The Beautiful Girl

Most of the guys at work are guys. But some are women. Normally they are not attractive. But this summer, I don’t know if she will stay on after the summer is over, a beautiful swedish girl joined the company. She is tall, blond, has long legs, a healthy bosom, wide hips and broad shoulders. She turned me on. I’ve been watching her, in my old man’s way, I commented on her to a collegue, saying: “That’s one hell of a body on that girl”. It is. I think I love her. Of course she is twenty years younger than me, so there is little hope of achieving anything. She is teasing me, I think. I try to ignore very attractive women, that is probably why she gives me any attention at all. I’m a bit of a sphinx, tall, previously quite handsome, rather serious-looking. That is probably why.

Usually, I find exotic-looking women more attractive than the white ones. I can’t keep my eyes off a pretty, black  woman, or a lovely petite asian one. But this one is different. Of course, she’s got a sun tan, that helps, and she has beautiful skin, with quite a bit of pigment. A lovely golden tan on her smooth, young skin. And a smile that resembles that of the child actress that played Pippi Longstockings. I find that many swedish girls have that.

We work in teams of four. We go out in pairs, or all four of us, depending on how much there is to do. Last sunday she was on my team. I was the team leader. It was most suitable, in the beginning of the shift, that she paired up with one of the others. I certainly wasn’t going to get ridiculous about some pretty girl. But towards the end of the shift, we had to pair up, and go out and work together. Our work frequently involves one of us jumping into a hole, and working there, crouching, or standing on his knees, and the other one working outside, standing up. The jumping inside the hole thing, for some, involves an element of submissiveness, as if they are jumping inside the hole as a matter of seniority and authority. Well, I have that, she doesn’t. And when the time came, she jumped into the hole. Both times. In spite of her natural beaty and the power she wields over men as a tall, young, beautiful blonde, the most sought-after qualities in a woman, she displayed her submissiveness, in a wonderfully shy way. She didn’t look into my eyes, she avoided them, and jumped in. Into the hole. In a lanky, girlish way. I love her.

The Laundry and the Barbecue

The machine is washing my laundry. The online booking, as you will remember, does not work, and the the machine did not seem to remember my on-site booking from yesterday. But I remembered. It took ten minutes of cursing and smacking the side of the washing machine, but it finally gave in. And now it is doing my laundry.

Oslo is hot today, over 30 degrees Celsius(30:5=6, 6×9=54, 54+32=86 degrees Fahrenheit, how about that!) It is saturday and high summer, one-night stands will take place in Oslo tonight. But none of them will include me, I have to stay sober enough to drive a car at 5am tomorrow and go to work. Not that I normally get anywhere with Oslo’s female population, or that I ever did, but it is a thought. Instead, I will attend a barbecue in my friend’s backyard, it’s like a big garden inside a block of flats from around WWI. Nice. My friend is a good cook. I will bring some meat. And potato-salad. My other friend also invited me to a barbecue tonight, too bad they both picked the same day. I accepted the first invitation. I don’t get invited places that much anymore. Age thing, I guess. And probably a social status thing, too. My social status is rather low, my work includes a lot of manual labour. I’m not going to divulge what I do for a living. That is going to be my little secret.

Age, social status, and I guess I’m not very interesting anymore. Or nice, I really should try to be nice to people. I have lost a lot of friends by saying the wrong things. Like the following: So you’re getting divorced? What’s the point of getting married, if you’re just gonna get divorced?

Nothing

This is my first post in my first blog. I wonder if anyone is going to read it. Someone probably will. A lot of people have very little to do. English is not my first language, so my language may seem eccentric at times.

Ingenting is norwegian for nothing. I have nothing to say, there is nothing I want to express. Not right now, anyway. This is going very slowly. I haven’t written anything since university. I got my little degree sixteen years ago, in the process of getting it I had to write essays and papers, or whatever it is called, on my typewriter. Back then, I still retained some of the skills from the typewriting classes at school. They are now gone. Hopefully they will come back. They easily could, unlike my clear skin and good looks. Those things are gone. I’m halfway through life, the presence  of, and interaction with, young and attractive women in their childbearing age, fills me with frustration. There is a glimpse of hope, as they try to get my attention, or smile flirtatiously (for some reason, they do), but it soon becomes evident that I will never get close to them. Not in the way that I want.

I’m writing and expressing myself. This is a good start. I have already painted a picture of a soon-to-be middle-aged man, very single, slightly bitter. Not quite happy, neither with himself, nor the world around him. This could turn into good entertainment. For some.

There is laundry to be done. This attractive-looking block of flats has a communal laundry. Laundry time is booked on the internet. That has not been working lately. I’ve been down there to do a manual booking with my washing-machine card, but the last time I did that, an unattractive, heavy-set woman infringed on my laundry-time, severely damaging the efficiency I try to achieve. She excused herself with a breath that smelled of wine. The incident left me with a feeling of hopelessness.