Fireworks in Norway
What a completely random weekend. And what a completely random way to spend it. The weekend went on and on and on. It literally never stopped. And it all began by nearly sleeping Saturday away. “It was a beautiful day outside,” just about everyone had said. But “beautiful” is defined by sheep as “warm and sunny.” I find beauty in other climatic arrangements.
After working a grueling week with post 3am scheduling, my body crashed.
We woke and noticed the sun had already set. And with nothing to do- no real plans for the Saturday evening for the first time in a million years- we nearly decided to go back to bed until Summer had texted out of boredom. “I tried not to bother you guys because I don’t want to overstay my welcome, but I was so bored I couldn’t help it.” Thank God for that one.
The plan was to meet up at Starbucks for coffee in Buford across from the Mall of Georgia. And somehow the night grew a mind of her own.
With nothing to do besides pontificate over our level of spontaneity we ended up somehow agreeing upon dinner. “I’m starving,” I noted. And so from Starbucks we ended up at Fuego, a new Mexican grill behind PF Changs in the mall courtyard. Turns out the food was extremely bland. It also turns out that Cindy met us back at home where we convened before jetting to Chateau Elan somewhere in the boondocks near Adam’s brother, Josh’s house before one would get to Brazelton.
Brian had mentioned that he was at an Irish pub in Chateau Elan with the rich people he worked with. What he didn't mention was just how old those people were. We walked into the pub and everyone practically pinched our cheeks with excitement. "You guys remind me so much of my children." White people were everywhere dancing badly to a live band that played all of those great cracker hits.
At one point we ended up outside where Summer took a smoke break. An older gentleman- and obviously a guy with power since that's what was being said- introduced himself to our group as Max and greeted us all in our native dialect. He said a salutation in Korean for Cindy, something in Spanish for Danny and greeted me with a bad Cajun accent. After Summer had introduced herself he made a stab at Danny saying "You must be Winter" - though it sounded more like "Winner." He was funny though, I grant him that much. And he loved Danny's shoes. Seemingly out of no where, a black woman -the fist of her kind out there for sure- walks up to the group and yells to Danny, "Silver! Silver meet Gold baby. Meet Gold." This was in reference to the silver shoes he was wearing. She said this while placing his gold cowboy booted foot side by side with Danny's for comparison. It was as though she fell from the sky. No one had seen her before this moment and she was gone in a flash. She looked a train wreck in her cut off jean shorts and bright gold cowboy boots with a t-shirt and a bedazzled jean vest. And she must have been privy to at least part of our prior conversation because she said this: "Take me back to Puerto Rico, baby. We'll sit around and drink Coronas on the beach." "I don't have money," Danny said nervously and a bit perplexed. "When you with me baby, you don't need money," is all she offered. "What's yo name?" "Winner!" someone exclaimed. "Winna? I'm Winna Two baby, I'm Winna Two." And with that she dashed to the parking lot, climbed into the side door of a mini van, slid the door shut and was off.
"What in the hell just happened?" I asked our stupefied group. The old people seemed to pay her no mind at all. As though a ghetto prostitute didn't just drop from the sky and try to make conversation with us. Later Summer would shed some insight, "According to Brian, they weren't just old people. They were rich, alcoholic, old people - prostitutes are a part of everyday life for them. Some probably already knew her."
And they say OUR parties are wild.
I mostly spent the time at Paddy’s sipping on a Bud and talking to Cindy while Danny and Summer chatted it up about Adam and how he’s keeping his distance to “sort things out” after nearly a month of binge drinking.
Cindy had resurfaced after a considerable absence. Though she and I don’t really connect on many issues, I do enjoy having her around. She’s the type who is gung ho with any plans and rarely voices a complaint. “We always end up doing the most random things,” she said after we drug her to an Irish pub full of whiteys. The last time we had seen her was when she showed up for our going away party the night before the trip. But before that she had tagged along with us for Taxco where Steven had joined us and the four of us reflected on the year. I remember remarking how it [2010] wasn’t the kindest for me but was smacked down when around the time the consensus was “could be worse.” I didn’t mean to offend, I just felt my rocky home life with wandering roommates and a claustrophobic mother couple with a growing financial situation cast a shadow of ill effect on the year as a whole for me. But we did manage to squeeze out a bit of fun. And we did meet some interesting people. And at the time of the palaver around a plate of tacos, we -were- preparing for our first trip to Europe.
At this time Cindy was preparing to move out of Matt’s apartment on Christmas weekend.
Fast forward to the end of January, and she had actually done so. They remain friends but alas, the era of Cindy and Matt had finally ended. It was inevitable and I was glad she was finally able to break free.
After getting kicked out of Paddy’s by a burly guy picking up empty bottles - “We’re closing up guys”- we waved goodbye to Brian and Chateau Elan and sped toward the city when Cindy had a half crazed idea that we should take Summer for her first stripper club experience.
I should note here that Chateau Elan was remarkable. A great stately palace of a place nestled in the middle of a huge vineyard and ranch. It’s certainly a place we should keep within radar to consider exploring in the future. On our way out was a cluster of deer that were lounging by the exit gate.
Turns out we made it to Swinging Richards just in enough time for Cindy to get about a dozen phone numbers and for Summer to see a few guys swing their Richards about on stage. Despite arriving at 2:15, Cindy decided she would pay for all of our cover fees. “I have two jobs now and I want to blow the first pay check.” It was pretty dull this time around considering there was only ten minutes of dancing but Summer vowed she’d be back.
We drove to a female strip club called the Pink Pony only to find that it was closing for the night despite the 4am closing time mentioned on the website.
By this time plans for a night out had been abandoned for a run to the Georgia Diner suggested once again by Cindy.
And much to our surprise, Mony had returned. Her hair was pinned back and bushier than a horses mane. “My favourite people,” she said in her sing songy voice when she saw us enter. We hadn’t been to the diner in a considerable amount of time and she said she’d been back for only two weeks. To me it was like the life of the party had returned. She told us a story about her last Swinging Richards experience which was apparently years ago. When her now ex had rented a room for $300 and started masturbating to the stripper as he danced privately. “This was a little too weird for me y’all. And that’s when I started noticing weird things. He wanted me to blow the guy dancing which was definitely not going to happen. And that was the last time I’d been to that place.” She’s always mentioned about dealing with the emotional aftermath from a long-term relationship and I wondered if it was because she thought she turned her boyfriend gay.
