Last night I was out with a friend, and had a few beers. We had been sitting at the same table and talking with this random guy (let’s just call him… Mike), and he kept bringing us drinks and beer and tequila shots, which most of the time, we refused since our glasses were more than half full. So he drank them instead.
My friend and I started walking home when all of a sudden he starts walking towards his car. I ask him what the hell he thinks he’s doing, and tells me that he doesn’t live that far away, so he won’t be driving that far. I respond to that by saying “If you live close enough to drive home while under the influence, you live close enough to walk home.”. He obviously didn’t take me serious, and I told him that if he even got one step closer to his car I had the number to the cops on speed dial, and I wasn’t afraid to call them. I explained to him that I had lost one of my best friends in a car accident, and I didn’t want to see anyone else get killed because of an idiot who doesn’t realize what he’s doing. Appearantly he started thinking at some point through that sentence, and he started walking with us. After crossing the road we went our seperate ways, but my gut feeling told me to keep an eye on him, cause as soon as he thought we couldn’t see him anymore, he would turn around and go back to his car. And so he did. I walked back down to him and told him to think about what he was about to do. He told me to “back off bitch!”, and kept walking towards his car. I yelled at him “So I guess this means I’m calling the cops then?”, and he said “Go ahead, I don’t care.” I called and they answered right away. I was surprised to see how serious they took me, especially considering the fact that I wasn’t completely sober myself. While I was on the phone with the police, he reported it in to a car, and told me that he had sent someone over, but was afraid they wouldn’t be there until the DUI’er was gone. I told him everything I knew, and said that I could try to catch the license plate number. When he came driving I stepped into the middle of the road, so he would have to hit me or stop. When he noticed I was reading his licence plate number, he backed up, hit a wall of snow, and kept backing up. I think he may have thought that if he just parked his car right there, no one would notice that he had DUI’d. Sorry mate, but three witnesses saw you, and there’s no way in hell you’re getting away with this. After he “gently” parked his car in the snow, he got out, and started hitting after me. But to late mate, the cops were there, and he just randomely walked over to the two other witnesses and pretended like nothing had happened. Both officers got out of the police car, and one of them asked me who it was, I pointed him out, and he went straight over to get him. The other one started to talk to me and said “Good job, thanks for calling”, and high fived me (this made me feel like the most awesome person ever!). He then asked us a bunch of questions, wrote down our names and phone numbers, and drove away with the DUI’er.

It surprised me though. From the time I called the cops, and til I hung up after they were there, according to my phone, it took three minutes.

So. High five to the cops for taking me seriously, responding quickly to my call, and for doing a great job. At least last night.

XOXO

I believe I cried myself to sleep for the next week and a half. Chris had been a close friend of mine for the past two years, and I could talk to him about anything. He would never tell. Besides being a dear friend, he was the one who always could make me laugh when I was down. He was just the kind of guy that I could fall for. And I did, at some point.

His funeral was wonderful. I cried about a box of kleenex, and was so proud of him when the reverend held the speach. He was such a great guy. And he died way to early. He was only 24 years old… What I remember the most is how I started laughing through tears when they played his song, in the middle of a church.

This was kind of his song…

I occasionally listen to this song, just sit around with my iPod on really loud, sing a little bit to myself, cry a few tears and smile. Smile, because I remember what an amazing person he was. But the thing is… Whenever anyone else hears that song, they scream “turn it off, it’s so sad!” What do they know that I don’t know? Why don’t they wanna remember him? It’s a painful fact, but ignoring it isn’t exactly doing anyone any good.

What did he die from? Honestly, I don’t really know. The police report says that it was liver- and kidney failure, but it kind of makes me think… What about the fact that he had a fatal amount of drugs in his blood several hours after he died? I knew Chris. I also know that he was very aquainted to MaryJane, but I’m having a hard time believing that he actually would OD himself on purpose, especially on something like that. And the fact that the place where he was found belonged to the biggest drug dealer in town doesn’t exactly give me any less worries. Why don’t I just ask anyone? Well… I’ve tried. Several times. Again, and again, and again. The problem is that people don’t want to talk about it. They don’t want to admit to themselves that he’s dead.

