Literally nothing happens in this post.

I’ve been thinking a lot about my hair lately. Just kidding, I’ve mostly been watching British talk shows on YouTube. I also went to Lithuania for a week to have the flu, it was mind broadening and cold, and I don’t think they’ve heard about seasoning, spices or vegetarians. If I see another boiled squash or aubergine in 2017 I’ll throw it out of the open window while speeding down the road in the car I don’t have, speeding because I am running from the police because of the drivers license I don’t have either.

My main new years resolution this year is to swap cow milk for soy, rice or oat milk. Ah, my lustrous life of soaring ambition!

I also took a proper look at my feet for the first time since last summer and realised that I am probably the most single woman I have ever met. I haven’t shaved my legs since August last year, so it’s not the sexy and adventurous type of single either. More the staying a home knitting hats and fuming at Trump kind of single.

But that’s all fine because I have all of this time to myself now. Time to properly wash my coffee mugs, not just rinse them, time to take online questionnaires and time to experiment with how long I have to go without washing by hair before I can make it stand up straight without any product.

I actually really enjoy being alone, because at any point in time I have so many people in my head that it feels like I’m in a televised panel show about odd stuff 24/7 anyway, so factoring in large portions of real people too would just make me confused and probably quite bewildered looking.

People tend to assume that introverts are just lonely. And with people I mean extroverts, because when extroverts die and go to hell (we’re all going to hell, heaven is way too strict for modern society, nobody qualifies. It’s empty except for probably one guy who just walks around trying to learn the harp and wondering where the good party’s at) their version will probably be a completely deserted flat somewhere, with no internet connection and no people to talk at.

My sister is an extrovert, and she’s been trying to understand where I come from. She went as far as having to ask me directly if I was happy being alone or if I was depressed or just lonely. For her, the way I live (mostly in front of my laptop, reading or writing) seems like some sort of punishment or psychological disorder. For me, being with people all of the time would probably lead to some sort of psychological disorder.

It’s interesting how vastly different people are on the inside. I feel that there is way too much focus on the physical differences people have, when all of the relevant stuff really happens on the inside (, emotionally, potential serial killer…y and so on and so forth).

Whether a person is tall, short, black, white or orange (hisss) doesn’t really tell you if they cry when they watch August Rush or if they secretly think that babies are gross and creepy looking. To a certain extent we have shaped a society where you express your insides via your outside, so that it is technically possible to read parts of a person from what sort of trousers/piercings/hairdo/make up they wear, but those things are unreliable at best. I mean, I have a septum piercing, but I’ve never beat up a policeman or gained a massive following on Instagram. I also have really big boobs that sort of just came with my body but has nothing at all in common with my personality. If my looks properly reflected my mind I would probably be the sci-fi and fantasy section in Waterstones (the big one in Piccadilly Circus) or some sort of interesting seasonal virus.

I don’t even remember how this post started to be honest, and I’m too lazy to read through the whole thing. Hopefully you weren’t.

Note to add: I looked in the mirror yesterday and realised that I have very attractive ears. Like, I would totally not change a thing about them. That’s nice I guess.


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Don’t even get me started.

I am pretty sure that my last post was a year ago, but that’s just because I’ve been very busy (that’s a lie), and I’ve had more important things to do (another lie). I’ve moved back to Norway for a while, and I really enjoy all the aspects of being here (BIG lie).

I think we can all agree that 2016 has been a massive shitshow, both politically and death toll wise. So let’s not get into it, because if I start I’ll never be able to stop. Let’s instead focus on the positive, because although it’s been a rough one, I have had a few good experiences this year!

  1. I went to Lithuania on a Youth Work course even though I’m not, nor am I planning to become, a youth worker. I just have friends in strange places.



I got the chance to pose on a swing in the middle of a river, which is pretty cool I guess. Couldn’t feel my feet for ages after, but nobody said modelling is easy.



I even got to blatantly display my bisexuality in a country where this is frowned upon at best. Such a freedom fighter.


2. I also graduated from university, though I’m still not sure why they let me. I wrote my entire dissertation in three days and don’t really remember doing it. But I even managed to scrape a 2.1 degree, so I obviously owe my subconsciousness a bottle of wine and a thank you card.

3. I currently live with a ditsy and hugely talented artist friend, and we’re making a graphic novel together. If you speak Norwegian and want to find out more, or if you don’t and still want to look at some pretty sketches, then you can head over here and take a look. Feel free to like the page, more content will come soon, and I am also working on translating my script to English.

Alright, I did it, I blogged! And now I shall take my leave and go back to missing David Bowie, Alan Rickman, Anton Yelchin, Carrie Fisher etc etc etc.


