubled in less than a week) while my husband was still sleeping. Wanted to check if we had any space left left in our luggage. For more of the amazing Ralph Lauren sheets. We had. Yay. More shopping. Not everyone was as thrilled as me, without getting into details.

We decided to catch a cab back to the hotel after our small excursion, as it was raining. And - lugging five 600-thread count deep fitted queen bed sheets (I am becoming an expert) across Manhattan does not really improve the mood of someone who:

A) Hated going shopping in the first place
B) Has - again - been denied his breakfast

Our taxi driver asked us where we come from, as taxi drivers sometimes do. This one had not only heard about Norway, he had been there! Very unusual. He could even inform us that the best pizza in the WORLD is served in Norway - more specifically - in Stavanger. After telling him that we live in Oslo, he asked if we by any chance lived in Majorstua. Helloooo? What are the odds of a NY taxi driver knowing where on earth that is?!

The world surely is a strange place.

We are now somewhere above Canada, and dinner is being served. After waiting in the freezing cold business lounge at Newark for three hours, I think I have caught a cold. I must try to sleep it off.

- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad

Manhattan Skyline

This will for all future be known as "The day when my dear husband missed his once-in-a-lifetime chance of being interviewed by The New York Times". Sitting in the reception of what has seemed to be the centre of the universe, at least the US media universe, over the last 48 hours, we were approached by a man.

As he walked by, he casually whispered to Mr. Incredible: "Psst. I am from The New York Times. Were you here on Saturday?" My husband could confirm that. Then - "You did not happen to. See. HIM. Did you?" He pointed to a picture of "Le Perv" inside The Wall Street Journal open in Mr. I's lap. As Mr. I is one of the most honest people I know, he said "No?" and the journalist was gone. As quickly as he had appeared. He sort of floated through the reception, talking and moving at the same time. Swoooosh.

So, instead of being interviewed by a journalist, my poor husband had to stick to the initial plan for the day. Going shopping with yours truly. NOT his favorite pastime, I'll tell you. Spending the day at a brand outlet outside NY, in Woodbury. The poor, poor man. He had not even had his breakfast.

Our marriage survived three hours of heavy shopping, though. Unbelievable. And I learnt a lesson, the hard way, about how complicated American bed linen can be. Sheets are not just sheets. Very confusing.

Our last evening of this American adventure was spent in Brooklyn. At The River Café. With a view of the bridge, and foggy Manhattan. Extraordinary food.

And, of course, I forgot to take a picture of the famous Manhattan Skyline. So you will have to do with one of the bridge, in the chocolate cake version. And some poetry by my fellow countrymen, A-ha:

We sit and watch umbrellas fly,
I'm trying to keep my newspaper dry.
(...)
On the front page
a black and white picture of
Manhattan Skyline

- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad

Bahston Sawks Cack

There are a lot of things in the US that are pretty fantastic. And some that are not quite so magnificent. For instance, I really struggle figuring out HOW the country that fostered the company that came up with true necessities like the iPad - still has a banking system that relies strongly on the use of checks. I just do not get it.

Baseball is another thing that I tend to struggle with. Today I went to my second game at Yankee Stadium. Against Boston Red Sox. And, although I see myself as a fairly intelligent human being, I just do not get the rules of this game. It surely is complicated. Fortunately, it does not keep me from enjoying all the awesome junk food available for sale at the stadium. I can easily get through a couple of hours eating fried stuff and checking out the behind of the pitcher. If you add a few good-looking NYPD specimen, I am all happy.

Safety is a big issue at Yankee Stadium. Which is good. There are guards, and police, everywhere. These saw to it that any unacceptable behavior was corrected, and the offender was kicked out of the stadium. Behavior that qualified for being escorted out were:

1) Foul language. The f-word is unacceptable, but "asshole" is perfectly ok. Especially if shouted by a hundred Yankees fans while pointing at one poor lonely Red Sox fan. T-shirts with foul language "in code" are also ok. For instance "Buck Foston". Or worse, as seen above.

2) Standing up in the middle of the crowd. Could be totally unacceptable. Especially if you were, let's say, a Red Sox fan....

