Being drip-fed The Hobbit

Finally, another video from behind the scenes on the shoot of The Hobbit! So much excitement!

Friday Freedom

Today I handed in my last essay for this semester. It's a sunny Friday in Dunedin, and I've just spent the last couple of hours at the Forsyth Barr stadium where a Young Farmers contest is taking place. I went there with a coffee for Nathan, who's working there as security, and ended up deciding to stay until it ends at 3.30pm, because my feet are too sore from walking to uni to be able to walk home.

Not long ago I received a text from work, telling me to take today off, meaning that I'm free to do exactly what I want to do tonight: eat dinner at a reasonable time, watch the season finale of Revenge, and maybe go to the gym after Nathan finishes work. Fridays are simply awesome sometimes.

Now that all my assignments are out of the way, the things that I'm looking forward to in the near future seem that much more closer. First up is Nathan and I going to Wellington next Friday, for four days. Mega super excited about that. Then, in the two-three weeks after that I have my three exams (NOT so excited about that), and then we're going to Rarotonga! If I'm mega super excited about going to Wellington you can probably multiply that by a thousand and you'll be getting close to how excited I am about going to Raro.

But now I really must get back to doing...nothing. Oh lord it feels so good to have handed in all my assignments!

When daydreams take over...

It's been an EXTREMELY long time since I last updated my blog. I guess my inspiration for being creative went into hibernation a while ago, as I haven't really done anything that I find interesting in a very long time. At the moment I am suffering from what I would like to call imprisonment syndrome. Not that I'm actually imprisoned in any way, but due to commitments in Dunedin (oh yes, that's right, I did move down here at the start of the year, so after my last blog entry), meaning work and uni, and not having to travel to visit my boyfriend any more (as we are now living together (more or less)), I have been in Dunedin for, well, 5 months now, and in all those months I have only left the city briefly on a couple of occasions, most recently over Easter when Nathan and I went tramping in Wanaka for a few days. But being me, I need more freedom and adventure than that. I'm feeling so trapped in my existence that it's become a problem, as it disrupts my studies, because I can't stop myself from daydreaming about all the places I want to go, and all the things I want to see and do, rather than sitting in the library with a runny nose, a determinedly evil cough that just won't go away, and the seemingly squeakiest chair in the whole world. Life's not easy at times.

Of course, there's always that indeterminate light at the end of the tunnel. That light you don't know where emanates from until it's too late, and you've already been run over by the train. For me that light has a specific source this time, and that source is the glowing ball of sunlight shining over Rarotonga (Cook Islands, Pacific Ocean - look it up). Because that is where I am going next month with Nathan, for five nights, leaving the cold city of Dunedin behind just two days after my final exam of the first semester. My every thought at the moment begins on, and ends on, this beacon of hope. Rarotonga. With my man. Score.

Also, to slowly ease myself back into the art of travelling, we're going to Wellington together (Oh! Welly!) at the start of June, for four days, which I'm also REALLY looking forward to. It'll be the first time Nathan visits his family since we moved down to Dunedin in January, so it's a well overdue visit, but what can you do about it when he's so often occupied elsewhere with the army? Hence why I said we "more or less" live together; although we've officially shared a residence for over 5 months now, Nathan has actually only been here for 2 of those months. He returns from his latest army commitment in two days' time, and I'm hoping that I get to keep him for a lot longer this time around. After all, we moved in together for a reason (to live together, you know?) so not to do it seems, well, a bit silly in my opinion.

Five months down the track in Dunedin I am finding it, um, chilly. For four months I've worked at a restaurant, and I have really enjoyed it, and wish I could keep doing it, but due to recent circumstances I made a decision a couple of weeks ago that I need to resign, to focus more on my studies, as that is what I'm here for, and at the moment I know they are being thoroughly neglected. Not on purpose, of course, but everything is just a bit overwhelming, and I tend to run myself firmly into the ground, only to receive a nerve-shattering wakeup-call which results in a mental and nervous breakdown. And I cannot have that happen every two weeks during my last year at uni, especially not next semester, when I'm doing one more course than I am now. So sadly, at the end of this month, I will quit my job.

But now I have another tutorial to go to. Thank you, blog, for being there for me in my time of need (for procrastination). I have missed you.

Write the night away, and dream the day away…

It’s that time of year again. When the days are getting longer, sunnier, and warmer, and all I want to do is roam, free as a bird, and take in the atmosphere of an approaching summer.

Then there are the exams. And essays. Those big bullies. They force me to remain inside, locked up in my room, or behind big glass windows in the library, laughing at me as I longingly look out on the sun-bathed city and harbour.

