Romance / When Will I Wake Up? -Chapter Four
Chapter Four
“Oslo,” to Josie it sounded more like the name a concentration camp than a destination for her dream vacation. O-S-L-O, it didn’t exactly roll off her tongue with the panache of gay Paris, or the romance of Rome, or even the loftiness of London. It sounded like something that came in a plain generic brown package, boring, drab, and about as run-of-the-mill as they come. I mean Ossssloooow, really? It just hung in the air like a dark gloomy cloud come to spoil a brilliantly sunny day. Jolted Josie wasn’t exactly enthralled with her selected “exotic” local, especially after looking forward to it for oh so very long. Was it supposed to be a prize or a punishment? Was she being sentenced to two weeks in heaven or hell? Josie feared the answer. She didn’t even have a single barbarian drop of Viking blood in her veins to warrant returning to see the home of her ancestors.
You can’t look a gift horse in the mouth. If you do, you certainly have no one to blame but yourself for the nauseating blast of manure breath and/or having your nose bitten off. You have to count your blessings, each and every one; especially when a lifetime of them never surpasses single digits. Besides minimum life Josie was about as desperate as they get. Who was she anyway? Of all her unmitigated gall, why on earth did she allow herself such high expectations? She wasn’t the bloody queen of anything, ever, not even a single silly dance. It was downright absurd of a nobody such as her to expect all the regal pomp and circumstance that the beautiful blue-bloods are born with. She wasn’t born with a silver spoon in her mouth, just a disposable cracked plastic one. Her commoner body would likely reject all that lavish luxury anyway. Allergic to the good life, yeah, that definitely defined one, Josie McGillis. Self-esteem had never been her middle name. If she tried turning her nose up at others it would fall off, or at least blush red with embarrassment. Humble she would die of embarrassment and self-assigned guilt if she ever attempted to put on airs. She would pull the cord on the guillotine herself.
If wishes were horses then every bum would ride high in the saddle, or so they used to say. Beggars can’t be picky, especially homebodies who were grounded far too long; homebodies who needed breaks more significant than pedantic picnics in the park or submerged safaris in the tub. Adventures came far and few in between. A limited budget along with limited time-off had left her with little more than weekend movie marathons, hikes on the local nature trails, or semi-nightly bubble baths with a good wine and a good read as companionship. An imagination is a wonderful thing, but you can’t live in Neverland forever. Depression tended to knock at Josie’s door until she finally caved in to answer its dreary call. The songbirds in the park weren’t singing as sweetly these days. Sour notes seemed to be everywhere. The silver screen loses its luster when you’re watching solitary, and after a very short while Calgon just can’t take you far enough away, not even with a jug of Chablis for inspiration. The pruned skin only served to remind her she wasn’t getting any younger. Living from paycheck to paycheck isn’t living at all. Working nonstop with no time for play wears one out, and any opportunity to get away from the daily mundane routine was a welcome one.
Pushing back disappointment was hardly a new experience for our gal. She had become an expert at living in denial. “Look out world, ready or not her I come!” Josie was about to become a globe-trotter for the first time in her life. Hardly a member of the jet set elite; fact is she never even set foot on an airplane that wasn’t part of a Forth of July patriotic air-show exhibit. In her mind she would take to flying as natural as a bird flying the coupe for the first time. Freedom, fresh air, and nothing but clear skies ahead; empty nest syndrome should melt away with every frequent flier mile earned.
My oh my, she was willing to bet they never saw anyone like her before. She was an original, one of a kind, genuine walking natural disaster; a prime example of what not to do with the rest of your life for children everywhere. She was looking forward to seeing how the rest of the world somehow managed to get by without her all these years, or at least one small, chilly corner of it anyway. So she dug out her old dinged piggy-bank globe and sought out the northern Netherlands. She never did get to stuff that little tin ball with c-notes earmarked for seeing the world it symbolized, as she had dreamt of doing when her teenage self picked up the silly round blue marble in the first place. The smudged names of all her favorite cities were nearly impossible to read from her day-dreaming digits landing on them so many times. Now her fingers were doing the walking to a remote region they never touched before, virgin territory. To her dismay, unlike the foot-loose and fancy free boot-shape of Italy, she found Norway to be shaped more like a long-handled, bent splintered wooden spoon. At least Oslo was dipped far down on the southern tip, where she could only hope was the regional sunny garden spot.
