The Mile High Club

Ha. Got your attention there, didn't I? Moahaha. You filthy pig. Well. Hate to disappoint you, but flying is not that "romantic". Really.

Departed from Oslo at 5 AM, arrived at our destination 23 hours later. With all of our luggage. Not bad.

Flying is kinda boring. But somehow, I never have any problems getting the time to pass. Oslo - Stockholm was easy. We were even upgraded to Economy Extra. Then the long haul. From Stockholm to "The Windy City", Chicago. The city named after the band. A nine hour flight. Plenty of time to update blog, catch up on what is happening on the silver screen and start a new book. And by any means, NOT sleep. Need. To. Stay. Awake. I normally do not struggle so much with jet lag, but still it is wise to stay awake on daytime flights.

Well. I surely am a girl full of good intentions. Even though you might think otherwise of me. We got upgraded again. To business. Which I haven't flown in ten years. Cool. So, the trip was more like this:

Stockholm/boarding: A glass of champagne? Yes, please!

Stockholm - Trondheim: Get familiar with all the funny buttons and gadgets in your seat. Once properly reclined, spend time looking out window on winter landscape.

Trondheim: Second glass of champagne.

Trondheim - Reykjavik: Food extravaganza, including whitefish roe, beef Bourgogne, cheese platter and two desserts. The latter thanks to husband catering to my every whim. He - very observantly - saw the looks I sent the sorbet selection after already getting a solid helping of chocolate cake. All of the above accompanied by wine.

Reykjavik: Yours truly reclines further. And - the inevitable happens. I pass out. Completely.

Somewhere over Canada: Wakes up. Shit! Not enough time left to watch BOTH of the movies I planned to see. Start seeing "Salt", starring the less interesting half of Brangelina. Bad choice. Watching a movie that mostly goes on in the dark is not easy on an inflight screen. So. I know that there was a lot of fighting. And got most of the story, by listening to the dialogue. But I still do not know who the REAL villain was, as....

Lake Ontario: Crayfish and roast beef sandwich.

All of a sudden we landed in Chicago. Funny how time flies in business class. I guess the morale is that you live longer if you fly monkey class. At least it feels that way.

A proof we got when we had to endure four hours from Chicago to our final destination in the class originally booked. Funny how easily you get used to life on the sunny side. Sitting behind the curtain for four hours felt like four DAYS. Managed to stay awake on this stretch playing Monopoly and Trivial Pursuit on iPad for four hours straight. Painfully boring. Score ended with a draw for the trivia, while husbands business skills, or my extensive shopping obsession (bought all the streets I landed on) sent me straight into bankruptcy.

Our luck turned when checking into hotel. We got upgraded to the Honeymoon Suite. Lovely. And - huge. As in most honeymoon suites, the bed is really squeaky, and when you move around, the headboard bangs into the wall, making a nice thumping sound for the neighbors to hear. Cute touch.

Less cute is the fact that it is located two floors up from the salsa bar. Which announces daily live performances. Loud performances. Until 2 AM. Very exotic. Especially since the band starts rehearsals again at 7 AM.

Still, I slept like a log.

- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad

Location:Cll Las Monjas,San Juan,Puerto Rico

Looking good - on paper

No shoes to show today. I currently LIVE in my biker boots*, as they can fit two pairs of woolen socks. Instead I give you this happy little family. Directly from our bookshelf. Looks a bit like us. In the future. I hope.

Huge milestone today. We have now prepared the very first part of our adoption application. Finally. During this first round we need to gather a long list of official documents from the Norwegian authorities to get approved. Only to present these very same documents to what I guess can somehow be seen as.... THE VERY SAME authorities. To me, this whole process of gathering all those pieces of paper feels a bit useless. In my mind, they should really have all these facts about us on file - somewhere. That way they should be able to simply look us up on some computer, like when doing a credit check, and get all the facts on the table. Obvious facts like:

