The Oslo weather is absolutely amazing these days, and it does indeed feel like a decade since the last time we had temperatures above twenty celsius. We are all enjoying it very much (I have even seen Norwegian people actually smiling to strangers), but since I am so out of practice on how to live life in a warm climate, I discovered that I have forgotten a few things since last time.


The wonderful feeling (not to mention sound) of my thighs smacking together as I wear shorts or skirts without pantyhose underneath. Nothing makes me prouder (*smack smack smack smack*).


Every spring I see girls wearing cool rompers, and I enthusiastically run to the first clothes shop I find to get myself one. That’s before I remember that rompers are not made for tall people and that I am in fact the very queen of camel toes romper-wise.

Summer clothes

I must have been totally convinced at some point that I would never need shorts, skirts or summer dresses in Norway again because I am realizing that I have left them all in Madrid. Such pessimism. This is what the long winter does to us.

Me leaving all my summer clothes in my Madrid closet


Yeah, I got stuck in a web the other day, and I was like, what the hell is this stuff? For a moment I had forgotten the concept, and that spiders exist. And that I hate them.

Actual footage of my snaky self


That no matter how much sun I get, I look like I’m made of fine grained marzipan. And on top of that I am allergic to self-tanning cream. That is also the only cream I am allergic to. Born to be white. In a non-white supremacy-way. In a frustrated way, actually.

Me after my killer has dismembered me

Legs and feet

So much damn work with all that shaving and toenail polishing. I guess this is where any feminist would blame the patriarchy, but regardless, I am too ashamed of the bottom part of my body when not groomed, to ever consider going out full cavewoman style. That look is reserved for my husband only, that lucky bastard.

Winter’s legs


Nice weather makes sun-deprived Norwegians reward themselves with stuff as if we have worked hard to earn it. So whenever we (read: I) ask myself if I should really have an ice cream or that extra glass of wine, the answer is always … but of course, the weather is so lovely! All the logic. Cheers!

This fall I have taken a giant leap out of character. Brace yourself well and properly! I have started WORKING OUT!

There are a few reasons why I made this revolutionary decision. After having worked in shops (and as a teacher) for years, I realized I got a lot of free exercise from walking around all day (obviously, you might say). Thus, starting an office job for the very first time, my general crappy shape has crapped itself even further. A few years ago I was able to play an hour of squash without losing my breath and having to stop. My biggest issue was being the worst loser the world has ever seen – and being nicknamed John McEnroe. I never thought I’d say this, but when, half-game, I discovered I was so ruined I couldn’t even pronounce my usual fucks, I missed my nickname.

Me after 5 minutes of exercise

The results

The advantages of never really having worked out are that you really feel your body reacting – the reaction being somewhere between Oh my, thank you for finally taking care of me and Good Lord in Heaven, what is this discomfort, whatcha doing to me, you masochist punk?!

It hurts the pride of my lazy ass to admit it, but it does feel good to notice that one’s shape is improving. That said, the soreness of muscles I honestly did not know that I had, is not to be underestimated. But at least you know it’s working, right?

Yeah, pretty much

The lies

I have never believed in the training gurus who tell you that regular working out makes you addicted. But, having done three times a week at my best, I thought my attitude towards movement would, for the very least, change slightly for the better.

I was wrong. I still fucking hate it. It hurts, and whoever says otherwise is lying.

Unfit, but cute. Just kidding, only unfit

So, now what?

I have not felt much body-related difference after 5 months, but there is one thing I would like to emphasize. We women all have what I have come to call a fat day. This does not mean that we wake up fat in the morning – it’s mental fatness that no one but ourselves can spot. Having a fat day and not having done shit about it, feels like crap. Having a fat day, but having gone to the gym, makes it a little better. Not to mention the joys of eating and feeling like you’re just evening out what you already lost, and that you deserve it.

To be continued…

True story

Like I have mentioned before (and again), Spaniards are probably the most relaxed people on earth. Although I have already spoken about how they bump into each other’s cars on purpose when parallel parking and how their bars are full of filth and dogs, I feel like the time has come to dedicate a whole post to the utter chill of this species.

Spain has great food. However, they do not know how to make it look good. This does not just go for the appearance of the dish when served. It is hilariously adorable to look through their homemade bar menus, seeing how they have somewhat tried to make their dishes delicious looking, but failed so thoroughly. Thankfully I know how it tastes, and it really is great, but the menus communicate something like “Look at our delicious… goo! It’s brown, slimy and weird! It’s a great goo! MMM!”

Delicious, delicious bean goo

So, you order some goo. And it looks a lot better than in the pictures, and it is actually the best food ever! Then, suddenly, the complete stranger across the table (whom your friend brought along), starts eating from your plate. He does not ask first, he just grabs his fork and helps himself. WTF, dude? Just know that you can also steal from their plates. This gives you access to lots of different stuff, so unless you’re a bacteria phobic, it’s pretty cool.

Lay off my food, stranger

They’re not very correct either. Latins are a bit like big children – they say what they think and have no filter. This applies to ethnicity, body shapes, behavior, and everything in between. Be sure, if you have gained weight, you will be asked why you have become so fat all of a sudden. Just like they cannot stop commenting on how I stay as white as ever even after a month and a half in the sun. I won’t elaborate on other skin tones than my own, but let’s just say, words that are considered offensive in other languages, may not be seen like that among Latins. It’s just a fact, and they don’t mean anything by it, nor do they take offense.

Conversation between Spanish cats

This brings me to their temper. Sure, Latins are known to be a bit loud, and if they disagree on something they can spend a long time discussing it, sounding furious to everyone who has not spent enough time with them. But they’re not. The only thing they usually end up agreeing on is that the other person has no idea, but when they’re done screaming, they order another beer and have a toast. Best friends again!

Somehow they manage to be charming even when telling each other to fak off

Also, their foul mouths. Words which are considered bad in other languages, just don’t carry any significance anymore to the Iberians. We all tend to swear from time to time, no matter where we’re from, but the Spaniards have really integrated their swear words into their language in an admirable manner. Where would you go to the doctor, and the doctor drops something on the floor, and says PUSSY! They don’t even react. It’s just like saying ops.

Shitting on someone’s mother is a fairly common phrase in Spanish

Let me return to their tendency to call people fat. Yes, they might be brutally honest about your weight gain, but they also use the word gordo (fat) affectionately. My mother in law once greeted me by saying GORDA, all smilingly and thrilled to see me, and they tend to call kids/animals/people they love gordito, gordi, gordo (and all kinds of variations) just like other people use dear or darling.

“I love you and I want to thank you for being in my life. Good morning. My fatty.”

KEEP IT CHILL, Spanish people!