Category: The skin

Easter feast

by  on  in The life, The skin • 12 Comments

If you’re anything like me, you love taking care of yourself. To me, personally, I’d rather shave my legs and do a face mask over yoga any fucking day to calm myself down. You don’t always have to go deep to feel better. The illusion of loving one’s self actually helps a little bit on a day when you feel that.. heaviness inside.

If you’re also somewhat like me you hate wasting money on shit you could do, maybe even better, yourself. Like ordering a plain salad at a restaurant. In this particular example I don’t care about the money actually -I’ll probably spend as much on ingredients whipping up that salad of mine at home.., it’s a matter of self-respect. But these sheet masks.. they cost like 100 nok.

so cool though..

Which I can respect as a penalty for all the plastic it’s wrapped in, but there are like five ingredients and no laboratory nor physics degree acquired to create these sheets of instant-beauty. So I ventured out on the great internet and got some tips on how to make my own by soaking delicious ingredients from my kitchen in spring roll wrapper. Neat. So I got me some honey. Some aloe vera. Some oats. Some olive oil. And a dash of hot water and simmered it while I jumped in a shower. Lesson one; don’t put stupid ass in shower whilst plate’s on. 29 years I’ve lived without doing that? Anyways. Aired out apartment and went at it again.

As a teenager with atopic eczema I’ve done a lot of weird skin-related stuff. Egg whites, egg yolks, yogurt, tomatoes, avocado.. They’re all messy, they all smell and you’re always left wondering if it actually helped soothe your skin or if you in fact stagnated – decreased even, in collagen production due to stress over level of mess caused by making mask in the first place. But you do it ’cause it makes you feel like you’re doing something that’s.. for yourself, if nothing else.

But this one… My kitchen floors haven’t looked this bad in like ten years when I was dating that toddler.


Oats everywhere.. I’m shook. At that article telling me to cook Oates for my face. Never doing that again.

did feel as fresh as if I’d been smashed in the face with a snowball though

When I haven’t been doing tlc on myself I’ve been working all easter. So no time for traditional trip to grandma or embarrassing attempts on cross country skiing in same gear I had when I was twelve.. But did manage however to keep food-traditions, obviously. I think one of my earliest childhood memories are from eating big big breakfasts together. Spread out all over the table, sometimes just on blankets on the floor. Homemade rolls, hot chocolate (or as we often did; warmed up milk with honey), greens and just about any spread you can put on a slice of bread imaginable.. Makrell i tomat (which is exactly what it sounds like: mackerel filet in tomato sauce, and is delicious), different cheeses, hams, eggs, chocolate spread, peanut butter, jams, liver pate, smoked salmon -anything! I think to this day it might be my favourite meal. And we ate it as late breakfast or in the evening if we skipped dinner. Frokost and kveldsmat.

Exhibit A

Exhibit B -not representing frokost very well, in fact not at all almost, but it was SUCH a mood. As this easterbunny knows she can eat påskeegg at all times during easter.

That’s the egg with candy. In which I filled three times during easter.

I don’t really drink sodas, never have, but it was easter and it’s yellow and sacrifices must be made

Besides a steady flow of candy the sun’s been out almost every day and it’s been bliss. I didn’t get to enjoy it as much, but I don’t mind as much. I don’t like being tan and if I can’t swim the heat triggers so much in me that I can’t really be bothered sitting outside. Unless there’s wine. And sunglasses.

And who needs to go outside anyways when you can enjoy mornings like this

yes, that is my breakfast in bed for my husband. One slice of low quality bread with ham, one with chocolate. Because he’s a simple man and I didn’t have time.

Also found like one day for this, always a little time for this.

So that was easter. Plus a musicvideo shoot in London. But that’s not really my business to talk about.

Bye

Change the subject Carole

by  on  in Beauty, Philosophy, The life, The skin, Uncategorized • 3 Comments

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?

Shower milk and milk in general

by  on  in The life, The skin • 2 Comments

Remember my rash late November I assumed to be a stress induced hive breakout brought on by my (self-diagnosed) post traumatic stress disorder-like behaviour after fleeing that volcano on Bali?

‘Course you don’t. But I do. Turns out this may have something to do with it.

Look at it.

So tall. Esthetically pleasing on the eye.. So subtle. A sniper from the side.

Cleansing shower milk. Cleansing. Milk. Shower..

I’d been piling that shit on as body lotion for weeks after fishing it out of one of those tax-free two for one baskets at the airport after my long and traumatizing journey back to Norway. I’m stunned. It looks exactly the same as the fucking lotion.

Anyways. That was a waste of antihistamines and unnecessary alienation from my cheap (in every sense) Christmas sweater I was led to believe contributed to my hive breakout.

Probably could’ve worn it every day..

