A little extreme, yet somewhat familiar

I go tycoon! Or something...

A couple of weeks ago, I registered my own business. The other day, I got my approval letter from the Powers That Be. Now I suddenly have an obsession with going to stores and looking at office supplies that I don't really need. 

I just know that this enterprise will be a huge triumph, because I already have the two things that all offices need to succeed. First, there's my lucky stormtrooper. 

His name is Dwayne and you might feel sorry for him, seeing how he is strapped by the neck to the speaker like that, but it's for his own good. He keeps trying to throw himself into Pooch's water bowl. Actually, he does look a bit depressed... Even a depressed stormtrooper can bring you luck, though. 

The second thing, is my tardis mug. I mean, what isn't awesome about a Tardis mug? And it's almost as big as my head. I can fit enough whatever in there to last me through the entire day and have me running to the loo the whole evening. 

You just wait and see; this is going to be huge! 

April Whatnots

Thoughts and the circus

One day out of every year, Circus Mascot pitches their tent in the field right across the street from our house. They do their thing and then they disappear in the night, while everyone is sleeping. It's very mysterious and strangely fascinating. But anyway... Yesterday morning, I had the pleasure of observing Pooch experience a major WTF moment, as she looked out of the window and saw the circus tent and all the animals out in the field. It was pretty funny. I wish I had taken pictures. Her eyes grew to almost twice their usual size (alright, slight exaggeration), her jaw dropped very slowly, her ears went sorta slack. She looked like she was having a small stroke. Either that, or melting. Then her mouth snapped shut with a clacking sound, her ears pricked up and she pressed her nose against the glass (thanks for that, dog...)

No matter how deeply shocking she thinks the sudden appearance of a circus is, she always forgets about them fairly quickly. Every year, she is every bit as stunned as the year before. Pooch is real cute, but not always bright...

I pretended that zombies were chasing me

The March Whatnots

A couple of weeks ago, I thought that this month would be easy when it came to pictures. I would just aim my phone at easter stuff and photograph my brains out. Then the mister brought some bug home from a seminar, and I spent the whole easter week all sick and stuffed up. We bought truckloads - or at least eggloads - of candy, and I couldn't tell the flavor of anything. One night, the mister made chili, and when that man cooks, he does it as if the apocalypse is set to happen tomorrow and he doesn't want the spices to go to waste. I still couldn't taste much, but it cleared my sinuses a little bit.

So what I'm trying to say, is that you're not getting a lot of pictures of easter things this month, but there's plenty of Pooch in there, as a filler.

Easter mania!

Back in the ol' country, we have our very own Easter tradition. One that I haven't seen anywhere else. It's one of those things that I've missed since I've moved to Denmark. I'm referring to the tradition of blood & gore. Every Easter, the Norwegian people gorge themselves, not only on sugary snacks, oranges and excessive skiing, but on horror and mystery, both on the screen and in books. The term is "Easter chills" and it's a very big deal.

When I was a kid, back when there were very few television channels, each channel would create their own Easter horror/mystery series, and there would be a vote at the of the holidays to see who did the best job. To many Norwegians, Easter is less about Jesus and more about murder and mayhem. And fluffy baby chickens.

Every year, the mister snickers a bit when I get my seasonal craze on, and start dragging branches into the house to be decorated with little, wooden bunnies, or when I start to make googly eyes at chickens-wearing-outfits table decorations.

And every year, we stuff two Easter eggs full of candy and hide them. I hide the misters egg and he hides mine (because I make him). Then I spend forever trying to find mine, becoming both tired and frustrated, while it takes him all of fifteen seconds to find his, no matter how brilliantly I've hidden it.

Every. Friggin. Year.

And yet, he won't be able to find his glasses if I move them ten inches to the right...

The anniversary hunting expedition, sorta

The mister and I had our third anniversary this week. Happy, happy, joy, joy. And we went to InSushi, which is my favourite restaurant out of all of the restaurants in the whole, entire world.

Do you want to know why?

Because, as you sit in your comfortable, red chair by your pretty table, all the food goes right by you on a little conveyor belt, on colourful little plates. What's not to love? It's almost like hunting, only you don't have to sit out in the woods for hours while pine needles dig their way into your ass.

Now the only question is; how fast can I nag the mister into going again?