• We are - indeed - Norwegian citizens. How on earth else could you grant us our Norwegian passports? Duh.
• We do have an income, and we do pay taxes. This is not always done with a lot of pleasure, I must admit, but I do not think that matters. We do pay. Sometimes a lot.
• We even do have a registered address. This should be PRETTY OBVIOUS to the authorities, as this is where they send the letters regarding the above taxes. Double-duh.
• Yeah, we´re married. Which should be well-known to the authorities, as it actually affects the taxes we pay. If necessary, we may even provide 80 witnesses to testify to the whole thing. Would have been a great opportunity for a new party, though! Anyway, who said that marriage is a guarantee that you will stay together for life, anyway? Of course, WE will. But - still.
• We are both law-abiding citizens. At least as far as the police knows. Haha. After the tax free quota for wine was increased to 3 liters I stopped my habit of always bringing that extra "above-the-quota" bottle of wine home when traveling. I have always been one to push boundaries (right!), but I just cannot carry more than four bottles. And - with the speed limit on some highways being increased to 100 km/h, I mostly keep within the speed limit as well. Observant people will see that I have not really become a better person. I am just less of a criminal as the rules have provided some more slack. Awesome. Don't I make you proud?
• We do not have any major health issues. I am so relieved to hear that I may actually be considered to be great parent material - EVEN THOUGH I DO WEAR GLASSES! Can you imagine? These people really do have low standards. Fortunately, the doctor did not mention that I could benefit from loosing some (more) weight. I mean, that surely would make me a better mum, wouldn't it? By the way, I am glad we both have all of our limbs intact. Imagine what could have happened if not. It would be the worst ever version of the not-so-politically-correct "no arms, no cake" joke, wouldn't it?

The documentation above should prove that we are both acceptable parent material, even though nature has concluded that our joined genes are not worthy of being brought forward to future generations. I fully understand that this process is there to protect the children given up for adoption. And to make the adoption as successful as possible, by matching the "right" parents to the "right" child. I so totally get that, I really do. Still, I must admit that sometimes I can not help thinking that having to go through all of this is SO bl***y unfair. We have to prove that we are "perfect" parents. While any totally irresponsible teenager can go out, get drunk, have sex with some idiot, end up pregnant and have a child. "By accident". Smashing. Just smashing.

Anyway. The next phase is what I consider a more important part of the process. This is the part that goes beyond the plain "socio-economic" facts. We will go through several interviews with a social worker, ending up with a social report evaluating our capabilities as parents and care-takers. I am actually looking forward to that part of the process, as I think it will raise some important questions that we need to think through anyway. We went through an adoption preparation course last winter, so - of course - we have been through a lot of the important discussions. But - we must be prepared that things will surely not be just a walk in the park. Then again, life will never be just easy with your "biological" offspring either, I'm sure.

The last part of our application was choosing which country to apply from. This has been really difficult. Because, frankly, I do not really care that strongly about where the child comes from. I would happily take on a Martian, green and with antennas and all, if I just knew that it would happen. And - preferably - soon. I would not say that I am a very patient person. I am more of an "instant gratification" kind of girl. If I want something - I get it. NOW. Or - preferably - YESTERDAY. Needless to say, all this waiting is killing me. I have had three years waiting for my pregnancy tests to come out positive. It did. On the very first try. Then never to happen again. So my patience is wearing thin here.

The countries that we are allowed to choose from, given our age and (lack of) religious beliefs are: China, Colombia and - possibly - Madagascar. Since we both have university degrees, we might also be allowed to apply from Peru. I think it is weird to be considered to be more eligible parent material in a particular country simply because we both have degrees in finance, but the world has never really been fair, has it? Still, I do find it strange, though. As I had the most amazing childhood growing up with my two incredible non-academic parents.

Well. Today we had a session with the councellor of our adoption organisation. Who wisely told us to choose with our hearts. And not look at the estimated waiting times, as these do change over time. It really does not matter either, if you need to wait three months longer to get the perfect one that was meant just for you. So - we put all the "rational" aspects aside and searched deep within our hearts.

And the descision is.... China! Ta-dah! (Drum whirls!)

