Friday, August 30, 2013

Friday (No Fact)

Hey guys.

One week ago, I told you that every Friday I would share a fact and an accompanying list. It is not going to happen today, because I’m a busy liar. As further evidence, I can add that I have promised both myself and the two people that read this blog that I would post every Monday, Wednesday and Friday, and that has clearly not been happening. I apologize for the lie. I also forgive myself and that gives me a forgiveness rate of 1/3 which is not too bad.

Reasons for why I was too busy this week to blog:

1.       My boyfriend of almost two years and I decided to split up. It was a tough decision to make and the main reason I’ve not posted this week. I’m not saying that listing all the ways I abused him for him to read had any part of this, but I would not recommend it none the less. What I’ve learned is that following traumatic experiences, writing amusing story about the time I accidentally stuck a chilly pepper up my vagina is very hard. Stuff that emo pre-teens would love the shit out of on the other hand… You should all thank me for not posting that rubbish. (And don’t worry. The fire-crotch story will be told in due time)

2.       Acupuncture. The morning of my 25th birthday, I woke up with a stabbing pain in my lower back: my first taste of being old. After two weeks of back pain, I decided the only solution to my problem was to have someone stab me with needles. And let me tell you, that was the best decision of my life! I finally understand why people decide to become the needle using kind of druggie. Hey, I don’t know how drugs work; I had a very sheltered upbringing!

3.       I went to the opening concert to the Oslo Philharmonics and the following wine reception, because I’m cultured as shit.

4.       I somehow ended up with the responsibility in charge of 25 young scouts for the next year. I do not know how this happened, but the person responsible for this will sure regret it.

5.       I had to travel for work. The lime production company I work for needed a site assessment done and I had to attend a meeting north in Norway. This in itself is not particularly exciting, but what was exciting is the hotel I stayed at. Let me tell you; this hotel does not mess with breakfast. With my room key I was given a floor map of the breakfast area. I’ve never experienced a meal that is so complex that it needs a detailed map for people to figure it out, so naturally I was beyond excited. Thus, I made the very mature decision of going to bed early so I could wake up with enough time for two breakfasts before my meeting. This means that I’m finally a responsible adult…or a hobbit, sometimes it can be hard to tell the difference. Nonetheless, it was delicious both times. I could go on and on about the artisan cheeses and meats there, or the omelet dude, or the coffee from world champion barista Tim Wendelbo, or the juices made fresh to order (orange and raspberry with a hint of chili pepper), but I’m pretty sure I only need two words to convince you of the superiority of this breakfast: home-made nutella. Convinced!

I know I started this post by telling you that I wouldn’t do Friday Facts this week, no fact and no list. By now, you should have realized the falseness of this statement and if there is one thing we all can learn from today, it is that I should not be trusted.  I guess iIcould go back up and edit the intro and title, but that sounds liek a lot of work and there is salsa to be eaten.

If you had any experiences that led to a busy or eventful week, I would love to hear about them. No matter what I’ll be back Monday. I promise!

Thursday, August 22, 2013

Friday Facts

Friday Fact #1: I like lists.

This is not completely accurate, I absolutely adore lists. I worship wonderful lists. I crave carefully crafted lists. I also like alliteration.

I also like routines and easily understandable writing prompts. I have thus decided to try and have weekly Friday Facts where I present a list of facts (duh). This week will feature a list of things I’ve done (do) to my boyfriend that convinces me he is insane (for not breaking up with me).

Why my boyfriend loves me / Crap my boyfriend has to put up with.  It can go either way.

1.       Remembering our anniversary: Not as in “Why the Flowers!? Wow, is it our anniversary??? Shoot, I forgot it was today. I still have a gift though, because I remembered last week.” Nah, I’m more of the “Hey, tall person! When is our anniversary again? It’s in the fall, right?” kind of gal.

2.       Throw water in his face. Waking people up with a splash of cold water in the face is one of my favorite things. Keeping a glass of water by the bed is one of his (maybe, I don’t know, but he does it so I’m just going to assume that’s the reason). This is basic math.

