I can't sleep, I can't sleep...

...I can't sleep, I can't sleep, I can't sleep!

This happens every Sunday-Monday of every week! I have the sleep pattern of a bat during the weekend and end up with a headache and insomnia during the glorious weekend night which turns to week at a painfully slow rate while I fill my knowledge-gap with downloaded ridiculousness like documentaries about the inner workings of the dog brain. Sadly, there are not enough rage-comics too keep me occupied until a morning which, yet again, holds another day of explaining why I haven't gotten further on my bachelor degree paper (pure laziness and dogumentaries).
Sunday

I drag my pale, bruised and dehydrated soul out of bed on Sunday afternoons, let the feeling of accomplishment from the weekend wash over me in a collage of awkward phrasing and scattered images of horrid dance-moves. I get dressed in a confused mix of patterns and fabrics, let my face breathe without the confides of make-up and waddle out the door to greet the day (usually forgetting either my phone, wallet or keys; sometimes, all of the above)
It's the worst thing a person in a delicate state can do on a Sunday, be outdoors.

I'm immediately met by bright-eyed children, bumping in to my legs, screaming fearlessly at cute animals and inadvertently grabbing my clammy hand thinking I'm mom. Parents beaming at them whilst suspiciously measuring the creepiness of my dark sunglasses against the apparent lack of muscle. They soon forget me as the child moves away and I disappear behind the nearest lamppost.. Yeah, I'm skinny like that!

I stroll by the river while gossip from the weekends frivolities fill my phone until I have the honour of telling a complete stranger that her dress has made it's way from covering her bottom, to being part of the inside of her purse.

A good deed has been done, and I can safely go home to take a nap. After a disastrous two hour nap I awake, the sun has vanished and it leaves me with nap-induced confusion and hunger until I can fall asleep again. I can fall asleep again at about now, 6am. If I do, this day will be repeated tomorrow!

The horror! I write to you, to stay awake whilst contemplating how horrible tomorrow will be!

Hare Krishna

Siren

A salute to bartenders

I salute you bartenders and barmaids alike and apologize to every person whom make their livings by, in some way, being sober around drunk people. The level of ridicolous behaviour on a drunken humanity can be measured in the same category as ridiculous face-painting that goes on during international sporting events. I say humanity, but after phenomenons like Paradise Hotel and Bartenderskolen I imagine a wholly different scenario if the drunk people in question where French or Spanish.I was a barmaid for about 10-12 hours one night of the Norwegian music-festival By:Larm. During which I contemplated both suicide and homicide. People started off nice enough. Complimenting my fanny-pack and asking inane questions about drinkprices and directions to toilets. Information which they could have gotten on their own if they chose to use their eyes for other than sexual partner-detectors and as douche, plastic and useless eye-wear background.

After a few concerts people grew restless in the lines. Their faces growing ever sweatier as the dancing, dehydration and alcohol took hold. The compliments towards my fanny-pack or lesbian hair-style became more frequent, paralleled with a loss of motor skills which inevitably lead to them spitting on me as they spoke. People kept coming back to me after hours expecting me to remember that "a nod and a wink" ment India Pale Ale or Gin and Tonic.

A young man bought a beer and felt the need to take my picture with his phone as he did so. Like a domestic cat would proudly present you with its latest small and furry animal victim, the man presented me with the picture every time he bought another beer. I wanted to as: "what do you expect me to do with the fact that a complete stranger has a picture of me on his phone?" but I just smiled politely and discretely shoved the tip-jar closer to him.

Another man presented me with a CD as tip for my services as a giver of beer. I am now the prowd owner of a CD by the hip-hop group Envy. I thought it was quite presumptuous of him to think I like hip-hop. I don't particularly look like a hip-hopper and move to the music about as smoothly and rhythmically as deaf person with vertigo.

The scream-spitting inane questions became worse as the night grew darker. Every sweaty-drunken female became living proof of Alice Coopers sense of style as their copious amounts of make-up painted their faces with the movement of the sweat.

A group of men thought it wise to grab my attention by bending down so far that only their heads where above the bar. I, once again, smiled politely and gave them their beers. The group luckily scattered from lack of attention except one rather dashing tall, dark-haired man. I thought this might be the handsomest man I've seen in weeks, and he's talking to me! Then I realized that his beer-goggles where as think as bottle-caps as he smiled, slurred his words and was quite unsteady.Last but not least a Spanish-speaking gentlemen between the age of 50-60 years old, came to the bar and bought a beer. I made the mistake of smiling at him and therefore had him staring, winking and muttering Spanish at me for about twenty minutes.

I ask you bartenders: How do you do this on a regular basis? Is it really worth the tips? Is that where the widespread alcoholism among bartenders stems from?

By Joab, I shall never again be THAT person of the many I listed above and I praise bartenders everywhere.


Hare Krishna

Siren

A little tid-bit about God

An actual anti-atheism billboard in the US... I there fore pledge my allegiance to atheism and if God gives a shit I'll let that poster come true!