Back at home Cindy bid adieu and this is when things really started to get strange. Around 5:30, while I was in the bathroom, Danny and Summer said they heard the front door knob jiggle as though someone was trying to enter with a key. Thinking it was Kyle, who comes in and out at any given time of the day or night, they continued with their conversation. After it dawned how distracting it was, Danny went upstairs to see if Kyle was home. Turns out he was. Looking out of Kyle’s bedroom window, they noticed a silver, 4-door Honda Accord. The driver side door was open with a person sitting behind the wheel. By the time Danny and Kyle made it downstairs, the passenger was back in the car and they sped away.
The incident did creep me out slightly and I reported it to HOA but I have to say I’d never had something quite like it happen. Yes, it could be that someone simply had a bit too much to drink and ended up in the wrong house. But these days, you never know.
Rather than sleep, we decided to scale up Stone Mountain and headed for another Starbucks run as we swung by Summer’s house so she could pick up proper shoes. Kyle tagged along. “Hey, you guys were in here about 10 hours ago, and the only person who changed their outfit was her,” the barista said as he pointed to Summer. How embarrassing was that? To be noticed as we stood at the counter ordering our coffee concoctions with sunglasses shielding us from the light. The older woman working with this guy said with a chuckle “oh leave them alone, we were young once and liked to party.” Then excused herself as she nearly spat out her dentures claiming, “sorry, I just put them in.” The night which turned to morning kept getting weirder.
The last time I had hiked up Stone Mountain was with Chap and Jeff back in the brutal summer of 2006. I remember nearly hyperventilating. Though we went twice last year -once with Kathleen and once with Damarys- we’d taken the gondola lift up and scaled the side of the mountain on the way down.
Maybe it was because it was the winter, or maybe I’m better in shape than I was 2006 (doubtful, as I’m big as a whale now) but it certainly wasn’t nearly as grueling a trip as it was that year.
Once at the top we rested upon blankets we had packed in Danny’s Europe back pack. I was able to doze off and snore a bit enjoying the cool breeze and winter sun which made for a much more peaceful sleep that I would have imagined up there on a great stone rock. I snapped a few photos, gabbed with Summer who lied beside me while Danny and Kyle had their own pack on her other side. The view of Atlanta was amazing from that vantage point and we noted the rock that Damarys had made us all take photos upon. Damarys - gosh that visit seems so far away. Not to mention Kendra, Lisa and Lacy.
We walked down the mountain and then walked leisurely around the park to the toy shoppe and noted how just how lame Snow Mountain, the snowy, seasonal amusement park was as we stood as casual spectators viewing the kids as they slid down a tiny fake, snow covered mountain in rafts and tubes.
We did a bit of shopping at Urban Outfitters, though we bought nothing and then decided upon sushi at Samurai Blue back in Lawrenceville. Cindy met back up with us and by this time we were noticeably sleep deprived and wind ravaged.
We parted ways after dinner, dropped Kyle off at home and then went to the AMC at Discover Mills to catch the 7:00pm showing of Anthony Hopkins’ new exorcist movie called “The Rite” which happened to have been terrible. I dozed off a couple of times during slower parts and Mom called me four times which made me a bit worried that something happened back at home.
Turns out she just wanted to talk. The weekend finally ended as we dropped Summer off at home and Danny crashed at midnight.
I sat on the stairway in the quiet of our home wondering about the event that occurred at 5:30 that morning. Wondering if it was an accident or if someone really did try to break and enter.
Back upstairs, thru my delirium I decided to upload photos to Facebook from the middle of the month and the weekend past before I too had fallen into sleep before the start of another work week. My only regret about the weekend was not so much the lack of sleep but the lack of down time on Sunday evening. Our movie time. My writing time. We were so exhausted that no one was awake past 1am. And a wave of relaxation fell upon me.
* * *
Relaxation, as it were, was in abundance in Norway. And as I close my tale of Norway here and write about the dealings centering about our last day and night in Moss, I realize that nothing I could say within those lines would do it any amount of justice…
Marita had spent the night at her boyfriend's. We woke up, December 31st, 2010, our last full day in Norway and decided to gather all of our belongings to see if they would actually fit in the backpacks we had brought. Whereas I can unpack like a demon, Danny is a lot better at packing and squeezing everything together. We were sad to leave Norway but honestly a part of us was ready to be back home. Not really that we missed America or our friends so much but that we felt an air of awkwardness centering around Marita and Tom since we had obviously overstayed our welcome according to Tom's actions. Our intention was not to travel thousands of miles across the world in order to break up a couple even if he was acting a bit like a child. I mean, who thinks of this as a romantic holiday anyway? But Marita insisted we stay despite telling her we wouldn't mind spending it in Oslo. Hakon practically begged us to and spending it in the city I'm sure would have been quite an experience.
We pressed onward somberly hoping that the night would turn out well but wishing that we were in Union City celebrating the New Year with Brian and Summer and Adam and Drew and Cindy. Turns out, what we didn't realize is that the party had already fallen thru and Summer would spend New Years Eve awkwardly with Adam's family sitting around the TV.
What we didn't realize then is that we wouldn't have anything at all to worry about. The night, though it loomed ahead of us shrouded in mystery, ended perfectly.
Marita and Danny made another pot of sangria which we had taken over to Christine's where we were all invited for New Years dinner and Tom didn't even give off the slightest level of snobbery.
Dinner was fantastic, as was everything we had eaten in Norway. They served red wine with turkey and vegetables and potatoes. And a peculiar salad with green & red apples, red grapes, pineapple, walnuts and celery in a cream mixture made of whipped cream, pineapple juice and mayo. It was fantastic actually.
Christine's house, like seemingly all of the houses in Norway, was adorned beautifully for Christmas. Her table setting was immaculate -like out of the pages of a Chiasso catalog.
"Now you guys have to eat seconds," she said. "If you don't it's considered insulting to the cook." And I wondered why seconds were always passed around the table here. I caught on early and put only a minimal portion on my plate so that when seconds were offered, I wouldn't feel as though I had gorged.
Christine displayed chocolates. Her boyfriend, Martin filled up my goblet with more wine. And he also made us all coffee. Coffee and chocolates seemed to be served after every meal here in Norway. And the coffee was always strong and black (no sugar or cream offered) and the chocolates were always superb. They mostly sat around the table talking amongst one another in Norwegian. The head of the table was against the window and I stared at the snowy driveway and the candles lit on the sidewalk thru the window that held another brightly lit star. Tom sat around from me alongside Marita. Christine sat beside Marita and their friend pulled up the head of the table. I didnn't remember his name but I don't really think it matters because Marita said he was refusing to speak in English to us. Martin sat across the table from Christine and Danny sat beside me. Their evil cat walked about the room biting on people's feet as they walked to the bathroom.