Ok. Over to something less heartbreaking. Had a business meeting yesterday. Business meeting on my terms (since it’s my future business we’re talking about and I’ll run things like I want to run things and only hire and work with people I’m super into as humans beings). So obviously a bit hungover and having one of these mornings. (Note that I am not vegan nor allergic to anything but I do have a sensitive stomach and simply prefer a lot of vegan options. Plus I hate milk, always have. In case you were wondering why I was drinking chocolate oat milk and not normal chocolate milk like the normal meat-eating person that I am would. It’s delicious and you should stop stealing babymilk to little cows and try it. (Not a passion of mine either actually. I’ll just take whatever convenient moral highway that effortlessly come my way to appear more engaged than I actually am. I have no leftover energy for cows, sorry)

You guys I’m so excited about the project I’m working on. It’s big. Huge. And I can’t wait to show you.

Yes, you.

I go work now, this is costing me money I don’t have. I go work: pantless and guilt-free with my trash-tv running in the background. I kind of love life.

From <40 kg to >40 km

by  on  in Beauty, Philosophy, The life, The skin • 20 Comments

I’m writing this yesterday, because today I’m preoccupied dressing, eating enough and drinking enough but not too much. In two hours I’m running a marathon.

I’ve even shaved my legs. Which (I can’t even blame it on being married since it started way before that) has become somewhat of a ritual before something big is about to happen. Birthdays, holidays, Christmas…sunny days. I don’t go around shaving my legs for no reason. I really don’t see the need to and will forever look up to those women who always have shit like that sorted out at all times.

Besides, I couldn’t shave my legs often even if I wanted to (I don’t) -my legs get really defensive when touched more than twice a week (I don’t shave them that often). My leg hair-roots are highly sensitive and prefer it if I focus on other areas, like my armpits. Those guys aren’t sensitive at all. On the bright side my legs are really soft should an occasion special enough to deserve this kind of attention occur. Like today.

Actually they’re not really that silky soft anymore since I’m writing this yesterday. (Busy eating and dressing etc., remember?) But they’re still dressed for the occasion and beat most days.

I’ve been looking forward to this day since the day I bought the ticket several months ago.

And it feels weird to say I’ve trained for this marathon.. because I haven’t. Not really. I’ve just gotten an extra excuse to spend more time running. Had a reason to test a couple of times how a really long run felt like. I never knew I’d love it as much as I did. It’s almost unfair to the people who run and hate running; I wouldn’t wish anyone who didn’t love running to run. Never. Your body doesn’t love it. it takes a lot of time. And very lonely I can imagine for a person who doesn’t like it. Long-distance running is always a lonely activity. It’s you. Your breath. no one would care if you’d stopped. The pounding on the ground. Rhythm. That sweet-spot you know you can go km after km at.  There’s no measuring as to whether you finished or did good except time and distance. But you always succeed. Even if the run was small and sluggish, you still went for a run. You still won.

I felt like I was training once though. The couple of weeks after I got very bad shinsplints and a bad knee and couldn’t walk properly. I did som alternative stuff at the gym and hated it. Apparently I had really wrong shoes for running (fuck that guy, whoever you are at the sportswear shop) and the pain slowly went away after I got new ones. I haven’t cried since.

Joking, of course I have. But for different reasons than lack of running.

It’ll be exciting to see how today’s race feels like. I reckon I’ll either hate it or absolutely love it. I’ll either get anxiety from the crowds and feel too pressured to move or breathe at all and die mid-race, or start searching for the next race in a city I’ve always wanted to go to but never had a reason to the next day. Whichever it is I’m really proud of myself. This is a leap longer than I’ve taken in a long time. I’m believing in myself enough to sign up to something so publicly, telling everyone who crossed my path since knowingly that I’ll physically be feeling something close to a panic attack for several hours. Heart pounding, sweat dripping whilst looking like.. I don’t even want to give it a name, because I’ll actually be looking like myself. And not only accept that, but to embrace that.

That’s why I’m so proud of myself.

Myself..; tired, nose running (got a cold this week, obviously), sweaty, red faced and very possibly crying (not that a crowd’s ever stopped me from doing the latter).. I’ve finally come to terms with the fact that that’s also me. In the last year I’ve gained kilograms, fats, muscles -I don’t care and I don’t wanna know! I feel, for the first time that I can remember, not ashamed of my body. I don’t like all of it at all times, but (for now) I can honestly say I don’t really feel the responsibility to do anything about it.

My upper arms for example. I’ve never been happy with my upper arms. Why, I don’t know. If I didn’t feel they were embarrassingly thin and had to be put away before seen, they were massive and definitely to be put away before anyone, myself included, laid their innocent eyes on them. I can probably count on one hand how many days I’ve been just the right amount of weight that made me comfortable with my arms. And that’s including water-weight and temperature. It’s thinner than I’d want it to be. That’s why I’ve decided to not care anymore. It doesn’t matter how they look -they’re not there to look like – anything..! They’re there for far more important stuff. Like holding a glass of wine. And hugging. And that’s what I have to remind myself the days that I do care. I can’t and shouldn’t control how my body looks, that shouldn’t and never should have been in my hands. It’s a huge relief.

I thought about running for charity of some sort. But then I thought this one’s for me. Today’s definitely mine.

