Category: Uncategorized

Can we please change The Subject?

All year round we have to deal with this. Especially this time of year, entering the deep dark hole of social gatherings with loved and dear ones, dreaded family members, traditional meals, treats and wheats which aaaall adds up to the enormous pressure of having a good time.

I’m not tired of hearing about it, I’m not even sick of hearing about it. I’m fucking livid.

I don’t have to go furter than my own family.. My very clever family. My wise, considerate, loving beyond reason family who’d do anything if I’d only ask them. They slip all the time in this particular issue. Not to put them on the spot or to bash any of them, but it says everything about how little people notice what comes out of their mouths and the effects it may have. How much damage it can cause.. If a persons entire life, their focus and wellbeing revolves around food and shame and fear and anxiety and self worth attached to it, words from your mouth can mean everything. So can we change the subject?

Your son, your daughter, your colleague, your friend; they hear you. They hear you bringing your negativity, your guilt, to the table. To the holiday. Your words are heard, they are affected by them, they will associate ‘it’ in some scale as a consequence to your words. Your words may be the words that sets someone off into very dangerous behavior. You don’t want to do that.

I hear on a weekly basis people with new ideas. Resolutions, convictions, goals, when it comes to diet. Not all of them about loosing weight, I must stress, “strong is the new skinny” etc.: whatever, but all of them nonetheless theories about how to become better at eating (?whatever that means?), by doing so and so. In that order. At that given time of day. On those days. In that given ratio. Be that a theory heard through a friend who’s hair in fact suddenly became longer and thicker, more shiny with no split ends, changed color and size, moved and started a new life of its own, just by eating a handful of almonds and ten to fifteen avocados a day. Or through a friends friend on a different continent, an idol in the shape of a Hollywood star (who’s life is all about looking a certain way btw, I mean common), the newest trend from an article in a women’s magazine written by someone who’s definitely positively not a nutritionist, a documentary, the leftover tea leaves at the bottom of their tea cup.., or simply the fact that they’re pisces.

And they’re all (the theories) mostly about elimination. That is, most of the times, what’s revolutionary and groundbreaking about their theories. We all know by now that salmon and colourful foods found outside Made In Mother Earth called vegetables (god forbid fruits) are good for us; we get it and we’re ignoring you for telling us, again. But the rest of your theories coming out of most of your mouths dressed up as facts are about elimination. Eliminating huge food groups from your diet because they’re bad for you. Not good enough. A silent killer, in fact. Oats aren’t good for you. Dairy. Eggs. Meat. Sugar. Fats. (butter and oil). Starch. Coffee. The air we breathe and the size of our plates. Eliminating. Scaling down.

We don’t wanna hear more about it. Your kids don’t wanna hear about it. Your partner doesn’t wanna hear about it. As a person who has friends, I speak for all of us when I say: Your friends don’t wanna hear about it! Instagram is removing our fucking likes on our accounts (I mean seriously how will we know who our true friends are from now on?) because of cyberbullying and insecurities in younger (and older of course, you suffer too and we all sympathize. even if you’re old.) people being damaged mentally and physically from the peer pressure of being popular and successful by acting and looking a certain way. Unless…! you’re one of the brave. I’m so sick of hearing the word brave used as a description for being, acting and looking like a totally normal person.

Walking out the door… that is brave. Choosing life, every day, is brave. Trusting is brave. Loving is brave. Planning a future, getting an education, applying for a job, moving, moving on, standing up for yourself, standing up for others, following your inner treasures when no one thinks you should, developing skills you don’t know where to begin on, becoming a parent, choosing not to become a parent.. There are a lot of brave actions we as humans do. Looking like one is not one of them.

Sugar’s not the only thing that’ll kill you, you know… Plenty of other ways to go. How about loneliness? Stress. Worrying. Lack of education. Sleep. Intimacy. Carols. Antibiotic resistant bacterias. Climate. fucking. change… Eat the sandwich. Enjoy the gingerbread cookie. Minced pie, whatever you eat at Christmas. Or don’t. Just shut up about it. Use your energy elsewhere. If you don’t have a serious health problem you can only solve by diet I suggest you take your plans, schedules and complaints elsewhere. We don’t wanna hear about it. And if you don’t notice yourself talking negatively about food; try harder. Have a conversation amongst yourselves that you’ll all remind each other to speak nicely about our friend Food. Mr. Nutrition and Mrs. EnJoy.

Or hang a fucking poster on your fridge, forehead. I don’t care. Just change the subject.

Please.

It’s Christmas.

Change the subject Carole

I was recently made aware of a little hashtag going on on Instagram in norwegian from a fairly new friend of mine which translates to ‘change the subject’. And this. is. so. important. Especially at Christmas. Subject being: food, action needed being: stop. giving. it. so. much. attention.

Surely we know by now that the more food we have, the more options, the more focus and prestige there is on and in the food industry in (a lot of) the world -the less healthy we’ve gotten, right? Apart from the obvious benefits of cooking clean, sanitary-wise, we haven’t become any healthier in a really long time. I mean overall health, obviously. I’m not trying to talk you out of the religion you’ve joined, Carole, where broccoli is God and starch Satan. And I’m not stating hard facts here either. But most of us can understand when I say that the abundance of artificially produced options made to satisfy our every craving to such an extent of addiction on the same level of cocaine hasn’t made our overall health any better. For a lot of people. The more emotions we tied to food: rewards and penalties, numbing joy and shame, abundance and restriction.. the more food lost it’s true purpose. Which is to nurture and make your body strong and energized at the same time as bring you joy and satisfaction.

The norm has become so disturbed we don’t even notice it anymore. A mother not eating pancakes with her children whilst poking a grape fruit talking about how bad it would be for her body – that sends a message! That’s confusing for a child!! The excited child who’s been smelling pancakes for an hour, Oh so hungry after soccer practice, hearing that pancakes are bad for you and that mum slaved just for you without herself being able to reap the benefits of her own work.. that’s not a positive experience around what should have been a pretty fucking awesome thursday, Carole. And, hey, I’m not at all saying that you need to eat pancakes if you’re in need of a more balanced meal -make fish then! Make fish for your family, BUT BE happy about it. Talk positive about it. And then you can make pancakes on an occasion where you’re not eating with your kids. For another occasion. Maybe they have a friend over and you’re not joining the party, I don’t know. Just don’t make bad experiences. Pancakes are good. Fish is also.