Christine had given Danny and I a tour of their house. It was tiny but perfect. The upstairs level being just as quaint and cozy as the downstairs. There's so much detail put in interior decorating here. It made American houses seem so large and empty.
There was some speculation as to whether or not we would attend some party in Son but the consensus was Marita didn't want to go and Martin was forcing Christine. There was a laid back air about the place almost in a soporific glaze and even Christine kept yawning throughout the night. For New Years, as lovely as it was, it didn't seem exciting. We packed up the sangria which was a little less than half full - it appears we drank quite a bit at the table, bid adieu to Christine and Martin, and waited outside where Renate spun about to pick the four of us up.
Renate, wasn't drinking this particular evening. She was collecting money by driving reveling Norwegians about so that they could drink responsibility without fear of driving on the road. Renate, though we had met briefly once before, turns out was very friendly. "I'm surprised she wasn't as chatty last you met her," Marita had said. "she's usually the outgoing one." She remarked how Renate used to be "American fat. She and her boyfriend grew comfortable with one another and ate chocolate on the sofa for months. She's lost some weight, I'm proud of her." She had lived in the states for a spell like Marita going to college in some shit hole town in Missouri or one of those midwesterny states. Marita had spent some time in a hick northern Mississippi town and picked up her first black boyfriend or two.
Renate had dropped us off at Martia's apartment where Tom downed the rest of the sangria and we sat around until it was time to catch fireworks. There was a festive air about the place. Tom, who was quite drunk by this time was being extremely friendly to Danny and I. It was though he was making up for the grief he caused Marita by opening up to us and it didn't feel the least bit disingenuous. I think he regretted his foolish plans after realizing how much in favour we had fallen to him.
Tom offered me the last slice of the clementine he had begun to peel. "Here," he said. "Eat this. The last of the season. And when you remember this, remember that it was your good friend, Tom who offered you the last of the clementine." I smiled at this. He was so self conscious of his English. And though he spoke in a thick accent that was sometimes indecipherable due mostly to the alcohol, I'd imagine, I found it endearing.
"Hurry," Marita exclaimed. "We need to go out! We'll miss the fireworks." And so it was, just a few minutes before the clock struck midnight bringing in the Year 2011, we fled Marita's apartment for Renate's car. Me, Danny, Marita, Tom and Renate herself. Turns out, the car was stuck in the snow. "Oh no!" Marita exclaimed while Renate chuckled as though this happened every day of her life. Marita and Danny dashed out the back doors that they were sitting beside leaving the car doors open so that her tiny ride seemed like a plane stuck in the ice. Tom sat in the front seat and after the two who were pushing the car had troubles, he ran out the car too. And this is when the clock turned her arms to midnight. In Norway, in the middle of the snow, under a clear sky. With me in middle of the backseat of a strange car car with a friendly stranger I'd barely met and my three friends pushing the car out of the snow in the back. The fireworks loomed up ahead. One two. three. a dozen. Dotting the black, midnight sky.
There was no need for me to run out, after a moment of Tom's assistance, the car was back up and running. Everyone dashed inside all giggles and Renate sped off. We hurriedly trailed down the roadway past snowy neighbourhood after snowy neighbourhood with fireworks going off all about us.
We finally ended up at the corner of some streets where some people were lighting fireworks. Marita handed us all sparklers and we stood about watching for a bit. This is where we met June, another one of their friends.
Before long we were off in the car again somewhere perhaps in downtown Moss, perhaps not. And stood outside what Marita said was "one of Norway's white trash bars. It's where I met Tom."
We passed around a bottle of champagne illegally (for it's against the law to drink the street here) which was really nothing more than sparkling Moscato. Moscato, being my favourite wine, was definitely something I was able to drink. We stood on the street corner where a huge church stood before us and when we were finished with the bottle Tom chucked it against a lamppost figuring it would shatter. Unexpectedly, instead it flew back and narrowly missed hitting by head by less than an inch. I felt it whooosh by and the gasps from Marita and Danny but I didn't really realize what was going on because I was too busy fidgeting with my Hipstamatic to bother. I snapped a photo where it landed in the road and we all darted into the bar to the boisterous sounds of Karaoke where women were signing American hits.
One that stood out was Madonna's "Rain" which I thought so random for this neck of the world. Tom and Marita offered us drinks. And before long Renate, who had only dropped us off here earlier, was in to celebrate. June ended up here too after about an hour or so. Danny and I just stood around sipping the drinks that Tom had offered us which I'm pretty sure was vodka and Red Bull.
The bar had a mural skyline of New York City and was very tiny much like the trashy white bars you'd find here in America. The similarities amazed me.
At one point Tom wanted me to get up and dance with him. "Come on!" he urged. "Oh, no no no. I don't dance Tom. I'm fine." He grabbed my arm. "Please! Come on. You'll regret this if you don't." And it was the little boy sincerity in his voice that prompted me to follow him to the tiniest dance floor in the world in the corner of some trashy karaoke bar in small town Norway to dance with him to Shania Twain's "Man, I Feel Like a Woman." Some moments in time are nearly unbelievable unless you were there to experience it. The song ended, we hugged and I sat back down and spoke with June a great deal while Danny was corned by Renate. It turns out, June was one of my favourite people I had met there and I only wished we could have spent more time with her.
The bar was closing so everyone filtered out. We waved goodbye to June as we did to Marita and Tom. Marita was going to spend the evening with Tom and her sister Christine was going to swing by at 6:50 in the morning to pick Danny and I up in order to drop us off at the bus station which we would then take to the airport in Oslo. It was a bit of a sad moment. I thanked her for everything. For allowing me to stay in her place without even knowing me. And for being such a wonderful hostess. I hugged Tom and thanked him for a fantastic night for without him I don't think things would have ended the same. We piled into Renate's car and she sped away leaving Marita and Tom at the corner of the street waving to us goodbye and kissing their hands. And despite the fact that they say they're going to come visit us in America and the realities of Facebook contact, I wonder if it's the last we'll ever see of them.
Renate picked up a tipsy, older aristocratic woman who was wearing a fur coat. She seemed very kind and looked as though the thought of being in the car with Amercians intrigued her. "And handsome boys at that." I was a little tipsy and this was a month ago so I don't remember much of that conversation at all other than the feeling that she seemed like the type of woman who had a thousand stories to tell and a wonderful way of telling them.
Renate dropped us off at Marita's apartment (Marita had given us the key to let us in) and we thanked her for toting us around all weekend. We stumbled our way to the door, wrote a message for Marita in the snow, went inside, wrote a letter from a torn piece of the Snuggie box thanking her for everything she had done for us and that we loved her dearly and then crashed in her bed hoping to enjoy at least three hours of sleep before Christine would arrive to pick us up and realizing that this would mark the second time intoxication would win out before a long trip.
