I can double entendre with the best of 'm

Bob *Fancy Man* zegt:
*cue Bob shredding his brasiere, uncovering his plump and succulent nipples whilst moaning the kind of no that means 'ravish me'*
Enrique *Twirl your ta'ta's zegt:
seriously, you should write porn
Bob *Fancy Man* zegt:
I've been told before, but I fear I have a handicap
Enrique *Twirl your ta'ta's zegt:
being?
Bob *Fancy Man* zegt:
I have a distaste for the orgasm. Not as a thing of its own (not at all!) but more of a descriptive nature
Enrique *Twirl your ta'ta's zegt:
aha... not all porn must end with buckets of cum
Bob *Fancy Man* zegt:
I have a lot of porn and I know for a fact that's not true
Enrique *Twirl your ta'ta's zegt:
lol, you can make the difference
Bob *Fancy Man* zegt:
Hmm, a mission in life would be nice. I was going for 'cure cancer', but 'make cum-free porn' does sound easier

To be really late with stuff: Britney finally lost it completely, and I don't just mean her hair. Anna Nicole died, and the only thing weirder than her life turns out to be everything coming after it. Jessica Simpson changed hair colours and I was all ready to swallow my pride and say it looks rather good on her, but then she did this and that's just more than I can stomach. Paris turned 26 and partied while looking like Flame Boy ejaculated on her chest.

And the Oscars came and went, though I didn't watch. In all the coverage I've read, I didn't see a single picture of Meryl Streep. Did they not let her out this year? Maybe the sorta-hot-for-their-age grey-haired actress quota was full with the boobalicious Helen Mirren (seriously, I remember seeing her and her pendulous breasts in Caligula and she looks ten times better now, roughly 30 times later)

Yeah, I'd go on and post links and stuff, but my mum needs the PC and she's sort of glowering at me. Bye!

Staring at his favourite coffee cup

I ff-ing hate dieting. I really do. Unfortunately, I really have to diet, it seems, as otherwise I keep swelling up, and I was never very svelte to begin with. Really, I thought I'd at least have until I was 30 before my metabolism decided to call it quits and head for the heavenly pastures, leaving me to waddle through life in those heinous trainers that always bunch around your groin and sag down your asscrack.

But no, apparantly it decided to take an early leave of absence.

Anyway, after some earlier, not so wise and probably not so healthy, and definitely ineffective, crash diets (which I would ultimately give up on the very first time more than one beer had hit my lips), I'm wicked proud of myself for having kept it up for a week already, with no sign of weakening. Okay, it's just a week, but still, usually by now I'm half frantic in front of the refridgerator, rationalising that one slice of meatloaf isn't going to make the difference (and invariably ending with eating that entire meatloaf, wrapped in cheese and coated with mayonaise, because I just don't seem to have an in-between, I only go from left to right and all the way back).

My diet consists out of Rice Krispies, All Bran (which, when milk added, looks like poop and tastes like cardboard, yay!), those awful, awful Special K with fruit things, soup, water, coffee and veggies. And no alcohol, except on weekends. Which is actually quite a change, because I ordinarily consume vast amounts of wine during the week. Oddly enough, I've also had a killer headache for the better part of the week. Is there something like a hang-over from not drinking?

Anyways, next to the obvious reasons for hating to diet (being hunger, craving, and alcohol withdrawal), there is also the added factor of my mother. After having come to my decision to actually attempt a healthy diet, I realised she needed to be reigned in concerning her shopping habits. You see, my mother is one of those women who seem to have lived through a war, even though they haven't, and always stock the fridge to maximum capacity. Never mind the fact that there are only two of us now, and never mind the fact that she eats hardly anything (really, I think she feeds on air and instant cappucino), we will always have loads of food in the house. And, the dutiful mother she is, she always brings the stuff I love most (like aforementioned meatloaf, which comes from the butcher in our street and is the best I ever had).

Since I have the resistance of a feeble 13th century French king with tuberculosis and parents that are cousins (google to get the reference, there's about 15 of them) to food if it's right there under my nose, I nicely informed her that from now on I should like to do my own grocery shopping. You'd think the woman would be elated, considering her constant nagging about expensive shopping bills, but nay, she wasn't.

To understand why, one must understand my mother, a trick that even I, after a good 24 years, haven't completely mastered, though I daresay I am the one and only expert in the field, since my father never managed and my brother never cared to (and quite honestly, I think my grandmother sort of wrote her off as 'immoral fruit of my womb who I shall help because she's my daughter, but don't expect me to like the woman').

Like I said, one must try to understand my mother. Among her many quirky qualities, ranging from adorable to mindblowingly annoying, is a supreme distrust of the world and the people in it. She is absolutely, completely and totally convinced that everyone is out to get everyone, and especially her. I guess she has her reasons to be so damn paranoid, but even James Bond gives it a rest every once in a while, damnit. It's actually in my opinion one of her top 3 least likeable qualities, and I'm so sick of hearing her start rants with "you can't trust anyone, only yourself, and people will always try to stab you in the back and you must take care of yourself because no one else will and I think that woman in the supermarket looked at me funny and blablabla".

Okay, to tie this into the diet thing: upon my saying I would get my own groceries, her paranoia kicked into full action and she constructed an elaborate idea in her mind that I was planning to somehow make her out to be a bad mother who wouldn't buy me food so I could get OCMW support to go live on my own. The correct response to this would be 'wtf?' and maybe a slight contortion of the eyebrows to boot.

Now, my mother is never one not to fight back against the evil schemes of the world (though all her fights have ended in personal disaster for her, which instead of teaching her the error of her ways, has somehow always reaffirmed her belief that she is the victim of a world wide conspiracy), so in response, she went out and bought MORE food than we ever had before, and of course she made sure all my favourites were included.

Naturally, I was pissed off, and my eyebrows contorted more than slightly, but it also actually helped my diet: being so pissed off, I was determined not to touch a single morsel of the food she bought, and I haven't. Now if only she wouldn't lurk in the kitchen all the time, waiting for me to emerge from my room, to then open the fridge, hold the untouched meatloaf in her hands and sigh tragically while shaking her head and looking at me as if I betrayed her. It was mildly amusing the first time, but that wore off quite soon.

And after all that, I am sort of considering to apply for OCMW support. Based on mental cruelty and a need to leave home before I commit matricide. There's not a jury in the world that would convict me, I'm sure of it.

Dat is raar hoe dat werkt

Remember my bit about 'classy people in media' a long while back?

Well, that's down the tubes now...

I guess that means I'm now left with Anne Hathaway. First off because she was great in The Devil Wears Prada, and because she made Ella Enchanted really enjoyable despite being only a so-so movie. She is the Audrey Hepburn type of actress (a sub-species which also includes Julia Roberts) who smile so much and somehow manange to channel a lot through that smile. Anyway, that's what I think. I also like how she was genuinly horrified when a top which she thought was black, turned out to be see-through on flash-pictures. And (I'm preparing to have Kevin go all whoop-ass on me for sacriligeon) I think her version of Queen's Somebody to Love, which she did for Ella Enchanted, was really nice. And instead of the likes of Lindsay Lohan, she managed to turn her new-found fame in something more than tabloidfilling by choosing good movies, like aforementioned Prada and Brokeback Mountain. I hope to be seeing more of her, and I pray, pray that she will not fall victim to the starlettitis of drinking, drugs and showing off vaginas.

I have spoken.