onsdag den 29. juli 2009
tirsdag den 28. juli 2009
søndag den 26. juli 2009
Don't you want to share the guilt?
Who can resist these sexy beasts?
The moon is shining on a fat night. Hilary Duff is really beautiful. I'm watching A Cinderella Story and thinking about what a big fatty I am. Well, I'm starting my running routine again tomorrow - I've been doing it since I got back, but have missed out the last three days because of the Viking Fair (pictures are coming) - but I'm still not feeling totally awsome yet. I took a bus and a train home from the beach today, smelling like fire smoke, lamb meat and seagull. I got so many angry looks from people (I know, I'm so rude to smell weird and have a big bag with me on a crowded piece of public transit), and even a toddler sticked her tongue out at me. God, I wanted to stick my finger in her soft spot so bad. Just kidding of course. When I got home I spent almost fifteen minutes cleaning my finger nails.
Tonight I'm going to be drinking lots of green tea and drool like a Quazzy over Chad Michael Murray. I might just start washing my clothes and getting organized, clean my face for the first time in a week, and maybe check out that math I've been neglecting since the end of school in June. Or maybe I'm just going to watch more crap TV.
I got some awesome stuff down in town today. A retro shirt that says "Patrick" on it, a pink kid's rain shirt (I'm thinking festival), a slightly-oversized dark purple velvet dress, and a very red and very large "Red Barnet" ('Save the Children' Denmark) zip-up sweater. The next festivals that are on my mind are the Denmark's Ugliest Festival on thursday (which, by the way, is also my 17th birthday) and Denmark's Most Beautiful Festival in the beginning of August. I know it will be rainy, there aren't really any super amazing large foreign bands coming in, but it will be Danish and it will be a beaut. Hopefully I'll see something new that will drag me towards them like friendly fire. Other than that I will be spending my time creating tank tops with band names and listening to Choir of Young Believers, Vinnie Who, and Juvelen over and over and over again.
fredag den 24. juli 2009
Last night I hung out with Stine and Anne. We drank, watched the old Hairspray and Sound of Music, and talked through life.
Today I'm packing, while drinking a really large glass of coke on puzzle-piece-shaped ice cubes and getting ready to head out to the Viking Fair. It sure is going to be a slice. Scrubs is on. I'm no Superman, either. Now where did those rubber boots go?
torsdag den 23. juli 2009
Tour de France. It is blocking all the local channels on my TV, it's on all the news, and people just make way too big a deal out of it. And then there are all the freaky middle-aged plump men in my neighbourhood who have decided that anything Lance can do, they can do better. They appear to be popping in from out of nowhere everywhere I go in town, on their tiny skeleton-bicycles, sporting outfits that are way too tight and helmets that make them look like retarded foreign politicians. And to top it all, Tour de France is (gasp) French. Like what the fuck. The coolest thing to be said about this bicycle race is that Danish cyclists have a record in getting this sexy little yellow tricot to flash around the field. How embarrassing for our nation.
Should I stay or should I go?
I'm suddenly incredibly excited about the prospects of me moving out soon and the fact that it is clashing with my birthday. I've never been the type of person to have a big count-down going to my Big Day (it's honestly not that interesting and it's not much unique either, with this many people being born on the planet all day every day), but I've always been a sucker for presents. I was wondering about what kind of household stuff I need to start putting on the wishlist/shopping list in case I don't get it for my birthday. The next instant I was surfing all over Urban Outfitter's site with their lovely clocks, awesome books, cool mugs and amazingly stupid collection of random objects like key chain covers shaped like guitars and french fry telephones.
onsdag den 22. juli 2009
Golly gee. There is one week til my seventeenth birthday! I feel pretty damn old. My hip is making squeaky sounds and I'm pretty sure I'm starting to get bladder control issues. I can just smell the age formating all around me (or maybe I should reconsider the whole vacuuming-and-washing-the-floors ordeal in my room again). It's the wee hours of a thursday morning and I'm not tired at all. I might have issues. I've spent the last two hours looking at H&M home wear and KitchenAid mixers and I've decided to have my birthday party with a fifties housewife-theme. My mother likes to remind me that since I'm moving to Copenhagen this August, it's time for the countless albums and wardrobe additions to give way to less exciting stuff like towels and spatulas and linnen and perhaps some extra light bulbs (just in case) on the birthday wish list. I was starting to feel really old and disgusting in the f-my-life kind of way, but then I did a lot of googling and catalogue browsing and holy moly, there is a lot of sexy housewife gear out there! Suddenly I'm not so sad about the whole another-year-another-tear diva-concept. Who knows, I might even go out and buy Seventeen Magazine.
I went to a party with a friend who lives near Copenhagen. We grew up together in the little golden nugget of Gørlev on the biggest island of Denmark, and she is still the girl I run to with my ups and downs these sixteen years later. One of her friends was turning seventeen, so we took a bus and a couple of trains, picking up more lovely party girls and 'a few bottles of Bud' on the way. We partied for almost ten hours straight, and all the way through I managed to still be chewing the same piece of cheap overpoweringly-minty gum that I had brought from home. At one point I wanted to take pictures of the party, but instead this guy who was hitting on my friend knocked my camera out of my hand and into a very red and very grown-up looking drink. Luckily I got a really cool conversation out of it with Hot Blonde Bartender about knee socks and tooth brush etiquette.
I've become really curious. I've always been a deodorant kind of gal, but what if I'm missing out? I mean, we've all been there. It's summer-time in Denmark, it's hot out; it's inevitable that I'll wear something grey or lightly coloured, the way my clothes budget and laundry-skills are heading. Chase-cutting: I will be hot. I will suffer. And I will sweat. Perhaps it's time to do a little experiment?
A part from my perspiration wonderings, july's been pretty busy for me. I've been hosting a couple of grill parties for those of my friends that are in town at the moment, I just came home from a four-day biking/camping/all-girls trip to Samsø, an island off the East coast, and I'm still settling in to being home after living in Canada for a year. It's quite the mouthful, I must admit, and I expected myself to be freaking out by now, chewing my nails down to little bloody splits and hyperventilating into H&M giftbags. Instead, my nails are long, surprisingly dirt-free, and covered in two almost-perfect layers of varnish, and my breathing is as normal and relaxed as it will ever be.
And lastly, as you might have noticed, the blog is back! Better, faster, stronger, juicier, and a damned lot more feisty than before. Always remember to never forget the good times.