Before long sleep enveloped me as I blinked the remaining few hours away that I would spend beneath the Norwegian sky.
I woke somehow just after 6:30, went to the bathroom, gathered up my remaining belongings in the dark and woke Danny. Judging by the rise in his briefs, he wasn't ready for waking. He grabbed the back of my head toward him, I tamed the serpent, wiped my mouth and he stirred. Two minutes later, while I was still fumbling for my shoes, Christine knocked on the door. We left just about every glass she owned on the kitchen counter dirty from the week. I had broken one a day or so ago when trying to wash so I left them there out of fear of doing more harm than good.
Christine was so sweet for driving us. Sleep had covered our eyes and alcohol sloshed around our bellies but somehow we did make it in time at the bus station. The driver was a gruff but kind man who spoke English when issuing the ticket though you'd never know by the rough announcements he made on the intercom. "I certainly hope he's not saying anything important because his English is terrible."
Eventually, after about forty-five minutes or so, we did make it to the Oslo airport. We were exhausted and mildly hungover and realized that this was only the beginning of a very long journey home. There was no layover once in America. This time around we would fly from Oslo to Amsterdam and then from Amsterdam straight to Atlanta.
I don't even remember the plane ride to Amsterdam. It felt as though I slept walked the entire way. If the flight to Atlanta wasn't so horrible I probably wouldn't have remembered it either. But it was so cramped. I felt a spell of claustrophobia more than once. And turbulence was brutal for at least an hour during the flight. I noticed as Danny gripped the sides of his seat. We didn't have our own space this time. The time around the plane was situated as three seats on outer aisles and then five on the inner. Rather than the two seats on the outer aisle like the flight to Europe. This means we shared our space with a guy who sat on the aisle. I made Danny sit in the middle while I took the window. It was our deal that if he gets window going, I get it coming back.
I sat in a small confined space for over 10 hours getting up only once to pee. The guy in front of me smelled strongly of onions and I wished so badly to offer him some deodorant. What made matters worse is that I didn't have a choice about moving my seat back. When it was in the upright position, my nose nearly touched the seat in front of me as the smelly guy moved it back to sleep. So sleep it was. Though it barely came to me. Danny was able to get some winks in though had a generally miserable look on his face for ten hours straight. The food was great though - love KLM.
Once in Atlanta the nightmare wasn't over. We spent two hours in customs, dressing and undressing, waiting in lines to declare our goods, pulling out of luggage and then putting it back for phase two of scanning. It was an absolute nightmare. We arrived in Atlanta sometime after 6pm and didn't get to the Marta station until 9. We waiting seemingly forever for our backpacks to come thru baggage claim and when I grabbed Danny's the waist clamp got stuck, broke off as I tugged and flew into the air hitting some lady in the head. A half hour later mine comes down the belt looking as though someone had dipped it in ash; it had obviously been tampered with.
Tired, irritated and not wanting to be home we waited for the Marta train. It didn't help that the most ghetto people in the country ride Marta and some stupid girl was spouting out ridiculous things to impress her friends. Another girl was holding her cell phone in the palm of her hand about a foot and a half away from her face -a practice that really irritates me- and blathering: "guh yea, did chu check da tv? check by dah tv." Ugh America. Where they speak English but not really. It's pathetic when people who speak English as a 2nd language know it better than people who live here. It wasn't a very good welcome back. And I was already longing to be back in Europe.
Kyle was there to pick us up from the station, and before long, as exhausted as we were, Summer and Adam had come over to pick up where we had left off from the party the night before we had left. Summer and Adam and their young relationship that would be practically over before the month's end.
I told Danny how tired I was. How I would have preferred to rest the evening. We ended up at TGI Fridays for drinks and they ended up staying the night. It was no party like the night before we left where Cindy and Heather had stopped by. This was just boring, mindless "fun" and it made me miss the intellectual parties that Marita and her family and friends held.
By month's end these parties had long overstayed their welcome and the relationship between Summer and Adam was strained as he somehow lost interest.
Life droned on and on and on. The next day I spent lounging. We treated Nilsa to sushi at Blue Samurai for her birthday on Sunday. We told her about all of the cool things we'd encountered in Norway. She spoke about work and how she's considering a move to Florida but ultimately still wants to go to Puerto Rico. I wondered how many more conversations of this sort we'd have with her before everything simply changed.
I was so tired. The first two weeks after the trip being the hardest for me. It was as though nothing really mattered. I went to work a bit numb feeling more cheated than ever that we're offered only 2 weeks of vacation and one personal. In my car I wondered why I had to stop at traffic lights when no cars were approaching. I wondered why I had to flush the toilet twice to get all of the toilet paper to go down. I wondered why our house was so huge yet so empty. I resented our friends who just wanted to party constantly rather than chill and talk. I cooked everyday for Danny and I. No more of that frozen packaged mierda as a last resort. Definitely no eating out. We were going to eat real meals - real food. I resented American portions and huge American cars. I hated turning on the Internet to horrible stories about our bipolarized political structure. I hated hearing about Senator Gabrielle Giffords who was shot in the head by a deranged man child and how no one addressed gun control - not even our President. I hated coming to Atlanta and seeing the lack of snow; the temperatures were pretty warm when we arrived.
Truth be known, I hated America. It's pious ideals. It's rich man's catering. It's ignorant followers. I was so depressed for two solid weeks that I barely spoke on the ride to work. Danny echoed my sentiment. Each day we'd look at one another forlornly and say "I miss Norway" or "I need to move to Europe."
I was fortunate. My first European experience was not as a tourist. I didn't land in some hotel in Oslo and gingerly walk about the touristy areas. I experienced it as a visitor of the culture. I was attended real houses and met real people and had conversations about real issues. And that's a wonderful thing but it was detrimental for my mental state when coming back home and noticing how everything here is simply wrong.
You hear about it your entire life, how well Europeans live. But it doesn't emotionally resonate until you've experienced it. Until you see just how stress free they truly live. Just how enriched their lives are. Yes, we have Hollywood -and God bless good movies. But trust me when I say this, we are so far behind the spectrum in every other aspect. Americans have truly forgotten the important things in life - and in place we fill the void with a Wal-Mart in the centre of every town and tons of mass produced, super sized fast food chains that make us somehow feel fulfilled. We need larger cars, enormous houses, bigger soda bottles, super sizes and more more more. Until our lifestyles are as inflated as our egos and our ballooning waists.
