My Hair Keeps Falling Out.

Det er lenge siden sist, så nå er det sannelig på tide å gi litt livstegn fra seg igjen. Sommerferien har vært typisk norsk, rimelig grå. Det er sånn som trønderne sier, "Hadde jeg visst dette var sommeren ville jeg ikke gått på do".

Jeg kom nettopp på at jeg har kommet inn på et studie, der jeg ikke vet noe om relaterte yrker. Er ikke det spennende? De to mest innlysende yrkene er forskning og lærer, kanskje en fin blanding av de to. Takk gåsa, det fins yrkesmesser. Kort oppsummert vil det si at jeg kommer til å studere Molekylær Biologi og Biologisk Kjemi, ved universitetet i Oslo til høsten.

Fingrene min kribler etter å bla gjennom utallige bøker fylt med kunnskap. Forhåpentligvis vil ikke dette endre seg etter den første måneden. Vanligvis starter man, ihvertfall jeg, det nye skoleåret så full av energi og iver at selv duracell blir sjalu. Uheldigvis, etterhvert som dagene snegler avgårde og lærerne siler spenningen ut av faget, begynner energien sakte å ebbe ut av kroppen. Denne gangen håper jeg historien ikke vil gjenta seg.

Jeg har svært mange forventninger og omtrent alle er fullstendig urealistiske. Livet mitt kommer nok ikke til å endre seg på en dramatisk og spennende måte bare fordi jeg begynner å studere, hvis ikke en av professorene mine eller en medstudent er en vampyr fra 1800-tallet og blir hodestups forelsket i meg. Overgangen fra elev til student vil sannsynligvis gå rolig for seg, men så har jeg aldri vært spesielt begavet i sannsynlighetsregning så hva vet nå jeg? Uansett, håper jeg at en av mine hundre forventninger skråstrek ønsker vil gå i oppfyllelse. Jeg håper jeg vil trives. Jeg håper at studiet jeg har valgt passer hjerte mitt, slik at jeg slipper å bruke tre års av livet mitt for så å finne ut at jeg egentlig brenner for astronomi, istedenfor biologi. At jeg får ivrige og dyktige professorer. At jeg trives sammen med de andre studenten. At jeg kommer til å klare det.

Jeg. Håper. Jeg. Vil. Trives.

Spit In My Face.

You know those big-ass purses, and how things just seem to vanish the second they have been placed into one of these big-ass purses? Well today my big-ass purse, that really isn't that big,went completely Mary Popins, and not in a magical oh-this-is-great-now-I-can-carry-around-loads-of-enormous-useless-stuff-like-furniture-in-my-bag kind of way. It was more of an annoying discover, I figure Columbus must have felt the same way when he completely failed in his task in finding India and instead discovered an already found country. You see I discovered to major holes in the inner lining of my purse, we're talking hidden compartment within a hidden compartment. The hidden contents contained: 5 pairs of eye lenses, 2 lip glosses, 3 pens, 2 eye drop bottles, and 6 packs of gum. All of which I've been frantically searching for.

Are. You. Kidding. Me.

Sucking The Blood Right Out Of Me.

Okay so I decided not to write about Twilight awhile back, mostly because it would be a very hateful rant. I figured there was little point in discussing my disdain, and I did not wish to be a platform for its promotion, not that the series would need it, or that my sentences would make a difference. So I choose not to write about the unoriginal plot, where-girl-falls-head-over-heels-for-dangerous-and-slightly-wounded-boy, the lack of character development, themes, and motifs, and not to mention the infantile grammar. To this day the word "smouldering" gives me the gebbies. Granted Meyers deserves some credit for creating such a sucsessfull money-wagon, but her skills as a writer are lacking. The part that really twists my knickers is that her fictitious world is filled to the brim with pink-fluffy so-called "vampires" who glitter in the light. Which is also a reason for why I did not wish to discuss the book, since I would feel the need to compare it to real vampire literature, such as Bram Stoker's Dracula and Anna Rice's vampiric realm. I was not going to mention any of this. However it is fair to say that my cup runneth over after scanning a newspaper article my mother was about to through away.

The article was basically a how to guide on becoming Bella or a seriously lame vampire. promoting vampire lip gloss, vampire wine, a cookbook that consists of all the dishes Bella makes, and even referrers to a website dedicated to quote unquote "twilight stuff", the words"sleep like Bella" made my soul want to shrivel up and die.

Now I understand that people are different, and I am not saying there is anything wrong with those who like twilight, I am just saying their brain has some faulty wiring, and that they should look into it. No, but Seriously. Granted it's a little sad that people think vampires are like the Cullens, but if it makes you happy I am certainly not going to take it away from you. I just think the healthy interest has turned into more of a blind worship and devotion, where the fanaticism has become worrisome. Now I've never understood this kind of behaviour, which might be why I do not understand the twilight phenomenon. I understand the need to "need", or wanting to lose yourself in an other story because it's more interesting that your story. I understand all the whys to a fixation. Believe me I do.