What are they hiding? What are they not telling me? Is their staying silent their way of keeping the truth away?

I wish I knew…

God, how I miss him!

XOXO

My mom has a temper out of the ordinary. Her wreth against me has absolutely no limits, which is the reason I try avoiding her as much as I possibly can. I quit saying hellos and goodbyes a long time ago, just to maybe, maybe avoid her dissapointed looks and fighting her off every second of the day. If anything in this world ever goes wrong for her, she blames me. Everything is always my fault, for some reason.

I’m tired of always fighting. I’m tired of always being screamed at. Critisism is OK, if I make a mistake, I’m happy to take the blame for it. But screaming is so unessessary. I hate it when people are mad at me and scream, when they really don’t have any reason to. I honestly don’t have the energy to fight her away anymore. I just try to put on my special ordered thick skin in time, and I don’t yell back at her.

Dear mom: I hope you are aware of the fact that the more you scream, falsely accuse me of things, and call me names… The less I love you. I’ve reached the point where I’m completely indifferent to you. I don’t really care what happens to you. I know I’m writing this with tears in my eyes, and with a certain amount of anger towards you… But if you died today… I really don’t think I would care that much. I’ve lost my three best friends in the whole wide world, and you’ve had the nerve to say that they probably deserved dying? Who the hell are you to judge anyone? You’re certainly not a saint.

Let’s not fight,
I’m tired.
Can we just sleep tonight?

I wish I could write XOXO, but I can’t make myself do it.

The girl I am talking about is Regine. Her battle lasted for 15 months, and yesterday afternoon she had to give in. She died in her own bed, surrounded by people (and a cat) who loved her.

Even though this young girl had the fight of her life, she made other people reconsider their lives. Live while you can. Face your fear. Accept your war. It is what it is.

I’m writing this through a wall of tears. I hate it when the heroes die so young. But I guess that’s just the way life is…

Sleep tight now, Regine. Thank you for everything.

Regines blog is written in Norwegian, but I seriously recommend reading it. You can find Regine’s blog here.

For some reason, most Norwegians just don’t know how to behave when they go out. Just to set the record straight, I have a name, and I can assure you it’s not waitress, Ingrid, bar-chick, sweet knees, honey, darling or “Heymissdoyouworkhere?”.

I’m not convinced this is going to work, but a friend of mine suggested that I should write a “Drinking for dummies”-manual, since I already know the game.

Getting our attention
To get our attention, you must wait in line. We already know that you’re dehydrated, and that you are inpatient. But honestly, so is everyone else waiting in line. There aren’t really any tricks. But when you get our attention, be sure to tell us what you want right away, or we’ll skip ahead to the next customer.

How to not get our attention: Namecalling, waving money (or your Platinum Visa) in our face, screaming at us, throwing your empty glass or bottle at us. If you do so, I promise that you will be the last person in the bar to get anything.

Paying for your drinks
Cash is king. Either that or leaving your card. First of all, using your card for every single purchase is wasting a lot of our time. Second of all, only 1% of all card purchasers leave a tip. And when you do pay for your drinks in cash, remember that 10% is a minimum. If your change is only a few coins, tell the bartender to keep it, you’ll be loved for it. Being one of a bartenders favorite customers really pays off.

Compliments and sucking up.
Complimenting a bartender is OK, but don’t tell her/him that she/he has a nice ass. Being vulgar isn’t going to do you (or the bartender) any good. But don’t be shy to tell her/him that you like his/her hairdo, clothes or that they’re doing a good job.

What NOT to do: On the other hand, don’t suck up. Remember, we’re sober, you’re (probably) drunk, we can tell if you’re actually complimenting us or just sucking up to get the nice price on a drink.
It’s OK to compliment us, but don’t ever ever EVER E-V-E-R touch the bartender. We’re here to do a job, not the be felt up by some sleazy drunk dude who doesn’t even remember his own name.