Time moves on, yes. And I'm not nearly as dejected as I was at the start of the month. It's like someone peeled back my eyelids and said "NOW Look". Honestly, I don't know if I'll ever truly get past this. And truthfully, I don't know if I want to.
After working a grueling week with post 3am scheduling, my body crashed.
We woke and noticed the sun had already set. And with nothing to do- no real plans for the Saturday evening for the first time in a million years- we nearly decided to go back to bed until Summer had texted out of boredom. “I tried not to bother you guys because I don’t want to overstay my welcome, but I was so bored I couldn’t help it.” Thank God for that one.
The plan was to meet up at Starbucks for coffee in Buford across from the Mall of Georgia. And somehow the night grew a mind of her own.
With nothing to do besides pontificate over our level of spontaneity we ended up somehow agreeing upon dinner. “I’m starving,” I noted. And so from Starbucks we ended up at Fuego, a new Mexican grill behind PF Changs in the mall courtyard. Turns out the food was extremely bland. It also turns out that Cindy met us back at home where we convened before jetting to Chateau Elan somewhere in the boondocks near Adam’s brother, Josh’s house before one would get to Brazelton.
Brian had mentioned that he was at an Irish pub in Chateau Elan with the rich people he worked with. What he didn't mention was just how old those people were. We walked into the pub and everyone practically pinched our cheeks with excitement. "You guys remind me so much of my children." White people were everywhere dancing badly to a live band that played all of those great cracker hits.
At one point we ended up outside where Summer took a smoke break. An older gentleman- and obviously a guy with power since that's what was being said- introduced himself to our group as Max and greeted us all in our native dialect. He said a salutation in Korean for Cindy, something in Spanish for Danny and greeted me with a bad Cajun accent. After Summer had introduced herself he made a stab at Danny saying "You must be Winter" - though it sounded more like "Winner." He was funny though, I grant him that much. And he loved Danny's shoes. Seemingly out of no where, a black woman -the fist of her kind out there for sure- walks up to the group and yells to Danny, "Silver! Silver meet Gold baby. Meet Gold." This was in reference to the silver shoes he was wearing. She said this while placing his gold cowboy booted foot side by side with Danny's for comparison. It was as though she fell from the sky. No one had seen her before this moment and she was gone in a flash. She looked a train wreck in her cut off jean shorts and bright gold cowboy boots with a t-shirt and a bedazzled jean vest. And she must have been privy to at least part of our prior conversation because she said this: "Take me back to Puerto Rico, baby. We'll sit around and drink Coronas on the beach." "I don't have money," Danny said nervously and a bit perplexed. "When you with me baby, you don't need money," is all she offered. "What's yo name?" "Winner!" someone exclaimed. "Winna? I'm Winna Two baby, I'm Winna Two." And with that she dashed to the parking lot, climbed into the side door of a mini van, slid the door shut and was off.
"What in the hell just happened?" I asked our stupefied group. The old people seemed to pay her no mind at all. As though a ghetto prostitute didn't just drop from the sky and try to make conversation with us. Later Summer would shed some insight, "According to Brian, they weren't just old people. They were rich, alcoholic, old people - prostitutes are a part of everyday life for them. Some probably already knew her."
And they say OUR parties are wild.
I mostly spent the time at Paddy’s sipping on a Bud and talking to Cindy while Danny and Summer chatted it up about Adam and how he’s keeping his distance to “sort things out” after nearly a month of binge drinking.
Cindy had resurfaced after a considerable absence. Though she and I don’t really connect on many issues, I do enjoy having her around. She’s the type who is gung ho with any plans and rarely voices a complaint. “We always end up doing the most random things,” she said after we drug her to an Irish pub full of whiteys. The last time we had seen her was when she showed up for our going away party the night before the trip. But before that she had tagged along with us for Taxco where Steven had joined us and the four of us reflected on the year. I remember remarking how it [2010] wasn’t the kindest for me but was smacked down when around the time the consensus was “could be worse.” I didn’t mean to offend, I just felt my rocky home life with wandering roommates and a claustrophobic mother couple with a growing financial situation cast a shadow of ill effect on the year as a whole for me. But we did manage to squeeze out a bit of fun. And we did meet some interesting people. And at the time of the palaver around a plate of tacos, we -were- preparing for our first trip to Europe.
At this time Cindy was preparing to move out of Matt’s apartment on Christmas weekend.
Fast forward to the end of January, and she had actually done so. They remain friends but alas, the era of Cindy and Matt had finally ended. It was inevitable and I was glad she was finally able to break free.
After getting kicked out of Paddy’s by a burly guy picking up empty bottles - “We’re closing up guys”- we waved goodbye to Brian and Chateau Elan and sped toward the city when Cindy had a half crazed idea that we should take Summer for her first stripper club experience.
I should note here that Chateau Elan was remarkable. A great stately palace of a place nestled in the middle of a huge vineyard and ranch. It’s certainly a place we should keep within radar to consider exploring in the future. On our way out was a cluster of deer that were lounging by the exit gate.
Turns out we made it to Swinging Richards just in enough time for Cindy to get about a dozen phone numbers and for Summer to see a few guys swing their Richards about on stage. Despite arriving at 2:15, Cindy decided she would pay for all of our cover fees. “I have two jobs now and I want to blow the first pay check.” It was pretty dull this time around considering there was only ten minutes of dancing but Summer vowed she’d be back.
We drove to a female strip club called the Pink Pony only to find that it was closing for the night despite the 4am closing time mentioned on the website.
By this time plans for a night out had been abandoned for a run to the Georgia Diner suggested once again by Cindy.
And much to our surprise, Mony had returned. Her hair was pinned back and bushier than a horses mane. “My favourite people,” she said in her sing songy voice when she saw us enter. We hadn’t been to the diner in a considerable amount of time and she said she’d been back for only two weeks. To me it was like the life of the party had returned. She told us a story about her last Swinging Richards experience which was apparently years ago. When her now ex had rented a room for $300 and started masturbating to the stripper as he danced privately. “This was a little too weird for me y’all. And that’s when I started noticing weird things. He wanted me to blow the guy dancing which was definitely not going to happen. And that was the last time I’d been to that place.” She’s always mentioned about dealing with the emotional aftermath from a long-term relationship and I wondered if it was because she thought she turned her boyfriend gay.
Back at home Cindy bid adieu and this is when things really started to get strange. Around 5:30, while I was in the bathroom, Danny and Summer said they heard the front door knob jiggle as though someone was trying to enter with a key. Thinking it was Kyle, who comes in and out at any given time of the day or night, they continued with their conversation. After it dawned how distracting it was, Danny went upstairs to see if Kyle was home. Turns out he was. Looking out of Kyle’s bedroom window, they noticed a silver, 4-door Honda Accord. The driver side door was open with a person sitting behind the wheel. By the time Danny and Kyle made it downstairs, the passenger was back in the car and they sped away.
