I'm just THAT lucky

What I am about to tell you is the dullest, least interesting story of all time. I seem to be posting ever less on this divine blog of mine, thus I shal start out with a tale so imaculately boring that my future post will inevitably rise from the ashes of this burning inferno of boring like a phoenix rises from the ashes of its own corpse.

And don't dare to think this is one of my ironic tales of every-day life gone wrong with surprising spurts of blood from earlobes and infatuations with female dental hygienists.

Friday: The top of the weekend, a day for venting anger and sexual frustration, as Freud would have us belive is done through jokes and humour, and not binge-drinking and promiscuity; dang, did that sexual deviant get it twisted (I, of course, speak purely of myself). I had two lovely bottles red wines picked by the fail-safe method of "pick the cheap ones that aren't many left of" and a new Levi's tank that would enhance the length of my spaghetty-arms and generally thin and bony upperbody. Nedless to say I had the paedophiles confused on the dancefloor that night.

It was a wonderful gathering of new and old friends, even some from as far away as Bergen whom had traversed the land for a Saturday of Prodigy and Extacy. We dub-step'ped and drank until about 1-2AM'ish before resolving to go out for some "sitting down in a loud place" where I drunkenly got up the nerve to comment on the Jemain(from Flight of the Conchords)'ness of a guy.

After the crowd had thinned at Lunar (?) and we troopers of afterparties planned to drink some more in an apartement in Brugata, I suddenly found myself without my wallet in the Deli de Luca close to Rockefeller. I rushed back to the bar in hopes of a miraculous wallet revival. No such luck, I had been my ditsy self and now my wallet had a new owner. I then proceeded to pout for a bit because I realized I couldn't buy cigarettes, which at this point for some reason was my only concern.

Luckily I was offered cigarettes in my time of need, thought of my wallet and fount that I had never heard of a better reason than this to keep drinking in my life! Off we went in search of wine in an apartment in Brugata; little did I know a miracle was brewing in the dark streets of Oslo...

At 4-5AM'ish I noticed a strange number had recently called my mobile. Normally I pay no attention to strange numbers, but I was still pretty drunk so I called it back. It was the Police in Grønland whom had in some undisclosed way ended up in the posession of my wallet. I was stunned, perplexed and not at all ready to walk from Brugata through Grønland to get my wallet back at 5AM. The lovely policeman was understanding of my rape/murder-fright and said they would send it to the station by Sentrum scene where I could pick it up sometime during Saturday as I did with high heels and purple lips and blueish teeth.

Everything was still there except whatever cash I might have had in it... HAHAHA I'm still to lucky for my own face!

Hare Krishna

Siren

Too lucky for my own face

In the past I have been reluctant to attempt to disprove karma, although I have always had my doubts towards the teachings of Carson Daly and his missionary whose Name Is Earl, but seriously karma...

I have been sneaking on the public transport/moving trash-heap of Oslo for about a month now, hearing tales of people getting caught sneaking all around me and yes I have had my share of flickering eye-movement, suspicious staring and boogie-woogeing libs, but I have not seen a single ticket checking dude or dudette.

Today however, I finally managed to locate the student office to pick up my semester card and took the time to buy the illustrious student card for public transportation. Thus I proudly stamped my card and stepped onto the tube as a good citizen paying her transportation dues.

About thirty seconds later I absent-mindedly step of the tube at Jernbanetorget with my mobile to my hear and what do I see?! Yes, it is a blue clad army of ticket inspectors scowling at me with their narrow inspector eyes smelling my surprise and guilt.

Sadly for them I whipped out my freshly purchased and stamped card with my best Mona Lisa expression, let them stare at it unbelievingly for a bit and then I triumphantly walked past them.

Karma, have you forgotten me or am I still feeling the good karma from my early refusals to knock on peoples doors as most children of Jehovah Witnesses are somewhat coerced to do?

Hare Krishna

Siren