Around Christmas there’s a lot of heavier dinners and puddings, candy and cookies floating around. And you don’t even have to be a restricting person to experience some indulging and a couple of pounds extra as a result. That’s okay! If you’re really scared about it, eat the fucking fish, bring your own meal, skip the pudding -whatever. People with common sense will respect that. Just don’t make a big deal out of it! Let us, the rest of us, enjoy our cookies and potential love handles.

We have to start minding our own business. I’m sure whatsherface has her reasons for skipping the macaroni and cheese bowl. Maybe she’s allergic. Maybe she’s trying a new diet -maybe she has an issue with macaroni and the very thought of it makes her sick. Let her make and have her choice. You don’t need to point it out.

Talk shit about her once she leaves.

Ok that one’s a bit of a stretch, but we all do it. Even you Carole.

We need to stop talking shit about food.

We have to stop commenting on our own and each other’s bodies.

If you’re not experiencing any severe health challenges and have the energy to function like you can keep up with life, chances are your diet’s fine.

Can we please get over it?

Can we please change the subject?

Back at it

IT’S BACK —-MY BLOG IS ALIVE!!!

Celebratory pancake breakfast.

They’re gluten free and full of eggs not gonna lie so I’m not as cool as I look. But I did have four. So, you know.. Pretty cool.

Just got home from this paradise.

Porec is a very small family type of spot. So not my first choice in Croatia. But we travelled with the other one’s family, so it was all good. They stayed half an hour away from us at a family resort. And Croatia is so beautiful anyways and full of delicious food, lush nature and great infrastructure, so wherever you are I guess – you’ll be fine.

Our hotel was great also. Especially since I stayed five days longer than the other one I enjoyed it that much more. Breakfast with a sea-view, beautiful food, quiet.. Adult. I love kids. But until I have my own I don’t need drops of pool in my aperol. Especially not my first one.

I’ve never been traveling much on my own except from my year as an exchange student in South Africa, but highly recommend it. Get a nice hotel if you can though. I found it important to enjoy my surroundings and feel at bit at home and comfortable without needing to go out every night. I’m easily grossed out and a bit uptight in hotels and am at that point in my life where I’d rather travel less often than cheap. But that’s just the the snob in me.

The same snob also brought expensive silk dresses to a place you’ll get sweat stains in you ass crack before your starter arrives. So, can’t always trust your inner snob.

Definitely didn’t need that.

We stayed at the Palazzo. At the very tip of the city. It was actually man-made. The tip. He wanted to build the hotel so badly he built out the entire ground. Pretty snobbish.

Another thing I learnt from being alone on holiday is that you’re quite vulnerable. So I recommend bringing safety nets. Like books and maybe a laptop if you’re tired of museums, sitting at cafés alone with your book and your wine and decide to stay in one night. It’s ok not to be cool and cultural all the time.

Hold back on the flirting also. E.g. smiling. Dangerous game when alone. Making eye contact more than twice accompanied with a smile will apparently most definitely be interpreted as nothing less than an open invitation to your divine quiet zone you’ve created for yourself, your wine and your book.

Unless it’s towards the waiter. To signal that you need another one. Smiling in this case will definitely give you a head’s start and you might even get yours before the German.

Lot of Germans in Croatia..

I also did whatever the fuck I wanted to. Which felt surprisingly odd ’cause usually you’d have conversations with your friends, spitballing ideas before deciding to do that stuff that you really want to do but you’re not entirely confident enough to commit to right away.. I did all of those things. Empowering.

But the rain sounds pretty good now. Back home with my very exciting project. I feel ready. Strong. I feel good. I’m even letting my hair do it’s own thing. Which apparently is this. I’m cool with that.

Fighting the elements

Last week I got attacked by this easterbunny because my reflexes are too strong and it suddenly plunged into death when I tried to open up the window.

Some nerve. I couldn’t move my hand for several days (it hit some nerves) and some of the splints pierced just about right through my hand. Felt like Chance in Homeward Bound at the vet and still have some pieces left squatting inside of me as we speak.

Not only does nature fail you at times, man-made stuff does too and are way more frustrating. At least the plant has a reason and purpose for this attitude that is to protect itself from the elements.

This is just plain stupid.

Why the actual fuck would someone seal something Oh, so fragile as aluminum foil with a one centimeter stubborn piece of tape? Astonishing. Leaves you with this shit.

And there ain’t no way my pita was gonna fit into either side of those skinny bitches. No wonder our environment’s going to shit. We don’t care. Waste? Problem?

I figured there’s no way all of this is coincidental (the shower enclosure, the bunny in the windowsill, the foil.. not to mention the side of my bed who’s provided me with a juicy bruise at the exact same spot on my upper left thigh for as long as I remember).

My surroundings are clearly attacking me. So I saged the place. To the point of actually feeling a bit high. At least my placebo is intact after all this realness and I could enjoy some inner peace, if only for a couple of minutes.

It felt good. The place feels good. It is easter, after all. If not now when is it more appropriate to be reborn?

Happy easter everyone!

Accidental stuntwoman

What the fuck?

My fucking bathroom-door exploded in my face! My entire body, actually. haha! What, how??! why??

Felt like an action-hero for a second there.

I am a little bit guilty in one of the charges.. That door hasn’t been closing properly (bent inwards kind of -which is how I like to leave them after a shower. Makes the bathroom bigger and I feel like it airs out more) for a very long time and has lead to many a bad decision-makings post-showers during that time. Crushed foundation bottles, stubbed toes.. So I might have closed it a little harder than I might have possibly had to. Thing is I’ve been so frustrated (blame lack of outlets) and I took it out on my bathroom-door. I’d also ended the last two minutes of my shower ice-cold (try it) and was very amped when I got out.

It was very dramatic, it exploded everywhere. It was like it was holding a grudge and was finally able to do some damage.

Cold, naked and vulnerable -pieces of glass in my face, hair and all over body I froze for a minute. I was shook. I literally couldn’t move. Then I laughed. I laughed so hard I almost peed myself. Which in hindsight only would have been the icing on this cake I was making of humiliation. As all my towels are conveniently stored in the bathroom, which was now off limits for obvious reasons, I ended up tiptoeing shivering around my apartment dripping water shedding small pieces of glass.

What a vision.

