SHUGO SHUGO and FAKSIMILE.NO

(Photo: Mari Torvanger Knap/Oslo Nights)

I think easter came a week early for me. I threw my bachelor to the wind after writing the same paragraph for about 1500 words and leap into a world of long walks by the river and frolicking in the wilderness of music and fashion.

About a year and a half ago I saw an amazing Japanese music act at Landmark in Bergen. A stage for new media and cultural expression. It was a date with a guy who turned out to be a bit of a tool, but regardless it is one of the best concerts I've been to! Last Tuesday I finally got to see my Japanese hero of the ukulele again: Shugo Tokumaru played John Dee in Oslo. My friend D-bag was supposed to come with me, but fucked off at the last minute. I thought: "this must be a good sign, if a dude turns into a tool for the evening the concert will once again be great!" It was!



(via 2ingvild)

But I would not leave my week at that. I had an entire easter of family fun/boredom ahead of me! I decided to put on my trendiest socks and go to a blogparty. I feel it might verge on black hole creation if I blog to much about another blog and the party that blog hosted... But as a true Norwegian, I would go to the opening of a Bunnpris if there was free alcohol, but since this is fashion-related and blogrelated there is photographic evidence of my presence!





It was a great party until the alcohol ran out, but there where some interesting characters there with coked up noses whom would touch you inappropriately and tell you the most random fun facts. An example being a women only slightly older than me whom, in a stiletto dance of fashionable hair flowing to the rhythm of the bass spewed by the celebrity DJ and with her long skirt and haut cuture face; while touching my trench coat said: "I'm so old that I remember this from the first time it was in."
All I could do was look back at the fashionable woman with a crooked smile and say "O.K" while secretely thinking, "who is this goddess of time? Has she seen the world of old Hollywood, where Audrey Hepburn stands in the rain in 1961, her trench coat soaked, waiting for her man?" or "is she slightly older than me and remembers seeing a trench coat of similar color in a early episode of Friends?
The strange womans fashionable superiority was lost on me either way and I could not love my coat more!

(Photos: Solveig Selj)

Hare Krishna

We go together like the internet and kiddie-porn

After the magnificent Devendra Banhart concert last night I realized I had forgotten my phone and therefor went home instead of meeting up with the NOFX posse I live with and pretty much instantly fell asleep. At about 3am I woke up and there was (of course) a nachspiele going on in the apartment, as is our newfound tradition. I couldn't be bothered with socializing at that point so I tried going back to sleep, but about ten minutes later some creepy stranger opens my door, I sit up puzzled and desperately wishing I owned pepper-spray.
"I'm here for the nachspiele" Sounding ALOT like the start of a porn movie.
"Ok, well as you can see it's not happening in here..."
"Eh, who are you?"
"I live here." Meaning: Get the fuck out!
"Eh, oooookaaaay" Lingering as if he thought I was the house sex-kitten, ready to welcome him to the nachspiele with some naked fun-times...
"Nachspiele is downstairs!"
"Oh, well have fun here"

Needless to say, I immediately started locking the door.



Hare Krishna

Siren

Where's Waldo?

One, such as me, might not realize how small my beautiful Oslo actually is. My even more stunning, Bergen (Where I come from) is just a pimple of beauty in an already acned face. Norway in other words, is gorgeous! It is however very small with some green but mostly blue and is mostly unpopulated; much like planet earth in the inconceivably large solar system. I'll call Norway the planet earth of the planet earth.

How did I get to this realization you ask? Photo/fashion-bloggers naturally. We've all heard of FACEHUNTER running around the big cities like New York and Paris taking incredible pictures of stunning ladies with incredible style. One photo by THE COBRASNAKE in a party in LA or New York could make your career if your anything along the lines of model, actress, singer, designer or stylist. In Oslo, what happens is that some kind of second rate photographer (in my case, a girl that also spends her days working at Monki, Bik Bok or something) takes a photo of you at EVERY party for the pleasure of absolutely no one except yourself...

How do I know Oslo is a small city trying so hard to catch up with older brothers Stockholm and Copenhagen? I'm the Waldo of Where's Waldo at the parties of Oslo...

