Do you think animals fear ‘the human flu’? Or politics as we call it. (OooOooO, satire!)

Today started out the way most work days do; my alarm clock going off at 05:15 am. I manage to stumble out of bed and find my phone ringing on the sofa. I sit down as I try to turn it off. Bad move. “I got you now” was the last thing I heard before drifting back into sleep and the insult fighting of Monkey Island.

You fight like a dairy farmer!

I’ve spoken with apes more polite than you!

*snap*

Reality kicks in. It’s now 05:50 and only ten minutes until I have to open the doors at work. I live twenty minutes away. I throw on my sexy red and blue Exxon Mobile outfit and run to the car. As luck would have it, heavy fog reduced my visibility to mere feet in front of the car and made any attempts at speeding incredibly dangerous. I couldn’t see shit.

At 06:15-ish I arrive at work and lo and behold, what do I see? There are people here! “Are you opening at 06:30 now, or what?” they sarcastically remark. I hide my profanities behind a tired smile.

For the next two hours there’s a steady flow of people coming. Turns out I wasn’t the only tired employee this early summer morning. The girl who was supposed to open that other Esso station in the area was also sleeping. Forcing everyone to come to me. And yes, fear not, they all commented on it. In that ever-so-loving sarcastic tone with a hint of idiocy and hatefulness.

As it’s finally starting to slow down a bit, I reckon the only thing keeping me from going bat-shit-insane on people today is knowing that I have Trine and Monkey Island waiting at home. And the weekend off.

Unlike most of your countrymen.

This is for you Walter. For you Heinrich. For Hans, Ernst, Wilhelm, Otto, Gertrud, Greta and every other german reading this through Google Übersetzer! I don’t like you. Ich Hasse Dich! That’s right. Hasse!

You know that trip you guys went on a couple of years back? It wasn’t successful. YOU DIDN’T WIN! So why you, for the love of God, continue to speak german wherever you go is beyond me. ‘No, I don’t understand what you’re trying to say.’ ‘No, I can’t give you road descriptions in german.’ ‘Yes, my würst is sehr groß.’

I. Do. Not. Speak. German. Five short words. Everyone should be able to understand them. But no, not Herr and Frau Schmidt! To them it means “Yes, yes, speak more german to me. Speak faster please. Both of you, speak to me at once, it makes it so much easier to understand you!”

In all my time as a gas station procrastinator I haven’t met anyone as arrogant as germans. And it’s not only the elders who think they rule the world.It’s everyone! Young, old and anything in between! They come prancing in like they own the shop and start their monotone speeches. The moment I open my puny mouth to say “Sorry, I don’t understand. English, please?” they get that ‘annoyed expression’ on their faces. It is as if just insulted their mother by peeing on a picture of her.

People from other parts of the world atleast try to make themselves understood. Even that little hungarian kid who really had to go (Go) tried to speak in english. “Buuthrum? Buuthrum?” But then again, for all I know, ‘Buuthrum’ may be hungarian for ‘bathroom’.

Arrogant as they may be, atleast they have the decency to say please (well, Bitte) when they want their receipts. “Yes, you can have your Bong. And you can stick it up your…”

Tschüss.

First of all, I’ve been working a lot lately, and working at a gas station is way more exhausting than you’d think. Ten hour days, filling gas for old ladies, keeping the store clean – all while trying to be nice to angry idiots. So on New Year’s Eve I was so friggin tired I fell asleep at 2330. Way to celebrate the ending of 2008.

Anywho, it’s 2009 now. A new year. A fresh start. And how fresh it was!  Opening the station at 11, woke up at 0930 so had plenty of time. Crashed at Trine’s place last night, so only a 5 minute drive to work. Splendid! When the clock hit 1040 I bid my farewell and went to the car. This is when things started going downhill. For starters – it’s freeeezing in bloody, good old Norway now adays. My car was covered in a layer of solid ice. Outside _and_ inside. I went loco on the thing and removed all the external ice, sacrificing a finger or two in the process. Leaving the inside ice to the car’s heating system. Oh, and just so you know – the car is a 1987 Ford Sierra that really hates winter.

Elated I entered the car, knowing that I once again had conquered Mother Earth. “Your puny attempts are nothing but a tiny annoyance to me”, I thought to myself. Laughing maniacally. Bwahahaha. Ten minutes till work. Loads of time.  I drove away, the car answering to my every command. Everything was going like planned. 2009 was going to be awesome!

Karma’s a bitch. And Karma has teamed up with Mother Earth. No one told me. The road was glazed but I was holding on. The car behaved nicely and I was positive! However, Mother Earth had a couple of tricks up her sleeves. The sun. Out of nowhere the sun showed up. The brightest sun I’ve ever seen. The lowest sun I’ve ever seen. The biggest sun I’ve ever seen. Normally, the sun’s a good thing. But not today. The sun was evil. The sun was on a mission. The sun wanted to screw with me. The sun did. I couldn’t see shit. With the icy inside of my car, the slippery road and that sun from hell, I had no other choice than to drive slow. Extremely slow. Fair enough. I didn’t want 2009 to be the year I turned in to a murderer.