After calming myself I remembered the slippers. RIP and thank you for saving my life and the neighbors for further embarrassment.

After reentering the war zone, with (lets be honest) a bit of ptsd, getting a towel and getting rid of the glass stuck to my body I did what everyone would do in that situation. Blowdried my hair.

Cleaning up all of my fifteen cuts I scooped up all the mess and vacuumed for about an hour. Seriously. We all know glass are tricky motherfuckers and small pieces of evidence of this day will hide for years to come.

Then this.

I mean.., clearly I’ve been using my bathroom too recklessly for too long and it is now retaliating.

I then left the premises and went out for a couple of drinks with the other one. Who, for the record, arrived to the whole mess when I was blowdrying.

All in all, very dramatic. But I feel like me and my bathroom are closer than ever. I appreciate it more and we’ve come out the other side stronger than ever and I look very much forward to a brighter future together. With new doors. Which I’ve wanted forever. Cheers!

When your healthy coping mechanisms fail you and your bad ones are right beneath the surface, then what?

We all find ways to cope with difficult things. Without them we wouldn’t function and all humans would die within next Tuesday. Anger, grief, we’d either kill ourselves or everyone around us if we didn’t have alternative outlets and coping skills. I’d be dead for sure.

I have a lot of self-made coping mechanism, routines and compensating behavioral patterns in order to survive and hold my head above water on a daily basis. One of my most important one’s become running. I sometimes lie in bed unable to sleep out of excitement about where I’m gonna run the next day.

And what I’m gonna eat obviously.

When I found this huge outlet it saved me a little bit. Not alone of course, but I found an outlet for anger and pain, a place of peace. It makes me, like weird-happy. I sometimes laugh out loud while I’m running. And cry for that matter. Reaching a top, a nice view, a snowflake caught.. A smile from a stranger passing by. I often do both at the same time. I can cry after a good run, crying can be the reason why I go for a run in the first place.. I’m in my body when I run, I don’t care about anyone but myself. I’m in charge. I’m strong. I trust my body and I love it for pushing me forward with great confidence. And I seldom feel that. Above all it changed my relationship with my body and how I treat it. You need fuel in order to run. You need to eat a lot. Including carbohydrates. Which, btw, has been the victim in one of the biggest diet scams in history. There’s way worse things out there than bread. And to maximize your energy levels you need carbs. I’ve found. After fifteen years of dreading them.

You also can’t drink all the time if you’re running. Which was a huge coping mechanism for me earlier. Even when I was alone I’d drink to deal. I never do that now.

So what happens when you lose that relief?

I’ve been d.e.v.e.s.t.a.t.e.d and totally at my wits end the last couple of days after getting what I believe is shin splints in my right shin and thigh splint in my left thigh. Probably from my feet arching kinda inwards and over-doing it on hard surfaces without enough time to heal. It happened in a second though, I was totally blindsided.

The other one’s saying welcome to aging. I can’t stop crying.

So, conveniently enough (’cause I just joined the gym), I’ve had to do alternative training. Which means I have to go to the gym several times a week. Even when it’s nice outside and I could have had what I believe is the closest thing I’ll ever come to having a religious experience, a beautiful long run. I am now at the gym. Doing something I never see running as; working out. Something that reminds me of not being happy with your body and wanting to alter it for the better. I hate that. (Also get that that’s not the only reason people go to the gym. fyi.)

So now I have to get on the tram, or whatever it’s called –Bybanen, to go to my gym. Dread facing the people on the tram, in the counter, people in the changing room, god forbid bumping into someone I know, and doing all of the above all over again when I’m done. Only this time with a red face and heart pounding even faster. It’s so draining and I’m so scared of what’s gonna happen if I’m too tired of doing it. I’m in such a good place with food now and I’m terrified of that changing again. I can feel how fragile this relationship is and how willing I am to ruin my body for the cause of keeping it that way.

So I’m feeling very socially drained. And with a bit of a broken spirit. I’m not surprised how important running is for me. I am however of how much it’s absence affects me. And I know it means nothing if I have to slow down. And that it’s not a big deal, not in the long run. But things are as real as one experience it, I do believe that. So I won’t apologize for my reaction either. I’d rather shave my head than not run again. To others a shaved head would be death. And right now it feels like the ground beneath me is crumbling and I’m unable to do anything about it. So don’t even think about comparing it to something worse. I know there’s people out there with no legs or water, I get it.

The construction workers are blowing away a mountain right outside my window. Can’t help but laugh when I’m listening to it. Mountain, I get you.. You didn’t choose this. About to blow up myself.

Yesterday, on my way home from the gym, I missed the tram by about 30 meters because it hurt too much to run. I cried all the way home. On the next tram (I’m so used to crying in public at this point in my life I’m not even embarrassed about it). I wouldn’t be able to leave the house if I had to be one hundred percent sure I wouldn’t tear up over something at some point. I don’t care, I have too much stuff to care.

Mood

Also mood

To whom it may concern behind the rack of protein shakes. Yes, you. With the attitude.

I’ve set foot in two gym’s in my life. One in my old town when I was around fifteen and briefly tried to work out to get skinnier. I quickly found out I wasn’t one to lift and squeeze all day, I had better things to do, and quit after a year or so to venture out on new paths towards thigh gaps, arms that went in on both sides of the elbow and destruction.

Second gym I’ve seen was the one I went to last winter.  Just down the road from here is a small gym. Went there for a couple of months before the wind softened and ice melted. It’s a dump. Outdated and mostly enjoyable for the senior groups I saw on numerous occasions sitting around a table eating fruit and cookies after sessions in one of the outdated rooms I can imagine. They seemed very happy. It was cute. But the ladies working there were total assholes. Rude and wouldn’t let me wear a sleeveless top. Are you fucking kidding me? Sometimes they didn’t even say Hi. It was mostly five people there and I’d walk right past them entering. I know you see me!

And now this one. The one I joined today due to shitty weather. This is a big new one! Lots of treadmills on the second floor pointing outwards, big windows, all kinds of offers like swimming pool, hot yoga, squash, endless of sessions for everything.. Not that I’ll ever use any of it. I’ll just pay a ridiculous amount of money to use a treadmill overlooking a road and a carpark.