This year, another bully has joined the others. A bigger and badder bully than the rest. His name is Rugby World Cup. And he teases me with the prospect of drinking and partying all night long, and having a lazy as day the next day.

But my brain, bullied and beaten, recoils from its dark corner, and tells me that no matter how tempting it is to give in to the bullies’ taunts and bad influence, I must focus on my assignments first and foremost. And so I try to do that.

On the first day I wrote 1,100 words on a 2,500-2,800 word film essay. On the second day I added another 1,000 words. On the third day I decided to try a different approach and started all over again; 660 words on the third day. On the fourth day the New Zealand national rugby team, the All Blacks, were playing Australia in the world cup semi-final. Words written: 0. Beers consumed: roughly 7.

I can’t know the meaning of self-discipline unless I cave in once or twice, right?

On the fifth day, I woke up at 11am and then spent almost 4 hours reading Harry Potter. Word count so far: 281. On assignment: Zero.

Time to turn the day upside down and live out my fantasies while I’m awake and spend the dark hours writing without interruption…

The Return

 

In the 1 ++ month since I last wrote a blog entry,  a lot has happened. Not much has changed, but a lot of exciting things have taken place in my life.

The main one is that I returned to Norway for a quick visit. That’s the first time I’ve seen my family and friends in a year and a half, so that was quite exhilarating.

I was hoping for three weeks of sun, barbecues, swimming in the ocean and hanging out with friends all day long but, alas, I must have forgotten that I was going back to a Norwegian summer. That means max. 15 degrees Celsius and rain. Bucketloads of rain. Overall I got to experience roughly 3 whole days of sunny weather and temperatures above 20 degrees Celsius. But at least I got to see my friends and family.

Oh, and the day before I returned to Norway was the date of my boyfriend and mine’s 6-month anniversary, and we celebrated it with a romantic dinner at night. It was really sad having to leave the next day, but at least I got to spend that important milestone with him, which I’m thankful for.

I returned to NZ on July 12, two days after the uni holidays had ended, so it was straight back to uni for me – I even missed out on a few lectures. But now, a week and a day later, I’ve gotten back into the normal routine of going to uni, studying, hanging out with people whenever I can and, best of all – today I’m seeing my boyfriend again, for the first time in over a month! Ever since I woke up this morning I’ve had butterflies in my stomach at the thought of seeing him again tonight (at 8pm), and they are not getting quieter as the hour approaches; on the contrary!

I’m actually in a literature lecture atm, but I can’t concentrate, so I figured I might as well update my blog.

It’s good to return, no matter where to. The very word implies roots, which, whether I like it or not, I have. In different places. Family, friends and my childhood roots me to Norway. More friends, education, and the love of my life roots me to New Zealand. So travelling between the two places is not like travelling to ‘another’ place, it is always a return, to a place I call home.

Race Against the Clock

Yesterday I had my final tutorial for trimester 1. All that remains to do now are my final assignments, and then I’m officially halfway through my BA.

So today I’m spending roughly 6 hours working on one of my essays, which is due on the 13th of June. The essay draft is over 2,500 words long, and the essay is supposed to be between 2,000 and 2,500 words, so I feel like I’ve got the hang of this.

At some point this afternoon/evening I’m catching the train to Upper Hutt to spend the weekend with Nathan at his mum’s place. Of course I’ll be bringing my notebook and stuff with me, but I suspect that might be more just so that I can feel good about myself…

Anyway, I’ve still got two more essays to write, and one of them has to be between 2,000 and 2,500 words, and the other has to be between 2,500 and 2,800 words. I haven’t started writing those two yet, and they’re due on the 14th and 16th of June. I don’t know how I’m going to do it, but I’m sure it’ll involve copious amounts of coffee, wine, and tears. And swearing.

I do, however, have the best motivation possible. Nathan. He’s got a week off work after his course finishes next Friday, and he’ll be in the Wellington/Upper Hutt area for that week, catching up with his mates, seeing his mum, and spending time with me. Of course I want to be able to spend as much time with him as possible, and that motivates me to work my butt off before his course finishes, so that I won’t have to do (too many) all-nighters when he’s free. Also, that’s the week before I go back to Norway for three weeks, so it better be good.

I hope everyone understands that this blog entry is just me procrastinating. I want the time to fly by – the sooner I get to go and see Nathan, the better – but at the same time I die a little bit every time I cast a glance at the clock and realise that another hour has gone by, and I’ve only written 300 words on the proper version of my essay. Better get back to it, eh.

I Hate Doctors

Well, actually, I do acknowledge that most doctors do a great job, my hatred is directed more at the need for doctors at all.