Water water everywhere assuming it wasn’t frozen. Oslo was also on the sea. The spray of the surf, assuming it didn’t freeze midair; the sand between her toes, assuming it wasn’t razor sharp rocks or worse yet, ice cubes; and the ever popular, ever beautiful sunsets over the water, assuming we’re not talking a land of 6 month nights. With any luck a bustling seaport full of international men of intrigue awaited her hot-n-horny loins. The “land of the midnight sun,” it had that much romance going for it, if nothing else. Oceanfront views are nothing to sneeze at, even ones so far up north. The rhythmic rolling of the waves reeked with sexual overtones. Josie often fantasized of cruising the Mediterranean or Caribbean on a barefoot cruise for two. She didn’t forget to add riding bareback on the edge of the surf as well, both beast and man. Of course no vacation could be complete without a little souvenir hunting. Going on stupendous superfluous shopping sprees at exotic ports of call visited by one of those gigantic floating city cruise liners had crossed her mind from time to time, including a separate stateroom for all her goodies.
She had the whole world in her hands, for now anyway. Back to the tiny planet within her grasp; further examination of her rattling mini-globe with a magnifying glass reveled Oslo to be located on the North Sea which was off the Norwegian Sea, neither of which great bodies of icy water Josie ever envisioned sailing romantically or even commercially across. Thinking of them now all she could see was treacherous icebergs. At least that dreary thought brought with it the romance of the Titanic, star-crossed as it was. The only goody she could now imagine wasting money she didn’t have on was a fur coat…and hat…and mittens…and boots…brrrr. Suddenly Josie felt a stiff chill run down her spine.
Letting her frostbitten fingers do a bit more wandering in hopes of returning circulation to them, Josie trotted the globe a bit more. First off she noticed Stockholm seemed to be a mere 100 miles to the east. She mused to herself that she deserved a Nobel Prize for taking all this disappointment on the chin with such grace. Of course Helsinki was only 75 miles beyond that. She wondered if that was another unlucky winner’s luck of the draw, trying to convince herself Oslo surely was better. I mean “Hell” and “sinky” that couldn’t possible be good. Josie pictured steamy hot snake-invested marshlands. That faint sliver of misplaced quicksand didn’t last very long once she realized Berlin was 150 miles southeast. The grass is always greener on the other side and Josie was about to hike from one fine pasture to the next finer one. Castles, bratwurst, polka, and beer with what she could only imagine being a much more comfortable climate, men with muscular calves in shorts and lederhosen and all. That fantasy brought her stumbling south to thaw out in the classic Europe she had always dreamt of going. The old world charm America is just too young to have within her boarders, the stuff of legends and daydreams; heroes and villains, damsels in distress and long flowing gowns, knights in shining armor carrying long swords, majestic landscapes with historic architecture full of elaborate art and antiques to match. That’s when Josie realized London was merely 200 miles out of Oslo and her beloved Paris 250miles. Then she realized over there everything would be in kilometers. Oh boy-the Metric System, just one more mighty tall hurdle to overcome.
Berlin, London, Paris-all within a mere half inch of her soon to be destination on her little globe. Suddenly distant Oslo didn’t seem so far off the exotic beaten path. She hadn’t even set foot on an airplane, never mind Norwegian soil, and already she was dreaming of hopping about like a gigantic leaping grasshopper on steroids. It never occurred to her that she hadn’t the money for jet-setting and that the show would rather she staid in the country they had selected. Both facts would come painfully evident as she went online and checked airfare and a little later when she read the small print of her contract. Despite it all Josie wasn’t going to let it rain on her parade. The universe would have to come up with hail the size of softballs to bring her down, not that she was ruling that remote possibility out. Not in such a Northern part of the northern hemisphere.