I also had to pay 450 NOK for a session with a personal trainer. Which I politely asked the lady if I could skip since I wouldn’t really be needing it. She smirked and laughed at me while she, in a very condescending manner, said that “No, no -you’ll want to do that, you do. You don’t turn that down” whilst glancing at her partner who smirked back. Smirked!!! It wasn’t even an option! I had to pay money for a session with a personal trainer I have NO interest whatsoever to meet with. I actually thought about asking her if she could make an exception due to mental illness. But decided not to since I don’t owe her an explanation on why I wouldn’t be needing one, it’s my business. But hey, don’t ask me why.. Just assume I think I know everything and feel that I’m too good for your pathetic little trainers, that I’m above that shit. Assume that, go ahead.

I don’t want one ’cause I just wanna run. I just enjoy running and it quiets the voices harassing me every day without running. I don’t wanna be aware of how I run, how to improve it or hear how I can get leaner and stronger arms, I don’t need to.

I’ll just pretend I died and not answer him when he suggests time and date.

I felt totally belittled and stupid for even being there.

Why the FUCK, can someone please tell me, do people working at the gym think they’re better than the rest of us? Why? Do they think they’re the only one’s with knowledge of the human body? Last time I checked it takes a year, A SINGLE teeny-tiny year, to become a personal trainer. You don’t know shit about the human body and mind compared to at least a hundred other occupations. And people, normal people, are at the gym for crying out loud – most of us scared shitless to even be there because of assholes like you. We’re here to work out.. Break a sweat. Pause the lives we lead for others. It’s a beautiful thing putting off time to yourself, focusing on becoming stronger. Cheer us on, please. I wanna see a look on your face that fucking screams “I am so proud of you for deciding to come in here today! Have a GREAT FUCKING WORKOUT!! YOU.. -YOU LEGEND!!!!”

Only one way to have girls’ night. Shamelessly.

Had the most fun girls’ night out I’ve had in such a long time last night. I’ve only seen Grease once in my life, so me and Silja decided that it was time. Time to summon the troops and grease up for a shamelessly drunken night out. Turns out champagne mixed with Travoltas’ skinnyjeans and bubblegum results in flashes from late teens and karaoke. It was just what I needed and we’re already planning our next quest.

I must admit though, being as self-conscious as I am and taking myself way to seriously (not too serious to eat pizza at two in the morning, but girls gotta eat right), I couldn’t get myself up there and sing. Even as drunk as I was. Pathetic. But I really enjoyed watching the other brave women and men up there. Fighting for the high notes.. It really brings people together doesn’t it. Putting that kind of vulnerability and embarrassment on display.

Should I have been one of those bitches I hope it would’ve been Rizzo. Definitely.

This mascara only made it to my first pee at Siljas’. I tried, though, I really did.

Unlike these beauties.

These’ll last for weeks hopefully and took no effort at all.

Damn straight Rizzo. Damn straight.

Thank The Universe for girls’ night.

Aicha Bouhlou, you gave me pesto and a whole new look on potatoes.

Look at dis.

So happy.

I’ve never spent more time in the kitchen as I’ve done lately. I’m seriously learning how to make something new almost every day. It’s amazing. I’m so grown up and so very cool.

Even if it’s as simple as pesto. So easy. So elegant. How fucking classy to have friends over serving them fucking home-made hummus and pesto??! I almost can’t even with my new self.

I’ve always had a thing for foods with more ingredients than I’ve got fingers on my hand, though. It’s usually not good for you and you’ll probably die of cancer as a result of it.

On the other hand..! I’ve never beaten myself up about eating sour candy either. I honestly think that as long as you LOVE whatever it is you’re eating – it’s perfectly good for you. if you’re enjoying every bite it’s a healthy relationship. With food.

Your food relationship.

Purest most honest relationship you’ll ever have

I’m so serious it’s not even funny.

BUT! I’ve always tried to make my cookies, sauces and other stuff myself rather than buying the ones at the supermarket, you know? (obviously also buy the shit ones sometimes) But It’s all the numbers and names I can’t pronounce on the back (I can only assume aren’t foods) I try to avoid.

This mayonnaise, though.

That shit would just not happen and I need to call my friend Aicha next time.

But seriously, thank you for this.

This pie-making-session on the other hand.. (not from her cookbook)

How sexy is this?

The rollin’..

the flippin’..

the bubblin’ of the blueberries under the crispy surface made by almost only BUTTER!!!!

I die. Of pride.

Not making a habit out of this btw, don’t worry. Internet has enough pictures of amateur-food and I’m obviously aware of the fact that no-one needs to, nor should know what anyone eats at all times.

If you’re anything like me is variation the center of your diet. If I’ve eaten cheese, prosciutto and Christmas stick-meat for forever I tend to crave salads and vegetables at some point. If I’ve eaten a lot of sweet foods I tend to go savory afterwards. And now I’m obviously in a very curious period where all I wanna do is cook things from scratch and learn EVERYTHING green. The other night I spent four hours making dinner! Haha! I started around six, thinking we’d eat around eight -it was past TEN before we could sit down and die over falafels. The other one was happy though. He’s a nocturnal creature with an appetite that peaks around midnight. Whereas mine does at around one to three in the afternoon.

Anyways. Other one left yesterday and I drank just the perfect amount of wine at a new restaurant opening with my new friend and sommelier I met (and instantly developed what I can only assume is a longterm friendship with) as he served me beautiful food at Colonialen (I know – fooood, wine and MORE FOOOOD).

So today I’m only eating potetkaker with just the perfect amount of butter. I’ve had five so far.

 

Sunday-Monday-Election-Day! Yay!

Me and the other one went out on a much-needed date last night, and it was the best date EVER!!!!

So important.

Because boredom is always around the corner if you don’t make an effort. And I find we don’t talk about stuff at home..?! Like adult stuff. Intellectual stuff. Such as celebrity gossip and the costs of fossil fuels. It’s so weird. We go on about our lives, we’re in the apartment at the same time all the time, but not together, right? Obviously would go crazy if we were up in each others shit all the time, but sitting down talking.. I think that went out the window as soon as the television reached the average household.

Anyways. Today it’s Election Day and we have a GREAT night ahead. I’m not particularly involved in politics and have occasionally been one of those shits who didn’t vote

I know.. Shit.

But today I made my way down and voted. The other one holding my hand. Feeling very grown up and patriotic (also just watched Suffragette and am therefore having mixed emotions of women empowerment, guilt, and a bit of shame).