China is the country we have talked about "forever". I do not know what it is, but it just FEELS right. Even though the four-year wait really scares me. I know this will all be worth it the day I can hold our child in my arms. I apologize for being sappy. But I cry very easily just thinking about that moment.

In the mean time - I will drink lots of champagne, buy mountains of shoes (and handbags!) and continue to see as much of the world as I can. Not that I will by any means completely stop doing any of this when our loveable little violin-playing, algebra-loving, chess-playing, athletic, and in any way talented little genious arrives.

If we get approved by the Norwegian and Chinese authorities - that is. For now - we will just have to wait and see.

* http://dayinshoes.blogspot.com/2010/09/post-kick-off-stress-syndrome.html

After the war

I know this is not by far shoe related. But I thought I should document what our place looks like BEFORE and AFTER the Midtvintersblot. Fortunately, we hire help. That takes care of the dishes. Otherwise, it would have looked much, much worse...

Before

After

Fortunately, it did not take a long time to clean up. The real bottle-neck is the dishwasher. Last batch of glasses was run on Monday night. Just in time for me to start packing for upcoming Christmas vacation....

Yay!

Fairytale of Oslo

Shoes bought for office Christmas party two years back. From Swedish brand Rizzo. Painful to walk in, but make my feet look smaller than the transvestite-size 41 that I use. I hope. I tend to get a blue toe-nail from time to time using them, though. But beauty takes suffering, or something like that.

The Midtvintersblot. A highlight of the year. For us - it just would not be Christmas without it. The ingredients of a perfect Midtvintersblot are:

• 22 adorable human beings: We invite quite a few more, but it seems the "equilibrium" of the supply/demand for this party is just over 20. Which is practical, as we can not cram more than 24 people into our dining room. Otherwise we would have to go for more than one seating. People fly in from London and Trondheim not to miss this "happening", something we really appreciate.
• A huge kettle with very strong gløgg: This is vital to get a proper party lift-off. The white gløgg was a success this year as well, and everybody got quite happy. No wonder, as Mr. I added a bottle of white rum to it while I was not paying attention. Same procedure as every year. I was happy to hear that this year EVERYBODY liked the concoction that we had put together. This meaning that we will - in fact - go for the same recipe again next year. With ALMONDS.
• Lutefisk - and the works: Dried cod treated with lye might not sound like something you would love, but it is tradition. And - a bit of an acquired taste. This was the 11th year, and it was perhaps the first time I actually liked it (I still finished my ginger-bread on the side, though). Adding a lot of beer and aquavit also helps the lutefisk go down more easily. Although, with my history with aquavit, I stick to white wine. I do manage to be sensible. Sometimes.
• Riskrem (rice cream) with raspberry sauce: This is always the last thing to finish before the guests arrive, and is always the reason I am still doing my make-up when people arrive. It is the most Christmassy dessert you can have. In addition to cloudberry cream, but I am not much of a berry-picker. So rice it is. With proper vanilla seeds. Served with a fairly nice port.

Then we sing. Loudly. While linking arms and rocking side-to-side. It is all very-very cosy-cosy.

1. Jussi Björling: O helga natt
2. The Pogues: Fairytale of New York
3. Hans Rotmo: Vårres Jul

During the whole meal, we tell stories from our daily lives from the past year. Which for some reason seem to be quite similar from year to year. About encounters with angry bears, old sami gentlemen, Finnish people - and women from up north. All building up our christmas spirit to new levels.

After dinner we walk around the Christmas tree. Most of us. By this stage, some have either left (the sensible ones) - or are sound asleep somewhere in the apartment. Proving that it IS true that you get sleepy eating fish. The Christmas tree is always a big thing, and we spend a whole evening decorating it. Which can sometimes be a bit depressing when you discover it leant up against a wall in the hall the morning after your big party. Oh, well. Bygones.

This year we skipped buying a tree, as we would not get much out of it when being away over Christmas. So - I tried to get hold of an inflatable one. No such luck, though. Instead I got this awesome (!) Christmas tree outfit. The plan was to get the person that got the "most happy" during dinner to dress up in it. Which he did. Unfortunately, he totally peaked just after that, and we did not really feel like waking him up. Poor guy. Must have been awfully warm sleeping in that. I should perhaps add that it does not just LOOK as if the tree is actually STANDING on our dining table. He really is. I almost had a heart attack right then and there.

