Ostrich in the sand?!

Everyone has (or does regularly, say every Saturday night) sent silly, sad, angry, loving, caring or just plain stupid text messages while under the influence of alcohol. I have to admit I am no exception and does this fairly frequently. Mostly harmless stuff no one would take notice off, sometimes with more delicate content I then have to excuse the next day.

Up til last year this was really no problem as my phone never stored sent messages and if I suspected that stupid messages had been sent I could just let it go with a quick, "oh, I was drunk last night, hope you didn't take offence or anything" and the other person would say, "no, can't remember a thing either, no worries."

Now however all sent messages are automatically stored and I find myself waking up the next day thinking "WHAT THE?", did I actually write that?? As a reponse to what?? I quickly check the inbox, but find it empty as I delete most messages as soon as I get them and therefore often have no recollection of what absurd things I've dignified with an answer. As a combat to this rather akward, not to mention embarrazing sensation I have gone on auto-pilot and now automatically deletes sent messages as soon as they are written, just to limit the number of evidences of my intricate behaviour.

A bit like an ostrich in the sand actually. Dig, dig, schuffle, schuffle. Big hole, a bit bigger. Head in. Sand on top. What I can not see is not a problem, and therefore not an issue at all.

A bit like my trip to Nicaragua. It's next Friday and I'm jotting off at 4am in the morning. Haven't considering locating my passport even. But as long as I am not going tomorrow it's not a problem. I have the time of the day.

Gotta realize soon that one day I will be going tomorrow.

Hallmark, go to...

It started in early January. Two days after news years, I am at work and unknowingly opens an email from one of my company's partners. "IT IS NOT TOO LATE!" What is not too late I think, and continue reading the email, only to be brutally reminded of my then very lonely marital status. "Get your Valentins Day lollies NOW" I work at a pretty reputable firm, and get sent this kind of junk more than five weeks before the actualy Hallmark-sponsored holiday?! I quickly deleted the email, marked the sender as spam for future reference and have ignored the topic since.

Today, I am again reminded, by tons of flower-carrying men, chocolate deliveries and big red hearts everywhere, that yes, that time of year has again arrived. The day where single people should go out, get drunk and have fun, and couply people be true to their loved ones. I am not sure which is the worst.

Anyway, without much further comment, I will just say that Valentins Day is a bit like New Years Eve. Extremely oppskrytt. If you want to improve your life, don't wait til December 31st to reveal the new you, do it today.

And if you love someone, show them every day, not when Maceys tell you to.

Mom, I have chocolate in my eye

Welcome to the weird and wonderful world of Warsaw! Back in November, Christine and I decided we were sick of Oslo, the cold winter, expensive drinks and boring people. So, what do you do? You get a cheap flight to a country you haven't been to before, book yourself into the fanciest hotel I've ever stayed at, buy beer by the litre and get a spa treatment consisting of chocolate. And that is after you've had chocolate waffles and hot chili hot chocolat for lunch. It was an undescribebly good feeling being covered in chocolate sauce and wrapped in plastic foil like a piece of Kong Haakon konfekt, and the scent of chocolate stayed in your skin for hours afterwards. But enough of the sweet talking. Warsaw was a lot more than cookies and cream.

First of all the sun was shining. That was good, because both Christine and me had been missing it, so naturally, two happy chaps when it decided to come and see us.


Second of all, Warsaw was the home to one of the biggest crimes towards humanity during the Second World War. Hundreds of thousands of Jews were gathered in a ghetto on the west bank of the river, and when the Germans got sick of them, either killed or sent to the concentration camps. It was very special following the footsteps of the heroes of the ghetto who had uprised against the authorioties, yet the only thing left to remember them was an engraved stone in a suburbian neighboorhood. Very sad, but people must not forget.

Peace out.