The devil’s in the details. Lawyers really are Lucifer’s advocates. The best made plans often get ruined when seen in the harsh contrast of black and white. Few things in life look better in legalese, especially when miniscule print and reading in-between the lines enters the contract. “Congratulations you’re a winner…” That’s how the legal and notarized document started out. Welcome words, but the wicked truth that lied beneath soon floated to the surface. It wasn’t as great and grandiose a gift as it was made out to be. Promoted to the max meant all that glittered was not gold nor fame. It was an opportunity for some “free” travel in exchange for advertising concessions that didn’t hesitate one bit into invading her privacy. And what a contract it was. The stipulations outnumbered the benefits ten to one. Not only was Josie expected to stay within the confines on the Norwegian border for the first half of her stay, but she was expected to spend much of her time within the city limits of Oslo. Seems the local hotels, restaurants, and tourist attractions had all donated generous discounts and/or freebees in exchange for free advertising; not that The World on a Platter mentioned any of them. Not that they wouldn’t be declaring the full value for tax-deduction purposes either. The notorious contract went on to explain that the “winner” had to accept a cameraman, narrator, and crew tailing her around for the first half of her stay. Like a performing seal she was expected to entertain although no kippers would be tossed her way. Unfortunately the letter of the law went on further to elaborate how the “winner” was responsible for paying all applicable taxes on their “prize.” In short, the more she read the less of a winner, the more the show seemed like a politically incorrect Indian giver and the bigger a sucker she felt like.
Death and taxes, the two constants in an ever-changing universe, sometimes one wonders which is worse. The Grim Reaper and the taxman-twins separated at birth, or one and the same? Death remains a mystery as does where most of that tax money goes. Taxes can ruin anyone’s day, often they ruin an entire year. At that internal revenue sour note Josie decided not to read anymore small print. Even sticking to the large font, it soon became evident that “greed” was a third constant Josie failed to take into account as well. Half way through she had her full and decided it was best to drop the dastardly document entirely. There was nothing she could do about it; it was all out of her hands anyway.
There’s always a catch, typically several. Josie hadn’t been a naïve innocent little girl in quite some time. Anyone with half a brain knows nothing in life is free. Anything that sounds too good to be true inevitably isn’t. Anyone gives you anything of any value whatsoever and the government is going to get its cut. She had plenty of time later to worry about the tax man; she wasn’t going to let it ruin her vacation. Uncle Sam would get his pound of flesh one way or another. As it was her smile had shrunken to a grin and that was sinking fast. She already had more than enough let-downs for the day, the week, year, heck the whole friggin messed-up decade.
Live for today, look out for number one, greedily seize all that you can while you can and damned with the consequences! Temptation seems easier to circum to now more than ever. Go ahead and have your cake and eat it too, and when they’re not looking snatch their slice as well. Everybody’s doing it. It’s hard enough to trust yourself nowadays, never mind others. I’m sad to say self-centered indifference is a common character trait these days. Charge it and worry about paying for it later, much much later. If only she could learn to ignore the world around her like so many others had. Sometimes Josie just wished she was made of stone, tough, cold, and able to take the pressure. Whenever she stepped on a scale she sure thought she was.
At this somewhat taxing point Josie just let her trusty imagination take her away. In order to get her diminishing grin spreading once more she pictured a Viking God, Thor. Towering nearly 7 feet, her muscular tiny-waist six-pact streamlined dreamboat would be topped by long thick golden hair so luxurious she would be envious. His bulging biceps would have little difficulty throwing a cow, never mind carrying her anywhere she wished, including over a threshold. And the bulge in his pants would have no trouble impregnating a cow or her either. Buttocks so tight they could squeeze full beer cans flat-a recycling enema. To keep her delusion from becoming too shallow her hero would be a crusader, someone making the world a better place. He wouldn’t be an idiot either, nor would he be smarter than her, or at least not act it. His blue-ribbon gene pool would be of the highest quality and their kids’ dimples would be photo album perfect. She would inspire her guru of an Adonis to inspire her to be the best she could be. Their ideal American family portrait would appear as if it came standard with the frame. Possessing a gleaming smile along with emotions that he wasn’t shy about sharing; her future encounter of the perfect kind would be a man with the overall over-whelming charm and appearance of fabulous Fabio-in his prime. Not to mention, but never to forget, the bank role of Donald Trump. Sex is nice, but shopping is a necessity. For Josie fantasizing was the truest necessity of all.
