1 of 5 reasons to drink whiskey in the morning.

When the alarm went off this morning I woke up feeling well rested. I stretched my muscles and sat up, mentally preparing myself to attempt an actual standing position.

I scooted over to the edge of the bed and confidently planted my feet on the ground.

"Splash!" It said.

I thought "..."

And then my brain caught up with me and the urge to kill something or someone with a cheese grater started to emerge from the vast depths of my crooked mind.

Frantic scrabbling to get my precious (now soggy)  things out of harms way, followed.

I have now halfway given up for the moment, I just crawled up in the corner of the sofa, feeling victimized and betrayed by the weather gods and Norwegian plumbing, but unsure of which one of them to properly put the blame on.

I was going to go grocery shopping today after work, there is next to nothing edible in the flat. Normally I eat breakfast at work. And lunch. Now I actually have to cook, and probably whilst ankle deep in funny smelling rainwater with bits of nature in it.

That's one good reason to crank open the whiskey before 7am.

Cheers!

Summer time.

Not as in the quite sexy song, but as in 'time to change your watches so that Rebecca has to wake up at fucking 4:15 to go to work for fucking eight hours'- kind of summer time.
I survived though, obviously, and am now having a blast being so spectacurlary sleep deprieved I feel giggly drunk and very inspired to DO stuff. Y'know, creating, melding with the universe, far out man etc.
Only ten minutes ago I really wanted to use my oil paints to spruce up our toilet lid, something vaguely Van Gogh themed but with a duck in it (bathroom style, must keep up with).

I landed on blogging though, seeing as making all the food in the fridge into an omelette and eating it probably would have made me violently sick. And we don't have eggs. Custard, sausage, fish, jam and orange casserole anyone? Didn't think so.

And also I'm downloading Discworld adaptions now, my brain feels at home in that universe after almost fourty sleepless hours. I sat outside earlier today, chainsmoking and listening to The hunger games on audiobook.
I had to stop after I started crying during all the sad bits and physically jumped up from my chair whenever Katniss Everdeen was startled.

Sleep deprievement makes everything seem more real, I should totally stay up for thirty hours and then start a Harry Potter audiobook marathon. You'll probably find me curled up and suicidal, hiding under a piece of furniture right about the time when Snape dies in the book. Get over the spoiler by the way, if you haven't been exposed by now I can only assume your name is Helen Keller. Or possibly MrsEdwardCullen4evva94.

Reality however does not seem very real, I can hardly remember being at work today, but can sort of still replay snippets of conversations I must have had, one of them have my collegue calling me a goddess, so it might just be my ego making up memories because the real ones are so dull and ordinary.

I have to go make more raspberry squash now, my bottle is almost empty.

Ps. My spell check isn't working, and neither does my brain, so just in case you notice something, fuck you. And your future generations.

The new meaning of racism.

Yesterday Lars Erik Blokkhus from the band Plumbo said something unfortunate during Spellemannsprisen. I probably don't have to elaborate, unless you've been living in a cave you HAVE read, seen, discussed and commented on the horrid, monstrous affair (spot the sarcasm).

Having a song called 'Møkkamann', I would think there are worse things you could twist it into than 'Moccamann'. Honestly, when I was a kid I used to save up just to buy Chocolate covered Moccabeans, they're delicious and not a mean spirited comparison.

Wouldn't it have been worse if he just said 'The song Møkkamann makes me think of you', or something along those lines?

Seriously, this isn't racism, if you think it is you're really, really dimwitted. This was a happy and proud guy, not used to being in the spotlight, winning something unexpected and uttering something a bit unfortunate in the middle of the whole chaos.

Madcon walking off stage in a huff was childish and not at all helpful. If you want to fight racism you really won't help anyone by acting like a eight year old primadonna.

I am not even a fan of Plumbo, I'm just sick of people being scared of saying things the wrong way. Has the true meaning of racism really transformed into THIS?

Racism is when someone really, truly means that someone not of his own skin colour is worth less than himself, that some people are inferior, not because they're idiots or have done something wrong, but simply because of the way they look.

That is racism.

Making a bad joke by comparing someones skintone to mocca isn't. It really, really isn't. It was thoughtless, not because it was an offensive thing to say, but because of the reactions that just HAD to come off of it.

Aren't you tired of having to watch your mouth all the time? I am. I am so not a racist you wouldn't believe it, but I still have to watch what I'm saying, like you always feel like you have to do around horribly obese people. Being horribly obese can be considered a disease, and it's certainly not healthy. You don't walk up to someone like that, saying, 'so, had any good cake lately?'
That would be rude, most fat people aren't happy about being fat.

So, by having to watch everything you say around someone with a different skintone, aren't you then sort of making the assumption that this person is ashamed of him/herself and secretly wants to change?

I might be exaggerating for effect, I know black history is a horrible affair with unforgivable crimes commited by white people, but come on, how long are we going to let history control us?

We won't ever get rid of racism, not until everyone feel comfortable talking about each others differences without hate, nervousness or overreactions.

Chillax.