(Photos: Martin Johansen for SMUG)

(Photo: Oslo Nights)

(Photo: Mia from MIAMARIONETTE)

I'm being slightly hipocrytical now thought, because naturally I like having my picture taken, but it is funny that I keep popping up everywhere even though I'm just an overly douchy aesthetics student, part-time model and soon to be barista; and there's more streetstyle to come!

Hare Krishna

Siren

Weekday/Monki Opening Party

(Oslo Nights)

After a hard day of studying for my exams yesterday, I went for a walk and met up with Karoline to nip in to the Store Opening event for Weekday/Monki. Sadly Karoline hadn't registered right or something ridiculous like that and I had to go in alone. I felt the air thick with Agyness-2007-haircuts, moldy vintage and ce-blog-lebrities. After seven girls wearing my brown Topshop shoes and about ten minutes in the store Hannah on stopover from Iceland to Bergen grabbed my arm and said "hey." I was stunned and pleased at the outcome. We had copius amounts of the free beer and wine. Made fun of the dancers . I mingled and met lots of interesting people and got the biggest ego-boosts from being taken pictures of by bloggers.

Last but not least, I met Alexander. The only one fashion conscious enough to comment on my trendy socks-in-sandals look for the night! He's my new hero!

Hare Krishna

Saturday night

Unsettling woman who ran up to me screaming and embracing me just to take off without a word..

(Unflattering angle? That's what you get for using someone else's camera when they're not there donkey-face!)

Documented night of surreal hi-jinx and jubilance at "Gangfest" and "Jentevors"!

Hare Krishna

The Tale of the Fried Buttocks

As my mentality grows ever more indolent and my body increasingly reacquaints itself with the intriguing, beautiful yet frighteningly ordinary place I call home: Bergen, I've felt myself distancing from disconcerting realities. The reality of a skipped exam, an apartment situation in dire need of change, a selective mobile whom chooses the recipients of texts for me without asking my permission, an unsavoury expectancy towards the future. I might not have the mental aplomb to change any of these realities yet, but I have managed to get myself into yet another situation worth mentioning in the bloggiverse as the title of this post leads you to believe.

On Saturday night I had, with the help of a fellow Goddess planned a shindig of mediocre proportions. It had not been long since the yearly day of my own personal New Years Eve and I was ready to blissfully drink the night away. I painted on my face, put on my best crushed velvet body/onesie on, left my bra at home and let the drinking commence at my friends house. We laughed, we drank and I opened some wicked presents.
(Coincidentally, I found that you can give me basically anything as a gift if the reasoning behind it is that I'm Catwoman)
Later in the glorious evening of Bergen styled tomfoolery I felt the need to smoke a cigarette and as I was carried out and the unreasonable events started to unfold.

It is an easily noticeable fact that I do not look nor feel comfortable or unperturbed standing right up and down whilst talking to people. Some exceptions apply, but still.. Therefore I found myself fleeing towards a railing on the patio on which to lean for a James Dean look with my cigarette seductively placed between my lips. Instead of this, I found myself leaning up against something sticky; yes my friend, the inhabitant of the house had neglected to mention that there was wet paint on that railing.
My hands and the bum-bum area of my pants where now grey. "Not to worry!" My friend exclaimed, "I can fix it." She took me by the hand and led me to a back room, where she delicately rubbed the paint off me with a cloth soaked in White Spirit or Stoddard solvent. I have never had a woman rub White Spirit on my ass before...

Needless to say she got the paint off and I was relieved. As we gigglingly walked back into the living room I suddenly realised that White Spirit is quite strong and therefore I cannot sit down on the couch any more. I still did, but what I don't understand is why I didn't think It might be bad for my jeans as well and not to mention my skin.

As we sat in the taxi on our way into town I felt a slight discomfort on my buttocks. I quickly put it out of my head and resumed the impossible mission of trying request a song from the grumpy taxi man when we clearly where listening to the radio.

As we hit the cue at Scotsman (a place I would not recommend to an enemy)I suddenly felt a growing burning sensation on my ass. It got so bad that I had to leave the cue, run to Burger King, reluctantly enter the disgusting bathrooms and take my pants off.

My bum is completely red today, and quite sore. Thank God I was drinking or I would have been a lot more traumatized today than I am.

In conclusion: DON'T RUB YOUR BUTT WITH WHITE SPIRIT!

Mobile picture from the house of painted asses!

Hare Krishna

Siren