Every time I see a doctor about something (which, up until this year, happened very rarely – why? See the title) I leave the doctor’s office scared sh*tless. If I wasn’t worried when I walked in, I sure as hell will be when I walk away.

Take today, for example. You all know I use my legs to get around. And for the past 3-4 months a pain in my left foot has caused me great discomfort and made me cut back on my walking, so it’s having a negative impact on my life, which I won’t allow any longer. I’ve tried letting my feet rest for days and weeks, I’ve taken painkillers, anti-inflammatory “drugs”, put deep heat on three times a day, all to no avail. So to the doctor I went.

Actually, it was a nurse.

Anyway, she had a look at my feet, and found that they look normal, and asked me lots of questions about the pain, how long it’s been like that, etc., etc., and then I started mentioning other things that have bothered me for a while. So she ran the usual tests, and I swear every other time I’ve had those tests taken they’ve been normal, but today this nurse discovered that I was running a fever, and that my blood pressure was low. Cue surprised face on my part.

So she sent me to see an actual doctor. Mainly about my foot, because she didn’t know anything about feet, apparently. So half an hour later I saw the doctor, and he didn’t have much time for me. He didn’t have time to look at my foot, but was very interested in my fever.

After lots and lots and lots of questions from him he told me that I should make another appointment with the doctor I normally see, and that I should have some more blood tests taken (I had some taken about a month ago), this time to check my red and white blood cell count. That’s when my brain just went WAIT! REWIND THAT PLEASE! WHAT?!? And then he sent me on my way.

Now, if I walked into the doctor’s office wondering about my sore foot, that was NOT what I came out thinking. For the rest of the day I’ve been convinced that there is something really terrible going on with me, and what annoys me is that the doctor didn’t take the time to explain why he wanted me to have my blood cell count checked. The first thought that came to my mind was “isn’t that what they do when they suspect that someone has cancer?”

I’m seeing my regular doctor next Monday. Because doctors make me paranoid with their vague diagnoses and cryptic answers, I am now wondering if I will even live that long. I don’t feel too great…

Oh Armageddon, How I Love Thee

And no, I’m not talking about the movie. Although I do quite enjoy that, too.

I am, of course, referring to the crazy end-of-the-world prediction(s) made by the crazy religious American Harold Camping. “The End is Nigh” – on May 21 2011 the world would come to an end at sunset, meaning that it would start with a massive earthquake in New Zealand at 6pm and travel around the world from there (westwards, naturally, all so that the Americans could sit back and watch the apocalypse unfold on their TV screens before it hit them) – OMG I’VE NEVER HEARD SUCH BULLSHIT BEFORE.

And Camping knew that this was going to happen because he had “deciphered” clues in the Bible. Go check in to a mental hospital, dude. You’re one of those ludicrous religious fanatics, just so you know.

I suppose most of you already know that he also predicted the apocalypse in 1994. Hey, big surprise – it didn’t happen. In fact, the biggest natural disaster in 1994 (in the Western World) was probably the Jan 17 Northridge earthquake in Los Angeles, CA, which had a magnitude of 6.7 and killed approximately 57 people. Not exactly something to shout “doomsday!” about.

Oh and I almost forgot to tell you – I woke up to May 22 a couple of hours ago. And boy, was she a beauty.

You know, if the world did somehow end overnight, and this is what the world looks like after Armageddon, and I find myself stuck here because I don’t believe in the Bible BS, whereas all the Christians were swept away to be with God – then I’ve got one thing to say to all you believers out there: YOUR LOSS.

Also, your loss, our gain. A world free of Christians could only be a better one.

As a student, and an atheist student at that, last night I did what I do best in the face of adversity or, in this case, a crazy prophecy: I drank and partied like the world was about to end. But you know what? Don’t be scared, it’s not going to end, nor do I believe it, it’s just something we do pretty much every weekend.

We don’t need to think that the end is nigh to party like there’s no tomorrow. Because we are reasonable, intelligent young people, not brainwashed, but educated, and we know that the sun doesn’t stop rising just because some madman says so.

The Countdown Is On

In exactly one month I will be flying out of Wellington, headed for Norway and three weeks of summer and seeing family and friends.

At the moment I’m trying to finish (lies – start) my final assignments for this trimester. I’ve got three essays due to be handed in on the 13th, 14th, and 16th of June. They all have to be between 2000 and 3000 words.

As for what I’ve been doing lately, I’ve got three words to sum it up: uni, boyfriend, parties. I’ve spent far too many days (and nights) in the library so far this year, writing essay after essay, doing research and drinking coffee. When I’ve had a day or two off I’ve escaped to Christchurch to be with Nathan, or he has come to Wellington for the weekend to see me. This long-distance thing is really working quite well (apart from the economical side of it, naturally. But it’s all worth it). Thursday last week I jumped on a plane and flew down to spend the weekend (as well as Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday) with my man, because he got some days off work due to a back injury, so I wanted to be there for him and keep him company. Plus it was his birthday last Monday (he turned 22), so of course I wanted to be there for that.