I do think it’s the cynic in me telling me it doesn’t matter what I do, though. World’s going to shits anyways, what I do, what Norway does, doesn’t really matter..? I don’t know. But it feels good! Caring, taking part in the hopes of a better future. Obviously can’t have that kind of negative attitude anymore and this is me now.

This attitude. Leaning up against the wall. No shits given.. Disgusting.

So here I’ll be for the rest of the evening. Sitting on red. Surrounded by green. Wearing blue.

And also, since I’m slowly turning into a responsible grown-up (at the very least definitely planning to over the next thirty years), I have been more involved in this election. We all need to. Especially after the whole situation our friends in the west are finding themselves in. Yikes.

I’m also making blueberry pie for the occasion. Because pie is the easiest cake-like thing to make without dairy. So I’m pretty stoked about that. So stoked I didn’t even shower. My hair can now stand on it’s own.

Only thing left to say now is Godt Valg!

What is FARIKAL really about, you say..?

I just quickly want to explain what FARIKAL is about and what our aspirations for the future are.

FARIKAL consists of

Stine Malene Foss Berg : Partner and Graphic Designer.

Iben Berstrøm : Partner and Head of Marketing and Communications.

Viktoria Lutterloh Aksnes : Partner and Fashion Designer.

FARIKAL started with Iben Bergstrøm’s realization of the huge lack of information about Norwegian craft techniques. This quickly resulted in the three of us coming together deciding to change that, little by little.

We’re very patient.

FARIKAL is all about two things:

Preservation and representation through reinvention of Norwegian heritage and crafts. We want to focus on bringing history and character into the products we produce. There are so many beautiful Norwegian crafts yet to discover and make more current, especially for younger generations. FARIKAL wishes to be in the lead of providing that for not only Norwegians but for the rest of the world.

Producing slow sustainable fashion as opposed to the dominating socially and environmentally destructive mass production in the fashion industry we see today and through building closer relationships to producers and buying more local raw-materials we hope to contribute to the movement of increasing our respect for fashion – decreasing our consumption. Making our consumers aware of our product’s history and origin we wish to encourage consumers to shop with more emotions and more appreciation. As we all know our beautiful planet can not keep up with our consumption, so this is and has to be the future way.

We are so proud and excited to find ourselves in the process of producing (right here in Norway..!) THREE garments inspired by our Craft Collection A/W 2017 to be sold at the end of September. We decided to start off small, producing in a very limited quantity and will be selling them in our pop up in Bergen and webshop.

See our first Craft Collection at http://farikal.com and subscribe to our newsletter to see what’s going on!

All photos by Øystein Grutle Haara
Model: Eleonor Katarina Bjerkelund
MUA: Miranda Aksnes
Hair: Jonas Jelti - Adam og Eva Bergen

TODAY WE ROCKETTOTHESKYYY

Got up at six today, not that that’s alarmingly early these days, but I actually got a really good nights sleep.

Probably mostly from exhaustion. But there’s not much I wouldn’t do for a good nights sleep nowadays.. Plus I’m also reading in bed now before dozing off. A great way to go. To sleep.

Reading Victoria.

Obviously.

I am a queen.

Last night I put the last buttons in all ma holes and packed my suitcases for today.

Followed by a rare moment my husband caught on camera.

This face.

It’s unbelievable how much help I’ve gotten from the people in my life. I feel so very lucky. I am lucky. But I feel especially humble today. I’ll either cry or put a wall up.. Either one is fine, equally tiring. The one only postponing the other.

Wish me luck, meet you on the other side! So much love for the uplifting words here and on IG, know that it means so very much to me <3

drop mic, I’m out.

no? too far?

Let’s just never remember to learn that shots make us feel like death. Let’s just not.

Omg I just remembered, I threw up yesterday like a loser when I got home.

Hi, I’m Viktoria. I’m sixteen years old. Used to be older, but decided to go back to sixteen.

Such a great year.

going on whatever age this guy is.

Feel more like that anyway.

How cute is he btw? Total perk of living across from an old age home.

Turns out tequila is not my best friend. Even though it always feel like the bestest of best ideas in the moment.. Brilliant even!!

Never stop believing I say.

Never change.

Two things I love. Freelancing and cilantro.

I’m so tired.

I did go out for drinks yesterday, though. Sunday is the best day to go out for drinks if you have the opportunity. I had a quiet weekend you see, tacos and movies style, classic. And that always leaves me with this.. itch. And when I itch, Imma scratch.

I also really need to get out of the house since my working space is in my living room. My entire life is basically lived in 70 square meter.

I’m so fucking happy I can freelance. Not that there’s much pride in freelancing. We almost never have money. And when we do we spend it all on new equipment, food and wine. Maybe some fresh pantyhoes. (is it hoes? really?). Unless you’re really famous and sought after. But they’re like a different species.

Anyway. I’m supposed to work now. I’m going to. I’ve already done a little bit. I ironed my fabric. Gonna do some more just now. That’s a South African thing btw. Doesn’t matter what timespan we’re talking about. Everything is in “just now”. I might be there in five minutes. Maybe in two hours! Who knows?? I’m here, I’m suddenly there -I’m everywhere! But seriously, I’ll be there just now. That’s all you have to know.

So here I sit. Eating a sweaty cheesy toast covered in butter and cilantro.

Trying to avoid my constructions waiting -screaming for my attention on the floor.

I love cilantro. Put it on everything. I’m never able to keep them alive though. I even got a tip how to. What did I do?

Nothin’.

That’s how much I care about living things; I buy it. Den I kill it. Embarrassing.

Anyway. I’ll eat it. Even when it looks sad and depressed like this.

I’m sorry for this post. I’ll go “back” to work now. Have a lovely day!

The unstable baker

I must stress, and this is not to say nobody can take bits from what I’m writing and relate to their own relationship with food. I’m happy if it does! But having an ambivalent and stressful relationship with food is not necessarily the same as having an eating disorder. I have had most of the specter of eating disorders there are, most people with an ed do at different stages, but I’ve struggled mainly with anorexia nervosa. Which is very deadly and very painful physically and mentally.

So! That’s said and done!

I made carrot cake yesterday btw. My absolute favourite.

I’ve only made that good a carrot cake once. Which was when the founder of Glassnote and his wife visited from the US. So that was lucky. I’ve always been an impatient baker. And was quite the happy chap yesterday 😀

I had three slices.