An occasional tall, dark, and handsome god may walk among us, but he never seemed to have a word to say to Josie, unless it was to ask her the name of the girl she came in with. Given half a chance she very well may have worshipped the ground they walked on, but they didn’t even know she was alive. God only knew what waited for her wandering the wasteland of Norway. The frozen tundra didn’t exactly conjure up images of fertile nubile hunks scampering about in fig leaves. Just as well since reality never matches expectations, particularly cloud-high ones. Might as well prepare herself for the worst. It would be just her rotten luck to have all Norwegian men-beast look like “Hagar the Horrible;” hunch-backed abominable drunken snowmen with, haggard, scraggly beards, an assortment of crooked, bucked, and missing teeth, and glazed bloodshot crossed eyes. And under that horned helmet that they never took off, not even in the shower, nothing but a slick liver-spotted acne-scarred lumpy dome, a pale spotted dandruff-infested egg centered atop a nest of tangled red spit-end moldy straw. Undoubtedly all the Neanderthals would have halitosis and body odor reminiscent of the middle ages along with attitudes towards women just as primitive. It would be just her luck to land plug dab in the middle of a country full of nothing but stoned and/or hung-over womanizing cavemen, apes that considered clobbering a woman with their “big” club foreplay. Then again, near as she could tell from her previous experiences, she was already in one.
Perhaps modern man is just another urban myth, no more real than the Easter Bunny. A guy who wasn’t looking to be waited on hand and foot, who actually wanted to use his muscles around the house probably don’t exist. Still she had enough of middle-aged little boys looking for a mother to pamper them. A valuable commodity such as her should be treated as a treasure, not taken for granted like a worn-out piece of booger infested furniture. She deserved a real man, one devoid of all the macho bullshit and gigantic ego all the inbred buffoons before him always seem to be bursting at the seams with. All she wanted was a trusted friend who would not only watch over her, but nourish and encourage her to become the best woman she could be. Someone who listened and valued her opinions, who respected her and sat up to take notice of all she had to offer. A true soul mate that gave flowers for no occasion at all, just to show how much he loved her. If only she could find a warm sensitive man who cared more about his woman than himself now that would indeed be the biggest miracle of all. Way too good to be true? Perhaps, but Josie was sick of dating dirty dogs so bad to the bone that it was hard to believe no one shot them dead decades ago; those rabid animals that freely sinned without guilt as if they hadn’t a care in the world but themselves. On really bad days she feared she might just have to turn to the lesbian lifestyle just to find an equal. Somewhere, someday, somehow she was bond to run into a genuine God-fearing man. Perhaps it was meant to be in a distant land. I told you our girl was a dreamer.
Even the slightest bit of intrigue can brighten one’s day. Any distraction is welcome if it can take a person’s mind away from her troubles. Norway was as mysterious as any foreign soil could be. Inexperienced in world affairs Josie had no idea of what awaited her there. Ah well, a foreign land crawling with trolls or reined over by princes-time would tell, and there wasn’t that much left to wait. The show didn’t tell her if she was the first or last winner notified, just that she had to take her trip by the end of August. Time was of the essence; their precious footage had to be shot in time for editing before the new fall season arrived. Since anxious to getaway Josie had scheduled her time off from work at the end of the month there were only nine short days left to prepare, most of those being work days. Her Nordic trek would be upon her before she knew it. She would soon see for herself, one way or another, a frozen barren tundra any wise man would do his best to avoid, or a fertile exotic oasis that only the luckiest travelers were fortunate to discover. Josie couldn’t picture anything in-between the two extremes. Her imagination wouldn’t have it any other way, all or nothing, there was no middle ground for her dreams, or her nightmares.