Nathan and me at my flatmate's 21st

I had just come home from university last Thursday and looked up flights to Christchurch, and there happened to be a really cheap flight that afternoon, and a cheap return flight for Wednesday (yesterday), so I quickly threw some things into my suitcase and got a taxi out to the airport, and an hour or so later I was in his arms at Chch airport.

For once I was a bad student (but a good girlfriend); I missed out on all my lectures this week as well as two out of my three tutorials. Oh dear. Thank god for Blackboard.

I took Nathan out for dinner on Sunday night because he had to go to work on Monday, but on Monday night we went to the movies, so at least he got to do something fun on his birthday. Then on Tuesday night we went to his auntie and uncle’s place for dinner, which was great, and on Wednesday night (our 5-month anniversary, incidentally), I flew back to Wellington.

This Sunday he will fly to Wellington to do a course just outside the city, so he will (hopefully) get a chance to come and visit me every weekend. After his course is finished he has a week off work, and that’s the week before I fly back to Norway (and the week when all my assignments are due), so it’ll be great to have him around then.

As for the parties I’ve been to lately… Well, most of them have been held at the house where I live. We had our awesome flat warming, and so far we’ve had two 21sts, and the party for the second one is actually tomorrow. It’s got a 1950s theme, so I went and bought a dress for that today.

My flatmate's 21st (Hollywood themed)

So much is happening right now, and I love it. This year has been amazing in almost every aspect so far, and when I get back from Norway I will seriously start looking for a part-time job. Also, in one month’s time, when I’ve handed in my three assignments, I’m halfway through my bachelor’s degree. Fancy that, huh.

Me dressed up as a gypsy at our flat warming (circus themed)

Love and other drugs

Hello, hello.
First of all: Happy New Year to you all. I hope 2011 will be a great year for everyone I know. Myself included. (And I think it will be.)
There hasn’t been much action on my blog in the last month, but that’s only because there has been so much happening in my life. Trust me, I’m still alive.
Three weeks and two days ago I met someone who completely changed my life. My past, my present, my future – it all looks entirely different to me now thanks to him.
(Warning: This story may contain sappy parts. Consider yourself warned.)
Here are the odds we beat: I’m from Norway; he’s from Upper Hutt. He lives in Christchurch; I live in Wellington. He’s in the army; I’m a student. I was visiting a friend in Upper Hutt; he had just come home for Christmas a few hours before. His best friend is my best friend’s best friend. He was on his way to a friend’s 21st with my best friend’s best friend; my friend and I were at her parents’ Christmas party, and got invited along to the 21st at 11pm.
I was tired and not intending to go, but said ‘What the hell, I’ll go’. We met when they came to pick us up at my friend’s parents’ place. Instant thought: ‘Holy shit. Hot guy. Tall guy.’
Turned out he is 6 foot 7. And in the army. That combination alone was enough to draw me to him. Then I discovered that he’s the nicest and most caring guy I’ve ever met, with a great sense of humour and an awesome playfulness. WINNER.
After the initial meeting we decided to meet again, and three days later he drove to Wellington to see me, and from then on we pretty much lived together for the three weeks he was on leave.
I’ve never been happier.
We went and did so much together, and there wasn’t a moment of boredom. I got to spend some time with him in Upper Hutt at his mum’s place, helping out with various jobs and exploring the place.
Then, of course, came the time for him to go back to his job in Christchurch.
I went out to Wellington airport with him to see him off, and it was so horrible saying goodbye. There were tears once he’d disappeared through the gate.
Now I’m counting down the days until I see him again, which will hopefully be on the 29th this month. Then I’m going down to Christchurch sometime in February, and we’ll go on a roadtrip down to Dunedin. Having something to look forward to helps me get through the days.
In other news: I’m moving to another flat before the end of the month, to live with friends. Tomorrow I’m going on a camping trip to Somes Island, which is the island in the middle of Wellington Harbour.
So much to look forward to, and all I can think about is how much I miss my amazing man down in Christchurch.

Graduation!

No, no. Not me. My graduation is still two years away.

I just witnessed a batch of graduates parade down Lambton Quay here in Wellington. Led by a kilt-clad, bagpipe-playing orchestra, they walked in groups according to their area of study. So you had, amongst others, education, humanities and social studies, law, science … and my memory fails. Jesus, I study at Vic, and I don’t even know what else they offer.

