Hvorfor har jeg vær frustrert det siste halvåret når jeg kan være lykkelig? I dag morges var jeg så glad at jeg til slutt måtte gjøre et lite gledeshopp der jeg spaserte hjem i morgensolen. Men hej, det var ikke det jeg skulle snakke om. Jeg har nemlig vært i Afrika og sanket livsvisdom:

I Cape Town ble jeg kjent med min bestefar, den 96 år gamle astronomen som spiser et helt eple til frokost hver dag (Steinene også. Det er de som gir sus i serken!) og sier "Thank yoeu".
På Zenji (Zanzibar. Og Dar es Salam heter selvfølgelig Bongo) lærte jeg at når det kommer til det rytmiske senter, den afrikanske rumpen (mkando), så er det et spørmål om sprett eller ikke-sprett. Også oppdaget jeg at den letteste måten å få nye venner på er å si at du er gal (mapepe) eller løpe etter dem og hvese "Catwoman!Catwoman!".
I Nairobi fant jeg ut jeg ut at jeg aldri skal bli hotelleier (De heter nemlig Khara, tilbringer hele livet sitt på flyplasser og omtaler deg som sin beste venn etter å ha kjent deg i 5 minutter) eller FN-ambassadør (De finner drømmepartneren i en alder av femogførr, gifter seg og ser så ikke konen sin annet enn i juleferien. Som Philipp hadde sagt: Guddågreid)
På flyet fra Amsterdam lærte jeg at kvinnner liker blomster og menn hater å gi blomster, men at når mannen runder 50 så innser han at når man er glad i noen så gjør man noen ganger ting for å glede dem selv om det betyr at du må føle deg som en dum julenisse.
Men den viktigste lærdommen kom etter at jeg hadde fått føttene godt plantet på kald, grå, norsk jord:

Du må aldri strikke noe til partneren din.

I dag morges våknet jeg klokken 6:

Håvard: Kranglefant!
Tara: Hæ?
Håvard: Kranglefant!
Tara: Hva er det nå jeg har gjort?
Håvard: Kranglefant! Kranglef..
[Tara sovner]

Senere på dagen lærte jeg tre ord som visstnok skal hjelpe deg gjennom ethvert parforhold:

"I don't know"

Mon tro hvor mange ganger busken i det hvite hus har tenkt de ordene? I morgen har våre kjære forente stater forhåpentligvis ny president. Min drømmekandidat:

Ting forandrer seg kjære Ronny.

#1 Jeg skriver på engelsk fordi det er morsmålet mitt, og det er i tillegg hyggelig hvis andre enn du kan lese det. Men oj, nå skriver jeg plutselig ikke på norsk lenger. Faen.
#2 Jeg hadde stygg blogg. Men oj, nå har jeg har ikke stygg blogg. Den var en styggandunge, nå er den fuglen fønix (som i kinoen).
#3 Jeg skal skrive oftere, men først må jeg ofre alle mine sparepenger på en ny oppfinnelse som gjør at man kan nyte høyfjellssol og tantrisk sex samtidig som man sitter foran dataen. Det finnes jo tross alt hyggelige ting å gjøre enn.. Enn? Hva? Tantrisk sex?
#4 Jeg skal lære meg å ta konstruktiv kritikk uten å tulle det bort.

Mvh,
Tannlege Kåre Djupesland (se familiealbum 1985/86 for forklaring på Taras plutselige utslag av surrealistisk humor)

Thursday
I wake in intense pain. I go to the doctor. My wonderfully cute and funny doctor told me I had acute lumbago and prescribed first variable, then varied sex on a hard surface. I went to Oslo, and tried to fulfill.

Friday
I wake in intense pain. I think it's lumbago. I wait 15 seconds. It's not lumbago. I get up off my tribrother Indra's hard kitchen floor and look at my right leg. [Psychofilmspecialeffectsound] A wasp! I jump up and down and cause the wasp to flutter towards the new-laid floor like an umbrella, leaving nothing but his spike in my leg. Wonderful Håvard kindly kills the wasp.

Sunday
I wake in intense pain. During one short weekend I have managed to obtain a leg the size of a mansized back, a back that is scarily reminiscent of spanish widows, an apprehension for wasps and the feeling of joy upon murder of an innocent creature. I welcome a new week with open arms, and hope I will become a new and better person.

The first time I brought home my ex, my mum pulled me to the side: "Where do you find these weird-looking guys?"

The long list of R's:

1. I puked on my first real date. Can you believe it? A mulatto guitarist w/an afro and a mother who was into penca (is that how you spell it? that meditation technique that makes you look like you have a wild twitch going on down in the finger-region) I was in my santa-clause-look-a-like-periode, sick, had eaten nothing but laxating cough-drops and drunk acidy orange juice all day and then: Mr.Baker student invites me to the theather! My stomach howled and growled, and to add the extra touch we decided to drink cocoa w/coins (of course drinking money would make you shit money!) in the break. Can you believe he actually held my hand in the grand performance "taras colour specatular spectacle - see it through 3d glasses you wont't believe it really can be"?
2. What's 22-15? When I was fifteen i got a new boyfriend. Roger lived in Denmark and I had grown tired of my bakerboy never coming home, and therefor decided to fall in love with a 22 y.o. pantomime artist who, just to make things easier, was born on the same date as the baker. It wasn't hard to win my heart at fifteen when you could dance, and made everybody on the dancefloor stop to watch you give your heart to me through the mindboggingly odd exercises performed in electric-boogie in which you are our small-time-cities undisputed champion, but it was a bit hard to swallow that he wanted to decided everything by throwing dice. Was it also tad bit odd that me and my cousin who at the time was 35 had boyfriends the same age?
3. I was in love. I went to Africa and cried my love into a dictaphone. We moved in together?! He's neat. Really. Jan Roger was his name. Geez. I dumped and still I ended up coming back until he met a girl with dolphins.

Summer hasn't been as summery as we all had hoped for - so farr. It has rained and rained, and I cannot believe that any of those one too many persons that I saw on the beach yesterday had contracted those chocolatebrown complexions naturally. Luckily I have been too busy to stick myself in a box and mulitiply my chances of skincancer:

I've been to Finland and Russia! My brother got married (Odd, odd, odd. Not that he got married, but that we're reaching that age. Does that mean I'm next? No.) in StPete. I am fascinated: Peter the Great: he built his masterpiece of a town on a swamp! The city is beautiful with it's over the top Hermitage, zillions of bridges, markets, the church of blood (Dali­ on acid), georgian pectopahs (restaurants), pointed mens shoes and underground metrocathedrals, but it's crowded w/mosquitos! I had an amazing little week though, and I'm very happy to now call Nastya my sister.

I should practice. I promised myself to work hard this summer. Instead I have travelled, laughed, eated ice-cream and danced. Time to get back to the drawing-board.

It's summer. To celebrate this wonderful season I got myself (in random order):

• a kitten (After a few days of getting to know her me and my roomie decided upon the Beulah Sippie. A bluessinger from the 20's. Let hope she never sings)
• a lawn (with tons of fluorescent worms)
• a sunburn (contracted during a lovely boating trip aboard a sconner. In other words: very worth while)
• a boyfriend (Håvard is his name. 26 y.o. guitarist. Cute, kind. Who knew they existed?)