3) Your boyfriend did one of the above. Then the guard will come back to get you too.

Fortunately, we managed to stay within the boundaries of what is considered "acceptable" behavior. In Bronx. Although I did at one time see my dear husband chewing a nacho. With his mouth open. Whew. What if the guards had noticed?

As you see, baseball CAN be entertaining. Although perhaps not just because of the game as such. When we got somewhere around the sixth inning, I got bored. Seriously bored. I mean, this guy with the bat, isn't he supposed to hit the ball every once in a while?

- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad

Maid in New York

This morning I was woken up by an SMS from one of our friends. "We are on the news. Turn on the TV!" Totally surreal. There we were. On ABC Eyewitness News!

So this is it. Our fifteen seconds (!) of fame. Kinda overrated, I'd say.

Of course, we noticed the TV cameras as we were waiting for a taxi outside the hotel last night. But we had no idea that they were there because some crazy-person in our hotel had attempted to rape one of the maids!

Apparently, while we were out having lunch with my childhood neighbor (who lives outside NY), and later - drinks at the rooftop of the Peninsula, the president of the IMF had been running around naked in our hotel, trying to "seduce" someone. Crikey. What is the world coming to?

Of course, the bastard got what he deserved in the US newspapers.

"Le Pig".
"French Toast."

Is this normal behavior in France? Mon Dieu. This is gonna be a strange summer.

- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad

Greece goes shopping again

I am a very responsible person. So in between sightseeing, lunch at Tao, more sightseeing and dinner at Robert De Niro's TriBeCa Grill, I felt I had to spend most of my Friday in Macy's at Herald Square. Supporting the weak US economy with my Norwegian oil money.

I am used to the fact that restaurant employees in the US often work mostly for tips. What I never seem to get used to is that shop assistants in certain stores seem to work mostly on sales provisions.

I returned to Macy's after lunch for round two of my shopping (ding!) and could not find my "friend" from this morning, Janet. So, I started trying on some additional stuff with the help of another shop assistant, the lovely Sandra.

After trying on most of the Lauren by Ralph Lauren range, and deciding once and for all that orange is not and will never be my color - however fashionable, I went over to the register to pay for the items put aside during my morning session, together with all my new great finds.

Guess who suddenly turns up on the shop floor? "Heeeere's Janet!"

Janet swiftly picks up all my items and rushes to a counter at the end of the store. Where Sandra shortly after turns up and starts loudly badmouthing her colleague to everybody that cares to listen.

I felt like an idiot. I do not want people to fight. There should be something in the guide books on how to handle situations like this. Should I have divided my purchases in two for them to split the provision? And then have to stand there waiting FOREVER while they did their extremely time consuming "putting-a-small-sticker-on-every-price-tag" routine? In two separate rounds? In that case, I would still be in the shop!

Oh, life can be difficult sometimes.

- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad

Half-a-cow, please

Dinner at the famous steak house Smith & Wollensky's. Nothing helps ease your jet lag like filling your intestines with a pound of chewed-up meat. Bugger. Accompanied by a baked potato that could help feed a small village in Africa.

Of course, we know perfectly well that everything is big in America. We got the first reminder when ordering our "grand" margaritas during lunch. We could barely lift the glasses from the table. We are talking BUCKETS. Which caused serious cases of brain freeze. But it surely helped ease the jet lag. Very temporarily, that was.

I am so full. And SO glad I ordered the profiteroles for dessert. With extra ice cream. Gah.

Will I ever be hungry again?

- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad

Surpriiiiiiiiise!

My third pair of Cole Haan / Nike Air sneakers. Perfect traveling shoes, as they do not take up much space in my luggage, are light, and - most importantly - great for sightseeing. Picked up at outlet south of San Francisco a few years ago.

You might think that I am now in France, ready to sign all the boring paper work for The House. Haha. Noooooope. I JUST ARRIVED IN NEW YORK CITY! You know, "The Big Apple"? "The City That Never Sleeps"? Ohmygodohmygodohmygod! Etc.! I just finished doing a very silly dance inside our hotel room, celebrating this fiiiiine occasion. Oh, what a marvelous day this is!