Ps. Fuck you Trump, you orange Voldemort wannabe weasel turd.





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Memoirs of a Manic Pixie Dream Girl.

Oh, I love London Society! It is entirely composed now of beautiful idiots and brilliant lunatics. Just what Society should be.
Oscar Wilde


My time in London might be coming to an end soon, so I have tried to remember some of the more unique things I have experienced here over the years other than the probably obligatory 10 times I’ve seen Jude Law loitering about. It’s a strange and diverse list as I spent my early twenties being a Manic Pixie Dream Girl lost in a Wes Anderson film, and I hope you find it entertaining and that you don’t have me sectioned or arrested. ‘Tis all in the past, I am wholesome and god fearing now. *cough*

  • First flat: The first flat share I lived in was such a mess. You had to flush the toilet upstairs twice to get hot water in the kitchen tap downstairs, and the only way the bathroom light would work was if all other lights in the house were turned off. We used to stub out our cigarettes by rubbing them into the living room carpet, and cover the smell by pouring tea over it. If I forgot to lock my door before I left, I unavoidably came back to strangers having sex in my bed. Who says punk is dead?
  • Miyazaki: All of my housemates were coked up tough guy bartenders and bouncers, but one day I forced them to watch Spirited Away and they all cried like little girls.
  • Flatmate: In another house I lived, one of my housemates was an Irishman in his late fifties. He had a glass eye that was always looking upwards a little bit, and he only ever listened to Irish rebel songs and Eminem. Every Thursday he invited me to have steak dinner in his room, sitting on plastic outdoor chairs by a plastic folding table, eating from paper plates and listening to Eminem so loudly we couldn’t converse. I was too terrified to tell him I was a vegetarian. After dinner he gave me a weekly update on his ongoing feud with Boy George who lived down the street. My housemate hated ‘gays’ and Boy George hated the Irish. All of this was of course shouted over the sound of ‘Come out ye black and tans’ or ‘Murder, murder’.
  • Halloween: Once, on Halloween, my friends and I were being followed the entire night by a person dressed as death riding a string puppet ostrich. He never said a word to us and was always at least ten steps behind.
  • Frank: I used to have two good friends, they were both drug dealers, and they were both named Frank. They never met.
  • Celebrity culture: One of the Franks took me to a warehouse once, to pick up supplies, and the inside was decorated like a fancy hotel lobby with several famous people chilling in sofas just doing drugs. Like a bar, only with coke and pills.
  • La Vie de Boheme: I once had a one night stand with a writer who lived in a tent on a rooftop.
  • Regents Park: Some friends and I broke into a park one night and fell asleep in a tree, here is a picture.

1923343_11078575397_1334_n (2)

  • Regrat: A guy I had just met got fired from an office job in central so he picked the lock, brought me and about 8 other random people in and we smoked weed and watched YouTube videos of cats while he single-handedly trashed the place. I remember feeling guilty, but I wanted to be cool so I didn’t say anything. My first experience with peer pressure basically happened during B&E, not in high school like normal people. Such a rebel.
  • Camden: Once when I closed up the pub I worked in, I found a punk dwarf with a green mohawk sleeping under one of the corner benches. I hit him with my broom by accident and he screamed bloody murder before he got up, lit a cigarette and walked out without another word. Turned out he was a regular.
  • Down with the homies: I once did a ‘Free hugs’ event by the London Eye and ended up almost being in a hip hop music video. I know it doesn’t sound like much, but I’m so white that for me it’s totes gangsta.
  • Gandalf: I was eating a sandwich outside a cafe once, and fed some of the pigeons there. The waitress came and yelled at me to not feed the birds. After she left, the man sitting on the table in front of me lowered his newspaper, winked at me and threw some of his sandwich to the pigeons. The man was Sir Ian McKellen.
  • Compliment: Really hungover one morning, I was sitting by the Anteros statue in Piccadilly when an expensively dressed business man came running up to me, having just jumped off a bus. He stopped, bowed and told me I was the most beautiful person he had ever seen. Then he turned and ran back, jumped back on the bus and it drove off. It made my day and also inspired me to give random people more compliments, something I still do today.
  • 15 minutes: Still not sure today how I managed to do it, but I was stressed out and on my way to work walking through Leicester Square and cursing all of the people just standing there when I managed to walk out on the red carpet during the premiere of The Imaginarium of Doctor Parnassus, wearing baggy jeans, a hoodie and an old leather jacket. I was escorted off quickly and more than willingly, but the experience obviously made me realise that I am destined for a life in the limelight.
  • New year criminals: I used to hang out with a fashion photographer when I first moved here. It was new years eve and  we wanted to watch the fireworks. To prepare we went to a wine bar in Embankment and I distracted the bartender by flirting wildly while my friend *disappeared* a bottle of wine and two glasses. Then we ran, and since my early twenties were written and directed by Sophia Coppola, we did not get caught and spent midnight drinking wine whilst dangling our legs over the edge of a bridge, watching the fireworks and talking about how Kate Moss was so gone on drugs the last time he worked with her he had to help her change her bra.