Ordering drinks.
When it’s your turn to order, make sure you know what you want. It’s OK to ask for suggestions, but don’t just blow our suggestions off when we’re actually spending time suggesting something for you. If we have a lot to do, be nice and order something simple.

What NOT to do: Booze and soda is NOT a drink. And cocktails with five different kinds of liqueur is avoidable, especially when we have lots to do.

Order everything at once
If you’re having three Coronas, one Gin&Tonic, two Margaritas, three strawberry daiquiris and 7 sambuca shots, let us know right away. You have one chance to place an order, and even though we might forget something with an order that size, it’s better that we ask again, than you ordering one drink at a time. Bartenders know how to multitask.

What not to do: Don’t ever ask for a split bill! It’s just not going to happen.

Leaving a tip.
Make sure the bartender knows that his or her work is appreciated by leaving a tip. It’s OK to give it personally to the bartender, or you can leave it in the tip jar.

What not to do: If you haven’t liked the bartenders work, don’t nag about it. You don’t have to leave a tip, but please don’t bitch about it. Maybe you were just out of luck when talking to the bartender, or maybe you got the wrong impression. If the bartender actually is a moron, I promise they won’t last long in the business.

So… Good luck guys. Stay clear of the first tequila shot, cause they always bring their friends.

XOXO

Anyway. I’ve had a few talks with some of my friends the past weeks. Most of us are about 22-24 years old, and we all agree on one thing: “Older” guys are a lot more attractive than the guys our own age. I’m not talking about older as in really old, but there really is a limit there. My minimum is somewhere around 30, all depending on the guy. I’d normally say that 39 is tops (40 just doesn’t sound right), but then again – who am I to pass judgement?
Some guys follow a golden mathematical recipe to decide what’s the minimum age of a girl: Half his age plus seven. So if he’s 34, it means 34 : 2 = 17 + 7 = 24. To us girls, it’s more the other way around. What is our “age limit” on a guy? Take me as an example. I’ll be 24 in a few months, so we’ll use that as an example. 24 – 7 = 17 x 2= 34. But since I think this just sounds really, really wrong, I say “screw this”, and go with my guts instead.

But really… What’s the deal with young girls falling for older men? I mean… I don’t think I’ll ever be able to go on a date with someone my own age ever again. For some reason, it just feels wrong. It’s like it’s a whole other level.

To quote Joan Collins: “Age is just a number. It’s totally irrelevant unless, of course, you happen to be a bottle of wine.”

Well… Of course, this isn’t entirely true. But I like the idea of it. Men are in some ways like wine. Some just go bad when they get old, others just turn out to be high quality.

Okay, so this is on so many levels supposed to be a very honest, and maybe even an exposed blog. In case anyone was wondering (in case anyone reads this blog, at all), these thoughts came up while I was talking with a female friend about one night stands turning out to be married, driving a volvo, 2 kids, trophy wife, a medium sized house, an average paying job and a golden retriever in the back yard. Why do we always end up with these guys? Well… Because we stay clear of the guys our own age for absolutely no good reason at all. Of course, there are tons of benefits with an older guy. He would in most cases be more honest. I mean, guys my own age haven’t really figured out that it doesn’t work to play “I like you, like you not”-games with us, while men (most of them though) would rather just be honest and say “Honestly, I’m just not that into you, but we can still hook up if you’re up for it.”. And as a girl who’s (seriously, don’t laugh) had a few bad experiences in bed, I kind of appreciate a guy who isn’t totally clueless when it comes to what’s hot and what’s not.

I’m not judging anyone. I’m not sure if I agree with age just being a number, but I’m not here to criticize anyone. If it feels right, it probably is. If not… Well… You already know the answer.