As you can see, although I am fortunate enough to get to travel quite a lot, you can be sure of one thing. I will never be blaze about it.

We are here on a surprise trip. Well, nine of us have known about this for about seven months, but one person have been kept partly in the dark. He arrived at the airport this morning for a dirty weekend celebrating his 40th birthday with his fiancee. And was "attacked" by a crowd drinking champagne at the Seafood Bar. It is amazing how we have managed to keep this a secret through all these months, but somehow we did.

As my boss so eloquently put it yesterday: "You guys really know how to use any excuse to have a good time." A very intelligent man, especially for a Swede.

The birthday boy (can you still say that at forty, or is it starting to sound pathetic?) was soon equipped with a silly gold crown. And an LV paper bag for him to throw up in if necessary during the weekend, as this is the guy that barfed in his then girlfriend's Mulberry Bayswater bag on our trip to Copenhagen before Christmas.

I am so much looking forward to this weekend, I just cannot stand still. So far, everything has gone according to plan. We even got upgraded to business class on the plane (Yay!). There has been but one minor (?) hick-up on this trip so far. Upon driving into the airport parking this morning, I realized that my wallet (with ALL my credit cards) was left in my computer backpack. Back in our kitchen.

Mister Incredible triumphantly declared: "No credit cards, no shopping". I guess we will see about that.

So far I have ONE of his cards safely placed in my handbag. I can be incredibly charming when I have to.

Location:W 44th St,,United States

Power Puff Girl

My red suede shoes. With the tassels, they look like clown shoes. I am not quite sure what I was thinking. Picked up at New Bond Street a few years back, while visiting my friend, the adorable Miss J., in London. Found them in a shop called Blue Velvet, I think. Since these shoes tend to stick out anyway, I paired them with a red jacket and navy trousers at work today. Made me look like a bit the Norwegian flag. With our Constitution Day coming up next week, I found that appropriate.

What a day! I am taking a few days off starting tomorrow, and for some reason - the last day at work before anything resembling a vacation - EVERYTHING tends to go pear shaped. Why is that? It might be me, though. I have a very strong sense of duty. I hate leaving any work unfinished before I take off. And how do you define "finished" anyway?

At least I was able to complete my 52 incredibly exciting PowerPoint slides tonight. Trying to convince a group of end users out in the woods somewhere in Sweden that "Heeeeey, this new solution that our Head Office decided to buy is incredible! How on earth have we been able to do without that one!" I like making presentations (as long as I do not have to present them myself), but I am not THAT good. I guess I need to allow myself some slack sometimes. I am not a wizard. In fact, my magical skills are pretty limited.

I have turned on my "out of office" status in Outlook, and I am packed and ready to go.

Excited? Oh, yes.

(Just for the record, I am not the REAL Power Puff Girl. I have a friend that is. She has superpowers. Especially when it comes to Excel spreadsheets.)

No mercy

Sandals from Danish brand Ilse Jacobsen. A brand that is perhaps more known for their totally annoying rubber boots, a.k.a. "wellies". On any overcast day in Oslo, you will find the streets roaming with girls in these boots. Practical, oh, yes. But growing up in the country side, the REAL country side, I always wonder. Have all these girls just come back from the barn? The stables? It beats me every time. As soon as there is ONE DROP of rain in the air, on with our wellies! Could this be some kind of fetish? I am just wondering. Still, it is quite fascinating to see a brand specializing in the two opposite ends of the shoe scale, cute summer sandals - and sturdy rubber boots.

Time to see Dr. Empathy again. Before our adoption application can be forwarded to the next authority, we need an updated report. From my doctor. A typical visit to this doctor would start with her asking in a brisk voice (combined with her French accent which makes her appear even more intimidating): "So, what's wrong THIS TIME?" Like I was just there an hour ago whining about something. Or, at least, the day before. On occasions when there really IS something very wrong, this has been known to cause tears. Yes. I might appear tough to some, but that is just an image I am working extremely hard to maintain.