The reason I went into town to watch is that one of my friends is one of the graduates today. He was in the science group. I have seen the same progression down Lambton Quay once before, earlier this year, but that was a pure co-incidence.

Seeing the students in their graduation outfits, complete with the hat with the tassel, makes me want to be a graduate so bad. I met up with my friend last night, and he told me how it all works. Apparently they really do the whole ‘throw-their-hats-in-the-air’ thing which, for some reason, I assumed was only the case with American graduations.

It’ll be interesting to see when (if it happens at all) I become a graduate. At the moment the plan is to complete my bachelor’s degree, and that’s it. Which means that if I pass all my courses, I’ll be a graduate in more or less two years to the day. Exciting.

However, if my desire to learn even more is stronger than my desire to graduate in two years’ time, then I’ll do at least another year at uni, which is likely to be a one year course in screenwriting (you can tell that I’ve already thought about this).

At the moment I can’t possibly imagine leaving Wellington, but who knows how I might feel after another two years here. It’s a fantastic place, and I love so many people here, but if I’m no closer to starting a career here once I’m ready to graduate, then there’s nothing to keep me here, really.

Wellington is absolutely abuzz today. I’m currently sitting in my favourite cafe in Lambton Quay, enjoying a lunch consisting of a mocha and a bowl of fries, typing away on my wee netbook.

I heart cafe offices.

Graduation time is an amazing time, because the city is full of all the students who have returned for their graduation, as well as their families.

That is what I look forward to the most about graduation, to be honest. Getting my family down here to watch me graduate, and celebrate with me. The best thing about putting off graduation is, for me, that it leaves more time for my family to save up money for the huge trip down from Norway – it’s not as if they’ll be coming down for just a weekend, plus they have to pay for six people, if everyone is coming…

Right, better finish off my fries now. I’ve taken up a table for three all by myself for more than half an hour, and the place is packed. I’m sure the staff would be shooting me dirty glances right about now if they weren’t so nice in this place.

Twenty Candles

Just sitting here eating some chocolate love hearts. And listening to Christmas songs.

I got the chocolate from my best friend in Norway. Because today is my birthday. Or, well, technically it isn’t yet, because of the fact that I was born in Norway, which is about 12 hours behind New Zealand, but I only see this as an excuse to celebrate for 2-3 days straight, to make sure I cover my birthday in all the different time zones.

Holy cow. There was just a delivery for me. A basket full of flowers and stuff. From my family in Norway – thank you, I love you so much!! You just made my day.

I started celebrating my birthday last night, with a few close friends. I had an amazing night, and despite the fact that half a bottle of malibu and half a bottle of vodka was consumed, I woke up this morning feeling fine.

I’m still undecided about what I’m doing today. So far I haven’t made any specific plans, other than to tidy up my room (there are empty alcohol bottles and cans, dirty plates, cups, etc, general rubbish, and clothes lying around…), eat a fair amount of unhealthy food, listen to some good music, and reply to messages on Facebook. Tonight? No idea.

I prayed for some nice, sunny weather today, having celebrated my birthday in dark, cold and usually wet conditions for most of my life, but the weather gods didn’t really listen to me. It’s overcast and about 13C outside.

Whatever, I’ve got chocolate.

Movie night

This afternoon I bought a ticket for the midnight screening of Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows: Part 1.

I didn’t plan on going to the midnight screening, because I’m not really that much of a hard-core HP fan (although I love the books) and not desperate to watch it straight away; I’d prefer to go with someone if I went, and anyway I assumed that all the tickets would be long gone. Then I read on the cinema’s Twitter page this morning that there were still some tickets left to the midnight screening tonight, and I was like, ‘why not?’

So during my stroll around Wellington this afternoon I stopped at the cinema and bought a ticket. I’m going by myself, but that’s alright. I’m sure the experience is going to make up for it. I wonder if there will be people dressed up as HP characters…

The “official” world premiere is, as far as I know, November 19. However, that doesn’t seem to apply to NZ. Here the date is November 18, and thanks to the time difference between NZ and Europe (read: Norway), and me going to the midnight screening, I’m going to see the movie way before anyone in Norway does. Wicked.

If I was a mean person, I’d run home after it was finished and tell all my friends in Norway who are HP fans everything that happens. But that would be cruel, and I’m not going to do it.

Before the movie I’m having a wee drinking sesh with one of my friends from Norway, who just happens to live in Wellington as well. I’m meeting her in half an hour or so, so I better get going.

I’ll provide you all with my opinion of the movie as soon as I’m able to…

Have you locked the door?

The slightly unnerving experience of having a complete stranger walk into my bedroom at 2.45am, while I was sound asleep, has emphasized the importance of one thing to me: Locks.