3.       Create awareness about domestic abuse. Every November, our school is decorated with purple ribbons to create awareness about domestic and dating violence. To help the cause, I designed a game; The Purple Ribbon Punch. It’s like Punch Buggy, but more fun for me, because I always win. There are many reasons for this, including my ninja-like reflexes, but also the fact that a 18” giant can’t just run around campus and hit 5”5’ girls. (I made these numbers up, because American units)

4.       Being a girl. Like most girls, I’m a very caring and sharing person. And I’m all for equality and that shit. This means that whenever I have my period, I just really have to share it with the world. The pain, the feelings, the details. This is not appreciated. 

5.       Being overly passionate about Harry Potter. My boyfriend’s biggest flaw may be that he has not read the Harry Potter series. We are working on this, so don’t worry. After all, his initials are RAB and if you ask me, that’s reason enough to date someone. One time when we were doing hw in a local coffee shop, he started saying he would google who died in the 6th book. Having the emotional range of a teaspoon, I did the only thing I could think of; I slapped his thigh the hardest I could as to prevent his research. It may have echoed all across the room. (PS. I feel like hitting him is starting to become a common denominator here. This is upsetting on many levels)

6.       Being true to my convictions and goals. Like most girls (I think?), I have a list of qualities that I want in a man. The first three go as follows: 1. Owns a sailboat. 2. Taller than me. 3. Older than me. Everything is negotiable but the sailboat. Which is why I added a clause in the Boyfriend Agreement stating that he had to procure a sailboat within a year. His failing to do so resulted in me breaking up with him (the day I thought was) our anniversary. The contract was renegotiated to his advantage. Although I’m not quite sure how this happened, I strongly suspect food bribes were involved. Very sneaky…

Tuesday, August 20, 2013

Hello Internet!

My name is Merete and I’m a first-page-only-diary-writer. It’s taken me a quarter of a century to acknowledge this condition, but it sure feels good to finally tell someone. The attic of my house is filled with boxes of beautiful diaries containing maximum a week of writing. I guess what I’m trying to admit is that I’m really bad at making habits and sticking with them. But here’s the deal: In May, I returned to Norway after some years in Michigan’s Upper Peninsula and I can already feel my English slowly drifting away due to the fish balls, knitted sweaters and brown goat cheeses of Norway.  This is upsetting, because I really like English. I mean, a language where “flabbergasted” and “rambunctious” are actual words is hard not to love. Therefore, despite my sad history of journaling, I’ve decided to give it another shot. If it fails, I’ll only be cluttering up the internet, which is good because the attic is filled to its brim.

Moving to a new place is always a challenge, much like putting on freshly laundered jeans, and when the new place is a different country, that only adds to the challenge. The biggest cultural shock I experienced when I came to the States was the fact that everyone there was so darn friendly. Don’t get me wrong, Norwegians can be friendly as well, but having lived at remote farms, hidden in deep valleys or on mountaintops for centuries, we are just not used to being around other people. Coming from a country where the norm is not to acknowledge the existence of strangers, a small town in the friendly Midwest is quite the change. All of a sudden, strangers were greeting me in passing and the cashier at the grocery store asked me about my day; I was terrified. Stuttering through the English I knew from school and failing miserably at the concept of small-talk, I slowly transitioned into American college life.

I know that to native speakers, English seems easy and simple enough, but boy is that wrong. Unfamiliar sounds and completely illogical pronunciations are just the tip of the iceberg. Theresa is not pronounced as you might think and I once held a presentation where I told the class to use thongs to remove hot items from a furnace. My American friends found my linguistic struggle as funny as I found their complete lack of knowledge about Norway. It took me an embarrassing amount of time to realize why they would all giggle every time I talked about the rec center. Both my medical vocabulary and knowledge of whom to trust improved after I learned that the Student Development Center was not called “the STD”. The fun they had at my expense was balanced with all the joy I got when they believed literally everything I told them. So, if any of the people that lived in my hall first semester are reading this, I want to clarify: I can leave the house without a shotgun; the polar bears don’t live in suburban Oslo. Calling 89462 will not give you the Walrus-Excrement-Pick-Up-Service; I’m pretty sure their shit smells horrible because of their diet, but they too live further north. And we do not think midgets are troll-dwarfs that will haunt you until you catch them and feed them to a polar bear. I apologize for any embarrassment this false information may have caused you, I’m sure it’s nothing compared to having to explain that feeling sore because you’ve “been to the STD” is not a euphemism.
Until next time,