The thing that strikes me as weird is going to such great lengths in bringing your own fantasies to life. (In my experience when fantasies become spoken words reality always comes crashing down) I realize I can only speak for myself. All the same for me fantasies and thoughts are private and personal. My fingers just went a little numb after typing that sentence. I guess it betrays me into some-what of a bigot. So to clarify I feel their are several different kinds of thoughts. Some are "innocent", and easily shared, blog-worthy), some are strange, and some are so personal you, at least I, can not share them without difficulty because they render you completely naked, stripping you down to the core of raw emotions. It is here my deepest thoughts lies beside my obsession, and that is why I would not want the corporate commercialism to taint my pure compulsion. Since on some days that little escape is all one has, and what escape would it be, if it was destroyed by consumerism?

Give Me Your Heart And I'll Love You Till Tuesday.

This is how I picture, summer vacation:

A capital Fffin' awesome haze!

I am so excited about finally leaving this boring place, where I have so much fugging responsibility, and spend a week at our cottage with my bestest friend, and only reader. It feels like I've been awake for three days straight on nothing other than red bull, although I've never actually tasted it, and coffee. My body's an earthquake of anticipation.

I can't wait to get lost in all the fun we'll have. All the insanity. You know I almost left last weekend. my thoughts: "I'm just-gonna-leave-now-and-to-hades-with-my-job-and-priorities-I-won't-even-pack-because-I-want-to-leave-this-instant” Then I realized I would be alone and alone crazy just isn't easy to explain, while as we're-two-girl-having-a-laugh. Is not only a get out of jail free card, but it is also a lot more fun. So damn it I waited for you to return, and now we're leaving.

I've had it up to here with responsibility and priorities. In just a simple week I've had a MAJOR life altering break though, packaged with several epiphanies, which could have really made my life extremely easier "growing up". I figure since I haven't grown any taller in at least a year, I am all grown up, and even though researcher say the brain is fully evolved between the ages 19- 20 years. I am guessing they mean human years and not ape years or donkey years or I-don't-give-a-rats-ass years. Since I am going with human years I am either finished or I will be in 1.5 months, or 47 days to be exact, not that I'm counting. I basically just pimped the numbers into my slut-calculator. Yeah, you could say I keep my pimp hand strong, and you'd be correct in that assumption, I just noticed assumption, said really fast sounds like "ass hump". I'm just pointing out the small subliminal messages of the English language. No wonder I thought my English teacher wanted me, not in a "I want you to deliver your pagers on time", but in a wantingly wanting need for me to just deliver.

So, I'm done growing physically, just not mentally. I don't really think that part ever stops. Now, I could sit here and debate whether or not it stops near the end of ones life, but that's just too flippin' depressing. Besides the body starts deteriorating the second there's something to break down.

Mmm. Long rant huh? Want a summary?

Summary:
I'aint gon' grow no mo'
I had me sum' breakthou's

See you on the flipside!

Glittertits

Gather around little children, it's time to play a little game. Well, it's not that little.

Endelig ble jeg ferdig med eksamene mine og du vet hva det betyr? You guessed it freedom, more specific work. I know what you're thinking, "Oh, poor moron, don't you see you're trading one hell for another?"
What? You weren't thinking that? Well, screw you. I'm still psychic, and my name's Merete! and at least this hell pays, granted not as much as you mom, but more than studying does.

Aside from that not much has happened, so as usual not much has changed.
Oh, I was going through some random pictures, that were randomly lying around in a randomly random position, and I thought "Hey, I should take a look, maybe there a pretty picture of a pretty bird there" Need I say more there were several. You see I just happened to stumble over proof that somebody is stalking me. Yes, you heard me I have proof. Nobody believed me. You all thought I was insane but HA! Here is the damn proof. So you can all kiss. My. Pimply. Ass!

I was in such a shock it's wasn't 'till I was washing of the blood off my hands, I even knew they were dead... Wait that didn't happen to me. Seriously though it's a little freaky, slightly perverse and highly satisfying.

Everyone should have a stalker it really does boost your confidance, while at the same time forces you to be cautious, and just a little parinoid.

Catch yah on the flipside!

Emailing Myself & Replying

I wrote this the day before last.

So here is the problem I'm faced with today. No, it is not tying my shoelaces. I'm not completely incompetent. I have people for that. My problem is two ladies, and I'm the only man. That's not really a problem is it, and sadly not my problem slash... fun?
My problem is I feel like bitching, because I'm so fraking tired.
Bitching numero uno: My eyes are sore from lack of sleep.

...What. You were expecting more complaining? Well, Kathinka so was I. Then I realized I was about eight stories tall and a crustacean from the protozoic era. Well not exactly. I'm a 2.26 feet homosapien. Although I guess heterosapian would more accurately describe the human race. Simply because homo equals “the same” and hetro is the equivalent of “different”. Now I have yet to see two 100% identical individuals both mentally and physically. I mean not even conjoined slash Siamese twins are exactly the same. However! Since we are but mammals doing as they do on the discovery channel, I don't really care. Where was I? Ah! From the cenozoic era (that took forever to find, but now you know were we are on the geological timeline).