This actually happened to me last night. Not only did it put me off sleeping for the rest of the night, it also put me off the poor woman who walked into my room, thinking it was my flatmate’s bedroom. It was his girlfriend.

I don’t usually lock my bedroom door at night, because I live in a fairly safe area and I trust my flatmates. So it was quite an incomprehensible situation when I suddenly woke up after I heard what I think sounded like a knock on the door, turned over in bed and opened my eyes, and saw that light was flooding my bedroom from outside. No one ever opens my door, especially not in the middle of the night.

So I turned around and tried to get a look at the door, but I only caught a fleeting glimpse of a person leaving the room in a hurry, and a second later I heard the front door slam shut, leaving my door open and every light in the flat on.

Now’s probably also the time to mention that I was home alone. Gulp. I’ve often said that having an unexpected guest at the flat wouldn’t scare me, because both my flatmates are professional Thai kick boxing instructors. They’d whoop anyone’s arse. But there I was, all alone, asleep, and someone walked into my bedroom.

Finding myself suddenly wide awake and my brain working at 200 miles per hour to try to come up with a solution to the mystery that had just unfolded in real life right there in my room, I turned onto my stomach and lay there cradling my pillow for comfort, when all of a sudden, lo and behold, another surprise! A cat walked into my room.

Now this wasn’t just any cat. This was my favourite cat in all of New Zealand. He lives just down the road and is the friendliest cat I’ve ever met. He’s gorgeous, and loves people, and has followed me home once in the past. I had to shut the door on him then, which was heartbreaking. I love cats, and I love this cat particularly much.

So seeing this lovely, furry creature also make its way into my bedroom was almost more than I could handle in one night. What the hell was going on? At least seeing him made me act. I put on a pyjama top and made to pick up the cute kitty to put him back outside. He was purring before I’d even touched him.

It’s fair to say that what I did next was less than clever. But it was in the middle of the night, and my brain was utterly confused. What I did was walk to the locked front door, open it, crouch down, and put the cat down outside while looking to the right to look for people. Just as I turned my head left to look for people on the other side, I heard a voice.

At the far end of the walkway outside my front door stood a blond woman. She looked at me, and said apprehensively: ‘I’m sorry, I think I just walked into your room.’ All I could reply with was, ‘that was you?’ My fleeting vision of a person in my room had strongly suggested a male person to me, but once again it’s fair to say that I was barely awake when it happened.

She then proceeded to explain herself. She told me she’s one of my flatmates’ girlfriend, and asked me if he was at home. Funnily enough, he wasn’t, and I didn’t know where he was. A bit strange to show up at your boyfriend’s place uninvited at 2.45am, “break in” and walk into his flatmate’s room, and not even know that he’s not there, don’t you think?

She said she didn’t know that a female lived there as well, so she had thought that she’d walked into the wrong flat. Once she learned that her boyfriend does indeed share a flat with me, she was quick to pick up her bag and stroll into the flat again, without waiting for any kind of invitation. But I was gracious about it. After all, the mystery was solved. It hadn’t been a mad, raving rapist slash killer.

Once inside again, I told her to make herself at home, and then I went back to bed. I could hear the woman rummaging about in the other rooms, and when I thought she’d gone to bed, all the lights in the kitchen where still on. Stupid cow, I actually have to pay the bill, you know.

After lying there for a while thinking about what had just happened, I realised that I still hadn’t locked my bedroom door. Once I’d considered this woman’s weird entrance in the first place, at such an ungodly hour, I decided that she could possibly be a bit unstable after all, and might not appreciate the discovery that her boyfriend shares a flat with a woman. So I got up, tip-toed to my door, and locked it. If you try to stab me in my sleep, I’ll hear you coming, you crazy bitch.

However, I found it really difficult to go back to sleep. Firstly my mind was on red alert following the strange yet exciting events of the night, and secondly I was afraid of going back to sleep because I don’t fully trust people who sneak into other people’s homes late at night.

It took me more than two hours to calm down enough to drift off to Never Never Land, and when I did, it was a restless sleep. I’m pretty sure I heard my flatmate’s voice at some point as well, and if that’s right it means that he came home some time during the night. This morning he was gone again, however. And when I woke up, it was to find all the lights on (again), the woman sleeping in my flatmates’ room (with the door ajar), and a kitchen that looked like it had been nuked. Seriously, who cooked dinner in the middle of the night, and decided to leave traces of all the ingredients, and every pot and pan they used, dirty, on the bench and in the sink? I have a pretty good hunch…

So of course I proceeded to loudly make coffee (I have a very noisy espresso machine) and played music unneccesarily loudly in my room, to make sure that the woman would be awoken. It’s only fair, seeing how she not only robbed me of several hours of sleep last night, but also gave me a real fright.