There wasn’t much time to prepare, but it was enough. Curiosity may have killed the cat, but it was merely driving Josie bonkers. When in doubt, you don’t clumsily fumble through the multiple volumes of the encyclopedias in your local library anymore; you Google it. She may not have been an expert at using a search engine; nonetheless she couldn’t help but pull out her mint condition mouse and click away.
Money is all many people think they want, and that’s what first came to tightwad Josie’s mind. Initial internet exploration revealed that the official currency of Norway was the Kroner. That was no help. It didn’t have the cold war espionage ring to it of the ruble nor the festive dancing with thrown plates that accompanied the drachma. Not even the sneaky banking secrets that followed the mark or the underground romance that went with the franc or the lurid overtone that came with the lira. No sterling shine that went with the pound, or even the video game fun that rang with the rupee, it just reminded Josie of Alfalfa from the “Little Rascals.” Still that was better than the rather bland sounding euro that had replaced all of the above. She did discover one US dollar got her nearly six of them though. Whether that was good or bad, she had no idea. She liked the sound of 6 to 1, although she would have loved the sound of 100 to 1. Then again she had no idea of what souvenir shopping she’d be doing. For all she knew she could end up with nothing but a suitcase full of scrimshaw, whale’s teeth, and a bunch of unspent Kroners.
One small step off of an airplane and one gigantic leap for neglected housewives everywhere is how the heroic Josie McGillis imagined her new adventure. Soon she would be setting her humble foot on the soil of a new frontier. But the wilderness wasn’t as vast as she thought. Norway wasn’t exactly a huge country, but since Russia dissolved no European country is nearly as large as the United States. She could easily see herself driving across the entire width of the country in a single day. Still it had to be remote. Slightly larger than the state of New Mexico, she discovered one third of Norway lied north of the Arctic Circle, Josie’s cold feet were already shivering.
From what next she could ascertain at an internet glance it seemed the country had a history of mass emigration, also not a good sign, even if said emigrants tended to keep their cultural values and traditions in tact. What can you say about a people that are proud of where they come from, but not so proud as to stay put? Josie couldn’t help but picture a most inhospitable environment, polar bears, sleet and wind-driven snow driving the natives to warmer southern climates.
Pride comes before the fall; it will be the death of us all. Man’s arrogance has always brought him nothing but trouble, woman’s too. National pride is no exception. Americans love to think everyone not only thinks like they do, but speaks their language as well. Belief it or not Oslo’s official language wasn’t English. Josie had no idea of what Norwegian might sound like, but she did find some of it in internet print. To her untrained eye Norwegian appeared more of a drunken German or Dutch than anything else. Near as her inner optimist could tell she could loosely interpret one in a dozen words. Images of Hagar quickly resurfaced in her worrisome mind, only this time the eight-handed groping octopus was speaking gibberish. My oh my how would she ever get by in such a foreign land? Goodness gracious the gods were conspiring against her! She could just picture herself squatting and making flushing noises in desperate attempts to find the nearest bathroom. With any luck her twitching hands and feet would fill in any blanks. The last thing she needed was to have to spend her vacation in adult diapers. An international incident would likely ensue! Did they even have indoor plumbing? She hardly relished the idea of having to tinkle shivering in the middle of the night in an outhouse where her pee might just land as hail. To her bladder’s relief a quick check of local hotels did seem to imply plumbing came with the rooms.
