Whew

Thanks to the snow powers that be, that nasty -11C is out of the picture. Color me relieved.

Yesterday I took the train into Oslo and ditched my husband for almost twelve hours in order to hang out with the delightful Cairo (now Oslo?) Typ0 and her hubby. We went and saw New Moon, and my delightfully bad teenage angst quota was met. I don't know what it is about the Twilight series; I have a conflicted relationship with it. Part of me wants Bella to just find a life for herself that doesn't revolve around obsessing over the perfect (though undead) boyfriend. And another part of me feels guilty for drooling over jailbait abs. And still another part rejoices over the deliciously over-the-top camp of it all.

We arrived at the theater with enough time to buy the tickets, then duck out and fetch a pre-movie beer. The movie was followed by a brisk walk to Oslo to chez Typ0 for post-movie drinkie poos, and we had dinner and beers at a bar close by. This bar and I also have a conflicted relationship. The beer's not too expensive, and I've been to the point of sloppily knocking over everyone's beer and come very close to being shown the door. But this bar also claimed my black pearl, picked out by my best friend's mother from a diver on an island in the south Pacific (can't remember whole story). So if you come to the bar with me and feed me enough Aass (that's oohhhhsss, not aaaassssss) beer from the tap, I may show you the evil iron plate in the women's restroom that is hiding my pearl, which is the major piece of my engagement ring!

I mean, I got the pearl replaced by the jeweler who created my ring, but still.

Anyway, off the bitterness of the engagement-pearl-eating-restroom floor. We had delicious food, and then Typ0 and hubby walked me to the train station at 10 p.m. (Oops, sorry honey.) What a great way to spend a Saturday!

Tipsy-ish Thoughts For Friday

Did you know Belle de Jour outed herself? Am not surprised that she is some successful doctor type, as too well spoken to be just some ho working the streets of London. But still, enjoyed the book more when her identity was a mystery.

My husband has lost my dog to the deep, dark recesses of the farmland beyond our backyard.

Did you know the Norwegian Olympic skating coach (who is an American) got fired for sexual harrasment? For asking a girl, "Would you like to suck my c***?" And, more interestingly, that the whole sentence gets to be said, unedited, on air? This would so not happen in America.

What. The. Hell. (Yes, that says -11C on Thursday!)

Will never bitch about gray, rainy, albeit warm latter-days-falls (not to be confused with Mormonesque falls) again.

Have been reading Bridget Jones for past week, several times, non stop. Can you tell?

Realized that I may not be Bridget Jones as I am a) not single b) not English (well, by partial descent but not by nationality) and c) am not as witty or ditsy but come close...but have in fact married a Mark Darcy-like character (except for markedly tell-tale of "emotional fuckwit"). Intriguing....

Must stop before sued by publishing companies, literary lawyers, Helen Fielding, etc.

Hangover-Free Zone

My landlord was not joking, the people in our area like to get down and boogie. (Which, I must add, there's nothing quite so funny as a bunch of drunk, rhythmless white people grinding to "Sex Bomb.")

We headed down to the community house--a structure donated to the community about 50 years ago and used as a meeting place/pub--early enough to greet the cooks. The two chefs fell over themselves welcoming us because a) they're working on the construction projects on the farm and b) they'd probably been sampling the aquavit all afternoon. After hearty back-slaps and slurred welcomes, we retired to the basement pub. There, the social ringleader/handyman sat with us and told us all about the area. Sverre has now been invited to the gutterklubb (boy's club), a gathering of all the area's menfolk to (drink and) make (drunken) decisions over the summer festival and various community projects.

Dinner consisted of ribbe (a very thick cut of pork rib), pinnekjøtt (ungodly dish of mutton ribs, dried, cured, whatevered, than rehydrated in a pot with sticks for long hours, producing the most overwhelming smell of barn), what I call Norwegian saurkraut (lots of cumin!), mashed rutebega, red cabbage, various sausages, and of course, sauce. Due to the tipsiness of the chefs, the potatoes ran out before everyone had been served, resulting in a minor jul crisis. Beer and wine flowed, and the conversation started.

I have learned that I really am living in the country. The handyman lives next door to the electrician, who lives next door to the plumber. I assume the butcher, baker and candlestick maker are just a little ways down the road. Everyone knows everyone, and have known each other since childhood. There is one main road through the community that runs by the sea, so therefore people either live up the road from you, or down. Community projects are handled by getting everyone together on a Saturday to work together.

Sverre decided to ingratiate himself into the group by telling all of the construction guys that I would have coffee ready for them on Monday. He then had the audacity whilst pimping out my severely limited coffee skills to say, "I don't know why she hasn't offered you coffee before, it isn't very hyggelig."