From now on I’m sleeping with my door locked. You just can’t trust anyone these days.

Summer dreams

Boy, I’m a slacker. For now. My love for the beach actually caused me to miss out on a public lecture I wanted to go to tonight, by a UK expert. It was about employment in the film industry, and sounded very interesting and useful. However, I didn’t manage to drag my arse away from the beach early enough for me to get home and have a shower and make it there in time.

Time to sharpen up. I need to sort out my priorities. Living on the sunny side of life is definitely a little too high up. Hopefully that’s going to change in a fortnight, when I’m investing in a bike. Improved means of getting around = a more efficient me, right? I’m super excited about it. Just knowing that I’m about to get a bike makes it feel like Christmas has already arrived.

Anywho, here are some nice and summery photos from my day at the beach, to make all you people enjoying a cold, dark winter in Norway drool with jealousy. Sorry.

Tales from the beach

Prepare yourselves for a non-stop stream of stories involving beach, booze, strangers, sand, ocean, ice cream, sun, bare feet, long days and endless amounts of adventure. In short: Summer.

Oh, and sunburn, blisters, dehydration, sleepless nights, hangovers, lazyness and the annual Christmas weight gain.

But let’s not sweat the petty things. Let’s pet the sweaty things instead. (Right, that actually came from one of those awesome rental vans. – See what you’ve done to me, uni?? I won’t even plagiarise a van.)

In my desperate desire to get a tan, I’ve neglected my blog. But all is well as long as I’m happy, right? And how can I not be, what with the sun shining from a clear blue sky every day and me having all the time in the world to kill, in whichever way I see fit.

So, I wander to the beach. Every day. I bring my Empire magazine, something to drink, and my iPod, and I’m all set for a long, lazy day in the sun. If a catastrophic earthquake struck and the entire beach was swallowed by the ocean, I would have died with a smile on my face. Because I’ve got a tan.

I spent about 5 hours in the sun today, first lying around in various grassy areas (more commonly known as ‘parks’) around the city, before heading to the Oriental Bay beach where I spent most of my afternoon/evening.

Y’know, it’s astonishing how many hours’ worth I get out of a single magazine. I’ve been reading the same Empire for a week now, and I think I might be about halfway through. It’s so nice though, just relaxing at the beach, with music in my ears, a magazine in my hands, munching on chips and drinking cold drinks straight from the fridge. There’s sand between my toes, a gentle breeze brushing over me, the sound of people laughing, and waves rolling in…

I see it now. Why people love summer.

It was at the same beach, just before I was about to leave, that I started talking to this really nice woman (about feet, of all things), and now we’ve just agreed to meet for a coffee tomorrow, and then I’ll assist her in shopping for a dress. I’m definitely going to the beach every day from now on. Oh, hang on. I already do that.

I just realised that I never wrote about the Guy Fawkes celebration. There were fireworks in the harbour. It was stunning. Then it rained, and everyone ran for shelter in the pubs and bars around town. It was messy.

Back to sunbathing. I’ve discovered that I still possess that uncanny ability to go to the beach looking like I’ve never seen the sun before, and return home looking like someone actually threw me into an oven and left me there until I was all crusty. Ouch. Another ability I possess is my selective deafness. I’m deaf to all good advice, such as ‘slip, slop, slap and wrap’ and ‘stay in the shade between 11am-4pm’ and all that. I don’t even put on sunscreen lotion (until after I’ve been burnt). I just make up my own rules as I go along. Not always a good idea, but hey, it makes life interesting (and occasionally, painful).

I’m not the best at learning from my mistakes, but here’s an attempt – note to self: never wear jewellery while sunbathing. It looks like I had my necklace tattooed in white around my neck. Aaargh.

Move along

Life

is

so

darn

sweeeet.

The last 24 hours have been rather amazing. Last night out on town was ah-mazing. Today was AMAZING. One word for it? Yeah, amazing.

Also, I now have beers in my fridge. Fuck yeah. Speights, at that. I am one VERY happy girl. AND a bottle of wine. AND a bottle of gin. Does life seriously get any better??

Oh, yeah – it was supposed to be raining all day today. Instead it’s been sunny for most of the day. Someone is definitely on my side.

I have a newfound love for Australians and football players. And cafès in Wellington. (That last one was a lie – I’ve always loved the cafès in Wellington.)

Now to cook dinner. Then I’m having a movie night with my bud. Rock on, world.

1/3 down

I have officially (and hopefully successfully/satisfactorily) completed my first year at university.