It was about that time that I realized I was a 2.26 feet homosapien from the cenozoic era, that a beam of light hit my naked eyeball and momentarily singed my retina. Yes, I was not wearing any form of protectional eye device thingamajiggy. Fortunately this was only temporary. Thanks for you concern.

So you see my temporary blindness obliterated ever shred of complaint. And instead set my brainwaves, or lack there of, in a completely new direction, or just continued flat lining but with more intensity. Because this could only mean one of three things.
1. My death ray is still faulty and bitching will not make it lethal.
2. The cylons are here.
3. A giant star has awakened from it's deep slumber and decided to slap me across my face.

I think it's the latter. Which if you translate from Geek to English you end up with: “YAY sun!”

My Addiction

It's always the same. Minutes become hours. Morning turns to night, and before I can say ''twins'' I've stayed awake three days straight. Days just seem to melt together.

Honestly who would give up the chance to play God? I decide who lives and who dies. I control their every move. Atleast until their bloody emotions get in the way. Damn free will! But seriously I do have a tendency of losing myself in games. I recently started playing sims agian after a long needed break, and I haven't been able to stop. There's so much to do, and there aren't any frakin' loading screens. My Gods how I hated those frakin' loading screens. The only problem is my sims 3 version (store bought) has a major glitch and blue screens ever so often. Also I keep getting twins. What is up with that?! This is my story. An epic tale of my addiction to Sims.

I made a much cooler sim version of myself, and added a stud who would shut up and do as he's told. Gotta keep them men in there place, can't be givin' them no false hope. Anyway I named them Kara and Icarus. Believe it or not they hit it off right away, and after some avatar love scenes, Kara became a journalist and Icarus completed his lifetime ambitions of joining the police force. It didn't take long before offers came rolling in, and after reaching the top of his career Icarus decided he had seen enough action, and took an early retirement. Instead wanting to help Kara with her gardening. Kara, now owning half of the city, decided to take a break from the stressful life of business, choosing to focus on her dream of becoming a famous best selling author. However after a romantic evening, two bottles of wine and some serious role-playing. Kara became ill, she was indeed with child.

Icarus tried to help her out as much as he could even reading that damn pregnancy book. However unlike Icarus, Kara wasn't fond of being a frakin' baby machine, and decided not to think about the little monster growing inside her. Almost fearing the birth. When it was time to get to the hospital, she had to drive herself, since her good for nothing husband was too scared to even be in the same room as her. Icarus was obviously more potent then your average Joe and they ended up with twins. Two beautiful girls, named Leia ,and Domino. Money being tight Icarus decided to step up and re-enter the workplace, accepting a top secret position at the science laboratory. Kara finally having hit it big with her last book “The Return of the Bunny”, made a life altering decision to change genre from sci-fi to fantasy, after her publicist told her there was more money to be made and a much larger audience. Ah the sacrifices one makes to ensure a good life for ones brats.

Icarus was invited to an after work dinner party. Which would have been a friendly affair had it not been for some guy called Cycl0n3, one of Kara's colleague. Icarus being the hothead he is decided to give him a piece of his mind. What kind of a name is Cycl0n3 anyway, and the bastard was getting a little too friendly with his woman! Oddly enough Mr. 'I have a loft filled with bimbos' didn't take to well to Icarus calling his mom a llama, and then slapping him is a manly fashion. Of course Cyl0n3 won the fight with some cheap shots, but not before Icarus had declared him his nemesis. Luckily Icarus still has some questionable contracts from his old days as an undercover agent. Needless to say Mr. Cyl0n3 mysteriously disappeared after a fishing trip in the mountains. He didn't stand a chance.

Bundle of joy my ars, more like Satan's little helpers. Both the girl were a wad of energy, and loved waking in the middle of the night. Since Icarus was often “away at work” helping his boss with important “research”, Kara spends more time with the girls then he did, at least when the moon was out. Ever so often Icarus would take the girls out, to the park, so to spend some quality time. Of course one time the incompetent fool set Domino down on the grass and went home. And of course the neighbours went haywire when she began to cry. So as usual Kara had to clean up his mess and talk to the outraged neighbours.

It was clear from the very beginning that Domino was more logical then Leia and learned to walk and talk before her 1 minute older sister, who instead wanted to play with Bill the Bear. A toy Icarus had found in the trash, as he was gathering information on the neighbourhood hoodlum Joe. The girls grew up quickly as children often do. Much to their parents amazement. It didn't take long before they were both getting straight A's in school. On they're sixteenth birthday however the two twins developed different personalities, Leia taking after her mother started writing and became more interested in boys, much to Icarus' dismay. While as Domino seemingly keeping a her focus on her studies, began to sneak out after curfew so she could live out her secret desire of becoming a professional musician.

I should probably stop playing, but I just can't.