Bree Van de Kamp for a day. A day I shall cherish for the many months to come and go until the next time we meet

by  on  in Philosophy, The life, The skin • 20 Comments

Today’s really been one of those days when cleaning just. feels. SO. great.

It started innocently enough; me getting home after an extended weekend at my parents house due to flu, eight in the morning, acknowledging as I walk through the front door this new wooden serving board I just got that needed oiling.. It all starts very sexy. Long story short I ended up doing every piece of wood that crossed my path (…), plus my kitchen counter top. And it felt great. And it didn’t stop there. You know that shit you almost never do, but once in a while they’ll come to you in, like a whisper in the wind from your lady ancestors –old instincts kicking in and you suddenly find yourself doing things in the most jeopardizing positions physically you can imagine, things you never knew were actual things people did when you were younger? You would never do these things unless you really wanted to. These chores are only achievable when your body wants them done and your mind and spirit agrees. And the stars align and the  fourth night moon of the first month of.. ok, stopping.

These days are gifts. Rare gifts.

 And at the end of these days you ask yourself why you don’t do this every week? Or month, even (even though you know the answer). Because it feels so good. Vacuuming and cleaning and turning of the mattresses.. Airing out the duvets and pillows until they’re as cool as the frost on the ground.. Beating the sofa cushions to death outside.. Scrubbing of the shower tiles.. So many tiles. Cleaning of the cupboards -washing away every sugar grain, deleting every last piece of evidence with it that your husband ate porridge that one time..

You get the picture.

I also washed a lot of clothes, like four washes. It was piling up there, so I’m not parading this one around too much. I’ve now got sheets hanging off of every door in the apartment and can’t close a single door.

But there’s nothing quite like that feeling.. I’ve also been on my first run today btw, since the flu officially left this temple that is my body, and washed my hair for the first time in six days. Which must be some sort of personal record. Besides the times I’ve been physically unable to do so. Obviously been washing my body during these days of abstinence. But I’m all about being as natural and sparing and caring of my nordic skin as can be from whatever I can spare it from! But I’m not gross. I just know that our bodies are supposed to produce oils. For protection. So let’s not get frantic about washing too much and give it a chance. This does not apply to certain areas. One must always wash certain areas.

Circling back to my point: I feel Clean. Mrs. Clean here, in Clean Town. And there really is nothing like that feeling. Can’t wait for that feeling when I slip into my clean bed, bouncy mattress with my new fresh crisp washed and aired christmas-linen my parents gave me for Christmas. Spoiler, it’s red.

I even ironed them before I put them on. I’m equally ashamed and excited about that.

I even put on this towel-for-your-hair-thing my sister-in-law gave to me years ago. And it just dawned on me.. It’s fucking fabulous..! I mean?

It attaches in the front. There is a button. And a, like a hook? Yea, it’s this whole thing, construction thing, in the front. Fabulous.

I just got that sense of middle eastern wealth immediately as I noticed my new Missoni towel in the background that I’d just hung up to air-dry my body (natural, caring and sparing of the skin, remember?). I even embodied this whole new persona, like:

Hey Zayed, darling; why aren’t the camels ready?

Why didn’t I just marry a rich sheikh?

Ok, maybe I do know the answer to that. Being a bipolar feministic woman of the 21st century and all.. But still! A camel and a magic carpet feat. someone pouring me tea with a side of date would be nice.

Anyways. Earned some Netflix-time before I’m off on my magic Christmas carpet. Tomorrow I work.

Bye

Ok, I seriously noticed just now that I’m using these coasters.

Covering up

by  on  in Beauty, The life, The skin • 12 Comments

Aaaah my skin is driving me so crazy! And it’s SUCH a small thing, I’m aware. Such a small thing. A tiny problem in one life out of ALL of the problems in ALL the lives living on this rotating ball we call “our” home. Haha actually watched a documentary-thing yesterday whilst ironing about storing our knowledge and history in some type of new technology. For humans. After we’re all dead. So.. humans further down the line.

Like evolution would be so fucking stupid.

And it’s all in 1’s and 0’s. Obviously. Because if we start all over again we’d probably fuck up as badly as this batch did and end up in 1’s and 0’s.

I think that IF.. and that’s a big if..; the hooman, the species Homo Sapiens, finds their way back to earth they’d do far better than we did. Hopefully we were the first pancake. And we got eaten immediately. Not saved and protected to enjoy later. Just fucked up, broken and eaten.

Anyways, bigger stuff: my skin. I’ve been doing the full routine recommended by my dermatologist for rosacea from ZO skin health for nine months. And six months is what it takes apparently for you to be able to really see if something’s really working. Which I… yeah. I’ll go with it. Whether or not my skin is better underneath the surface, I can’t say. Anti-aging-wise etc. I don’t fucking care now, do I? I’m not scared of wrinkles or sun-spots or whatever -that’s my life showing in my face. That’s fucking beautiful. I’m young with baby skin now and I want to go out without constantly being scared of people hugging me and in doing so accidentally wipe some of my foundation off revealing Rudolf underneath.

