Learn to count with the Friday Five

1. What was the last song you heard?
Icehouse – Crazy

2. What were the last two movies you saw?
8 Mile (excellent!)
Easter Parade

3. What were the last three things you purchased?
The Rough Guide to Ireland.
A pint of cider.
6 felt-tip pens.

4. What four things do you need to do this weekend?
Pick Linda up at the train station.
Go to Akademika to spend a gift certificate which expires very soon.
See “Jeg er ikke Dina” Saturday night.
Sample Arve’s whisky.

5. Who are the last five people you talked to?
Nils
Magne
Ireen
Riaz
Bjørn

I was asked: “Well, what do you like about him, then?” and I was puzzled for an answer. I did say, quite candidly, that at the moment I’m not sure whether there is anything I like about him, or whether it is simply a case of “there is nothing that I don’t like about him”, which is not the same thing at all. It might be mostly a case of “He’s there, and he’s available.” There is a reason why I am proceeding with caution here, you know.

On the other hand, I am not quite that cynical, or that desperate. There are specific things I like, of course, why would I want to be friends if there weren’t? I like his sense of humour. I like the way he talks, the way he argues a point, the way we agree on a lot of things but not everything. I like what I know about his taste in books and film and other stuff so far, and I’d like to know more. I like the way he tells a story. I like… Uhm. I can think of a few more things I like, but they’re hardly anonymous, so I’ll leave it at that for the time being.

So far, you’d agree, friendship is really all there is to it.

However, I also like his eyes. And I like his general shape. And obviously: looks matter, not in the “tall, dark and handsome” sense, but in the “he looks just right” sense, which is way more individual. I want to find out how it feels to have his arm around my shoulders while watching a movie. I want to try slow-dancing with him. In fact, the thought makes me go all gooey.

I like the way he seems to like me, an attractive feature in any guy who isn’t otherwise totally repulsive (though not enough on its own, obviously, or I’d have been married years ago).

Most of all, right now, I like the way I seem to have gone into a schoolgirl crush. I’d forgotten how thrilling it could be. The way an unexpected glimpse of him from the bus the other day sent my heart skipping. The way I feel like giggling every time he looks at me. I think I’ll just enjoy this for a while.

A poem

While eating my toast
I was approached by a ghost
Five inches tall, at most.

With acknowledgements to Des’ree “Life” – I was mindlessly watching VH-1 last night until this video came on and I started to pay attention to the lyrics. “I don’t wanna see a ghost, It’s the sight that I fear most, I’d rather have a piece of toast”. I thought it would be possible to get a more interesting result, given those three words.

Come to think of it, regarding the line ‘I keep a rabbits’ tail’ – surely it’s the foot you’re supposed to keep? It’s not as if it rhymes with anything else, so why not put ‘foot’ instead of ‘tail’?

Whatever.

Voice in my head: Elton John – Goodbye Yellow Brick Road

As if I needed another one…

Anyway, I have, somewhat to my amazement*, become a knitter (on a small scale, at least). I have knitted my first sock (Yay me!) which will grace the picture log as soon as I get the picture transferred from the camera to the server. Everyone I know might as well prepare themselves, you’ll all get socks or similar for Christmas.

While waiting for my pictures, take a look at Theresa’s 4 March entry, with a couple of photos from the S&B at her house on Sunday.

———
* Which is as nothing compared to the amazement that would be evident on the faces of the various well-meaning but hard-tried teachers and relatives who have tried to get me to knit at various points of my life.

My mind seems to be gone. I have a list in front of me with four things that really should be done by yesterday, and I can’t focus. In fact, I literally can’t focus, my eyes seem to have lost their job-description and are consequently running round like headless chickens, mostly crossing each other.

Tonight will be my first non-sociable night for over a week. I knew there was something odd going on.

I need solitude.

Voice in my head: Shania Twain – I’m gonna getcha (oh dear, oh dear, I’m losing it)

So. I was at work until midnight yesterday, which means a working day of pretty much exactly 16 hours. Is that good, I wonder?

Hence, very little sleep. Bed at one, up again at six. I need more than four-and-a-half hours…

On the other hand, my father’s in town for a two-day meeting, which means cider at The Dubliner and a good meal this evening. Yay.

Voice in my head: Avril Lavigne – Nobody’s Fool

comercial lyrics
scandinavian accent
car childhood old age

I dunno.

Voice in my head: Billy Joel – You can have this heart to break

Norwegian lesson, a bit on the late side, or what do you say, Theresa?

delbar, adj. divisible, dividable. Essential word if you ever want to buy a zipper, for example. A zipper which is not “delbar” is useful for cushion-covers and trousers and a lot of other, no doubt highly practical, purposes, however, for a zipper to be useful for jackets it needs to be “delbar”.

There are no people in the UK sharing my name (“There are 0 People with the name Ragnhild Sandlund. That name doesn’t exist. Are you secret service? Don’t hurt me I’ve seen Enemy of the State.”). Odd that. On the other hand, some other people I know also show up as 0, so maybe it’s not all that dependable. (From Joh.)

Voice in my head: Smurfene “Det finn’s en smurf i oss alle” (it’s all Ireen’s fault)