Anyway. This is about how much I can tell you. We got the champagne out at this stage, and the rest is - as they say - history. I can, however, reveal that there was a marriage proposal at 4 AM that morning. Somewhere in Oslo. Apparently the gløgg was quite efficient this year. Congratulations to the happy couple!

Even though Christmas party season is a fun time of year, I am actually a bit relieved that it is all over now. I am not aware of any upcoming parties for at least a month or more now. I think my body will appreciate that, the poor little thing.

You´re a bum you´re a punk 
You´re an old slut on junk 
Lying there almost dead on a drip in that bed 
You scumbag you maggot 
You cheap lousy faggot 
Happy christmas your arse I pray god it´s our last. *

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

Bibbido-bobbido-bad hair day...

My Pedro Garcia party shoes. Picked them up at the January sales during year-end reporting for the big oil company in Stavanger two years ago - at Rolfsen. Great shop. I must warn you - Stavanger is a very expensive, but nice, place to go shopping. These are shoes that should make every girl feel like a princess. Even though she's just another nerd in a frock. Well. Sometimes they work like that, and sometimes - they just DON'T.

As I had to get my hair cut for my upcoming vacation anyway, I figured I should get my hairdresser to do my hair for the office Christmas party while he was at it. Stuuuupid mistake. Don't get me wrong. I have THE BEST hairdresser, I really do. But I tend not to like my hair much when it is too "done". So my curly sixties-style back-combed thing did not do much for my self confidence, I will tell you that much. I actually wanted to CRY when I looked myself in the mirror, as it was not "me". At all. What a great way to start your evening!

As there was no time left to re-wash and blow-dry hair once I got home to get changed, I just had to cut my losses and go out in public looking like a freaky Marilyn Monroe wannabe. I "just" had to pick the right dress. Turned out to be a bit of a problem. Had four alternatives lined up when I left for work in the morning. I normally love all four of them, but as I did not look anything like myself with the stupid fluffy hair, I decided that they were either:

• Too boring (I am still recovering from the navy blue airport incident)
• Too pink

Three of them showed too much cleavage, while three showed off my nice and flappy bingo wings just perfectly. Great. So I went for the newest dress - purchased for new year's in St. Barths. The only one that hid the flaps, although being a bit too revealing in other areas. Great. Did not feel very comfortable. At all. But did not have the time to do anything about it.

So - what is a girl to do when she feels like S.H.I.T.? She tries to get by as well as she can. Generally, there are two options:

• Suffer through the evening and hope nobody notices
• Get far too drunk, far too early

I decided to go for the - obvious - FIRST option. If there is a party where you would like to try to stay decently sober and not make a complete ass of yourself, it is the office Christmas party. So, it is not that I did not have the right intentions upon arrival. Really, I don't know where it all went wrong, but somehow it did. Terribly. I guess I should have picked up the first sign when I shared a lobster tail rolled in a potato tortilla ("Heeeeey, læfsbuss!") with the gentleman sitting next to me. Lady-and-the-tramp style. Biting off each our end. REAL classy. Thinking about it still makes me cringe.

THAT was the exact time when a little green creature on my shoulder should have told me to get my ass home. Unfortunately, I do not know such a creature. Being very aware of this fact, my best male friend (excluding Mr. I) had volunteered in advance to send me a text message during the evening telling me to take it easy. He did. Bad thing I did not check my phone until 02.19 AM. By that time I guess I had been talking everyone's ears off/been generally obnoxious for hours already. And kept going at it for another hour or so. Niiice.

I am actually quite glad that I most probably will not have to go into the office again until late January. By that time I hope nobody will really remember. Or - I hope - even care.