And what bothers me the most: people fucking going around parading great success for EVERYONE ! THIS IS THE SOLUTION FOR EVERYONE !

That’s just great.

How great for you! That your problems were fixed. I feel for you the same way I feel for people who start doing mindfulness and gets cured for whatever alleged mental health illness they popped into for a quick hello. And then make statements about everyone being able to beat whatever illness they’re battling with.

Fuck you. I feel nothing for you.

Parading about like the cat that got the cream about your success, swearing by lifestyle changes, products or medicines right and left. You’re making the rest of us feel inadequate. Unfixable.

There’s also the possibility that my skin’s just naturally gotten worse and would get to this state regardless. There is also a chance that’s the case. But why should I then spend thousands for skin products?

Also. The people thinking you’re still in third grade and fishing for compliments for your obviously superior drawing by flaunting it around being all “ooh, my drawing is so ugly…..” to the person holding this bad boy.

After a certain age you get real problems and stop fucking around with the term. And, please, you people – meet Internet. It’s all over the place. You can do anything with makeup. We won’t need witness protection programs anymore. Just Kardashian kits.

So! As a conclusion..: even though skin issues or mental health issues (sometimes they’re connected) aren’t visible at first glance doesn’t mean they’re not there.

Weekend’s around the corner and I’m doing a very exciting project tomorrow.  Which I’ll be very proud to tell you about later. Love to you!

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

by  on  in The life, The skin, Uncategorized • 7 Comments

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.

 

ROSACEA DIET WTF

by  on  in Beauty, The life, The skin • 23 Comments

For the first time in my life I’m on a DIET! Whaaaat?!

It’s not a health-thing. At all. It’s a skin-thing. After spending many years, thousands of NOK, three painful laser treatments (which made me so swollen at one point I almost couldn’t open one of my eyes), antibiotics, some acidic-treatment -thing that left some open wounds and my skin burning for hours after application leaving me unable to do anything other than holding ice in a bag to my face (white girl problems, I know. But still, any issue, big or small to others, is as painful and big of a deal as it feels to YOU). SO! I have now started a.. I’m gonna call it Rosaiet! Haha. Diet just doesn’t sit right with me. Anyways. It’s basically just avoiding stuff that triggers flare-ups and worsening the condition overall. Mainly it’s food that release histamine, pungent / sour vegetables, citrus fruits and foods that are hard to digest. Dairy and red meat. And of course, the devil itself. Sugar.

In Italy. Not current state. Just current feels.

Lot of this is easy. Sugar is easily replaced by honey. Red meat I almost never eat anyways. Citrus I’ve always felt to be inflammatory, therefore somewhat avoided. I’ve never drank milk, just almond milk. Used to be soy milk actually, but also supposed to avoid soy. Quite bummed actually, soy yoghurt was a part of my everyday breakfast. But the hardest things are actually vegetables..! Who knew??! And chocolate and wine gum obviously. The hardest thing to give up so far includes the following:

Tomatoes, avocado, egg-plant, onion, carrots, bananas. Who knew, right?! Bananas? Histamine?!!!

Cheese (can still eat goat and -cottage cheese, thank you very much)

Ham and raw stuff that goes with the cheese. As well as figs. Haha. I have to change a lot of things apparently. Gimme the bread.

Spices (e.g. ginger, pepper and cumin, soy sauce and vinegar). Obviously chili, but I’ve avoided this forever and am not that stupid.

Anything containing sugar. Yay.

THIS IS NOT ABOUT ME EATING BETTER, CLEANER OR HEALTHIER. Obviously sugar is killing us, but that’s not the point. DO NOT MISTAKE THIS FOR AN INSPIRING EAT THIS – DON’T EAT THAT POST. THIS IS FOR ROSACEA VICTIMS.

(most of the stuff I’m avoiding is healthy anyways, okay. So just stop)

Thank the Universe I can indulge in pasta, bread and all starch one can imagine. Just too bad I can’t mix any of it with tomato sauce. And pizza I’ll make myself from now on. Sundays just have to change from now on. I’ll put.. I don’t know, but I’m sure I’ll figure it out. San Marino Pizza on the corner will lose a dedicated sunday-customer.

Current state. Skin really good today actually.

But I’ll have to get creative! And I love focusing on food and cooking in a positive manner. What CAN I eat and HOW can I make it fabulously tasteful? And it’s not like it is for ever. I’ll do this for maybe a couple of months, see what happens, then start including things one by one.

On a different note -newfound respect for people dining out with allergies..! Wow. Tried going to an Italian restaurant without having tomatoes or dairy. She hooked me up with something eventually, but looked as uncomfortable and shocked as I felt. What if one’s allergic to dairy and don’t like tomatoes? Or just a vegan with a fucked up vegetable palette? I almost just asked for plain pasta, melted butter in a cup with a cucumber on the side.