On days like today, though, when there is not really anything wrong, but I just need some assistance from this person, I have a tendency to become a tad pissed off. Thinking that I should perhaps "ditch the bitch", and find a doctor that is a bit more gentle. But, the thing is, she is a very good doctor. She gets things fixed when you need to. And if you need a referral, you can be sure she gets you in somewhere.

The only problem occurs when she wants to measure my blood pressure. For some reason, my blood pressure has never been an issue, until I started seeing Dr. Empathy. How could that be?

Mayday. Mayday.

Stuart Weitzman. More plastic fantastic, and more bling. Yay. I do not use these very often, to tell the truth, as they are too "naked" to wear at work, and to dressy to wear on vacation.  They do not look too bad with jeans, though. 

Woke up with a fever this morning, so decided to stay at home feeling sorry for myself. Little did I know about the excitement that lay before me.

In the afternoon I went out to go to the pharmacy. In the middle of a pedestrian crossing it suddenly happened! My worst nightmare! The heel of my sandal got stuck in the tram tracks! What to do, what to do? Should I leave my shoe and run for safety on the other side of the street? Leaving the shoe stuck in the middle of the street? For some idiot to run over it in his car? Or - the worst - be run over by the tram -  never to recover again? 

Or - should I try to save it?

(Scary music).

As a car was approaching me, with no sign of trying to stop, I had to act fast. The sandal came loose. But THE HORROR!!!! The heel came off! And it was still stuck in the tracks!

(More scary music).

I had to go back. There was no option. Maybe I could still save my shoe.

I tiptoed into the street, and - THERE IT WAS. Another car was coming. But I could not give up now. The driver honked his horn. And gave me the finger. Can you believe the manners of some drivers! (I would of course never do such things myself while driving, ohno.)

FINALLY! I got the thing loose. Wheew. For once I was relieved that our local transport company does not stick to their promise of having a tram departure every five minutes in my neighborhood. Imagine what could have happened! Picture the headline "Woman killed by tram, trying to save her shoe!"

Not only did I get the heel back. It was safe and sound. And attached nicely to my shoe again with a "click". That´s what I would refer to as high quality shoes.

When bad habits turn into skills

Tommy Hilfiger slingback espadrilles. Purchased a few years back, but I think they will be a great hit this summer. If I just manage to finally repair the strap in the back. Which I might do.

I have made a little luggage estimate, and I will be able to bring 4 trips x 3 suitcases = 12 full suitcases of stuff with me to France before we start our summer vacation this year. That means that I can now:

• Buy lots of great new stuff to bring with me (But why would I? Shopping in France should be better?)
• OR - simply buy a new and better version of some old crap to keep at home, and bring the old/crappy version with me to France. (But would I really want to drag some stupid thing I do not want to keep in my home - across Europe on an airplane? I am not so sure.)

I have started collecting the items from both categories above in our spare bedroom. I went through it today, and it does not look too bad. Depends on how you see it, I guess. At least, we are NOWHERE close to filling the twelve suitcases. So far, I have packed ONE. 

With the help of some plastic bags and a vacuum cleaner, that particular suitcase holds 6 duvets and 12 pillows (they were all on sale!). I hope nobody in customs decides to open that one, as we will NEVER manage to get it shut again afterwards. It took some effort, yes. But finally my terrible track record of over-packing for years seem to have turned into a useful skill. I knew it would come in handy one day.

How to waste a Saturday

Souvenir shoes from Positano, Italy. Having a quite high instep, sandals can sometimes be painful to start with, but leather seems to stretch right? Yeah. But metal doesn't, does it? Ouch. Ouch. Ouch. I like the way they look, though.

Had a bit of a lazy Saturday. If spending ten hours in front of your computer - WORKING - on a Saturday would ever count as lazy. But when you still haven't managed to drag yourself out of the bathrobe and into the shower at 10 in the evening, I still define it as lazy.

In fact, I am so lazy, and so tired of sitting in front of my computer right now that I cannot be bothered to write anything remotely funny or entertaining today. 

Most importantly - I wore a pair of shoes. Check.

Nightie-night.