When pigs fly

Just as I spend a lot of time doing the invitations for our "Midtvintersblot", I like to try to set a nice table.  Being this very traditional and extremely formal party (not!), that always includes place cards. For years now, we have had home-made ginger-bread place cards. Heart-shaped ones. I could not find my heart-shaped cut-out-thingy this year. So I decided to go for pigs. Which is what most of us do turn into after a few hours anyway. The genius about the ginger-bread cakes is that they serve as back-up food for the ones that do not really appreciate the lutefisk that much. Then they can very discreetly (of course) nibble their little cake, and pretend that they do eat lutefisk. Like any other responsible grown-up person would do.

Every year we also have these bibs. They have indeed saved many a tie over the years. And makes sure that the ladies do not loose (too much) food down their cleavage. It is definitely not a good thing waking up in the morning with lutefisk between your boobs. Not that I have ever tried that. But I can imagine. So, I buy these online from www.seafood.no. Works wonders. We even have matching glasses for the aquavit.

The drop-out

Shocking. These are among my oldest shoes. From the days when I used to wear a suit to work, but hadn't really developed my shoe addiction - or any sort of fashion sense just yet. Long before Trinny & Susannah were born. There is a brand of jeans called "Not Your Daughter's Jeans" (NYDJ). If there was a similar brand for shoes, these shoes would typically be from "Not Your Husband's Shoes" (NYHS). Instead - they are from a Swedish "pretend-to-be-Italian" brand called Don & Donna. A brand that was cool in the nineties. Not so much anymore. I wore a suit to work to mark the occasion. Guess a few believed I was going out for a job interview. Good to keep people on their toes every now and then.

So - it's official. I am a drop-out. For the first time in my life. Well, except for Weight Watchers - that is. French class finally got the best of me. Being the stereo-typical "good girl", I just could not face the teacher when I hadn't done my homework, TWO WEEKS in a row. I am such an awful person. A real slacker. We are now at the stage where we are asked to write blog posts in French as homework. No more playing around with funny words for groceries. But - I am just SO not there yet. It's actually very hard. I can not get my head around conjugating these verbs! There is just no logic to it. Anyway. I have never been one to give up too easily, so I will definitely give it a go again next year. When my life has calmed down a bit. As if it ever will. 

These days I am busy preparing for our annual Christmas Party. Times two. The one at work is on Friday, and I am on the committee. On Saturday, we have a huge party at home. This is really not a Christmas party as such. It is rather an old Nordic pagan tradition called the "Midtvintersblot". In the olden days they used to sacrifice animals, and drink and spill a lot of blood. The only sacrifice we make nowadays is really our own livers. Which can be brutal enough, I'll tell you.

Preparations at home have been going on for a good week now. First major milestone was the start of the gløgg-making. Gløgg is spiced up (in more than sense) mulled wine. I used to buy this ready-made, and based on RED wine. It was really not that good, and FAR to sweet. So I started experimenting with different spices. And - last year I finally took it all to a whole new level and made a version based on white wine. Totally out there, I know. I think it was a success, though. We actually finished the whole batch before dinner, which was a first. Still, my most sincere (but also perhaps rudest) friend said to me last year: "This tastes ok, but it is not BY FAR as good as the white gløgg we got in Copenhagen". Well. This year I contacted the very chef at the very Hotel D'Angleterre in Copenhagen to get the very recipe. He was kind enough to give me the list of the ingredients. Then he suggested "I taste myself to success". Ha. Danish people. They always try to get you drunk.

Since I have a few other things to do than "taste my way to success", I am sticking to last year's recipe. White wine, apple juice, madeira, white port - and calvados. Dried apricots and almonds are chopped and put into the mix at the end. The apricots were prepared today and is now soaking in a dangerous mix of calvados and white port. With a dash of a couple of more secret ingredients from the Danish chef. Most probably, my friend will not approve. He never does. Maybe suggesting adding his nuts instead of chopped almonds next year will teach him some manners.

Or - I will simply stop going through all this hassle and go for the Finnish version I got off Facebook today:

• Add one raisin
• Pour one liter of vodka over the raisin
• Drink
• If the gløgg tastes too sweet, you may skip the raisin

I wonder if anybody could really tell the difference when they get to their second helping.