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Archive for the ‘Life’ Category

How some women feel when stepping on the scale...

… is their weight. Some people say it’s their age, but weight is more of a touchy subject to most women as it is one thing that they have somewhat control over through dieting and working out. Age is (contrary to popular beliefs) uncontrollable.

Because women don’t talk about their weight I figured I should talk about weight. My weight, to be more presice. And this brings to mind another question to never, and I mean NEVER, ask one of your female friends…

The big and scary “Are you pregnant?”

Roughly a year and some months ago (right around christmas 2009) I was at the college I went to, in the cafeteria. Here I met a friend I hadn’t seen in some months, because he studied in England. We met, we hugged, we chatted, and then he dropped the p-bomb.

Why should you never ask a girl or woman if she’s pregnant?

1) If she is you just ruined her moment of surprising you. She’s the one with the alien in her stomach for 9 months, she gets to tell you about it.

2) If she isn’t pregnant you just told her she’s fat.

If a woman is wearing this shirt, you may ask her if she's pregnant. I think...

Additions:
1a) While stealing her thunder you are also reminding her that she’s fat. And will continue getting fatter.
2a) You also ruined her day, possibly week, possibly longer, and that delicious dinner she was planning is now ruined.
2b) Important: If she isn’t pregnant this question only leaves for one response (the one I had to my friend’s question…):

No, I’ve just gotten fat.

More than one year later I still have no problem with remembering the comment from my friend. I will have it said that I am not mad at him in any way, because if it hadn’t been for him I’d might never have started working out and dieting, and I wouldn’t have gotten all the health benefits from it. Also, I met him when I visited my sister in London 4 months later, and he made it all better by telling me I looked fabolous.

Why am I writing this?

First off: To brag! Obviously.
Second: To teach all you guys (and possibly girls?) to never ask you female friend if she is pregnant! I can not stress this enough. If you think she might be pregnant, wait for her to tell you herself. And if you think she has gained weight, and are a really good  friend of hers, you can possibly comment on that, but I would advise you not to go there.

There we go, an entire entry about one of the top subjects a woman “never talks about”. And I’m a woman. How ’bout that!

[poll id=”42″]

I hate studying.

Maybe quitting university and going to work full-time for the rest of my life, without any significant education, wouldn’t be so bad. At least it would save me from having to write an essay on whether “Horrors-among-the-hollyhocks and a sanitized sense of evil” is an agreeable statement about Agatha Christie’s Poirot-novel The Murder of Roger Ackroyd. Hollyhocks are, by the way, a kind of flower, brought to Europe from Asia in the 16th century.

How would life as a proletarian work out for me?

I did have to quit one of my previous jobs in a nursing home due to my arms; I have recurring carpal tunnel syndrome in both arms. So working in the health-care-system is basically out of the question. I have recently started working as a waitress at a restaurant, and a bartender at a bar. Both of which I like, but it’s basically only night-time jobs, and that doesn’t work out well with my plans of having a family with 16 kids and a couple of canines. Also: Both of these jobs involve a lot of carrying, pouring and other activities to make my arms hurt.

The biggest problem is this: I know what I want. I want to teach. And that can’t be done without studying. And so I’m stuck writing about the horrors among the hollyhocks, and other terrible tales.

This was brought to you, once again, by the queen of procratination.

(Upon trying to add the tag “University” the bar suggested unicorn. This made me happy, so I kept it.)

I bet you’ve all been wondering to yourselves “Gee, I wonder why Frida hasn’t bothered us with more stupid anecdotes and feminist propaganda lately????”

I bring to you: The answer to your unasked question!

I’ve been drowning in schoolwork. And political work. And just being too cool to hang around on brbcoffee.com. (Just kidding! You can’t be too cool for brbcoffee.com, only not cool enough!)

But like I was saying: I’ve been busy having a life. Also, I kind of broke my computer a bit whilst falling (with perfect form, might I add) on the devilish ice, and now it’s a pain to use for writing longer texts. These days, I basically only use it for Criminal Minds, Special Victims Unit and West Wing (my latest obsession, thanks to my “man-friend” [wink-wink, nudge-nudge]).

So why did I choose today to write this blog? To rub your noses in how my terrible day turned into a great day!