I spent nearly 6 hours on campus today. I sincerely hope that that’s not going to happen again fot at least another 3 months or so. I went to the library at noon to do some last-minute cramming with some friends, and we spent the next couple of hours having an awful good time, considering we were about to sit an exam. Which I reckon was the best preparation anyone could’ve asked for. It was also quite entertaining to watch as we one by one (myself included) took turns studying our notes for a few minutes before throwing our arms up into the air and declaring to the library at large that it was hopeless and that we would just have to make it up as we went along.

At 2.30pm the exam began. At 4pm, halfway through, two of my friends were done, and left. Half an hour later another one left, and I was the only one still sitting there out of our wee study group. I finally finished about 10 minutes before the time was up, and when it’s 15 minutes to go no one is allowed to leave, so I was forced to stay for an extra 10 minutes and had a quick second glance at what I’d written. Which, in hindsight, I suppose might have been a good thing.

When I was allowed to leave though, at 5.30pm, I was so happy I could have kissed everyone in my path (of course, I didn’t). Once outside, I sat straight down and felt the warm sun on my face and the wind in my hair, and I just couldn’t stop smiling. Free at last.

So I went home, got changed and went to the liquor store. Obviously. On my wee shopping list I had written ‘gin, lemons, and lemonade’. You smiling now? I know I am.

On my way back from the supermarket in town I stopped at a red light. (Everyone knows I’m a sworn pedestrian right? Good.) While I was standing there the cars coming from my right were turning into the road on my left-hand side, and when the second car was going slowly past, I accidentally caught the driver’s eye, and he stared at me, transfixed, and I stared back, and I saw him, quite clearly, utter the words ‘Fuck me’. Now how is one actually supposed to react to that?

If this was any other day, I would have been furious at being objectified like that, and probably felt compelled to give him the finger, but instead I just tilted my head a little and smiled resignedly at him while barely shaking my head. I saw him repeat the words, never breaking eye contact with me, and that, I must say, made me feel a little angry afterwards. Does it mean that he has absolutely no respect for women? This is where I’d like some opinions, please. Is it appropriate to feel flattered? Upset? Compelled to chase after the car, tear open his door and threaten to send your (imagined) boyfriend after him? Like I said: If this had happened on pretty much any other day, I would have hated it.

But at the time I’d just come out of a 3 hour long exam, my last one this year; I was carrying a newly purchased bottle of gin in my bag and the sun was shining. Let’s face it; I was happy to the point where I could have been walking through a blizzard and a wee sun still would have been shining above my head. Living in perfect bliss.

But yeah, curious though. How normal is it for a guy to be that “rude” to someone they see? And how should I feel about it?

 

And tonight? I’m going out to celebrate with friends, of course. It’s not every day you finish your first year at university.

The start of something new

So, I’m just sitting in my room procrastinating before I’m off to my second study group (aka “gossip central” as of now). Suddenly I decided to do a google search for blogs in Wellington to see if my blog would show up. The top result, however, was Victoria University’s student magazine, Salient. So I had a look at their page. And I’m glad I did. Their latest blog entry is entitled ‘Salient 2011. Has Editors. Needs Everything Else.’

Anyone remember how I said I’m going to join their crew to get some experience for my future temporary career as a journalist? Yeah, that’s still the plan. So I read the entry, and at the bottom it said ‘Expressions of interest by Wednesday the 3rd of Nov.’

Whoa, that’s tomorrow.

I immediately wrote an e-mail expressing my interest in helping out in any way I can. I can’t quite believe I made such a “bold” move just like that. Especially considering I wrote that I’d do pretty much anything for them. Ahem…

I never found my blog though, and now I’m curious to know whether anyone would ever find/read it if I didn’t advertise it on every other page I maintain on the World Wide Web.

Google works in mysterious ways.

Know your onion!

And God said: ‘Let there be madness.’ And there was exams.

Oh, sorry, did I get that wrong? From my point of view: No.

Fortunately, I’m not terribly affected by the pre-exam stress. Unless you count insomnia and fasting as symptoms, I’m doing pretty well.

I had my first study “group” today. Three of us girls got together in the library to study for the exam. So, naturally, we spent half an hour discussing the exam and four hours talking about boys. An afternoon well spent.

Spaghetti bolognese and a glass of wine goes a long way after a long day of – uh – gossiping. It’s such hard work.

Add music according to taste. Mix in someone to chat with on any kind of social media, and the night is almost complete. Casually round it all off with a couple of hours of studying, and you’ll avoid the madness.

(And if you happen to react to cutting onions like I do, pour a bucket of water over your face before you attempt to get any reading and/or note taking done.)