XOXO

I actually have the answer for that (which doesn’t make me a genious, it just makes me street smart): They follow me around all freaking day. Seriously. I have the most annoying stalker in the history of the world. He texts me 30 times a day, tries to call me twenty times a day, and on top of that, he just happens to show up at my job almost every time I’m there! Yesterday was no exception. I work as a bartender, and it’s kind of my job to be nice to the customers. So he’s figured out that if he shows up there, while I’m at work, I can’t yell at him for it. My friend, Anne, was there when he showed up yesterday, and she had NO idea that he was my stalker. Of course, I’ve told her about my stalker, but she just hadn’t met him yet. So I kind of wheezed “STALKER!” to her the second he turned away, and she was all “Ooops, I didn’t know!”. Well… Of course she couldn’t have. But whatever direction I turned, he followed me. If I went out for a cigerette, he followed me. If I ran outside to see what was going on there, he followed me. No wonder I’m freaking out, is there?

But the thing is, because of the stupid, stupid laws of stupid, stupid Norway, I can’t do anything about it. I can’t get a court order to keep him away from me, because he’s not potentially dangerous. He has never threatened me, he has never said anything to insinuate that he might me a danger to me of any kind. He’s just freaking me out! I know he’s somehow spying on me, cause I can come back from a walk with my dog, and receive a text where it says “Nice walk?”, or I can go out for lunch with a friend, and he texts me “What are you ordering?”. Get the picture? I’m not really scared, just being a bit paranoid, but can you really blame me? This guy is probably the most mentally challenged person ever, completely socially retarded.

But I’m a bit curious. What makes a guy start stalking a girl? Especially a girl that has said pretty clearly several times that she just isn’t interested? What, does he think it makes him more attractive? Because I can assure everyone, right here, right now, it really, really doesn’t!

What’s my solution to this? How about a fake boyfriend? Well, obviously, the engagement ring didn’t scare him off, what if I find some cute loner who want’s to pretend to be the love of my life? I mean, it might involve some serious acting, but I’m desperately in need to get rid of my stalker. Maybe find some scary mobster to threaten him with a baseball bat? I don’t know… Maybe I’ll just go with the fake boyfriend. It seems a whole lot easier, and not as messy as the baseball bat. Although desperate times call for desperate measures…

XOXO

So I ended up being a pocket-therapist for this friend (a very much platonic friend) for the six-hundred-and-twenty-seventh time. Maybe I’m just self centered, but I honestly couldn’t care less about you having a hard time, when your biggest concern of the night is whether or not the hottest chick in the building is gonna dance with you. Excuse me for putting my foot down and screaming a little bit. Seriously, if you’re gonna take away my positive attitude, then please, for goodness sake, take it away for something real! Don’t take away my sleep over something as casual as “I’m single, boohoo, poor me!” or “I screwed up my algebra test, and my dog hates me!”. My god, guys, you sound like depressed 15 year old girls! Be a man for crying out loud!

Seriously, when are you going to be responsible for your own happiness? When you’re ninety-six and it’s all over anyway?

The whole story behind this angry-and-bitter-tantrum is a conversation I had with a friend earlier. We haven’t really spoken for a few weeks, so we just talked a bit back and forth at first. Then all of a sudden he played the “I have to give away my dog.”-card. This is one of the things that really ticks me off. I ran a freaking rescue home for dogs for about six months when I was 17, and it sure isn’t easy! What on earth is wrong with people for buying puppies for their kids, without even knowing if their son or daughter really wants a dog? I mean… A dog is for life, and not just for Christmas. Anyway, I asked him why, and he responded that there were so many changes going on in his life at the moment, and he thought he had to move to another city. I think it must have seemed like I froze for a moment there, cause I was waiting for him to get to the point. I mean… Changes happen, all the time, for everyone. And there are dogs other places as well, they’re not kept in restricted areas of Oslo. And so I told him. His response was that he was completely changing his life and his network of friends (and foes), so it would be a bit difficult. I thought about it for a second, and asked “Shouldn’t you have thought about that before getting a dog six months ago?”. I mean… I thought most people were like me; in it for the long haul. I have two horses that I honestly cannot afford, but I don’t stop feeding them just because it doesn’t suit me! A parent wouldn’t leave their child just because it doesn’t fit into their plan (well… Some would, but maniacs like them aren’t who I’m talking about). I can’t stop shaking my head over mankind when I think of his answer: “Sometimes you have to do things even though you don’t want to. I don’t believe I have a choice.”