Grrrrrr, brumbble, Josie’s empty tummy began to percolate which reminded her of eating. It also reminded her to be grateful she hadn’t an ulcer…yet. The twains of hunger pains quickly woke her taste buds. As far as Norwegian food was concerned all her tongue could taste was sardines and Swedish meatballs. Surrounded by so much salt water seafood was bond to be plentiful. But Josie rarely partook in scaly calorie sources beyond tuna, she didn‘t even take anchovies on pizza. There was no telling what creepy crawly creature from the bottom of the sea she might be allergic to. She needed to get the goods on what was going to be on the menu. Where to begin? Josie’s sweat tooth drove her straight to the yummy stuff.
The search-engine Norwegian diet included such dessert delicacies as:
• Berlinekranser-reaf-shaped cookies made with hard boiled egg yolks and dipped in sugar-Josie figured anything dipped in sugar would suit her fine.
• Birthday Kringle-sort of a cake roll with raisons, citron, and almonds, not exactly what Josie would want to stick candles into or pull out and lick candles from, still it sounded edible enough.
• Deer Antlers-that title was a bit tough on her teeth-actually it turned out to be a meatless sausage of both whipped and sour cream deep fried-Josie wasn’t sure that sounded much better, particularly for her arteries.
• Fattigmanns Bakkels-cinnamon and cognac fried folded triangles-she suspected the booze was to keep warm. Alcohol would turn up in many of the recipes, thank God!
• Goro-made in something called a goro iron, Josie had no idea what that was, just that it sounded ancient…petrified and stale.
The frugal gourmet noticed a definite pattern was forming: most of the desserts consisted of eggs, sugar, whipping cream, cardamom, flour, and butter with added nuts and/or alcohol. As far as she could remember Josie never used cardamom before so she worried she might break out in hives. Marvey, she might just swell up like a blowfish with acne with every bite she took over there! Who knows, perhaps she could use her time abroad to go shed some more unwanted pounds and become a slimmer broad, assuming she didn’t need every once of blubber to insulate her shivering bones from the artic chill.
My kingdom for a cupcake! The desserts in general seemed a bit more mature than Josie’s juvenile Hostess and Little Debbie taste buds were accustomed to. Okay there was caramel pudding, and vanilla sauces, even strawberry and a grand fruit pie, but most importantly where was the chocolate? The sweet creamy, rich, pleasure center tickling snack of daydreamers everywhere wasn’t mentioned anywhere. Along with shameless intoxicated behavior at male strip clubs and watching Jerry Springer, it was one of the few guilty pleasures Josie had to cling onto. The Norwegian recipes she discovered on-line made no mention of chocolate, cocoa, or anything that might come with the Hershey, Reeses, or Nestle brand molded into it. Now she was really concerned a vacation without her beloved cocoa bean wouldn’t be a vacation at all. That would be hell! She decided to pack as many Snickers as she could fit into her luggage just incase. God help her if they melted or were confiscated at the airport.
As far as she was concerned any reasonable diet was composed of fillers and in-between snacks. Bread is bread as far as Josie was concerned; she didn’t see how anyone could mess that up. Although over there potatoes seem to come into play more and she got the impression that she should expect less fluffy and more flat varieties. Josie tried her best not to skip the small stuff. Appetizers did include meatballs, as well as filled peppers, stuffed eggs, cheese/nut logs, and lobster salad. These dishes she could live with well enough, assuming the Nordic versions weren’t too spicy, slimy or raw. Although the eternal snack craver within now wondered about potato chips and nacho cheese chips, not to mention her beloved convenient fast food; twas looking more and more likely this particular peculiar vacation would turn out to be more of a diet camp.
Bring on the feast: over-stuffed big-breasted bird, fattened calf, pit barbequed piggie, and/or cheese drenched pasta, eggs, or quiche-what would it be? Norwegian main courses had everything from mountain trout to cabbage rolls to curried lamb and pork patties. Norwegian burgers appeared to be made from ground stew meat with potato starch and onion added. Norwegian pancakes seemed standard enough albeit a bit heavy on the butter, as are much of their dishes; bad news for her arteries. Pasta didn’t appear anywhere, a slap in the face to her inner Italian connoisseur. The main dishes Josie figured she had better prepare herself for were Rommegrot-a sour cream porridge, and Reindeer Roast. The porridge couldn’t be just right with no sugar in it, and who really wants to eat Rudolf?
