Number nine in progress

I know, I was slacking lately. I haven't written a single post for a MONTH and I can't even find a good excuse. I guess that watching first and second season of Game of Thrones is not convincing enough. Well, believe it or not, I had a lot to do. Like making dream number nine, which is See the Northern Lights, come true. 

My friend Milena found out that this year Northern Lights will be at the peakest peak of its activity for 50 years. Okay, I must admit, I was a bit skeptical in the beginning and found quite contradictory statements on some scientific sites, but it turns out that she was right. I joined their group, we did some research, we chose Tromso in Norway instead of Rovaniemi in Finland, we saw way too many Northern Lights time-lapse videos and I was all like this:

And then I did some maths. And I got all like this:

Just because Norway is so damn expensive and what I was gonna pay for flights there and back could feed a small African country for a year. So I spend few sleepless nights imagining all the fun that Milena and the gang would have without me, and trying to calculate the value of my kidneys. Because, people, we are talking about a country where a combo meal at McDo costs 90 NOK, which is around 50 PLN, or 17$ or 13 EUR. Now try to imagine prices of trains, flights and accomodation. So I gave up, trying not to think about all this fun I'm missing, living in a rustic red Norwgian cabin with small white windows, wearing hand-made nordic sweaters, hanging out with reindeers and seing awesome Northern Lights.

And then my mom convinced me that I should go. Because I can always earn it back, and it may be difficult to find another group of people who'd like to go, and the next ocassion for such spctacular lights will be around 2063. So I decided to go. And then miracle happened. I got the only seat in Ryanair flight from Warsaw to Oslo that costed 1,02 PLN. I'm serious. It's like 0,25 EUR. And it was the only flight I could book. And then, Norwegian dropped their prices for the flight from Oslo to Tromso for like 40%. And I found a scandiblonde CSer, who is willing to host me in Oslo. Apparently, the world wants me to hang out with reindeers. 6 February, people, a little more than a month to go. Yay!

Ten: done!

Do you remember when I aimed to own a horse? It's done. Checked.. Her name is Kropka and I don't own her.

Yeah, some of you may say I'm cheating and it doesn't count. I was wondering if it counts and the answer is, that I need to express my goals more carefully.

Because, as I said, what I wanted is pretty much independence and having a horse to care for. And, thanks to my friend Ula, my dream came true. Ula is a cousin of my friend from high school. She got Kropka in early spring this year, but short after purchasing the horse it turned out that she won't be able to ride it for the next six months. And here came one of the greatest surprises ever. She asked me to take care of her horse.

Which meant becoming familiar with all this specialistic stuff. Like ummm... martingale. Or applying birch-tar on her hoofs (and sitting alone in the back of the train on my way home, because I smelled with it so much that no one wanted to sit next to me). Or giving her legs a massage with a cooling balm. And discovering later that doing it with bare hands in November may make give you frostbites. Okay. Not a serious frostbites, but it felt like it. Like... ummm... I couldn't feel that I actually had hands.

But...

for all the pain you get when a 700 kgs animal steps on your foot, and doesn't want to move...

for all the embarassment you feel when you have to clean up 3 kilograms of warm, steamy poo, which your horse fancied to have, right in front of local Tesco, during your afternoon ride...

for putting your hand into her mouth to make her take a bit...

you get a wind in your hair when you're galloping trough an open field. And that's it.

Well, you also get a super classy look once or twice a year, but I'm telling you, wind in your hair is better:

You can't really see a wind here, but I can assure you that we heard some buzzing in our ears anyway. I'd blame mulled wine they served. Kropka enjoyed a sip as well.

Task fifteen: Learn to code

Recently I had a fight with my friend Ozmen. We discussed about female programmers. Ozmen said that girls are capable to code, but they shouldn't be doing this, because it's not girly. According to Ozmen it's like driving a truck, which is also not girly. Because you know, when a girl codes and drives a truck, no guy wants to date her (indeed, I don't really recommend doing it simultaneously). We ended up with me saying he's a sexist jerk and trust me, I usually am nice to people. 

And no, I'm not gonna prove anything to anyone. I really want to know how to code, because first of all, I believe that soon it's gonna be like writing and reading. A must. No one was ever encouraging me to develop my left cereblar hemisphere. I'm not sure if it happened because I'm a math-ignorant and I can count to potato or if it didn't happen because I'm a girl.

And girls should draw, dance, write and drive strollers and trolleys.

I want to check it. I want to be able to create any website I want. I don't have to do it, but I want to know I can do it. And if I won't like it, then I'll go back to my usual drawing, writing, arty, creative activities.

And if it's gonna make this topic any easier to Ozmen, who is a web developer himself, I can use girly accesories. Such as:

Eight: done!

Okay, remember how I wrote, that I want to do something moderately crazy with my hair? Moderately enough to find a job? Don't expect any sort of Rhianna or Lady Gaga style, I just dyed part of my hair blue. Electric blue. And actually I have a job and new offers keep coming! Maybe this is what brings me luck, probably I should dye it all pink and blue.

It all took 24 PLN for a toner and 30 PLN for whitening my hair. It's my green-haired sister and I:

Task 14: Get a professional photo shoot done

Because who said it's all gonna be for higher purpose?

Wait, I think it was me.

Anyway. I won't be 24 again, and I imagine myself sitting in an old armchair, and looking at pictures from when I was 24 and still had my own teeth. When I was 8 I wanted to be a war correspondent, taking pics in the heat of battle, I never had those dreams of being a model or even a singer (I had a crush for Prince William though, I would be a perfect princess, Kate Middleton is a tough competition). So... with all the vanity I have, yes, I want to have a nice picture of myself taken. Does anybody know a good photographer?

A short manual about how to sell everything, hit the road and find love

Well, I'm not gonna tell you how to sell everything, hit the road and find love, but Luis will, if you start following his story. I found out about him from Leila (who is by the way my infinite source of cool stories). Luis is a sketcher, who started his awesome World Sketching Tour. He aims to travel the world and sketch what he sees, to set his foot on five continents within five years. 

You can't really see it, but this guy has a bounce in his step. 

I took him to Fotoplastikon and then (the weather was awful) we had hot chocolate in Wedel, where we sketched a bit together. Well, I was a big fan of this project, now I'm even bigger one. I'm inspired and excited about his journey. I got some really cool advices concerning drawing and shared my long-distance-relationship experiences (it's not as terrible as people say). Oh, and he sketched me! Yay!

That's me, cool, huh? 

I'm not gonna say anything more. Check this guy out, follow him and let him inspire you.

Here is his Facebook fanpage, and here you will find his website.

Good luck, boy, for you and your beautiful girlfriend!


What was the most inspiring person you ever met? Come on, share your experience!

What are your plans for today?

Look what I found:

See? I was serious about filters and stuff.

A sticker.

I thought it's cool and empowering, so I just sticked it on my laptop. But then I realized that it's not really that cool. It was a day like this when Marco Polo left for China, but no pressure, dude. This is one of those traps. Whatever you do, there will always be an Asian third-grader doing it gazillion times better. Or Marco Polo (who hit the road for the first time at the age of 17 and had nothing to say, because his father decided for him). 

There is no point in comparing yourself to others. Just do your job, make your mistakes, fall down, stand up and fall down again. There are you and your aim. If Hussein Bolt was checking where are other runners, he wouldn't be Hussein Bolt.