The incident did creep me out slightly and I reported it to HOA but I have to say I’d never had something quite like it happen. Yes, it could be that someone simply had a bit too much to drink and ended up in the wrong house. But these days, you never know.
Rather than sleep, we decided to scale up Stone Mountain and headed for another Starbucks run as we swung by Summer’s house so she could pick up proper shoes. Kyle tagged along. “Hey, you guys were in here about 10 hours ago, and the only person who changed their outfit was her,” the barista said as he pointed to Summer. How embarrassing was that? To be noticed as we stood at the counter ordering our coffee concoctions with sunglasses shielding us from the light. The older woman working with this guy said with a chuckle “oh leave them alone, we were young once and liked to party.” Then excused herself as she nearly spat out her dentures claiming, “sorry, I just put them in.” The night which turned to morning kept getting weirder.
The last time I had hiked up Stone Mountain was with Chap and Jeff back in the brutal summer of 2006. I remember nearly hyperventilating. Though we went twice last year -once with Kathleen and once with Damarys- we’d taken the gondola lift up and scaled the side of the mountain on the way down.
Maybe it was because it was the winter, or maybe I’m better in shape than I was 2006 (doubtful, as I’m big as a whale now) but it certainly wasn’t nearly as grueling a trip as it was that year.
Once at the top we rested upon blankets we had packed in Danny’s Europe back pack. I was able to doze off and snore a bit enjoying the cool breeze and winter sun which made for a much more peaceful sleep that I would have imagined up there on a great stone rock. I snapped a few photos, gabbed with Summer who lied beside me while Danny and Kyle had their own pack on her other side. The view of Atlanta was amazing from that vantage point and we noted the rock that Damarys had made us all take photos upon. Damarys - gosh that visit seems so far away. Not to mention Kendra, Lisa and Lacy.
We walked down the mountain and then walked leisurely around the park to the toy shoppe and noted how just how lame Snow Mountain, the snowy, seasonal amusement park was as we stood as casual spectators viewing the kids as they slid down a tiny fake, snow covered mountain in rafts and tubes.
We did a bit of shopping at Urban Outfitters, though we bought nothing and then decided upon sushi at Samurai Blue back in Lawrenceville. Cindy met back up with us and by this time we were noticeably sleep deprived and wind ravaged.
We parted ways after dinner, dropped Kyle off at home and then went to the AMC at Discover Mills to catch the 7:00pm showing of Anthony Hopkins’ new exorcist movie called “The Rite” which happened to have been terrible. I dozed off a couple of times during slower parts and Mom called me four times which made me a bit worried that something happened back at home.
Turns out she just wanted to talk. The weekend finally ended as we dropped Summer off at home and Danny crashed at midnight.
I sat on the stairway in the quiet of our home wondering about the event that occurred at 5:30 that morning. Wondering if it was an accident or if someone really did try to break and enter.
Back upstairs, thru my delirium I decided to upload photos to Facebook from the middle of the month and the weekend past before I too had fallen into sleep before the start of another work week. My only regret about the weekend was not so much the lack of sleep but the lack of down time on Sunday evening. Our movie time. My writing time. We were so exhausted that no one was awake past 1am. And a wave of relaxation fell upon me.
* * *
Relaxation, as it were, was in abundance in Norway. And as I close my tale of Norway here and write about the dealings centering about our last day and night in Moss, I realize that nothing I could say within those lines would do it any amount of justice…
Marita had spent the night at her boyfriend's. We woke up, December 31st, 2010, our last full day in Norway and decided to gather all of our belongings to see if they would actually fit in the backpacks we had brought. Whereas I can unpack like a demon, Danny is a lot better at packing and squeezing everything together. We were sad to leave Norway but honestly a part of us was ready to be back home. Not really that we missed America or our friends so much but that we felt an air of awkwardness centering around Marita and Tom since we had obviously overstayed our welcome according to Tom's actions. Our intention was not to travel thousands of miles across the world in order to break up a couple even if he was acting a bit like a child. I mean, who thinks of this as a romantic holiday anyway? But Marita insisted we stay despite telling her we wouldn't mind spending it in Oslo. Hakon practically begged us to and spending it in the city I'm sure would have been quite an experience.
We pressed onward somberly hoping that the night would turn out well but wishing that we were in Union City celebrating the New Year with Brian and Summer and Adam and Drew and Cindy. Turns out, what we didn't realize is that the party had already fallen thru and Summer would spend New Years Eve awkwardly with Adam's family sitting around the TV.
What we didn't realize then is that we wouldn't have anything at all to worry about. The night, though it loomed ahead of us shrouded in mystery, ended perfectly.
Marita and Danny made another pot of sangria which we had taken over to Christine's where we were all invited for New Years dinner and Tom didn't even give off the slightest level of snobbery.
Dinner was fantastic, as was everything we had eaten in Norway. They served red wine with turkey and vegetables and potatoes. And a peculiar salad with green & red apples, red grapes, pineapple, walnuts and celery in a cream mixture made of whipped cream, pineapple juice and mayo. It was fantastic actually.
Christine's house, like seemingly all of the houses in Norway, was adorned beautifully for Christmas. Her table setting was immaculate -like out of the pages of a Chiasso catalog.
"Now you guys have to eat seconds," she said. "If you don't it's considered insulting to the cook." And I wondered why seconds were always passed around the table here. I caught on early and put only a minimal portion on my plate so that when seconds were offered, I wouldn't feel as though I had gorged.
Christine displayed chocolates. Her boyfriend, Martin filled up my goblet with more wine. And he also made us all coffee. Coffee and chocolates seemed to be served after every meal here in Norway. And the coffee was always strong and black (no sugar or cream offered) and the chocolates were always superb. They mostly sat around the table talking amongst one another in Norwegian. The head of the table was against the window and I stared at the snowy driveway and the candles lit on the sidewalk thru the window that held another brightly lit star. Tom sat around from me alongside Marita. Christine sat beside Marita and their friend pulled up the head of the table. I didnn't remember his name but I don't really think it matters because Marita said he was refusing to speak in English to us. Martin sat across the table from Christine and Danny sat beside me. Their evil cat walked about the room biting on people's feet as they walked to the bathroom.
Christine had given Danny and I a tour of their house. It was tiny but perfect. The upstairs level being just as quaint and cozy as the downstairs. There's so much detail put in interior decorating here. It made American houses seem so large and empty.