On a positive note I had waffles for dinner yesterday. Which is fun. I can now and simply must now just eat whatever I can of whatever the fuck I can, at ALL times. I am very aware of this not turning into a negative excluding and perfecting of my diet. And so far I’ve actually eaten more “real foods” than I’d normally do. Probably because I never satisfy my real cravings. Like chocolate or ice cream, yoghurt and fruits. Never realized how much fruit I ate..

Things I do ignore though (one must also live and I would actually have to jump out of my kitchen window) includes the following:

White wine and sparkling wine (I avoid red wine, spirits and beer. Luckily cocktails’ve never been my thing. Red’s definitely the worst for rosacea and makes me swell up like a roasted tomato before bursting-point. So I’ve been avoiding that for a while now..)

Coffee

Exercise

It also says stress everywhere, which makes me laugh. Like if it was an option any of us would chose to do so.

And that’s it for this post. Happy eating and have a great rest of the week! I’m feeling strong and positive, quite stoked actually to have a whole new focus on my eating.

It’s all about what we CAN do to make our situation better. Not what we CAN’T do! Go, Us!!

Feeling as open and ready for a world full of wonders as these curtains we were forced to experience in the most random hotel I’ve ever been in, look. You’ve guessed it. Not Italy. Germany. Ugliest fucking thing I’ve ever seen.

Now, did someone say pancakes for breakfast? I think I did.

Loose and living!

by  on  in The fashion, The skin • 5 Comments

I’ve always had a thing for oversized clothes. I’ve always felt cool and edgy in loose fitted pants, large sweaters. I love the way fabric falls when it’s not too tight, sudden glimpses of body-shape as you move.. Some say a smile is your best accessory, not sure I agree on that all the time, but I do think that being comfortable in your body and outfit is key to being sexy. Even when I’m wearing fitted clothes I always make sure I can move, breathe and eat in it. Sucking in and pulling down skirts and tops is just never.. just, no.

And when I feel extra.. insecure about myself and my body, I’ll go really oversized. Total savior and I recommend everyone should have at least one outfit like that for dressing up or going out. Also perfect for those bloated days..

I got this (picked out and chose myself obviously) wrap dress for my birthday in january. In Large. It was already oversized, but when I go for it I love going All in when possible! Never fear size labels. Don’t even look at them. Fuck ’em. I have a dress in XL too as a matter of fact. Sizes also vary sooo much. It’s ridiculous how one M equals XS in a different brand. (There are measurements, you know)

These were taken from our honeymoon. I felt so uncomfortable that day. Like an elephant. But the relief of putting this on.. I felt good. Really, really good.

(Note the standard hotel wineglass. A water glass. Because why go through the trouble of asking for a proper one. What am I, royal?)

Except, you know, the shoes. Humidity and high heels just doesn’t work for me. I swear I gain ten sizes.

But sometimes you gotta woman up. Especially when you’re only riding the elevator to dine at the hotel restaurant and going straight to bed at eleven afterwards like a champ.

That glow though. Felt pretty that day. Amazing what fresh air, sun and swimming does to you.

I also love smudging my lipstick. Like you just made out with someone you shouldn’t have in a dark alley. I’ve never been very keen on being one of those women who has to check up on her lips after every bite she consumes. I’m too messy for that.

I don’t know about you, but it’s saturday and I’m going on a double date tonight. And I’m smudging my shit, loosening that belt, eating and sipping’ and laughing my heart out!

Free the nipples, breasts -FREE IT ALL THIS SUMMER!

by  on  in Philosophy, The fashion, The life, The skin • 11 Comments

I actually wrote long ago I didn’t quite get the whole Free the nipple movement. I’ve always felt quite free in the breast- and nipple department, going to the beach topless for example. I stopped wearing a bra around sixteen.. In 2006. I remember people paying attention to it for a second, one person even called me Vici-nipple actually. But when you yourself treat something like a natural thing, not giving people the reaction they hoped to get out of you (never do -hold your ground), they soon lose interest and move on to the next subject.

(I’ve always written Vici btw, since I discovered this pattern of name-calling when I was four. So it’s always been Vici. Not Vicky, or anything else).

So I’ve never actually cared, therefore I didn’t get involved in the movement. I realize now everyone hasn’t been able to walk around so  freely. So Power to it, Free The Nipple!! I always felt I have the right to wear whatever I wanted, show just as much as I felt like. To love my breasts and everything about them. I also, still do, feel a sort of empowerment wearing something that accentuates them in a natural way. Be that something slightly see-through, something really tight, something loose fitted to let my perfectly natural shaped breasts chill the fuck out and breathe freely. You may experience some people having trouble keeping their eyes off of your breasts, with them hanging there freely and all, getting quite uncomfortable, not being able to stop staring at your natural and free nipples.. Something I personally really enjoy. People have been making me uncomfortable since I was sixteen.. Here’s my artillery, staring right back at ’em! But even though turning a head or two -keep at it! If that’s your chests’ and hearts’ desire, toss that bra! I know I’ve never looked back.

Anyways.. here’s a couple of pictures I think are beautiful as hell!