So first I deliver to you the story of my last couple of weeks.
I fell on ice and broke both my computer and my dignity. All wounds heal, I have some laught about it, and then it happens again. Only this time there wasn’t a computer there to break my fall.
I pretended to be a doctor and did my diagnosis based on receiving it a couple of times before (last time: Also due to falling on ice. Go figure…) I came to the conclussion that I had a mild concussion. No need to fuss, just some dizziness, constant fatigue and the possibility of throwing up. Also: I shouldn’t really try to read, work out or drink alcohol in a week. Only one problem: I go to university. I have to read! (This week: Truman Capote-In Cold Blood)

Then, after a couple of days mostly spent in bed and sitting down and stuff, I go to work my first shift in this student-bar. And I did hit my head mildly, again, so I didn’t manage to go into work today because standing up made me sick. And I had this meeting, and it was a massive failure, and a lot of things just plain sucked. I drop by my man-friends place to pick up some stuff (he’s in Oslo again, so I’ll have to go to the Wombats-concert alone. And I still can’t drink. Yay!) and I go home. (Doesn’t really sound like this day is getting better, does it?)

Back home I check my mail.

CA-CHING!!!!!!!! (For those of you who can’t read the pixeled [is that a word?] tickets: Me and 4 friends are going to see Foo Fighters! On our way to Roskilde. Yeah, that’s a big festival. In Denmark.)

(Also: I was going to use paper-clips or staples to keep the two sheets of tickets together, but couldn’t find any, so enjoy my sparkling blue hair-clips.)

Oh, and by the way: My hair is red now.

Zooming in and out of focus,
This was Frida.

Heyooo

I just realized that it is not always easy being a Norwegian in an English mans world. For instance, one of the great vices of Norwegian people with half a grasp of our beautiful language is the dividation of words. Oh the hilarity which arises when people split a word that wasn’t meant to be split.

Why am I rambling about this? Well, brussels sprouts is the correct way to write it, as confirmed by THE ALMIGHTY WIKIPEDIA, HAIL! Alas, my silly Norwegian head twitches and wants it to be written brusselsprouts.

Now, I bet you’re thinking, why is this guy talking about brussels sprouts? Well, in about 10 hours, my plane leaves for Brussels. Oh glorious EU-capital and home of countless bureaocrats.  I am leaving, ooon a jetplaaane tralala. Well, my brotha lives there, so I’ma go visit him yo.

These aint no brussels sprouts.

That’s it for this time.

DON’T FUCKING DO IT!!!

You’ll end up creating a monster.

I’ve just had a public mother-daughter spat on my FB page that I wish had never happened. I initiated it, I will admit, but only out of sheer desperation to get her goddamned attention! We are having relationship issues, needless to say, but every time I try to talk to her seriously I am either laughed off or she takes offense and it becomes a yelling-match. Wait wait, isn’t it supposed to be the other way around? Shouldn’t I be the FB addict who doesn’t want to build a healthy relationship with my mother? Why is she being the child?

So yeah, to make a long story longer, it started as kind of a passive-aggressive comment about having to eat alone after making everyone’s breakfast. Well, she took offense. I decided, then and there, to completely humiliate myself by confronting her on my own FB page. I can’t say it was a mistake, because it served its purpose; I finally got her attention. When she finally confronted me in person, we had a big ol’ scream/sob session and, in the end, worked things out. Or so I thought. I actually just went to pee (it’s been about 15 minutes since the confrontation) and overheard her and her husband (aka Jack aka THE DEVIL!) talking smack about me. First thought: there goes the ol’ trust we just built. Then I thought: no no, I’m gonna talk to her and tell her how it made me feel; I’m just gonna be open. So I was and once again, we mended it somewhat (I have been paranoid about him talking shit about me for about 3 years now and he pretty much just cemented that distrust).

Moral of the story, folks: confrontation can actually be a good thing. It’s uncomfortable as hell, but it’s really the only way to deal with relationship problems.

At the end of the day, I feel tired, embarrassed, and overall paranoid. I hate Jack a little more than I used to, but oh well. Still, I feel like I at least took the risk of putting my true feelings out there for the world to either help me with or laugh at. What the world will do is yet to be known.

Please be nice, world. Please.

Sayonara!