And to the people altering cakes and other deliciousnesses with you allergy flours and stevia plants and protein shit, I feel sorry for you. When one cakes, one should cake properly. Show some respect.

Like Ivanka. She knows we all need cake in our lives. Be more like Ivanka.

Merry Christmas you guyyys

I guess, depending where you find yourself in the world, this is the biggest day of christmas, isn’t it? The 25th?

For us norwegians it’s all going down the 24th. Then there’s like this magical space continuum we call “romjul” that lasts until New Years Eve. Which is filled with whatever you want, really. For us it’s a bit of family get togethers, playing in the snow (if there is any -this year; HUGE disappointment), nice dinners with velvety, silky and sequined dresses, cakes and treats everywhere (which can be potentially dangerous and stir up a lot of shit for a disordered person -BUT no need to linger at that now..), christmas movies and hooopefully some time for me, the first and the last one to play some playstation. Which is very rare – only in christmas. And on that rare occasion we play one thing, and one thing only..

Ratchet. And Clank.

And I would recommend that shit for everyone. In fact, I am right now.

Anyway! Yesterday was our day. And ’tis was beautiful. We have quite a strict regime in our house regarding how the day unfolds. We start, early, with candy from our stockings (BEFORE BREAKFAAAST) and all the Disney stuff on Tv. With a slight interruption from a Czech version of Cinderella, with her nuts. The nuts grants her wishes.

Anyway! The morning is EVERYTHING you already love -but wrapped up in ribbons, snow, lights, candy and christmas trees, IN our pajamas -what’s not to love?!

Then we glam the fuck up.

Have christmas-drink.

(obviously with christmas ornament).

And then we wait.

For the stickmeat to be finished. (I’m not even gonna bother to try explain you what that is)

It’s lamb! Smoked and salted. And the best fucking thing in the whole wide world -let’s leave it at that.

We anxiously set the table.

Make warm and christmassy feeling to match our spirits.

Dad lights the chandelier.

Then we eat. Dad usually sums up the year and how proud he is of all of us with a few casual words to his girls. We say cheers and have, what I think ALL of us consider to be the best meal of the year and an absolute favourite food, a very merry time.

Of course I had to get a throat infection for the occasion and was (after popping pain killers and candy simultaneously all day) after the dinner utterly, totally caput! So I did what one always should do when your body tells you, anything really,

-I put on wool. If there’s one thing ma mama taught me, ’tis that you needs to wear wool against your skin.

Dad also shared some tips on feeling better in a crisis. Aquavit.

Which felt even better than the wool!

So I did two shots (the second one because I felt slightly better after the first and immediately craved more of that heavenly warmth soothing my insides), and was able to survive the christmas-present opening session. Which, in our family, last a couple of hours. We read every card out loud and watch the beautiful awkwardness of someone opening a present in front of people unfold before our eyes <3

And then, a very bad sleep. Due to my throat. But it’s ok now, because I got to blog!! And am now about to watch a movie with the little one. A christmas-spirited movie of course.

I’ll tell you more about the presents and new year’s plans the next time. But I dare guess both -equally wonderful..!

MERRY CHRISTMAS!!!

BLESS US ALL AND MAY WE ALL GIVE LESS OF A FUCK NEXT YEAR!

Stepping out of the comfortable black and into the colorful christmas

Went to london for the weekend to surprise a friend on her birthday, get our romance on plus do some christmas shopping. Check, check and check.

Still the best thing in the world to come back home..

Even though London has hotel-bars like this,

cafés like this..

and will stay tacky forever. Like dis <3

I, once again, had to get over my biggest sorrow in life; having a partner who’s interests lies more in in a world beyond me called gaming, rather than taking photos of me. As heartbreaking as it is, I shamelessly gave myself permission to do mirror-selfies a looong time ago. Cause what else is one supposed to do?

I wore my (I’ve named it my bachelorette-dress since my husband bought it for me for my bachelorette party) purple, very christmas-friendly, dress one night. And I’d actually recently settled for the fact that my short hair would never pull off. It did. I’m so fucking stoked.

This is me. Fucking stoked.

It even matched (and I seldom do matching outfits) my fabulous faux-fur coat.

Again. Stoked.

I also wore my vintage Dior’s. Which I seem to be completely unable to shut up about to just about anyone I meet.

But I don’t care. Cause they’re vintage. Dior’s.

Point is I’m fairly happy about myself, wardobe-wise, this weekend. I tend to lean on my black stuff and am obviously feeling extra colorful this christmas. I take this as a very positive sign.

I must rate our hotel 3+ though.. Points for location. Right by oxford circus. And cleanliness. Other than that it lacked both lighting in front of the big mirror and a fucking door in front of the fucking bathroom. What the fuck Sanders? You’re not cool just because you think you can pee in basically the same room as your roomie without angst.

Anyway, Thanks London!

And Thanks Home, for being ready and warm and welcoming for what, I’m sure, will be THE MOST MAGICAL CHRISTMAS EVER!

Which I’m totally ready for btw after hoarding special-candy that’ll hopefully help me avoid skin breaking out in rudolf-like conditions this year.

Oh, hello

Today I start writing in english. Not that I feel I have to or find it particularly fun or cool or that I’m especially good at it, but because I can be understood by more. And, besides writing for myself (which still remains my only real reason and excuse), I do want people to read me. And I think we need more varieties in blogs. Fashion and beauty and blogs about babies stuff and de-cluttering, the sponsored blogs, and blogs about peoples insecurities and neurosis.

Guess which one I am.

viktoriavegard116

Plus I’ll probably expand my vocabulary from all the googleing and synonym searching I’ll be doing. My one and only concern is all the fucking caps locking I’ll have to do for the I’s, since I talk a lot about myself. And the apostrophes.

Anyways. Besides stressing about time and how I’m going to do everything I need to do atm, (don’t we all, all the fucking time) between the sewing of my Fårikål project (I’ll get back to that, it’s SO exciting), my little one’s projects and the caps locking plus DYING of excitement for christmas I am actually doing good solid physical work. Which feels so good. I am CREATING !!

And it feels like it’s been about 4 months since the last time. Probably because it has due to that fucking wedding that has been killing me not only during the planning process but still manages to kill me. But only in a pts-kinda way so don’t worry.

This is basically my outfit nowadays.

outft

Notice the sadness in my eyes. Like bambi.