Ok I realize this last one, she is wearing some sort of bra here on her wedding day. But she’s SUCH a role-model and gets another picture. The fabulous, Hanne Gaby Odiele :

ROSACEA

by  on  in The skin • 14 Comments

Did you know.. Rosacea is a quite common inflammatory skin disorder and affects five to ten percent of the worlds population? And there is no cure! Just “hot” tips like avoiding cold and hot weather; big changes in temperature. Wind. Fun dietary stuff like spicy food, chocolate and alcohol. No hot baths (temperature changes). No hot beverages for that matter. Definitely a temperature themed list, this. No sweating, long showers ar any kind of contact involving your skin and.. anything really. Including the sun. Mental health issues. Stress.

Living, basically, makes your rosacea worse.

LOL.

I only avoid one of these so-called triggers. Spicy food. It pretty much makes my face lit up like a Christmas tree just thinking about it.

I can imagine this being a bigger issue with people with fairer, paler skin living up north. And can get really really bad! Have you ever seen those older men with big red lumpy noses? Chances are he’s likely to have rosacea. Really bad rosacea, rhinophyma, but there are different stages. I have stage 1-2 rosacea. And going to that dermatologist for the first time was a huge relief. So check it out if you’re wondering. You can get better and should treat it.

Throwing in a picture that doesn't really show a rosacea outbreak, but still seemed relevant.

I’ve tried laser treatment, antibiotics, various creams and cleansers, beta blockers to slow down heartbeat therefore blushing, soaps; everything in the house (I’m talking vinegar and citrus to clean around the house) that comes in contact with skin and/or airways is without perfume and other stuff we know ain’t good for us. My deodorant has perfume. There. I said it. But that’s it.

BUT! Nothing’s worked. No wonder really, the amount of stress I experience every day. My blushing has become such an issue for me I can’t even imagine walking out the door without a heavy coat of foundation. The thick kind, not this bb/cc cream shit. So no one would guess that I had it. And there’s a direct link I might add, just sprinkle it on the top of the icing of this beautiful flaring cake, between rosacea, depression and social anxiety. Which is awesome.

 

BUT! AGAIN! I tried another dermatologist a few months ago, and started a new skin line treatment which includes seven fucking steps and practically ruined me financially (can’t put a prize on happiness, ey?). But I have a good feeling about this! Your skin cycle is six weeks, and for optimal results it’ll take five months of treatment every day. I know from experience that everything seems the darkest before light, and I’m currently in that stage where my skin is peeling (like after sunburns etc?), burning like you wouldn’t believe, a couple of welcomed zits made their way the other day, and everything feels.. tight! That’s a good word for it. Tight. And painful. But I’m in good spirits! If I can feel the fresh air on naked skin at the end of this in public without dying of shame I’ll be even happier than my happiest self. And will celebrate by dragging a hot tub out in the cold wind with people watching, with a glass of alcohol and a bar of chocolate after a really intense workout.

The temporary symptoms means something is happening, though! A positive attitude, I believe, is very important here also. Try…try to accept my blushing. I need not be perfect. Perfection involves blushing.

Here’s the products I’m currently using

ZO Medical, by dr. Zein Obagi.

World renowned dermatologist and possible lifesaver. I’m counting on you, Zaobagi. Gogabiz. Zegabo. Zozo.

To all, rosacea victims or not, ALWAYS remember to take care of your skin. Cleanse, moisturize, handle gently and always use sun screen. Basically only psoriasis really benefits from the sun. So protect it. Happy skin – Happy peoples!

Laying the groundworks for infinite champagne and cake

by  on  in Beauty, The fashion, The life, The skin • 5 Comments

Bergen is today providing another perfect excuse to go away for a long weekend with my family.

So fucking stoked.

AND the three of us are divided between two rooms. My husband is joining us for one night due to work. Thank The Universe !

I’m traveling lightly. Airline norwegian is being a fucking bitch again charging all of my money for luggage besides carry-on. So! only carry-on for moi. Which I’m freaking a little bit out about. Not that I’m one of those people who bring entire wardrobe, squeezed in like emergency options together with ten of it’s family members. No. I am not. I just want them to be able to breathe. Because I only bring the really good stuff when I’m going away. Not the shit that’s been lying around three moves ago.

One must definitely not bring garments like this one though. The best of stuffs.

-the most special ones you love so so much, people with children wouldn't even recognize that kind of love

Which I wore last Saturday to this fabulous spot’s Champagne-lunches, Bien Bar.

What’s also fabulous is this interview VG -Min Mote did.

dis one right here

Another fabulous thing that happened last weekend is the little one gave me these shoes.

Wouldn’t have bought them myself, but I like them. She bought them because who has the strength to walk away from a good bargain? Plus she has freakishly small feet. She’s what that best friend in Pretty Woman would call Cinde-fucking-rella.

My feet on the other hand – very normal.

I therefore have quite the high hopes for this weekend.

Calling all forces initiating Process to perfection. We’re talking washing. Scrubbing. Trimming. Cutting. Sculpting. Spackling. Painting.

