Let me tell you how March is.

It is March 1st, 12:14 AM, Trondheim Standard Time. (It's actually some other Standard Time, but I refuse to research.)

Current conditions:
-2 Celsius
Light snowfall
Happy roommate and friends in the kitchen
Sara surrounded by the stench of her rummy defeat
KJW still hilarious
Dark

Prepare yourselves, friends stuck in February. Scoff! February is old news.

Good thing my motto is, "No pride, no shame." This would be a shameful moment.

Several times this evening I looked out my window and said, "Look at all the condensation in the air! It's so weird! Like, it's not snowing, but the streetlights are still hard to see."

Then I peered out again and said, "This is so weird! Now there's even MORE water in the air!"

And again, "You'd think the water would join together and fall as rain or snow or something, wouldn't you? What's going on?"

Then I remembered.

Fog.

:-|

How the h did I forget the concept/word for FOG? We have it in Trondheim! This is not the first foggy day! I feel like a fool, a fog fool.

For Shizzle

Quotes in or about Sweden:

"People are going ask, 'What'd you do in Scandinavia?' and I'm going to say, 'I waited for the bus.'" -Clement

"Jackson is the Sweden of the West." -Drew

"For shizzle!" -Romain

We got it, B.

I have decided to be more like Beyonce. To start, I will do the following:

-Create an alter ego for when I'm feeling sassy. Beyonce's other name is Sasha Fierce. So, regular first name plus intimidating adjective.... Got it. Hildegunn ClimateChangey.

-Date a half-a-billionaire. (Not, like, half of a person who is a billionaire, but rather a whole person who has half a billion dollars.) Norway has lots of oil, but the greedy executives are probably taxed like whoa, so after I leave Trondheim, I will move to Saudi Arabia. Or Texas.

-Hire backup dancers. Boyfriend and Julie Andrews - I choose you two. Start practicing.

This is a good start.

Got Gloss on My Lips,
Hildegunn ClimateChangey

Do not howl tonight.

If you were wondering, the moon is in the Waning Crescent stage. It is 3% full.

Speaking of the moon, seven years ago E-Bot and I planned a game of charades with the high school exchange students, and one of the things they had to act out was "lunar cycle."

That remains hilarious.

Similes

It's raining in Trondheim! What!?! It's northern(ish) Norway in February, and it's raining. Not snowing. Here is what rain in Trondheim is like:

-Ludacris in fishnet stockings
-Snow in Seattle (except for the winter of 08/09)
-An effective clothes dryer in the student laundry rooms
-NicUnCool in a spread of Cool People Magazine
-Baby goats in a spread of Ugly Animal Magazine

It doesn't make sense, not even a little.

Are (circle over the A, still), Sweden

Holy Scandinavia! Learning to snowboard in Sweden was So! Much! Fun!

Here is our posse. We accidentally met up on a slope (one of my two "real" runs), and it was so exciting! Top from left: Francesco, Anthony, Clement, Roman. Bottom from left: Silvia, Fabio, me, Sara. They were millions of times better at skiing, snowboarding, etc., but I was the best at finding kitchen accessories to wear as hats.

The eight of us fit comfortably in a 600 square foot apartment. It had a sauna! And our neighbors never complained about our exuberance-expressed-through-dancing-at-all-hours-of- the-night! It's probable our neighbors were deaf.


We ate all our meals together like a family. I played the role of wise great-grandmother.


Here, Silvia is teaching me to carve on the easiest slope. Sara, my main instructor, was taking the picture. They were so patient. I paid them back by letting them watch me tear off pieces of lettuce and lie them on slices of buttered bread. It is a tough skill, but I think they'll master it soon.

Schedule

Tomorrow, I'm heading to Aare, Sweden. It's the largest ski resort in Scandinavia.

Sunday: Cozy into a small cabin with one American, two Italian, and three French persons.

Monday: Learn to snowboard.

Tuesday: Look really, really good snowboarding.

Wednesday: Build the world's largest snowboard jump, soar off of it, and land safely.

Thursday: Head back to Trondheim, and meet a wealthy snowboard mogul on the train ride back who said he saw me and would like to offer me one billion Swedish Kroner (about $100,000,000) to represent his company. Sign a contract in a dining car while Bing Crosby croons at the table to the left of ours.

Friday: Wake up a millionaire. Refuse to wear anything that is not covered in sparkles. Drink tea. Go to the library. Finish everything for my final Masters in Teaching projects. Do laundry.

Saturday: Think about what to do with my fortune. Pay off my student loans. Decide to buy a small cabin in the Cascades for regular book club meetings. Decide to buy another small cabin somewhere kayakable.

Sunday: Cook creatively with the ingredients in my cupboard, because I had been so busy thinking about school and money that I forgot to grocery shop, and stores are closed on Sundays! Feel grateful for bell peppers. Write a haiku.

Happy Valentine's Day!

My boyfriend is so adorable you are going to flop your head on the couch. He sent me a card with a basset hound on the cover - you know how I love stubby dogs - and this poem:

I was going to mail you a box on V-day,
But this puppy card was cuter,
This package was too heavy,
And the postage cost more than a computer.

If I mailed you the package to Norway,
It might make it to you in June,
But by that time you'd be with me,
And we can whistle a romantic tune.