There was some speculation as to whether or not we would attend some party in Son but the consensus was Marita didn't want to go and Martin was forcing Christine. There was a laid back air about the place almost in a soporific glaze and even Christine kept yawning throughout the night. For New Years, as lovely as it was, it didn't seem exciting. We packed up the sangria which was a little less than half full - it appears we drank quite a bit at the table, bid adieu to Christine and Martin, and waited outside where Renate spun about to pick the four of us up.
Renate, wasn't drinking this particular evening. She was collecting money by driving reveling Norwegians about so that they could drink responsibility without fear of driving on the road. Renate, though we had met briefly once before, turns out was very friendly. "I'm surprised she wasn't as chatty last you met her," Marita had said. "she's usually the outgoing one." She remarked how Renate used to be "American fat. She and her boyfriend grew comfortable with one another and ate chocolate on the sofa for months. She's lost some weight, I'm proud of her." She had lived in the states for a spell like Marita going to college in some shit hole town in Missouri or one of those midwesterny states. Marita had spent some time in a hick northern Mississippi town and picked up her first black boyfriend or two.
Renate had dropped us off at Martia's apartment where Tom downed the rest of the sangria and we sat around until it was time to catch fireworks. There was a festive air about the place. Tom, who was quite drunk by this time was being extremely friendly to Danny and I. It was though he was making up for the grief he caused Marita by opening up to us and it didn't feel the least bit disingenuous. I think he regretted his foolish plans after realizing how much in favour we had fallen to him.
Tom offered me the last slice of the clementine he had begun to peel. "Here," he said. "Eat this. The last of the season. And when you remember this, remember that it was your good friend, Tom who offered you the last of the clementine." I smiled at this. He was so self conscious of his English. And though he spoke in a thick accent that was sometimes indecipherable due mostly to the alcohol, I'd imagine, I found it endearing.
"Hurry," Marita exclaimed. "We need to go out! We'll miss the fireworks." And so it was, just a few minutes before the clock struck midnight bringing in the Year 2011, we fled Marita's apartment for Renate's car. Me, Danny, Marita, Tom and Renate herself. Turns out, the car was stuck in the snow. "Oh no!" Marita exclaimed while Renate chuckled as though this happened every day of her life. Marita and Danny dashed out the back doors that they were sitting beside leaving the car doors open so that her tiny ride seemed like a plane stuck in the ice. Tom sat in the front seat and after the two who were pushing the car had troubles, he ran out the car too. And this is when the clock turned her arms to midnight. In Norway, in the middle of the snow, under a clear sky. With me in middle of the backseat of a strange car car with a friendly stranger I'd barely met and my three friends pushing the car out of the snow in the back. The fireworks loomed up ahead. One two. three. a dozen. Dotting the black, midnight sky.
There was no need for me to run out, after a moment of Tom's assistance, the car was back up and running. Everyone dashed inside all giggles and Renate sped off. We hurriedly trailed down the roadway past snowy neighbourhood after snowy neighbourhood with fireworks going off all about us.
We finally ended up at the corner of some streets where some people were lighting fireworks. Marita handed us all sparklers and we stood about watching for a bit. This is where we met June, another one of their friends.
Before long we were off in the car again somewhere perhaps in downtown Moss, perhaps not. And stood outside what Marita said was "one of Norway's white trash bars. It's where I met Tom."
We passed around a bottle of champagne illegally (for it's against the law to drink the street here) which was really nothing more than sparkling Moscato. Moscato, being my favourite wine, was definitely something I was able to drink. We stood on the street corner where a huge church stood before us and when we were finished with the bottle Tom chucked it against a lamppost figuring it would shatter. Unexpectedly, instead it flew back and narrowly missed hitting by head by less than an inch. I felt it whooosh by and the gasps from Marita and Danny but I didn't really realize what was going on because I was too busy fidgeting with my Hipstamatic to bother. I snapped a photo where it landed in the road and we all darted into the bar to the boisterous sounds of Karaoke where women were signing American hits.
One that stood out was Madonna's "Rain" which I thought so random for this neck of the world. Tom and Marita offered us drinks. And before long Renate, who had only dropped us off here earlier, was in to celebrate. June ended up here too after about an hour or so. Danny and I just stood around sipping the drinks that Tom had offered us which I'm pretty sure was vodka and Red Bull.
The bar had a mural skyline of New York City and was very tiny much like the trashy white bars you'd find here in America. The similarities amazed me.
At one point Tom wanted me to get up and dance with him. "Come on!" he urged. "Oh, no no no. I don't dance Tom. I'm fine." He grabbed my arm. "Please! Come on. You'll regret this if you don't." And it was the little boy sincerity in his voice that prompted me to follow him to the tiniest dance floor in the world in the corner of some trashy karaoke bar in small town Norway to dance with him to Shania Twain's "Man, I Feel Like a Woman." Some moments in time are nearly unbelievable unless you were there to experience it. The song ended, we hugged and I sat back down and spoke with June a great deal while Danny was corned by Renate. It turns out, June was one of my favourite people I had met there and I only wished we could have spent more time with her.
The bar was closing so everyone filtered out. We waved goodbye to June as we did to Marita and Tom. Marita was going to spend the evening with Tom and her sister Christine was going to swing by at 6:50 in the morning to pick Danny and I up in order to drop us off at the bus station which we would then take to the airport in Oslo. It was a bit of a sad moment. I thanked her for everything. For allowing me to stay in her place without even knowing me. And for being such a wonderful hostess. I hugged Tom and thanked him for a fantastic night for without him I don't think things would have ended the same. We piled into Renate's car and she sped away leaving Marita and Tom at the corner of the street waving to us goodbye and kissing their hands. And despite the fact that they say they're going to come visit us in America and the realities of Facebook contact, I wonder if it's the last we'll ever see of them.
Renate picked up a tipsy, older aristocratic woman who was wearing a fur coat. She seemed very kind and looked as though the thought of being in the car with Amercians intrigued her. "And handsome boys at that." I was a little tipsy and this was a month ago so I don't remember much of that conversation at all other than the feeling that she seemed like the type of woman who had a thousand stories to tell and a wonderful way of telling them.
Renate dropped us off at Marita's apartment (Marita had given us the key to let us in) and we thanked her for toting us around all weekend. We stumbled our way to the door, wrote a message for Marita in the snow, went inside, wrote a letter from a torn piece of the Snuggie box thanking her for everything she had done for us and that we loved her dearly and then crashed in her bed hoping to enjoy at least three hours of sleep before Christine would arrive to pick us up and realizing that this would mark the second time intoxication would win out before a long trip.