Not every meal can be eaten sit and proper at a table. Sometimes you gotta eat and run. Open-face sandwiches sounded fine for lunch until she realized they weren’t full of bologna, salami, and any of the other cold-cuts she liked layered on. Instead a seafood plate would be served-salmon, shrimp, crabmeat, sardines, and anchovies with trimmings of onion, hard-cooked eggs, dill, and chives. Not good news for someone not of the sushi set. An empty tummy cries for whatever it can get, yet she couldn’t imagine herself going native. She could see herself quickly tiring of shoveling down toast and jam and grilled cheese sandwiches. Josie had mixed feelings about Norwegian lunchtime. Perhaps she would just go with the soup du jour. Cabbage, chowder, fish and tomato, mussel, mutton, pea, Orkdal-lamb, Sandvik’s Stew-meat and potatoes with a mushroom tomato base, and what sounded like it would be her favorite, Troundheim Soup-more of a dessert with rice, raisins, whipped cream, some flour and salt topped off with a cinnamon stick. Now a dessert you could pretend was a soup and take when you were sick-that Josie could appreciate.
Salads seemed to favor the cucumber and their limited variety of vegetables centered on the potato with rutabagas and green peas coming in distant seconds. As far as dressing them went, she couldn’t find any of her favorite calorie high toppings. Variety is the spice of life and Oslo wasn’t sounding too mouth-watering. Josie was used to dozens of salads, from macaroni to potato to shrimp to a dozen or more vegetables available at every other salad bar. Josie began to wonder if Americans really do hog all the good stuff for themselves.
That was it for Josie’s topsy-turvy trip through Norwegian cuisine. Josie tried to expand her search more only to find herself lost in sites scrawled out in the Norwegian language. In the end all she could really do was hope some of her favorite fast food chains had made it that far north. She felt certain Coke and Pepsi had infiltrated nearly every corner of the globe. Only question was did the Burger King, the Pizza Hut delivery guy, the Taco Bell Chihuahua and the Kentucky Fried Chicken’s colonel come along for the ride? Josie felt certain at least few recognizable trademarks would light their northern streets. For better or worse, like it or not, the American way of life has its way of fattening the rest of the world. CEO’s line their pockets from anywhere and everywhere they possibly can.
Josie had her full of the Netherlands for now. At this point in her research our internet globe trotter wasn’t very encouraged enough to continue on. Instead of risking anymore let-downs she decided to let the rest of Norway be a surprise, besides the internet hadn’t proven very reliable in her earlier dating experiences. Who knows what facts were fiction. Not that what she found was discouraging, just that there was nothing significantly magnificent, mysterious, exotic, elegant, fanciful or romantic as she had hoped; at least not when expressed in cold black and white on a low-resolution computer screen; remember she was hoping for French fashions and gourmet food or Italian leather and spices. Heck Norwegian food seemed to pale in comparison to even English food; greasy fish-n-chips suddenly sounded rather appealing.
You ever feel that you need a vacation form your vacation? Josie hadn’t even boarded a plane yet and she had that feeling. Just packing for a vacation can be a real pain in the ass, but international travel has many aspects your average American never thinks of. Josie never had a passport in her life, hers cost her two day’s pay and the photo came out even worse than her worse hair day in her life driver’s license line-up. With international terrorist threats at an all time high the show had to pull some strings to get her one in time, but they did. Homeland Security had more red-tape rules and regulations than her good father had prayers for her safe return. Apparently medically speaking she wasn’t quite up to snuff either. Who knows what she might get into while overseas? Wouldn’t want the disease magnet damsel bringing back the Black Death from Europe would we? Josie had to get vaccinated; it never occurred to her that she might have to take one, never mind two, for the World on a Platter team. There were more forms to fill out than an IRS audit. God help her if any authorities asked her if she had anything to declare. Tariffs, import/export restrictions-what the heck are they talking about? They must be out of their pencil neck paper-pushing red-taping minds! All that paperwork just seemed as more ways for Uncle Sam to charge fees to be free.
