WARNING: LONG POST! Entertaining if you actually read the whole thing
I study my pen, not knowing why. Pull off the price sticker, but it's still sticky where the friggin sticker was. I can't even do that right. The noises of an airport are many and far between. But the one that stands out the most is the damned kids. Am I really going to be on a plane full of screaming icky kids? Oh well, its only for 50 min.
I have always wondered why the hell everyone has the urge to be first on the plane. Why would anyone want to sit even longer on the stuffy - non-roomy - fucking small plane then they have to? Beats me As I sit on the ground waiting for line to become smaller I notice how everyone is staring down at me, like I don't notice. I find it quit amusing. Wish they knew. The price tag sticker is still on my thumb.
One thing about me is that I'm not that shy. But when I get on the plane and there is some fuck head in my spot, I didn't say anything; cause there is a free seat in he middle that is free. Oh man, do I fucking regret that. The worst thing about the situation, wasn't not sitting in my spot. It wasn't even the claustrophobic feeling of not sitting in the aisle, no not at all. The thing is, when I was standing there, looking at my ticket, looking down at him, he just looks down, like I don't friggin exist. So he knows, that I know, that he knows he is in my spot. Asshole. I'm annoyed at my self for not saying anything. And the really scary part is that if I were not traveling alone, I would have said something. Like I'm so much tougher if someone is behind e. Fucking coward.
Travel is something I do pretty often. I'm always off to Oslo for a concert, London for shopping (or just partying with really hot girls), or New York for a photo shoot. I really heart traveling, but I really don't get my. Every time something goes wrong. I mean. Today, on a friggin 35 min plane trip to Oslo, not only did that stupid fuck steal my seat, but when I finally got out of that 5x2 box they dare call a plane, the fuckers are able to take forever to get our luggage off the plane. (I love how everything is a "technical difficulty" .) And I have a train to catch. This is the part where most just shrug their shoulders, or get pissed off and go yell at the pretty lady behind the airplane agency desk. Not me. I get hysterical. I call my boyfriend and tell him that there is no way I will make it, and that I will be stuck in Oslo till tomorrow. I freak. (I have one hour to get my luggage and train ticket. But don't forget that the train station is in the same building as the airport, and is maybe a two min walk away.) He tries to calm me down, but there is no use trying to have any sense or logic when Im hysterical. Now you can just imagine how I was when I lost my plane in New York City, or lost my passport and was stuck in London.
* Everclear - Local God starts to play on my new iPod nano *
This is a big time flash back..
I remember being 14, in the summer, in the USA (fuck, that was 9 years ago!!) I was at Hot Topic, yeah I was one of those, but fuck you that was in 1999, you just started going there last year! Anywho, mom comes over and wonders what I'm looking at. I hand her the newest Everclear album. She gives it a look, looks at me, and snarls "Yeah, like I'm gonna let you listen to a band that is so uncreative, they call their band up after a brand of liquor. " laughs and puts it back. This coming from the woman who, when she was young, listen to REM and The Cure and almost didn't marry my dad cause he listened to Queen. (For the morons out there, REM and The Cure were out cast bands in the early 80s to the mid 80s. And still are for some.)
Im guessing the whole alternative thing runs in the family. I once saw a picture of my great grandmother (God rest her soul) on a 50s car in a bathing suit. In the 50s. Damn did she look hot though. My grandmother keeps her dirty deeds to herself, but she was a child of the 70s. I can only imagine her burning her bra and doing LCD. My mom on the other hand grew up a rebel in the 80s. Moving out when she was 15, getting married when she was 16, smoking weed with her teachers in recess. She was all about the granny boots, the French hats, jazz clubs and moshpits. My mom was a vicious woman. She took my wonderfully calm, Queen loving, simple going, and Norwegian dad to a moshpit concert won there 2d or 3d date. She liked to test people and push limits. Still she wonders where I get all my crap from. Hmmmm
Speaking of my dad. He is the best person to ever walked the face of this godforsaken planet. I think he has yelled at me only 3 times in my life.
I was about 13 or 14. Mom and I fought all the time. Oh my God did we fight. But dad never got in the middle of it, unless it got really bad (side note: I have the best relationship with my mother now.) any way, we were in the car on our way to Bergen, ans as usual, we were fighting. Prolly about something so stupid that two hours later, we would never have remembered it. Dad got so pissed that he pulls the car over in the middle of the road and turns his head to me and says: " Do you want to walk from here? - no. Well then don't ever talk to your mother like that again!" I think I bawled my eyes out for about two days after that.