There’s a hole in the world
Like a great black pit
And the vermin of the world
Inhabit it
And it goes by the name of London.
Stephen Sondheim 
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Rooming with Rat Loaf

It has been a brave new world for me these past few weeks when I have been dog sitting my friends baguette sized dog Bino. As I am very fond of the list based blogging (screw the flow, it’s all about the order) I have made one to try and explain exactly what it feels like to live with a yapping broom head.

  • No alarm clock needed. I wake up every morning to the feeling of something unbelievably skinny wobbling on my chest and the smell of rotting meat being blown rhythmically in my face.
  • All kibble is being treated like that last bread crust nobody in the family wants until that one 3 am snack where someone eats it with a fried egg because the shops were closed and there was no more frozen pizza.
  • People food is love. People food is life. Especially cheese, which segues into the next point.
  • Flatulence of epic proportions. How such a tiny loaf of bread can contain all that gas will forever be a mystery to me, according to physics he should be floating around at least three feet off the ground most days.
  • The smell of his own farts drives him out from under the duvet gasping for fresh air, mainly gasping into my face with rotting meat breath at 4 am in the morning.
  • He is overly fond of pooping in front of people, especially if they are trying to pet him or if he is right in front of their house just as they walk out the door. The way he poops is hard to explain, but he sort of…rests his hind legs on top of his front legs and walks around on them like a tiny little Russian gymnast child. It’s the only way I can picture the members of Cirque du soleil performing their morning toilet now.
  • It doesn’t matter if I’ve been out the whole day or am just nipping out to move the bins, he will hear me (and every other godforsaken living creature) from the second floor behind two closed doors as I walk up the driveway, and he will attack verbally (being quite vertically challenged). He is fire, he is darkness, hell hath no fury like a sausage roll with complexes.
  • He really likes it when I scratch his ribs. That’s right, there is no meat on him, so I am basically scratching his ribs directly, Tim Burton style. He loves it, I tend to do it while looking away. It just feels wrong somehow. Exposed.
  • His eyes are like the Mona Lisa, they follow me everywhere, especially when I have food on me. I just spent an hour in front of the laptop, back turned. I looked back now and there he was, eyes bulging, tiny mitten body sat unmovable like a statue on my bed whilst devouring me with his moist black olives.
  • He is so tiny that a really long walk for him consists of walking him TO the park and then back. We rarely enter unless I carry him to the gate. Also, whenever we get in the park he tries to hump other dogs. Dobermans and such, making his taste in abnormally large dogs his own contraceptive.


  • And last but not least: I have fallen so in love with the freaky rat creature that I absolutely dread the day when I have to give him back.


Just look at him. LOOK AT HIM.

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For Thomas (I think his name was)

So I had a job interview the other day, and I thought it went really well. Apparently my idea of ‘really well’ means something completely different to other people, because I didn’t get it. But they used my idea though, an idea I talked about during the interview. So they want my ideas obviously, you know, as long as I’m not along for the ride.

Well, let them have cake.

This is why working online sounds like the most amazing thing ever, imagine a job where you literally never have to meet people face to face, it sounds like heaven on earth to me. Never having to say ‘would you like a bag with that?’ again, never being personally blamed for mistakes that has nothing to do with me and everything to do with the company I am working for….sigh.

Working from bed without being a prostitute…

This blog post really doesn’t have a theme or an agenda, I am just really bored so I am blogging instead of being productive. Or drinking.

I just read Felicia Day’s biography, it was pretty awesome. You should read it. And I am thinking about getting my hair cut. Just a bit, just a trim. I am officially boring myself now.


That is perfectly acceptable, neither am I.

A guy from Amnesty International knocked on our door about an hour ago. He asked my nipples (it was cold standing in the doorway) if my parents were home. I just kind of stared at him until he caved and looked up, probably realising that I didn’t live with my parents, and also that my breasts were highly unlikely to contribute £2 a week for the Syrian refugees. His name was Thomas I think, he said he would come back later for tea, but I think it was just a very British way of saying goodbye.

It’s hard to tell sometimes.

So far that has been the highlight of my day. That or doing laundry, I just can’t decide. I really need university to start up again. That or a zombie apocalypse, I don’t really care either way as long as it’s something to keep me busy.