As you can see I’ve also clearly become desperate and sentimental (no I’m not drinking, at this hour, it’s before noon which is my no-zone) -I’ve put on Gilmore Girls, season 1 episode 1. Whilst eating cookies made, I can only guess, entirely out of butter. And sugar. Topped with almonds. I don’t know!

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But I never thought I’d do that.

Never watched it growing up as a 90’s kid, all though I’m sure I would’ve loved it. Melissa Mccarthy, sarcasm, love, drama, tiny town..

I just found it a bit stressful I think and would rather watch quality tv like Dawson’s creek and That 70’s show identifying as Katie Holmes. Which was a must btw, to single out a character for you and your annoying girlfriend that crashed your me-time after the horribly scary and loud day at school.

SO hard, like, being a sensitive and a strong woman at the same time.

But when working as a sewing, melting over the ironing board, freelance designer I need background noise. I’m not the kind of person to do my reflection whilst steaming toile. I need to be somewhere else. So I need hours of hours -days, weeks worth of television that doesn’t need me paying much attention or even have to look at the screen to keep up. Here comes Gilmore Girls on a silver platter, 7 seasons brought to you by netflix.

And when I’m out-gilmored there’s Chelsea Handler. At netflix.

Can’t wait for christmas though when I can bust out my latest purchase and watch all of the Harry Potter movies with my sisters. In one sitting.

YES.

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But one needs breaks.

And food.

Wednesday it was dinner with my man, nay –husband, at Colonialen. Best restaurant in bergen for fine dining and too many different types of wine for you to remember any of the stuff they so meticulously tell you before every course. So I got to dress up with mah morning after gift fur.

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It’s fake, relax.

And tomorrow we have dinner (which also include as much wine as your heart desires) at my in-laws. Luckily I have those kinds of in-laws that I drink with willingly, happily, I enjoy their company -not to simply get through the evening. Needless to say I’m fucking grateful for that.

I wish you a great friday. Do something fun. You survived another week so be good to yourself.

Something old, something new, something borrowed, feeling blue

Så var vi gift.

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Herregud så syk helg.

Alt gikk som det skulle og ingenting som forventet.

Bryllupet var nydelig. Vielsen i villaen med sol gjennom vinduene til Edith Piaf’s Hymne a l’amour spilt nydelig av jazzkompen i hjørnet av det stappfulle varme rommet. Han andre nervøs og rørt, meg skjelvende og utslitt. Champagnetårn og lokale oster i solskinn og kald krisp luft til kjærlighetserklæringer fra et helikopter, en Lerche og Jarle Bernhoft. Deilig burger og den diggeste kaken jeg har smakt i hele mitt liv. Finere -mer ærlige taler enn noen hadde hørt.

Antar jeg.

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Jeg har vært så redd så lenge for å gå glipp av det hele. Ved å enten være for høyt oppe eller nede. Dessverre for meg ble det sistnevnte. Noe som kom ganske overraskende.. Gidder ikke gå inn på hva som førte til det hele, men jeg kan ikke huske å ha vært sint innover på veldig, veldig, veldig lenge.

Jeg skjønner at de fleste får den der “det ble ikke så perfekt som jeg skulle ønske” i trynet. Med så mye press på perfeksjonssiden er noe nødt til å falle fra hverandre. Og det gjorde det her også, tro du meg, men sånne detaljer i livet gidder jeg ikke bruke energi på. Så det trenger du ikke å si til meg om du tenkte at du skulle det.

Jeg er ikke ute etter forståelse eller sympati. Å ha et slikt intenst ønske om å ende ens eget liv og forsvinne i det store svarte intet hvor ingen aldri noensinne kan komme til å finne deg igjen, skulle man bare helt enkelt ha sluppet. Hver dag egentlig, men hvertfall en dag som krever så mye energi som denne. De eneste ordene jeg kunne få ut da jeg våknet den morgenen etter 1,5 timers søvn var gråtkvalte

“Mamma. Jeg er utrøstelig

og

“Det eneste jeg ønsker er å avlyse”

Jeg forstår jo at dette er grunnen til at jeg tar medisiner hver morgen og at det ikke er min egen feil. Til og med den dagen forstod jeg det. Så jeg brukte de neste 6 timene på å ta meg sammen og klarte fint å nyte bryllupet altså, jeg er tross alt profesh på dette her. Men gjennom hele bryllupet begynte jeg å gråte hver gang jeg møtte meg selv i speilet og husket på hvor lite jeg likte hva jeg så. Det er trist. Og noe jeg alltid kommer til å huske med sorg. Så jeg drakk meg full i brudekjolen fra Monaco til 28 000 og fikk panikkanfall på vei hjem.

Noe jeg er sikker på Grace Kelly aldri ville gjort.

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Jeg var hvertfall tro mot meg selv. I did it my way, som Sinatra ville sagt. Og han andre giftet seg definitivt med den han forelsket seg i og må deale med hver dag, resten av sitt liv.

Det er det som trøster meg nå når jeg tenker tilbake på det. Det er jo de utfordringene vi har. De kampene vi kjemper. Og de seirene vi feirer. Det forandrer seg jo ikke bare fordi man har forberedt seg.

Og det var faen meg det beste bryllupet jeg har vært i. Jeg storkoste meg! Gleder meg også helt sinnsykt til bildene. www.linnheidi.com er fantastisk. Og hun tåler bryllupsfotografi like lite som jeg gjør. Så du må faktisk bare glede deg du også.

Takk til min fantastiske brudesquad også. Jeg husker nesten ingenting fra før vielsen, men jeg vet dere holdt boblene i glasset mitt flytende, og latteren rullende. Så for det takker jeg dere helt fra dypet i det dypeste dypet mitt. Og det er jævlig dypt.

Nå skal meg og mannen min ha innekveld. Vi har forøvrig sagt fuck you til solen i dag og holdt oss inne som muldvarper under jorden. I kveld blir det middags-laging og sci-fi. Og bryllupskake da. Og chips.

God lørdag alle single der ute; her er meg som forklarer alle hvordan min andre kjærlighet i livet er champagne. Og alle rundt meg som bare har hørt det før.

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I see now why you’re a house of singles. You can’t communicate.

Ah, denne morgenen er herlig i stemningen over frokosten på landet. Vi ler og vi ler.