The second time I was babysitting my siblings. Again I was about 13-14. It was Thanks Giving and my parents were at some neighbors having dinner. I was not allowed to have anyone else inside but the girl who was gonna sleep over (name not told for privacy reasons.) Well, her boyfriend came over, drunk as fuck, and brought a friend. Ida (Oops! There goes that privacy, bitch) asked if he could come in for just a bit. So I gave him a glass of water and they went downstairs. On their way, I shouted " no funny shit in my bed!!" they laughed and I'm thinking, "oh he's to drunk to get it up anyway." Do Dan and I, his friend, sit in the living room and watch TV when Dad comes in the door. He looks at me, and I said, "Sorry, but Frank came over and was drunk, so Ida is downstairs talking to him." Dad walks downstairs, opens the door to my room, turns around, looks at me dead in the eye and says, "what the fuck is this" and walks back upstairs. I look in the door and there is Ida on her back, with her pants around her ankles and Frank is on top. I have never seen someone sober up that fast.
Well I guess he didn't yell, but man he swore at me..
The last time he yelled at me is not as interesting, but it was the Saturday before my confirmation. I'm sitting on the porch with a bunch of my friends, and we are all smoking, and some of them had beer under the table (so it wouldn't get warm). Dad comes home, with out making a sound, stands next to me and takes the cigarette out of my hand, shakes his head and walks away. After he leaves, I push my friend Cathrine and whisper to her to get the beer out of Dads site. So she takes them, and leaves trough the bushes, leaves the beer there and on her way back she hears "Hey, man! Do you want some beer? I guess they are growing in the bushes!! " This is my Dad yelling down from the terrace on the second floor over to our neighbor. God, we were all so fucking embarrassed.
I can't express how much I am glad that I am over 18, and neither can express how much I would give to be 14 again. The grass is always fucking greener. Except in Switzerland, its just always green there no matter what side you are on!
I study my pen, not knowing why. Pull off the price sticker, but it's still sticky where the friggin sticker was. I can't even do that right. The noises of an airport are many and far between. But the one that stands out the most is the damned kids. Am I really going to be on a plane full of screaming icky kids? Oh well, its only for 50 min.
I have always wondered why the hell everyone has the urge to be first on the plane. Why would anyone want to sit even longer on the stuffy - non-roomy - fucking small plane then they have to? Beats me As I sit on the ground waiting for line to become smaller I notice how everyone is staring down at me, like I don't notice. I find it quit amusing. Wish they knew. The price tag sticker is still on my thumb.
One thing about me is that I'm not that shy. But when I get on the plane and there is some fuck head in my spot, I didn't say anything; cause there is a free seat in he middle that is free. Oh man, do I fucking regret that. The worst thing about the situation, wasn't not sitting in my spot. It wasn't even the claustrophobic feeling of not sitting in the aisle, no not at all. The thing is, when I was standing there, looking at my ticket, looking down at him, he just looks down, like I don't friggin exist. So he knows, that I know, that he knows he is in my spot. Asshole. I'm annoyed at my self for not saying anything. And the really scary part is that if I were not traveling alone, I would have said something. Like I'm so much tougher if someone is behind e. Fucking coward.
Travel is something I do pretty often. I'm always off to Oslo for a concert, London for shopping (or just partying with really hot girls), or New York for a photo shoot. I really heart traveling, but I really don't get my. Every time something goes wrong. I mean. Today, on a friggin 35 min plane trip to Oslo, not only did that stupid fuck steal my seat, but when I finally got out of that 5x2 box they dare call a plane, the fuckers are able to take forever to get our luggage off the plane. (I love how everything is a "technical difficulty" .) And I have a train to catch. This is the part where most just shrug their shoulders, or get pissed off and go yell at the pretty lady behind the airplane agency desk. Not me. I get hysterical. I call my boyfriend and tell him that there is no way I will make it, and that I will be stuck in Oslo till tomorrow. I freak. (I have one hour to get my luggage and train ticket. But don't forget that the train station is in the same building as the airport, and is maybe a two min walk away.) He tries to calm me down, but there is no use trying to have any sense or logic when Im hysterical. Now you can just imagine how I was when I lost my plane in New York City, or lost my passport and was stuck in London.
