Friday, November 26

Samtaler

Noen ganger er det simpelthen ikke så lett å vite hva samtalen egentlig handler om.
Her om dagen, når Helle var på besøk, hadde vi en samtale om hvordan fransk er vanskelig.
Rakel og jeg var riktig oppslukt i emnet, og Helle var også med på den.
Trodde vi. Helt til.

Helle: Det er så rart hvordan strekene plutselig er den ene veien, og så den andre.
Meg: Ja, ikke sant? Jeg vet ikke helt hvordan det funker, men jeg tror det har noe med hvordan man uttaler det å gjøre.
Rakel: Ja, det er liksom hvor man legger trykket hen når man sier det.

Stillhet.

Helle: Nei, jeg mener. Pupillene til kattene...

Monday, November 8

Shoe twins

Kids of America

So, life is pretty much so normal in Canada that I forget that I actually have "news". Or at least, something to write about. The funny thing about moving to America is that there are some cliches that you talk about when watching, oh let's say The Hills, that you go like: "Man, how can they do that all the time? Lazy bastards with money.."
But THEN. Then you move to Montreal, and you find yourself in an apartment with a convection oven that you can't for the life of you figure out, and you haven't bought enough cutlery to eat more that two meals before you're out and have to use a knife to consume your ice cream. That's when you can't seem to avoid eating too many meals out.
Or order in. A lot.
So the other day, (or a lot of days ago, I guess) Rakel and I were going out for lunch, and we went to Eggspectation, probably the best invention of restaurants of all time. Basically, they have anything egg-like.
We usually go for omelets or I order my two fried eggs with potatoes or maybe even scrambled eggs.
So we were sitting there, waiting for our food, when Rakel said: "You know when we talked about how the guys on The Hills always go out to eat all the time and we laughed?"
And we looked at each other for a long time, and then we laughed. And then we spent a lot of time making those awkward faces to each other that they make on The Hills when they don't talk about anything.
Then we laughed some more.

My next update also revolves around food, which makes me surprised I haven't gained 1000 kg after I moved here.
Anyway. One night last week we decided to order in, and we went for this burger-place that just started delivering through this delivery-page we found (almost like Roomservice in Norway).
They have the most awesome veggie-burgers with like. Anything on them. Even truffle. Who wants truffle on their burgers?! We ordered burgers without truffles and waited in anticipation. After about an hour, which is unusual, they never take more than 45 minutes, finally someone knocked on the door.
The delivery guy was extremely hectic and weird, and he handed me one small bag that didn't exactly fit what I expected, because you know, we were hungry. So we ordered a lot of stuff.
Anyway, I asked him if he was sure that was all. He said yes, yes, he was very sure. I signed and closed the door.
Opened the tiny bag only to find there was only one burger, and where was our spicy mayo and pickles?
In panic, I ripped open the door and shouted after him, telling him I think he must have been mistaken, where's our other truckload on condiments? He looked at me for a short moment, and said: "Oh no. Ooooh no. I know what happened, I was just...Oooh nooo. Wait! I'll be right back! Wait there!"
Disgruntled, I said fine, and walked back into the apartment to put the first burger on a plate, along with the fries and gave it to Rakel.
We were talking about this horrifying event, when there was another knock on the door.
He was already back, the confused delivery man, with two bags, panting like a mad man.
"I gave you wrong, this is yours." he said, and handed me the bags. Turns out, he had given us completely the wrong order. Rakel almost had a french fries in her hand when he ran in our door and yanked the fries off her plate.
"Can you do that?" she said. He ensured us there was nothing to worry about, everything was completely fine! He proceeded to stuff the opened burger and fries back in the bag we initially received and ran out the door while frantically apologizing and repeating that it was a very bad day.
We were left confused and bewildered, with two opened veggie-burgers that some crazy person in our building had probably drooled all over. Also, that can't be allowed!
It was, however, highly entertaining, so we forgave him. Also, we were hungry.


My next update will make us sound incredibly snobby (as if the first updates haven't already).
On Friday, after a highly stressful week filled with almost going to Ikea, and almost going shopping, but then hindered by my laziness, we got back from work unusually early because we decided to skip Friday beers at work.
But when we got out of the elevator on our floor, we noticed, to our big surprise, that there was a cart looking like it belonged to a cleaning lady standing outside in our hallway.
We looked at each other with wild eyes, thinking she might be in our apartment, and how that would be awkward, because you know, she's our cleaning lady, and she would be cleaning, and we would be there.
We locked ourselves in, and were even more dissatisfied by the fact that she wasn't there, but she hadn't even been there yet. Horrified, we realized this could only mean one thing. She would come in while we were home, and do her whole routine with us present.
Which in fact, she did. At 6 PM she knocked on the door and we said: Oh noes! But not out loud.
Out loud we smiled stiff smiles and said hi.
She came inside and commenced her cleaning. Rakel kept saying she wanted to flee the apartment, while I said that I refused to go outside just because she hadn't been here yet. Also, it was too cold and I was being my lazy self.
Rakel stayed, but looked increasingly uncomfortable with every minute passing.
And let me tell you, many minutes passed! She did in fact do a terrific job, just this one time when we wished she would just swiffer the place down in ten minutes and run out of here.
Also, she tried to make some small talk, which turned out to be a bit more complicated than usual, as she doesn't speak English. And we do not yet master the art of French.
We mimed and spoke loudly to each other a bit, because that always helps communication, but after establishing that she was Angelica and I was Pia, and I lived there with Rakel, we gave up.
At 8 PM, after Rakel had threatened to leave many times, and Angelica had dusted our TV while we were watching it, and vacuumed to the hissing sound of our cats, which also apparently really wanted her to leave, she was finally done and left us with a "Have a good weekend" in awkward English.
The minute she closed the door behind her, Rakel and I collapsed in sighs of relief.
I don't know what it is that makes it so uncomfortable to have some stranger walk around in your apartment cleaning up your mess, but it was definitely weird.
Probably because I wanted to sit in the couch in my underwear watching Roller Derby while drinking beer...


In other news, this afternoon we had the most wonderful visit to IKEA.
This seems completely impossible, I know, but we did it. So the good news is that we have learned a lot from our last try, so we're getting smarter. And we now have a sofa bed for when Helle comes to visit us next week.
Which will be so awesome!
And not only because Rakel will get liquorice and I will get spray deodorant, but because we miss Helle!


Good night, and Godspeed!

Sunday, November 7

Oil

Tuesday, November 2