Moisturizing.

When I have time I want to feel as ready for anything possible when going on holiday. There’s also the fact that a holiday is also a temporary demise of your temple of a body. So you wanna even things out a bit -prepare a certain quota, if you will. (I’m a control freak, we’ve established this, and I have a problem)

I drink a lot of champagne, okay. I need to start hydrated.

Have a FABULOUS WEEKEND !!!

Or not.

Netflix is my best friend as well.

I’d choose red over orange any day

by  on  in The life, The skin • 7 Comments

This weekend has been filled with women, love and wine. Beautiful. All though the little one was greatly missed, an orange orangutan took over the world and mr. poet died it’s been perfect.

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Exhausted though. Obviously should have listened to body more and gotten some downtime. But sometimes you simply can’t leave the party early.

Today I’ve been paying for it working my ass off. So now I’m removing my warpaint and chilling the fuck down.

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Good news is my rosacea is simply flourishing. Which always puts me in a GREAT mood because social media has taught me that I’m nothing if I don’t have even skintone.
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But my outfit and corset’s coming along nicely. So it’s all good.
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Very excited for this trip. Not only are we entering a new world now that we know this country has a completely different perception of what women are, but we get to see the little one again..!!

And I really need to see her now.

Plus I love long flights. Besides being unhygienic. They have the latest movies and you don’t have to feel bad about not doing anything for ten hours besides sit. Which is probably why I love road trips as well. Now I just have to work really hard to get hydrated before the flight on tuesday. Starting off dehydrated would just not be ideal.

Now, netflix, help me disconnect for a couple of hours before bed.

Over.

Errr mrrr Gerrrd

by  on  in Philosophy, The life, The skin, Wedding • 3 Comments

Jeg gifter meg i morgen

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OG SE SÅ FIN HUDEN MIN ER??!

Dette bildet to jeg med en gang jeg våknet. Før jeg tisset. Så dette er mah feelz for realz.

Beklager for den der.

I dag kommer det til å gå i ett, og jeg kan nesten ikke vente med å besøke lokalet. Pynte ferdig. Å, herregud jeg kribler i hele meg når jeg tenker på det og klør skikkelig i fingrene til å begynne. Også skal jo det hele rundes av med en drink på fine Lysverket før jeg drar på hotell med hun første og hun lille. Herregud så gøy.

Jeg anbefaler alle å gifte seg minst én gang.

I mellomtiden når bipolariteten nye høyder og jeg beklager på forhånd til alle gjestene.

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But dis my day and I don’t give a shit

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clichéin it up

by  on  in Beauty, The skin, Wedding • 2 Comments

I dag tidlig forlot jeg landet. Mamma og pappa har vært fantastiske i mitt lille bryllupshysteri. Mamma har også satt en solsikke, riktignok en falsk en, i blomsterpotten for meg. Jeg elsker solsikker. Har faktisk tatovert en på halve overkroppen.

Jeg er en solsikke.

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Så gikk jeg hjem og jobbet helt til jeg ble stolt av meg selv. Før jeg tok en skikkelig jentekveld alene. Han andre kommer tross alt hjem i morgen, og jeg skal jo faktisk gifte meg (om du ikke hadde fått med deg det) om ca en uke. En og en halv.

Jeg er klar.

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Har bestilt tusen produkter (…) fra Mario Badescu. Blandt de en beroligende ansiktsmaske de mente var et must for rosaceafolk. Har aldri hatt noe særlig tiltro til ansiktsmasker de da de alltid virker som de plager huden min mer enn de roer den. Men dette merket.. virker som det funker. Krysser fingrene for at dette kan bli et langvarig forhold basert på loyalitet og tillit.

Også laget jeg denne kveldsmaten. Og det var så godt det at jeg måtte ta et bilde. Vær så god.

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Who’s a bridal cliché?

spa

Ask my face

by  on  in The life, The skin • 2 Comments

Er over det der med brudekjolen.

Nå er det så mye annet i fokus at jeg ikke har tid til å tenke på hvordan jeg ser ut. Rosaceaen har også blomstret ut i all sin prakt og ligger der og ulmer. Pulserende under foundationen.

Nice.

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Har jo vært en del på landet i det siste. Vært en del i båt og nytt båtlivet og alt som hører med. Mamma sin gamle genser for eksempel.

Og praktisering av noe som bare kan være aktiv kognitiv terapi gjennom ufrivillig eksponering.

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Jeg hater fortsatt fugler og hadde sparket den svanen hadde den kommet nærmere.

Har heldigvis alltid med midler for å døyve det hele post-encounter når jeg er på båt.

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Har virkelig nytt sminkefrie dager fylt med masse sunn mat (prøver å holde rosaceaen i sjakk ved å unngå e-stoffer -ikke en dårlig idé uansett, men veldig kjedelig når det beste du vet er vingummi), lite alkohol og gode stunder på yogamatten og i de mest perfekte løpeforhold.. Har følt meg ganske bra faktisk. Samtidig som jeg føler jeg har gjort alt jævlig rett og egentlig burde følt meg bedre.