Before long sleep enveloped me as I blinked the remaining few hours away that I would spend beneath the Norwegian sky.
I woke somehow just after 6:30, went to the bathroom, gathered up my remaining belongings in the dark and woke Danny. Judging by the rise in his briefs, he wasn't ready for waking. He grabbed the back of my head toward him, I tamed the serpent, wiped my mouth and he stirred. Two minutes later, while I was still fumbling for my shoes, Christine knocked on the door. We left just about every glass she owned on the kitchen counter dirty from the week. I had broken one a day or so ago when trying to wash so I left them there out of fear of doing more harm than good.
Christine was so sweet for driving us. Sleep had covered our eyes and alcohol sloshed around our bellies but somehow we did make it in time at the bus station. The driver was a gruff but kind man who spoke English when issuing the ticket though you'd never know by the rough announcements he made on the intercom. "I certainly hope he's not saying anything important because his English is terrible."
Eventually, after about forty-five minutes or so, we did make it to the Oslo airport. We were exhausted and mildly hungover and realized that this was only the beginning of a very long journey home. There was no layover once in America. This time around we would fly from Oslo to Amsterdam and then from Amsterdam straight to Atlanta.
I don't even remember the plane ride to Amsterdam. It felt as though I slept walked the entire way. If the flight to Atlanta wasn't so horrible I probably wouldn't have remembered it either. But it was so cramped. I felt a spell of claustrophobia more than once. And turbulence was brutal for at least an hour during the flight. I noticed as Danny gripped the sides of his seat. We didn't have our own space this time. The time around the plane was situated as three seats on outer aisles and then five on the inner. Rather than the two seats on the outer aisle like the flight to Europe. This means we shared our space with a guy who sat on the aisle. I made Danny sit in the middle while I took the window. It was our deal that if he gets window going, I get it coming back.
I sat in a small confined space for over 10 hours getting up only once to pee. The guy in front of me smelled strongly of onions and I wished so badly to offer him some deodorant. What made matters worse is that I didn't have a choice about moving my seat back. When it was in the upright position, my nose nearly touched the seat in front of me as the smelly guy moved it back to sleep. So sleep it was. Though it barely came to me. Danny was able to get some winks in though had a generally miserable look on his face for ten hours straight. The food was great though - love KLM.
Once in Atlanta the nightmare wasn't over. We spent two hours in customs, dressing and undressing, waiting in lines to declare our goods, pulling out of luggage and then putting it back for phase two of scanning. It was an absolute nightmare. We arrived in Atlanta sometime after 6pm and didn't get to the Marta station until 9. We waiting seemingly forever for our backpacks to come thru baggage claim and when I grabbed Danny's the waist clamp got stuck, broke off as I tugged and flew into the air hitting some lady in the head. A half hour later mine comes down the belt looking as though someone had dipped it in ash; it had obviously been tampered with.
Tired, irritated and not wanting to be home we waited for the Marta train. It didn't help that the most ghetto people in the country ride Marta and some stupid girl was spouting out ridiculous things to impress her friends. Another girl was holding her cell phone in the palm of her hand about a foot and a half away from her face -a practice that really irritates me- and blathering: "guh yea, did chu check da tv? check by dah tv." Ugh America. Where they speak English but not really. It's pathetic when people who speak English as a 2nd language know it better than people who live here. It wasn't a very good welcome back. And I was already longing to be back in Europe.
Kyle was there to pick us up from the station, and before long, as exhausted as we were, Summer and Adam had come over to pick up where we had left off from the party the night before we had left. Summer and Adam and their young relationship that would be practically over before the month's end.
I told Danny how tired I was. How I would have preferred to rest the evening. We ended up at TGI Fridays for drinks and they ended up staying the night. It was no party like the night before we left where Cindy and Heather had stopped by. This was just boring, mindless "fun" and it made me miss the intellectual parties that Marita and her family and friends held.
By month's end these parties had long overstayed their welcome and the relationship between Summer and Adam was strained as he somehow lost interest.
Life droned on and on and on. The next day I spent lounging. We treated Nilsa to sushi at Blue Samurai for her birthday on Sunday. We told her about all of the cool things we'd encountered in Norway. She spoke about work and how she's considering a move to Florida but ultimately still wants to go to Puerto Rico. I wondered how many more conversations of this sort we'd have with her before everything simply changed.
I was so tired. The first two weeks after the trip being the hardest for me. It was as though nothing really mattered. I went to work a bit numb feeling more cheated than ever that we're offered only 2 weeks of vacation and one personal. In my car I wondered why I had to stop at traffic lights when no cars were approaching. I wondered why I had to flush the toilet twice to get all of the toilet paper to go down. I wondered why our house was so huge yet so empty. I resented our friends who just wanted to party constantly rather than chill and talk. I cooked everyday for Danny and I. No more of that frozen packaged mierda as a last resort. Definitely no eating out. We were going to eat real meals - real food. I resented American portions and huge American cars. I hated turning on the Internet to horrible stories about our bipolarized political structure. I hated hearing about Senator Gabrielle Giffords who was shot in the head by a deranged man child and how no one addressed gun control - not even our President. I hated coming to Atlanta and seeing the lack of snow; the temperatures were pretty warm when we arrived.
Truth be known, I hated America. It's pious ideals. It's rich man's catering. It's ignorant followers. I was so depressed for two solid weeks that I barely spoke on the ride to work. Danny echoed my sentiment. Each day we'd look at one another forlornly and say "I miss Norway" or "I need to move to Europe."
I was fortunate. My first European experience was not as a tourist. I didn't land in some hotel in Oslo and gingerly walk about the touristy areas. I experienced it as a visitor of the culture. I was attended real houses and met real people and had conversations about real issues. And that's a wonderful thing but it was detrimental for my mental state when coming back home and noticing how everything here is simply wrong.
You hear about it your entire life, how well Europeans live. But it doesn't emotionally resonate until you've experienced it. Until you see just how stress free they truly live. Just how enriched their lives are. Yes, we have Hollywood -and God bless good movies. But trust me when I say this, we are so far behind the spectrum in every other aspect. Americans have truly forgotten the important things in life - and in place we fill the void with a Wal-Mart in the centre of every town and tons of mass produced, super sized fast food chains that make us somehow feel fulfilled. We need larger cars, enormous houses, bigger soda bottles, super sizes and more more more. Until our lifestyles are as inflated as our egos and our ballooning waists.
Time moves on, yes. And I'm not nearly as dejected as I was at the start of the month. It's like someone peeled back my eyelids and said "NOW Look". Honestly, I don't know if I'll ever truly get past this. And truthfully, I don't know if I want to.