* Everclear - Local God starts to play on my new iPod nano *
This is a big time flash back..
I remember being 14, in the summer, in the USA (fuck, that was 9 years ago!!) I was at Hot Topic, yeah I was one of those, but fuck you that was in 1999, you just started going there last year! Anywho, mom comes over and wonders what I'm looking at. I hand her the newest Everclear album. She gives it a look, looks at me, and snarls "Yeah, like I'm gonna let you listen to a band that is so uncreative, they call their band up after a brand of liquor. " laughs and puts it back. This coming from the woman who, when she was young, listen to REM and The Cure and almost didn't marry my dad cause he listened to Queen. (For the morons out there, REM and The Cure were out cast bands in the early 80s to the mid 80s. And still are for some.)
Im guessing the whole alternative thing runs in the family. I once saw a picture of my great grandmother (God rest her soul) on a 50s car in a bathing suit. In the 50s. Damn did she look hot though. My grandmother keeps her dirty deeds to herself, but she was a child of the 70s. I can only imagine her burning her bra and doing LCD. My mom on the other hand grew up a rebel in the 80s. Moving out when she was 15, getting married when she was 16, smoking weed with her teachers in recess. She was all about the granny boots, the French hats, jazz clubs and moshpits. My mom was a vicious woman. She took my wonderfully calm, Queen loving, simple going, and Norwegian dad to a moshpit concert won there 2d or 3d date. She liked to test people and push limits. Still she wonders where I get all my crap from. Hmmmm
Speaking of my dad. He is the best person to ever walked the face of this godforsaken planet. I think he has yelled at me only 3 times in my life.
I was about 13 or 14. Mom and I fought all the time. Oh my God did we fight. But dad never got in the middle of it, unless it got really bad (side note: I have the best relationship with my mother now.) any way, we were in the car on our way to Bergen, ans as usual, we were fighting. Prolly about something so stupid that two hours later, we would never have remembered it. Dad got so pissed that he pulls the car over in the middle of the road and turns his head to me and says: " Do you want to walk from here? - no. Well then don't ever talk to your mother like that again!" I think I bawled my eyes out for about two days after that.
The second time I was babysitting my siblings. Again I was about 13-14. It was Thanks Giving and my parents were at some neighbors having dinner. I was not allowed to have anyone else inside but the girl who was gonna sleep over (name not told for privacy reasons.) Well, her boyfriend came over, drunk as fuck, and brought a friend. Ida (Oops! There goes that privacy, bitch) asked if he could come in for just a bit. So I gave him a glass of water and they went downstairs. On their way, I shouted " no funny shit in my bed!!" they laughed and I'm thinking, "oh he's to drunk to get it up anyway." Do Dan and I, his friend, sit in the living room and watch TV when Dad comes in the door. He looks at me, and I said, "Sorry, but Frank came over and was drunk, so Ida is downstairs talking to him." Dad walks downstairs, opens the door to my room, turns around, looks at me dead in the eye and says, "what the fuck is this" and walks back upstairs. I look in the door and there is Ida on her back, with her pants around her ankles and Frank is on top. I have never seen someone sober up that fast.
Well I guess he didn't yell, but man he swore at me..
The last time he yelled at me is not as interesting, but it was the Saturday before my confirmation. I'm sitting on the porch with a bunch of my friends, and we are all smoking, and some of them had beer under the table (so it wouldn't get warm). Dad comes home, with out making a sound, stands next to me and takes the cigarette out of my hand, shakes his head and walks away. After he leaves, I push my friend Cathrine and whisper to her to get the beer out of Dads site. So she takes them, and leaves trough the bushes, leaves the beer there and on her way back she hears "Hey, man! Do you want some beer? I guess they are growing in the bushes!! " This is my Dad yelling down from the terrace on the second floor over to our neighbor. God, we were all so fucking embarrassed.
I can't express how much I am glad that I am over 18, and neither can express how much I would give to be 14 again. The grass is always fucking greener. Except in Switzerland, its just always green there no matter what side you are on!
VIEW 25 of 25 COMMENTS
mark_plus_beer:
well apart from the churches i had football knowledge to work from otherwise and thats it
mark_plus_beer:
gah your one of those soccer people