Husker dere jeg sa tidligere hvor bekymret jeg var når jeg leverte fra meg brudekjolen til skredder? Dette regner jeg med de fleste bruder er, men jeg som kan og vurderte å gjøre jobben selv var kanskje over gjennomsnittet. Var fysisk kvalm. Ikke at jeg tvilte på skredderen altså. Men det er noe med det.. Når man sjekker den hver eneste dag når den henger hjemme i sitt eget hus, til å etter et så kort møte med en fremmed gi den fra seg, i en måned, er skummelt altså. Hadde lett betalt mer penger for mer tid med henne. Spurte henne også om jeg skulle komme inn flere ganger i prosessen for å prøve kjolen. Dette var ikke nødvendig sa hun.

Egentlig var det mest bekymring rundt hvordan den hang i butikken (I know…). Også var det de nålene som lå krøllet i bunnen der. Og bestemte vi oss egentlig for at den ble lang nok? Vi ble enige om litt mindre enn to fingerbredder fra gulvet. Ringte senere til de og forsikret meg om at de måtte legge den ned 1,5-2 cm mer ned enn vi hadde avtalt orginalt. Da skulle den være ca 1/2-1 cm fra bakken. De skulle også henge den opp så den fikk henge fritt, den klesposen jeg kom med var for kort.

Perfekt.

Henter kjolen (fortsatt i den posen) og den er faen meg rundt 4,5 cm fra bakken.

Klipt er klipt tenker jeg, og skryter henne opp i skyene. Litt som når en går til frisøren og sitter der med hockeysveisen til slutt en spesifikt ba henne om å unngå, og mest har lyst å grine. Hva gjør man? Man takker for bolleklippen og betaler for seg med et smil. Også var hun veldig skjønn hun skredderen, fin pris fikk jeg også. Men sant, samme her som når jeg leverte den fra meg og ble kvalm i magen. Kommer meg ikke lenger enn ut i bilen før jeg angrer på at jeg ikke sa ifra. Hvorfor sier jeg ikke det jeg egentlig mener? Krever det jeg trenger for å legge ting bak meg? Går ut derfra med en følels av at jeg har stått opp for meg selv.

Jeg har jo lyst å skrike for full hals at hun har ødelagt uttrykket jeg så bestemt ønsket om en kjole som dekket føttene min og gjorde meg så lang som jeg er –helt ned til gulvet. Dette kan ikke fikses, og kjolen er kjempedyr, OG KJØPT I MONACO!!!!  JEG ER GRACE FUCKINGS KELLY OG DU ROTER DET TIL!!

Og er det noe jeg vet av erfaring er det hvor lett en hem plutselig kryper seg oppover. Man kan ha de beste intensjoner, men ser man bort et øyeblikk kan den ha frynset seg ovgårde oppover og cm forsvinner ut i luften. Derfor var jeg så veldig på de om dette, jeg vet hvordan stoff sjelden jobber med en og hører på hva du sier, spesielt sånne stoff.

Men som sagt, gjort er gjort. Og klipt er klipt.

Legger ned den ene bretten i finishingen, selv om den nå har sår av den oppbrettede sømmen to steder langs hele kanten foran, så jeg har 0,5 cm ekstra å flashe meg med. Ikke godt nok i det hele tatt, men jeg må drite litt i det og tenke at så lenge jeg får mest mulig lengde må det gå bra. Jeg kan ikke la dette ta helt overhånd og minner meg på alle som har det helt jævlig der ute og at Trump kanskje blir president. Da spiller det ingen rolle hvor kort eller lang kjolen er, da er vi alle fucked. Og kjolen er jo nydelig. Trekker pusten, prøver kjolen, går frem og tilbake, forskjellige speil, -repeat.

Godtar kjolen som den er, men blir ikke kvitt klumpen og sinnet i magen. Bestemmer meg for å informere de om at jeg syntes de var litt raske og jeg følte meg ikke helt hørt og tatt på alvor. Og at kjolen nå er for kort. Og at de plis må være obs på dette fremover. En brud har så mange angster.

Prøver den igjen for å bekrefte for meg selv at det går fint. Ser meg selv i forskjellige vinkler. Oppdager en skjevhet i ryggen, ikke noe big deal, det kan skje den beste (og med alt det stoffet, som matchet perfekt i ryggen er det ikke rart at en sånn feil kan skje). Men faen heller altså, nå begynner det å boble litt mer. Nå har jeg en for kort kjole og er skjev bak. Haha, kjenner jeg nå, for min egen psykiske helse,TRENGER å informere de om dette også og at jeg egentlig helst ville sett at jeg fikk en kompensasjon i form av prisavslag for dette da det faktisk stresser meg mer enn noe har gjort så langt i forberedelsene.

For tort og svie, som mamma ville sagt. Jeg kan da ikke være skjev bak og kortere enn jeg er når jeg gifter meg?! Samtidig som jeg ikke vil rippe opp i kjolen, den silken der er så skjør, prøver jeg å se på skjevheten som sjarmerende. Er jo ingenting med meg som er særlig i vater uansett og jeg kan leve med å være litt skjev på baksiden. Men en slant tilbake symbolsk for å vise at de viser respekt og forståelse ovenfor meg som kunde hadde vært fint.

Dette vil de ikke. De har bare gjort strålende arbeid som ble mottatt med jublende begeistring (noe som delvis stemmer, jeg forlot tross alt med skryt). Men jeg har da en uke etter lov til å oppdage mer ved kjolen og bestemme meg for å si ifra. Ender faktisk opp med å bli anklaget for diverse feiltrinn jeg har gjort (blandt annet mulighetene for at jeg har hatt forskjellige sko ved prøving), satt spørsmål ved mine intensjoner og sist men ikke minst -denne er fin- truet med sivilt søksmål.

Jeg ler meg i hel.

Noe som også er ubeleilig da jeg skal gifte meg om tre uker og trenger å være i live.

For å konkludere har House Of Singles flinke nok folk, men er en bedrift uten reklamasjons- eller klagerutiner som er tydelige for kunden. De er ekstremt overfølsomme på arbeidet sitt, og burde vel helst tatt et kommunikasjonskurs.

Leste også den her godsaken om de. Før jeg leverte kjolen inn. Who am I to judge..?

House of Singles legger seg helt flat

Jeg foreslo at noen ganger kan det være lurt å legge seg flat og bli der litt.