Um, how about we just bought a new coffee maker this weekend, dummy? So there I was this morning, clutching a thermos of coffee and a handful of mugs, only slightly embarrassed.

We left long before the party was over, both fairly tipsy. The group of men in their 50's and 60's on the porch teased that the "old people" were heading home. But guess who didn't have a hangover yesterday.... ha ha!

Woohoo! Party!

Today I was talking to the landlord. He asked me if we would go to the "village" julebord (aka, Christmas dinner party).

"Sure," I said. "Are you going?"

"No, I don't think so. My wife likes to use these weekends to spend time with the children."

I pause for a second. "But...won't the julebord be like a great family activity?"

He gave me an honest-to-God sideways glance and said, "Aaah, no. The people here like to party, and this will be a lot of alcohol, party party party. There will be no children there."

"Really?" I gasped.

At long last, I have found my people.

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PART II

Sverre read this post and said:

I know how this works. I've been to a Norwegian Christmas party before. Everyone is going to get shitfaced, someone is going to get caught in the bathroom with someone else's wife, all hell is going to break loose and there will be a fight, and then it will all be over. This is how it works.

So, I'm thinking it should be:

Julebord: Just like a stereotypical office Christmas party, but for people with ja, god morgen, ja! accents.

IKEA and more.

I passed my Norsk 2 muntlig (spoken) test!

Absolutely amazing, considering I was completely wiped out and my brain was not functioning when I took it. Well, considering how I over think everything, this may have actually been to my advantage. Just waiting to hear from the skriftlig (written) portion.

Man, I'm beat.

Today we went to IKEA to find...all sorts of stuff. You name it, we need it. When you go from a 40 square meter apartment with no real kitchen to a 100+ square meter house with a big kitchen....you realize how little you actually have. Our plan is to have furniture and entire household kit bought by January (which is why you haven't seen many pictures of the inside of the house).

Anyway, the point is...I'm not an IKEA shopper. The layout of IKEA perplexes me, exhausts me, and overwhelms me. I don't like the fact that I have to decide on what I want RIGHT NOW or I can't go back. And if I do go back, I'll be irrevocably lost in the maze that is IKEA's circular and strange layout.

I am, if anything, a true product of my upbringing. My family doesn't decide and buy in one trip. We stalk sales, we go back and forth from store to store, we bring samples to check against...we are frugal and we take forever to decide on a purchase. (Ask my parents how long it took them to find their bedroom set...the impetuous among you will be shocked.)

The "put the bits together yourself" sections scare the bajeezus out of me. I can't visualize a finished room in my head, I like to build slowly. Walking into a giant area housing dismembered pieces of kitchens or bathrooms makes my stomach churn. I turn into a fuzzy blank...a wandering zombie.

After battling my way through these sections, finally I get to what I came for. Kitchen gadgets, plates, glasses, decorative lamps, rugs, curtains...all the little things. I am able to function through rugs and curtains, bathroom accessories and dinnerware, but by the time we get to household accessories my brain has thrown in the towel. Done. I wander around the candles and pictures, gathering candle plates, assorted scented candles, candle sticks and tea lights. This is exactly what IKEA wants. They aim for customers at this point to be walking, cart-stuffing automatrons. But, taking into account the way I was raised, this backfires. I make it to a few feet from the cart before my brain kicks into, "You really don't need this crap" and I dump it in random piles on displays. This exercise is repeated a few times before Sverre calmly asks, "Are you ready, sweetie?"

"Yes, let's get the hell out of here."

By now I'm impervious. I'm not tempted by the 100 for 20 kroner napkins! Or the large glasses, 9 kroner per piece! Or the Christmas ornaments only 100 kroner per box! I'm tired, I'm cranky, and I just want to go somewhere not here.

Thankfully, tomorrow is furniture and lamp shopping in stores with a sane layout. I'm just glad I survived today!

A Showing

Some people might wonder, Why would anyone move from one of Europe's capital cities to a horse farm in the middle of nowhere?

Here's why.


A home from the 1740's to die for.


A view to die for.


Horses! (The Arab in foreground, the pony in the back, and two of the youngsters rather interested in my dog. It had been raining all day and they were standing in the best place to get sun and dry off.)


A farm!

Great post-rain walks....







(I took one of these pictures (the one of Sverre!), all the rest should be credited to Mr. Sverre!)

Ingratitude

-- Disdaining the soft bed of towels someone has made for you in order to sit closer to your BFF, the kitchen fire.