I honestly bought you a can of beans,
Because I know you miss them a lot,
For now your dry beans will have to suffice,
If you soak them in a pot.

When you come visit with Steve and Renee,
You can keep them awake and perky,
Tell them funny stories and jokes,
And eat four pounds of jerky.

There is a plethora of wildlife in Jackson,
For you to ogle, spot, sight, and stare,
I'll find you a moose, an elk, and a goose,
And I promise you'll see a bear.

Beans! Bears! This is why we were recently voted Northern Hemisphere's Most Precious Couple.

Egg Update

I'm getting back into hard-boiled eggs.

And soft-boiled! Soft-boiled eggs are like a whole new world for me!

Sunday's brunch: soft-boiled egg, toast, waffle with brown cheese and jam, orange juice, hard boiled egg. Silverware. Plate. Salt. Table.

What I Have Learned About Myself

Traveling is a time for personal growth. Here's what I have learned about myself:

-I am more inclined to make a salad if I have chunks of pig around. Bacon bits, ham slices, cadav.
-I don't know most of the words to "Mamma Mia."
-I can't NOT dance to "Mamma Mia."
-Freddie Mercury was born in Zanzibar. (I admit, this is what I learned about Freddie Mercury, not me.)
-You know that problem where I wake up in the middle of the night, think it's morning, change into teacher clothes, make breakfast, and then realize it's 2:31 AM, not 6:31 AM? I have that issue on at least two continents.
-You know that problem where I don't drink water for a while and do things that make me sweat, like walk up steep hills or dance feverishly, and then I get thirsty? I have that issue on at least two continents, too.

Well, there we go.

Uh oh.

Sara and I noticed the lack of crazy people in Norway. "Where are they? They're not even on the bus!" we exclaimed to our European pals.

Then that whole, "If you don't know who it is, it's probably you," saying popped into my head. Shooooo.


This is Sara eating my shoe on a recent bus ride home.

"At least the snow is soft," said the Norwegian as he skied around me.

I could tell you, "Friends and I went cross-country skiing yesterday," or, "Friends and I went tumbling down small, snowy hills yesterday," and the statements would both be accurate.

Snow, snow, snow, snow!

This scene makes me frustrated that I can't sing a four-part harmony alone:



You might think, "This scene is just unrealistic." Clearly, you haven't been to Norway. Every time ride a train here, Bing Crosby is singing this song in the dining room. Sometimes, I sit and join him. Then we drink tea and talk about Jesuits.

Chris Thile is the universe's best mandolin player, and I have a music-crush on him.

Sometimes I wonder, "If Chris Thile asks me to elope with him, should I?"

Chris Thile Elopement - Pros
-Amazing mandolin music at all hours of the day
-I'd get to go to his concerts and say, "Chris Thile is my ex-husband!" (Yes, "ex." We definitely wouldn't work out. See cons list, and anyway I already have a boyfriend whose silliness and hot bod would tempt me away from Chris Thile.)
-He might write a song called "Eloping With Kelly"
-He might also write a song called "Being 24" as a wedding present.

Chris Thile Elopement - Cons
-Sometimes, I might want to sleep, but he'd want to play the mandolin loudly instead.
-He might be crazy.
-He might be addicted to something.
-I don't feel like getting divorced.

I am going to keep thinking about this so I am prepared for the day we meet and he pops the elopey question. Feel free to give your input.

23

I don't know any songs that mention being 22 or 24, but 23 is clearly a prime age for writing music.

In "Gangsta's Paradise" Coolio raps, "I'm 23. Will I ever live to see 24? The way things is going I don't know."

Coolio and I do not have this in common. I am confident I will live to see 24. Also, my momma doesn't think my mind is going. (Right, Ma?) That's another thing that's different about me and Coolio.

Another ditty that references 23 is "What's My Age Again", by those tattooed boys from Blink 182. Remember? Remember how they say, "Nobody likes you when you're 23"?

Like with ol' Cooly Cools, Blink 182 and I don't have this in common. I think it's because my friends are less snooty than Blink 182's friends. They wouldn't look down on me for making prank phone calls. In fact, they would probably join me. They might host a prank call party!

In sum, you need to write a song about being 23 that applies to my life. You could call it "Drinking Water and Blogging" or "It's 10:56 and Past My Bedtime" or "YOU 23 AND DA BOMB, KELLY!!!!!"

How to Shock a Norwegian

While I do miss cheddar cheese, quality alternatives exist. I'm particularly fond of Jarlsberg. It's Swissy.

No matter what the cheese, though, one always cuts it with a cheese slicer. Every time. Every Scandinavian home I've been to has at least one cheese slicer, and it (or they, when it comes to multiple slicers) get(s) plenty of use.

As one of my roommates was cutting a slice the other day, I said, "In the past week, I have used a cheese slicer more than in my entire life in the U.S." The roommate looked confused.

"Do you not cut cheese at home?"

"I do, but I use a knife. Cheese slicers aren't all that common," I explained.

"What!?! A knife?!?" He laughed for at least six seconds.

I had the same conversation with one of my classes on Friday. They were similarly flabbergasted. Two of their jaws actually dropped.

And how many non-native English speakers know the idiom "cut the cheese"? Because that's clearly the next natural step in the cheese slicer conversation.