Men sånn er det. Skal jo gifte meg om under to uker og begynner å kjenne på at jeg ikke helt vet hva det innebærer eller hva jeg føler og forventer. Ikke at giftermålet er skummelt,  mest dagen. Er ganske mye på én dag for en som meg. Og jeg har hatt noen tilfeller i det siste der jeg burde vært veldig glad og bare ikke har klart å bli det. Ble kjempelei meg i dag av å tenke på at det kunne skje på Dagen. Det har jeg vært redd ganske lenge egentlig, men etter helgen ble det for realz liksom.. Så det må jeg prøve å ikke tenke på.

Så jeg skyver tankene over på alt som må gjøres. Og med han andre på jobb føles det også plutselig litt overveldende. I tillegg postet den DUMME mobilen min et instagraminnlegg før jeg var ferdig med det, Schibsted prøver å ringe meg uten at jeg klarer å ta den, fra nytt nummer HVER GANG! Jeg hater nye ting og spesielt dyre tekniske ting. Hater, hater, hater!!! Er den klar over hva for angst som raser gjennom kroppen når et ikke-godkjent innlegg bare laster seg ut i den store verden?!!! Og kjære Schibsted, jeg vet ikke hvem dere er eller hva dere vil, men jeg har lagret tre av nummerene deres! Kan dere ikke ringe fra et av de neste gang?!

Herregud, ikke rart jeg har utslett mellom bryna. Har jo en verden av bekymring mellom der.

Og det svir.

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

by  on  in Beauty, Philosophy, The fashion, The life, The skin, Uncategorized • 4 Comments

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.

Undressed

by  on  in Beauty, The life, The skin • 2 Comments

Dette er vinduet på rommet mitt når jeg er hos mamma og de. Ganske magisk og noe helt annet enn Landås.

Mamma har også gått så langt for meg at hun har kjøpt sånn netting du nesten ikke kan se -den er så fin i hullene, som gjør at edderkopper og andre uvelkomne ikke kommer inn.

Magisk.
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Her ligger jeg og strekker morgenene så langt de kan strekkes imens måkeskrik og frisk sjøluft rytmisk finner veien inn gjennom nettingen.

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Også kan jeg sitte her og maile (mest om bryllupsrelaterte greier), researche og blogge. Det er også ganske fantastisk.

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Akkurat nå for eksempel sitter jeg med kaffe og havregrøten min og tar inn den deilige utsikten imens jeg ganske bekymret har frykinngytende flashback over mine opphovnede fingre denne morgenen som måtte kjempe til jeg nesten ble svett når jeg prøvde gifteringen igjen. Må jeg kanskje utvide den litt, eller skal jeg satse på at jeg ikke er hoven på dagen og bare aldri ta den av igjen? Hadde det ikke vært for dette bryllupet og hele giftermålet hadde jeg aldri gått med ring. Det er jo igrunn litt jævlig.

På andre siden kan jeg ikke tenke meg et liv uten lenger og føler meg naken og lost når jeg tar den av. Mest bekymret kanskje, sånn egentlig. Den er faktisk det mest verdifulle jeg eier. Rent pengemessig. Snakker ikke om sånn følelsesmessig-kodemessig. Går verden under er det den som gjør at jeg kommer til å leve i mange måneder til liksom, da jeg sikkert bare kommer til å spise boksmat og bruke føttene som fremkomstmiddel. Noe jeg er rimelig sikker på.

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I’M A FUCKING WARRIOR

by  on  in Beauty, Philosophy, The fashion, The life, The skin, Uncategorized • 2 Comments

TODAY. IS. THE. DAY. THIS. LITTLE. ONES. FIRST. ALBUM. IS. OUT.

I scare the shit out of my fiancé this morning screaming from the living room to “Put the thing on!”

I’ve actually heard the album at my parents house already. This did almost nothing for me. But today everyone can hear the record and I guess knowing that does stuff to my insides so that I find myself laughing out loudly like a crazy person whilst tears are running down my still tired looking face, the speakers blasting with “Lucky”, looking at my fiancé as if to search for some sign in his face that confirms that the music makes him too understand something with me that the rest of the world just can’t.

And he does.

Poor man, he’s gone off to his bikram yoga now, couldn’t hold back a tear either and starts laughing with me. WHAT a way to start a day.

THANK YOU.
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Now, everything is connected, I know that. And things have been shit lately, I’m exhausted about it and he must be exhausted, and then this. Not only are we in awe of this little person traveling all over the world working her petite ass off doing things she loves and hates because who cares (a lot of them do actually -she has great people around her but you know money and all), we are impressed by her courageous lyrics, great fucking mood all the fucking time and her voice that goes so deep and gets the message and cry for love through in the loudest and clearest way.

I’ve actually never felt less norwegian. I’m so fucking proud. And I’m not even.. gonna encourage you to buy the fucking record, because you know you’ll be missing out on greatness missing out on AURORA.

Well done, my little one.