Driving slow. In cold weather. With my car? Not a good idea.  I was starting to get worried. The car was starting to ‘cough’, sending chills down my spine.  I knew that if I just kept a  steady RPM things would be fine. Then, out of nowhere, an old guy appears. In the middle of the road. Oh fuck. I could see the silhouette of his crippled old body as it strode before me. The backlight of the sun making him look like an angel. I stopped the car, looking at this old angel – smiling and cursing. He sure took his time. He was in no hurry. He nodded his head thanking me for stopping. After crossing the road he stopped on the sidewalk and stared at me as to say “It’s ok. You can drive away now. Good luck.” I gracefully commanded the car with my feet. Nice and steady. Gas pedal in. Clutch out.  “Fuck you!” I could hear her laughter. Mother Earth had won.  I sank my head in defeat. Tried, with no faith in success, to restart the car. Nothing. There I was standing in the middle of an intersection in the middle of Fredrikstad. (The one by McDonald’s) Crying. (added for dramatic effect)

*Knockknock* It was the old guy. I opened the door. “Happy new year!” he said, ironically. Gave me a wide smile and continued “Let’s move this wreck out of the road.”  We pushed it out of the road, I thanked him as he once again wished me a “happy new year, and good luck getting it to start.”  He disappeared around the corner. I was left all alone. Tried to start it a couple of more times. Nothing. “I should’ve been to work now.”

Called my dad, he was on his way. From Saltnes. About 10-15 minutes away from Fredrikstad. Great. Ten minutes of trying to get it to start the Ford finally gave in. Vroom Vroom. I pulled away whilst calling my dad. He was right behind me. Oh well. 15 Minutes late I arrived at work.

2009. What a great year this will be. I’m also not crazy. Happy New Year everyone! : )

But when he starts to wank his guitar, and his “eccentric” tune enters your ears and fills up your mind with pure hatred – that’s when you can sense his music trying to dig up Hendrix just so he can kill him again.“Dji-djji-djii-djiii-djuuuuuh – weeoooooooooop wjyyooooooop!”

How do you manage to sleep at night, Tom?
Do you lie awake at nights plotting how to find new, annoying ways to play your guitar? Do you scream out these incoherent ramblings of so-called music when you’re taking a shower?

Just the thought of it makes me nauseous.

I wouldn’t take a Tom even if you dressed him up in a penguin suit and told him to do the macarena.
If I were you Rage Against the Machine, I’d say: “Give me a _guitar player_ – one who tenderly toys with the strings, who always attend band practice and from time to time also sings.”

You’re a Nightwatchman, Tom.
There’s nothing wrong with Nightwatchmen. It’s what you know. When you play that acoustic guitar you’re spreading the love of both Hendrix and Clapton. But when you’re raping that Mongrel Custom “Arm the Homeless” like there was no tomorrow – you’re stealing candy from kids all over the world, you’re burning down orphanages the day before christmas. You’ve gone too far, Tom.

Just the thought of it makes me nauseous.
I wouldn’t take a Tom even if you threw him after me with make-up on and told me it was Scarlett Johansson.
If I were you Audioslave I’d say “Give me more of the Nightwatchman, who plays the music of angels and doesn’t have an urge to wank 24/7. Who’ll never turn. Never bend. Who’s with you now, until the end.”

Thank you.

Norwegian readers should know who my inspiration was for this.
I’m just bitter.

The Weather. The. Weather. This is a bloody bad idea. I could write about the weather for ages. I live in friggin’ icetastic Norway, and I hate anything below 15 degrees Celsius. I’m fucked from the get-go. Me and Mr. W go way back, starting on our 22nd year now. That’s quite some time. And the only time I’ve been truly happy with the old bugger is last summer when I went to Greece with my girlfriend. A big, fat, yellow sun prancing around on the horizon. Gracefully embracing your skin with its yellow tentacles of love. Piercing through clouds whiter than the purest cocaine. It makes me all jiggly just thinking of it. Well, cut the crap and fast forward to today. It’s the 16th of March today and that nonsensical excuse of common science that is “Mr Weather” decided to rear its mentally defected head once again. As I was driving home from the store, some two hours ago, it started to snow. Yes. Snow. What the hell? The only time when snow is remotely tolerable is during Christmas. And no, Christmas has yet to be moved to March. Blargh, I want summer, and I want it now. Ironically, I have a great wish for some day to move to Canada. I’m such a dunce.

Enough of that. Easter is up. Easter – that time when some hairy, infant-loving dude named Jesus supposedly got tired of being dead, and well – grew some wings and flew away. Feel free to correct me if I’ve got the facts wrong. However, to the enlightened child that is yours truly, easter means nothing more than time off school and candy. The latter in an abundance. So, mom, if you’re reading this, the following is what Trine got from her mother: Candy1 and Candy2!

Also, as my birthday is now only two days away, Trine handed me some awesome bounty yesterday. A Team Fortress 2 inspired T-shirt. The message is pretty “internal” and I love it. Thanks. <3

I was going to write something about how completely inane Sony Ericsson has been designing their pc software as well, but I’ve written way too much already. Hopefully you’re all doing well, no matter how excruciating the weather around you may be. Bye. : )