Steak frites avec bearnaise, s'il vous plait

I am by no means trying to wear my remaining shoes by brand. Two pairs of Camper shoes in a row is just a coincidence, I assure you. Here is a proof that Camper does not only make comfortable shoes. These give me blisters on my toes (stupid stiff patent leather), and the slingback strap is a joke, as it refuses to stay up. Of course, the obvious solution to the latter would be pinching an additional hole in the strap to tighten it, but I just couldn't be bothered doing that today. Maybe tomorrow. Or next year.

It sucks being in Oslo this weekend. I should have been on the balcony of my new house today, sipping a glass of rosé on the stone staircase down to the garden. I think I am suffering from French Withdrawal Syndrome, if there is such a thing (computer says... "no"). There is only one place where you can get a proper French fix in Oslo - Brasserie France. I am meeting my dear husband there later. I even went to the hairdresser this afternoon to look my very best. (Hey! Your hair grows during office hours, of course you can have it cut during office hours, too! Duh!)

And - on my way to the restaurant I will be making a very brief stop at LV (which is - very conveniently - located close to the restaurant). It doesn't get more French than that, right?

You see - I started doing my expense report on Wednesday - and it so happens that I have so many tram tickets to and from client offices on my report for the past few months that the refund I get from work will actually more than cover the cost of this very sensible investment! It is practically a free LV cardholder! For my future tram tickets! That's recycling for ya. I even had the thing hot-stamped with my initials in shiny gold. Totally over-the-top, I know.

And who would believe that I actually have a degree in finance....

When I come to think of it, I guess that was CORPORATE finance. Biiiiig numbers. It is all in thousands anyway, isn't it?

Au revoir!

What goes up must come down

Mary Janes* from Camper. Very comfortable, but makes me look like a librarian. Or someone from the Amish community. Not that I have anything against librarians (or Amish people for that sake) per se, quite the contrary, but you have to agree that I do have other shoes that are slightly more glamorous than these, right?

Time for last meeting with our district Child Welfare department. We had the first interview just before Easter, then another one last week, and this time we were called to read through the summary of the report that will be the basis for our approval as adoptive parents. It has been a quite interesting process, as you need to think thoroughly through the whole "having-children-business" - far beyond the regular "oh, babies are so cuuuute!". Important topics that I generally think more people should have been forced to consider before having kids. Like, most importantly, how to raise them to become decent individuals.

We did perhaps not mention that we intend to raise our child according to the following books by Christie S. Mellor:

• The Three-Martini Playdate: A Practical Guide to Happy Parenting
• The Three-Martini Family Vacation: A Field Guide to Intrepid Parenting
• We Were Here First Kid

 With topics like:

• Bedtime: Is Five-thirty Too Early?
• Screaming: Is It Necessary?
• Child Labor: Not Just for the Third World!
• "Children's Music": Why?

I am not sure if the welfare worker would get our sense of humor, but most probably, she would. Even though these books do not quite compare to Dr. Spock** (which was the book my mum relied on when she had me - and look where that got me), but our books surely are more entertaining.

To be honest I don't think the people at the Child Welfare Centre would worry so much about the books. Apparently they are used to quite a lot, as nobody even lifted an eyelid when I came rushing into their office this morning, only to realize that my stupid computer backpack had made my dress ride up all the way around my waist, resulting in my derriere being sort of "out there".

I very discreetly pulled my dress down again, crossing my fingers that nobody noticed.

What would a librarian have done?

* http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mary_Jane_(shoe)
** http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Benjamin_Spock

Bureaucrazy

Stuart Weitzman sandals in plastic fantastic. Souvenir shoes from St. Tropez. Perhaps not the best buy I have made, I must admit. I thought they looked very cool in the store. But later - naah. I don't know. They're not flipflops and not proper sandals. Just somehere in between.

Stupid shoes for a shitty day is a good match, I guess. I have been waiting all day to get a confirmation from our realtor in "Frrrrance" regarding the final contract signing. Well. Everything I have heard so far about French bureaucracy happens to be true. Since I am not a very patient person when it comes to general stupidity or incompetence I have not been in the best mood this afternoon.