I refer you to Ricky Gervais "Why I'm an atheist" released for Christmas 2010:
I know faith exists. I see it all the time. But believing in something doesn’t make it true. Hoping that something is true doesn’t make it true. The existence of God is not subjective. He either exists or he doesn’t. It’s not a matter of opinion. You can have your own opinions. But you can’t have your own facts.

Why don’t I believe in God? No, no no, why do YOU believe in God? Surely the burden of proof is on the believer. You started all this. If I came up to you and said, “Why don’t you believe I can fly?” You’d say, “Why would I?” I’d reply, “Because it’s a matter of faith.” If I then said, “Prove I can’t fly. Prove I can’t fly see, see, you can’t prove it can you?” You’d probably either walk away, call security or throw me out of the window and shout, ‘’F—ing fly then you lunatic.”

(reddit.com)

Please read the rest of his holiday message here.

Hare Krishna (yes, I get how this is ironic now)

Siren

Off to a flying start

After refusing to have anything to do with the University of Oslo all Christmas I didn't realize how long my vacation actually is until yesterday. My first class starts the 17th of January; how ridiculous is that? After torturing me with exams until less that a week from Christmas Eve they're now forcing me to do something stupid, first thing in the new year, with all this free time!
Whilst on the topic of stupidity, I, being an easily depressed and somewhat spontaneous reactionary person had the honor of watching myself, like a fly on the wall with no say in my own actions, step into the new year by being bitchy to my "diddle-buddy" our last moments together before he fucks off to conquer the Americas and forge for academic gold in the vast hills of California; and later that day I would buy a weekend trip to Barcelona out of the blue.Granted the trip to Barcelona, with a certain blond bombshell, will be awesome, but I still feel like some intence therapy is in order, or at least some New Years Resolutions! (Especially after I managed to convince myself I actually looked like Hitler after dressing up like him on Halloween and ending up cutting my hair in yet another twelve-year old boy/nineties flat-chested chick from Baywatch sort of way in Bergen at the end of 2010; I'd show you a picture, but my current hair has been through both sleep and sex, so it is really not fit for viewing)
Resolutions

1. Try being being a little bit less of a bitch in emotional and stressful situations
2. Stop being Eyjafjellajøkul of grumpiness in the morning
3. Buy no more than one pair of shoes a month
4. Stop being so easy to steal from
5. Start using the kitchen for more than storage-space
   
6. Start doing Yoga, no matter how embarrassingly stiff I inevitably will be in the beginning
7. Read more non-curriculum
   
8. Finish Bachelors Degree
9. Write more
10. Eat healthier and more
    
11. Work out more
12. Get over fear of old people, babies and short people
13. Write angry letter about TV2bliss or change gender
14. Be more approachable
15. BLOGG MORE

That's a start isn't it? I won't say anything about my reckless drinking and what inevitably goes with it because we are young and I refuse to take life too seriously at this stage!

Hare Krishna

Siren

Winter wonderland be damned

Winter wonderland Oslo may not be. The first snowstorm has made this vibrant city into a former Soviet republic in the late 80s and I don't care for it. I'm to thin for below zero temperatures and wind might easily knock me over.
Not to mention that since I'm no longer living in horrifying yet exquisite solitude, in a government owned silo, I now must overcome my hatred of other people and their habits and individual gross'ity.
As today when I, as the only un-hungover person (in the world probably), had to endure the smell of hungover men. I cannot elaborate on the unfathomable smell, because writing the words to describe it would make me vomit and reading them them would undoubtedly make you vomit especially in your, presumably, fragile state.
To escape the horrid smell of my disgusting roommates whom vomit in their rooms, climb in windows and bleed copiously while at it, I would have had to climb inside a large animal of some sort to keep warm.
Luckily I'll have to spend the next three-four days indoors in lukewarm libraries, if I can get up in the ungodly enough hour to get a seat at a Stalinesq desk and an uncomfortable and often broken chair in a leaky library called Sophus Bugge, writing to home-exams.
Ah, what doesn't one do for a completely useless Bachelors degree?
So, let it snow, let it snow, let it FUCKING snow!

Hare Krishna

Siren

Apartement Family!

These are my family of lovely freaks in Toftes gate. They need no words!


Night Krishna

Belle and Sebastian TV

(Via Poplogg)

I almost thought the world would end in a melted heap of floating ancient corpses in an endless sea of our own creation without more Belle & Sebastian, but thankfully they are back with this(as seen above):

This is the first in series of transmissions of varying sizes and shapes from Belle and Sebastian to mark the impending release of their eighth album, Belle and Sebastian Write About Love.

The first episode of Belle and Sebastian TV is a fully realized, half-hour mixture of music, chat and revealing (and not so revealing) insights from the band filmed in Glasgow over the last few weeks.

Presented by Dougie Anderson and produced by Forest of Black, it features performances of two of the songs from the album: I Want The World to Stop and I Didn't See It Coming.

I can not wait for their eighth studio album that will be out in the UK on October 11th. I have a date with their web shop that day LET ME TELL YA!

Hare Krishna