Of course you have a freaking choice! Be a man, for crying out loud! Shoot me if you need to, but I think quoting Regine Stokke (I’ve linked to her blog) is a fair way of putting it: “Face your fear. Accept your war. It is what it is.”.

I ended up yelling at this platonic friend of mine. It turned out, that giving away his dog, will only be a worst case scenario-thing. If everything else fails, he will only do it if he has to to be able to survive. Which, by the way, brings me to another topic: Don’t cry wolf if it’s just a puppy.

XOXO

I’m picky. I mean, I want him to be a gentleman. Not that he has to pay every time we go out or anything, but to open doors occasionally, maybe even have the decency to be polite to other people. He also has to have a certain amount of ambition. An urge to get somewhere (look who’s talking), and courage to give things a shot.

These are the guys I fall for. The rest of them, I just get a crush on, starting with them giving me some sort of attention. It lasts for about a month, and then I realize that he’s not the one. It happens about 10 times every year. Mostly I enjoy the attention for a while, and then it just mellows out. I realize that I have no business playing with them like that (I’m too nice!), and I just let it go.

But the thing is, that when I fall for someone, I really fall fast. I make my self exposed, and fragile, and of course, I end up being hurt. But this really-falling-for-someone-thing, it feels so much better than the crushing. The crushing is fake, it’s not real more than five seconds or so. And occasionally I need the real thing.

I’d rather really fall for someone, and have them turn me down, than pretend to fall for someone I really don’t want. Whatever that means.

XOXO

My point is; none of us really know how long we’ll be walking on the surface of earth. Why waste time doing things we weren’t even cut out for? I mean… I spent three years doing a job I maybe didn’t hate, but disliked a whole lot. Because I told myself “This is only temporary.” At least for the first two years I did. But then one day, I woke up, and asked my self: “Do I really want to fool myself to believing this is OK?”. Of course I don’t. I don’t want to live a lie. I don’t want to wake up in 10 years, regretting that I didn’t jump when I had the chance. Right now, where I’m standing at the moment, the world is my oyster. I still have every option open. If I want to be a freaking space cowboy, I can. If I want to spend my life as a singing bartender, I can. But honestly… I think I was cut out for something different.

To make a long story short: My grandma was the most amazing woman in the world. She was the perfect grandma. I don’t have one bad memory of her from I was born until I was 13. She died one sunny afternoon in June when I was about 14, and the last few months of her life, she wasn’t lucid at all. She wasn’t my grandma anymore, and I’ve chosen not to remember her that way. What happened to her? Well… She was diagnosed with Alzheimer a couple of years earlier. From then it went down hill. I don’t remember a lot of what happened in that period of my life. I was young, and didn’t really understand everything. But I thing the day I kissed my grandma goodbye for the last time, that was the day I made a promise to myself: I am going to do everything I possibly can to not die the same way as she did.

After my dark and twisty years (black hair, black boots, black jeans… you know the drill) I made up my mind. I wanted to fight. Fight to maybe, just maybe, find a way to avoid Alzheimer. Some people are scared of cancer, I’m scared of Alzheimer. And with all my (lack of) faith in mankind, I’m not completely convinced that anyone is going to find a cure for it anytime soon. So… If you want something done, you have to do it yourself, right? Exactly.

Maybe this is a bit out of my league. Maybe it’s being a bit to ambitious. But I seriously believe that if I get some sort of education within this specialty (seriously, how cool would it be to be a neuro surgeon?), then maybe I’ll know the disease well enough to understand it. This is, of course, way into the future sometime. I’m 23, I still have time to do this. I still can. I want to, and I’m to darn scared not to give it a shot. The first step is always the hardest, but I’m getting there. Or at least I think I am. It’s a long road, but if I want to, I know I can.

My fear is my strength, cause it’s what keeps me going when it looks dark. I know I can do this, I know I can. After all, we write the stories of our lives. I hope my story is something to look back on and smile. I hope I leave footprints that actually mean something. So that the time that I’m given, is enough time to make a difference.

XOXO