To get my mind off the fact that there will be no signing of contracts this weekend (and no corresponding celebration seafood extravaganza at Astoux!) I went out to buy some dinner. I was run over by a woman with a stroller upon exiting our house, and it just went upwards after that. I go to the fishmonger perhaps once every four months. Today I felt like eating very healthy (still feel bad about my affair with Ben & Jerry last weekend), so I decided to buy some trout. Guess what! The fishmonger is closed for renovations!

Ok. As my mood deteriorated further, drastic actions were needed. A visit to the local Monsoon store should help. Right. I was run over by another stroller on my way over there (ouch!). And, of course, they did not have the amazing summer dress in my size. On my way to the grocery store I stopped by our local dry cleaner to pick up one of my husband's suits. Being served by some nitwit that did not volunteer to take the blame for my shirts not being ironed properly a couple of weeks back did not exactly improve my mood, neither did the fact that the annoying girl behind the fish counter did not want to take the skin off my fish (I do not like fish that looks like FISH!).

After carrying the suit and all the groceries home, I felt like a chimpanzee dragging my stretched arms along the floor. And then. I manage to kick into the leg of our kitchen table. Nnnnnnnngh!

Some say that the pain you feel when you hit the delicate nerve-endings of one of your toes is about as bad as giving birth. I have no idea, but it sure hurts like hell. It almost got me in tears.

I think I will just try to sit quietly in a corner for a little hour or so now, and not move. Hoping that this will all just go away.

It's a man's world

I need to point out that I had these polished before I wore them to work today. This pair of Lumberjacks (!) are among my oldest shoes. We are talking first year of business school. Cirka 1991. Last century. I bought two pairs of these back then, and I have kept both. I could easily have thrown them away, but then in January I suddenly saw some shoes that looked EXACTLY the same in the new shoe collection from Prada. Yay. I have been struggling with the eighties being back in fashion for a while now, but now the very safe nineties are here again. Which suits me better, as I like preppy.

Today I got up early to go and have the tyres on our SUV changed for the summer. While Mr. Incredible, who I should perhaps refer to as my WIFE, drove our little sports car to his office. In theory, I could have changed the tyres myself. But since Mr. I very clearly does not share my interest in manual labour, I am sure as hell not getting my hands dirty on my own. Instead I get to drive somewhere and get this fairly good-looking guy change the tyres while I check out his bum. (Just kidding. I just figured out that if I could make Mr. I jealous of the tyre guy, then maybe he would go get the tyres changed the next time. For a change. As if. And - of course the tyre guy is not even remotely hot. Just my luck.)

This evening I continued performing my duties as the man of the house, spending three hours setting up this box that will allow my wife to watch Norwegian soccer at our new summer house in France. By logging on to our PVR here in Oslo through our French internet connection. Which I am already looking forward to setting up. Using a French user manual. Merde.

I am obviously a bit of a geek, as I actually enjoy getting technical gadgets like these to work. Preferably without help. But the satisfying feeling I had after I got our "Slingbox" to work from a laptop and both of our iPads this evening soon changed to despair when I realized the implications of my actions.

I have now made it possible for my wife to watch soccer anytime. Anywhere. Which accidentally happens to be the slogan for this incredible little box of ours.

Just. Great.

Of course, Mr. I is happy.

Oh, the things you do for love.

My name is Efficiency

I managed to wear TWO pairs of shoes today. Although some might argue that these are not really shoes, but rather two pieces of leather with with some rope attached. I do not disagree - technically - but at least we are talking Marina Rinaldi leather and rope, right?

Seasons are quite distinct when you live in Norway. As seasons change there are different procedures that need to performed, like:

• Changing from winter to summer tyres on the car
• Taking the skis out of the car to be replaced by golf clubs
• Delivering your fur coat for summer storage (to avoid creatures laying eggs in it during summer, I guess)
• Going on a diet (to get that "beach body" you never had, and never will have)
• Having that long overdue bikini wax. Ouch.
• Having a pedicure so that you can start wearing sandals again. Yay!