Time zones, taxes, tariffs, and terrorism, heck with it all! This was supposed to be a vacation, not cramming for finals. Josie finally set all her international homework aside and began the tedious job of packing. Vacations are your time to escape, to get away from it all; not a time for new dilemmas developing over foreign matters. You’re supposed to put up all your troubles and worries on some back closet shelf, pack up all your things and be on your way.
She started to crumple up those important papers for a trashcan game of hoops in hopes of ridding herself of one nagging migraine, but she managed to stop herself just in the nick of time. Paperwork signed and dotted, even if not read, Josie went back to finish preparing for her trip. Other than the aforementioned Snickers, she had no idea of what to pack, just that she was going to be sure she had enough layers to keep warm and then some. It didn’t seem to phase her one bit that it was August. She hit her winter closet and hit it hard; longer the sleeves, the better.
Josie didn’t forget to pack her standard “get it while It’s hot” overnight bag turned carry-on man-catching kit; a Hello-Kitty placarded battered piece of her teenage past she held onto for nostalgia sake. (To her those nightmarish years really were the good ole days) Her pink duffle now contained all the bait a gal can get her hands on to lure in those rascally nearly impossible to catch men. Make-up, hair brush, hair dryer and curling iron, sprays, creams, oils, and half a chemical plant, all the other necessities one needs to cover up what the devil gave her and/or create what God should have. Josie wasn’t above using any science, magic, or trick of illusion that might aid in her holy crusade for her soul mate. She would have packed a gris-gris bag or love potion number nine if she had either.
All that glitters may not be gold, but it sure is pretty. Her favorite jewelry went into a hidden Velcro compartment, not that it had any real value, just that there’s nothing like a shiny trinket or two to keep a man’s eyes on you, simple childlike minds can get so easily distracted. They never really grow up you know. If you’re lucky they might actually stop staring at your chest long enough to glance at the sparkle and possibly even compare it to your eyes. A couple of bobbles dangling from your ears can keep them entertained for hours.
You’re not supposed to judge a book by its cover, but a man will never crack your spine if his penis doesn’t like what it sees. Along with the bushel of beauty supplies she tossed in items to record her trip, mainly a camera, a butt-load of film, and a travel journal to record all her memories should she get old and senile down the road. All that precious cargo would never leave her side in her growing heavier by the minute carry-on bag. If said bundle became too heavy to be checked in, Josie would pocket all that she could to make it comply. Clothes could get checked through, but not make-up. What if the pilot was single?
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Let’s get to it, shall we?
Strengths:
1. It’s clear that a great deal of work has gone into this piece, particularly in constructing the character.
2. We have a very clear window into the protagonist’s mind, which is great, and we also get a strong sense of the quirks in her personality.
3. Josie has plenty of dimension, which helps to keep readers interested.
Opportunities for Development:
1. There are no real scenes in this story. I suggest doing a bit of online research, or checking out some writing-fiction books, to learn more about constructing scene.
2. The narrative is often rather discombobulating, moving around a great deal and getting lost in psychological time.
3. Point-of-View control is poor- too many asides that switch into the universal “you” and pull the reader away from the protagonist and out of the world of the story.
In sum, I would strongly recommend avoiding a stream-of-consciousness style narrative, and instead work toward constructing scenes that will move the plot forward.
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It didn’t really grab my attention, nothing about it made me want to keep reading it maybe because it’s just a small part of a whole, maybe it’s the age, I’m 16 that isn’t old. It was very detailed though and very well organised, which makes it much easier to read because it wasn’t jumping and skipping.
Sorry for not reviewing your other pieces, but i’ve read them and they’ve been great. I can totally see your work being published, i know i’d be one to buy one of your books.
I love the characters and the dialogue, and the way you set up your paragraphs. great work! keep it up!
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