On the bright side I’ve gotten quite a lot of book writing done today, so I feel very accomplished and professional here I am sat in my mauve jumpsuit drinking cold tea and trying not to miss smoking.

I also managed to hurt my ankle two days ago, you know, walking in the park. I should hire a nanny.

I miss Thomas the Amnesty guy, we really had a connection.


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The headless monster vs. Kepler452b- Feat. A fruity interruption.

In a parallel universe I am quite the consistent blogger, I’m sure of it. It’s probably one of those universes where horses can speak, but only with a Russian accent, and Bukowski was the go-to babysitter of his neighbourhood.


Mah kind of universe!

Speaking of different worlds, have you heard about Kepler452b, our newest earth 2.0 candidate? There have been others, actually astronomers have estimated that there could be as many as 40 billion earth-like planets orbiting within the habitable zones around different sun-like stars in the Milky Way only. I read that on Wikipedia, so it must be true.

I am by no means an expert, I’m just your average citizen reading stuff online, promptly believing everything as long as it fits into my preconceived notions of how the known universe works.

I feel like there are three different kinds of approaches to the search for habitable planets and intelligent life:

The conqueror:  These are the people who are mostly interested in finding a new planet to live one once we’ve sufficiently wrecked our current one. We use our resources faster than they are created, and we use a lot of them in the wrong way and on unnecessary things. This is the sort of person who also probably wrote most of their coursework using copy-paste and page two of any Google search (you know, because then the teacher will definitely not  find out about it). A lazy approach that eases the guilt of not contributing to repairing and improving what we already have.


There are of course those who wants to do both, and I don’t see anything wrong in that. I would love to go live on another planet, but not because it would give me a free pass to destroy this one first. There is no dignity in behaving like a spreading virus.

The alien enthusiast: This is clearly the category I fit into, I mean how cool would it be to get to go on holiday to a different planet? To meet other life forms, new and alien cultures? Just imagine finding and contacting a planet with intelligent beings that are compatible with us in a way that facilitates communication, trading and culture exchange? I know it’s unlikely and will, if it does, happen long after I am dust in the wind, and that just finding living organisms in a puddle would be revolutionary in itself, but we’re all allowed to dream, aren’t we?

Of course there is a certain amount of people who would probably want this mainly for monetary gain. Imagine if we found a planet inhabited by friendly aliens eager to learn about us, but the planets main resource was a material that gave us immortality, the ability to fly or cure cancer for good? Would we trade? Would we try to find a peaceful solution? Or would we invade and take it all, slowly becoming the monstrous aliens we are so fond of depicting in films, literature and TV series? I mean, when you think about it we’re not exactly a peaceful and forward thinking species as a collective? If we were we wouldn’t fight among ourselves for made up reasons (religion, some people being more worth than others etc). So if we found a completely different species equal to us culturally and in intelligence, would we unite as a species and move forward in the universe with them, or would we just find a common enemy and destroy everything to satisfy our need for instant gratification?


The nonbeliever: These are all of the people who for one reason or another refuse to believe that anyone but us exists in the whole known universe. This might be because they are deeply religious or possibly because they weren’t hugged enough as a child.

On a side note, I personally think that religion is a reaction to being on top of the food chain. We have nobody to turn to because we are the most intelligent species on our tiny rock, and we have nobody to blame when horrible stuff happens. When someone turned on the light after the dark ages we gradually put our trust more and more in science, many people finding solace in a practice that refuse to accept anything but the truth of having absolute proof. Some still prefer to trust in their own imaginations.


1 hour later….

Sorry, got distracted when my housemate came home from work with watermelon. I’ll probably blog more in the coming days to tell about the Gishwhes  stuff we do, so keep an eye out!

Spock out.


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Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Guys, Phil is dead.

I know, I know, you’re probably asking “how do you know it’s Phil, don’t all moths look the same?” Well, first of all, I’m fairly sure that’s a bit racist on some level. Second of all, I know because my wall has been empty since I found him inside my oil burner.

I tried to write his eulogy, but it was hard, and I don’t know if he was religious at all, so the funeral was a simple and tasteful affair. It’s not until you lose someone that you realise how little you actually knew them. I never got to ask him the important questions, like if he likes peanut butter, and Russell Brand, fruit basket or messiah?

So I wrote him a poem.

You flew too close, my wallflower friend

but one day we shall meet again

in lovely fields all grey in hue

where no one can make fun of you

for not being colourful and sleek

you still had personality

I miss you now, my little friend

you flew too close into the flame

a thoughtless action that can’t be undone

because when you play with fire you extinguish your own. 


Goodbye Phil.

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