It is important to know your priorities, so today I had a pedicure booked after work. And I walked home in my leather/rope flipflops, allowing my feet to bask in the sunshine in all their newly achieved fabulousness. As wearing closed shoes with a fresh pedicure is a biiiig "no-no".

Hm. I guess it is perhaps time to start thinking about getting those tyres changed at some stage, too.

A little bird told me

Dark brown shoes. I have no clue what brand. I picked them up at the street market in Bogstadveien a couple of years ago. Nice change from black on days when you need to don your "business attire".

You know I love shopping, but what you perhaps did not know is that I love browsing through mail order catalogues. In Norway we have one particular catalogue, "Select", that gets me in tears. There are so many splendid things for sale in that catalogue! Things that have never ever crossed your mind as something you - or anyone - for that sake, would ever need.

I just received the summer catalogue in the mail. Because - YES - I have actually bought something from this place. Once. It was a revenge gift for Mr. Incredible´s advent calendar - the year after he got me sanitizing wipes as one of my calendar gifts (the woman in the commercial looked so happy, so he figured I would be too). After that year, Mr. Incredible is the proud owner of a wireless (yup!) nose-hair trimmer. And I will most probably receive this catalogue for as long as I live. Yay.

This year I decided to focus a bit on what we could possibly need for our new summer house. My eyes were immediately drawn to this adorable little bird:

It has a photo cell and sings when somebody walks past it. Perhaps this could be an alternative to the burglar alarm? Or would possible guests get in their holiday mood by being greeted by this little bird? I think this is a must-have for any home, really. Perhaps we should get one for our apartment in Oslo as well.

Then, this "charming OWL" caught my eye. WHEN - if ever - was an owl considered to be CHARMING? Is it the nest that does it? At least it IS friendly to the environment, as it runs on solar power. Talk about being trendy.

Oh, look - it's even ON SALE at 50% off! And it has children that look as if they were made out of ALABASTER. Very special. And the thing is 24 centimeters tall, wow! I think I should get a couple of these. At this price, it makes THE perfect house-warming gift if any of my friends should decide to move. 

Of course, we must not forget to focus on personal hygiene. The catalogue features quite a selection in this field, including several versions of sticky detox-pads that you stick to your feet so that they draw all the nastiness out of your body while you sleep. Amazing. My favorite this time, however, was this little thingy. The ear-wax remover. Call me old-fashioned, but I think I will stick to my good-old cotton buds for this purpose also in the future. 

Sticking this sharp piece of metal into your ear must surely be more dangerous than running with scissors? "Perform a lobotomy, now in the safety (?) of your own home."

Houston - we have a problem

Havaïanas. For some reason, I used to think that these sandals were actually produced in Hawaii. Duh. After visiting Brazil in 2008, I know better. You can buy them EVERYWHERE over there. And they cost NOTHING. I use these mainly to get to and from the pool at the gym. Which I visited again yesterday morning, with my sister. My FOURTH visit to the gym this week, mind you.

On Wednesday night I promised myself that IF I made it to the gym three times this week, I would buy the patent raspberry red ballerinas from Clarks. Unfortunately, it turns out that there is no way that I can do that.

You see, I decided to do a long overdue inventory of my shoe closet this morning. And the result was kinda worrying. I keep pictures of the shoes I have used since starting this blog by adding them to a folder on my iMac marked "USED", after they have been posted to the blog. Since I am starting to get a bit sick of having to photograph my shoes every morning before I go out, today I decided to take pictures of all the remaining pairs in my shoe closet in one go, and save these in a folder marked "UNUSED".

I am so clever.

Only. There seems to be a bit of a problem.

• I started this totally meaningless project on July 31st, 2010. 
• This was 275 days ago.
• Since then I have posted 83 pictures of pairs of shoes to my blog.
• This means that I have worn a "new" pair and written about it every third day or so.
• The project ends on July 31st, 2011.
• This is now in 90 days from now.

So. 

How many pairs of shoes do you think I have left in my closet?

How about 96?
Like, nine six.
Yes, NINETY-SIX...

..... and - there is an additional pair waiting for me to be picked of from the post office. 

I think I must consider taking time off from work to be a full-time shoe-wearer until the end of July.