There's no reason not to be confused!

The mirror stares you in the face and says 'uh uh baby, it don't work'.

2007-08-25T14:08:00.000-07:00

Lessee, what's shaking?

I'm sort of ill-like, again *vigorous eye-rolling*, for which I employ my usual solution: no showering or any of that 'personal hygiene' craphola, burying myself in my way too warm payamas, getting in bed with my blanket and watch movies / television shows whilst smoking way too much, drinking loads of coffee and drifting in and out of sleep. It works for me, kay!

Feeling slightly better today, and was getting a bit bored (and my bandwidth is just being eaten up with all the streaming) and I can't seem to locate my cellphone anywhere (yes, genius, I know I could try calling it myself, but it's on silent, so there. I just know there's at least one wise-ass who thinks he's oh so smart and here's my big fat middle finger, I suggest you sit on it, cunt.), so I just thought I'd give everyone an update on the numerous things I have been reading/watching. Prepare to be dazzled... Maybe have a glass of wine first. Oeh, we have wine. Could I have wine? Wine is totally good for you, especially if you've spent the last 4 days trying not to throw up and you've felt soooooo close to blowing chunks you even took the little grey bucket out from under the sink and put it next to your bed, even though normally you only get that thing out if you have to clean up dog piss and you've sort of been wondering whether you wouldn't prefer to just hurl on the floor and deal with it later, but then you realised you'd still have to get the same little grey bucket to clean up the puke, because puke and dog pee are closely related on the scale of ew, so you kept the bucket anyway. Wine!

Okay, so, all set. I'm not gonna drink this, smelling it makes me go all queesie, but it's the thought that counts, and the thought says 'cheap red wine that someone gave me at my last dinner party'. Much appreciated.

Anyhow, in the last couple of days I've reread the final Harry Potter book for the third time (I swear I'm not a geek, it's just a book you can start and finish all in the same 3 hour period so it's a good little filler in between. Okay, I am a geek, but for totally Harry Potter unrelated reasons.). I can't say much about it, since so many people here are waiting for the Dutch version, so suffice to say I liked it, well written, but in my opinion it has two gaping plot holes I can't get over and I never noticed anything like that in the previous books, so that was a shame. Also, Harry's nekkid a lot, so let's hope they keep that in the movies *drewls at Radcliffe* I like paleness, honk honk!

I also read a book called 'Sovereign Ladies', about the 6 Queens Regnant of England/Great Britain/the United Kingdom, which was interesting enough in the beginning, you know, when Queens actually had a say, but from right around Queen Mary II and Queen Anne it turned into a bit of a yawn, and while Elizabeth II seems like a charming woman, and a good sport should I ever want to discuss horses, dogs or troublesome daughters-in-law, reading about her life is about as exciting as... well, as that would seem to most people I suppose.

Right now I'm reading 'Liberty', a book that illustrates the life of women during the French Revolution by juxtaposing 6 very different women from the period, amongst whom Germaine de Staël & Théroigne de Méricourt, the only two I had any previous knowledge of. I'm not sure if author Lucy Moore is just a dull woman, or whether maybe her subjects were dull (though, for a woman in those days to have generated enough written documents for us to know anything about her, she should have been rather remarkable), or maybe just maybe I don't really give a flying fuck about women during the French Revolution, unless they're Marie-Antoinette, Madam Royal, the Royal Sisters or that Lamballe Princess, either way, the book is boring me to pieces, but I have hopes of finishing it in a couple of days.

Anyhow, other than that I have been watching a lot of American Dad and Family Guy. I like American Dad, a lot of people say it's a cheap knock-off from Family Guy, but other than the animation style I don't think they're all that similar. I am totally obsessing about Stan's gut though. Whenever he has his shirt on, he looks quite fit, but whenever he takes it off, he has this big ole gut. Is it the shirts? If so, where can I get one? Does he suck it in when dressed? I can relate to that, not having taken a full breath since the summer of 2000, but then why not suck it in when shirtless? It boggles me.

Whilst a big fan of Family Guy (go Quahog! wooo!), I wish they'd give Meg a Revenge episode or something, I feel so sorry for her. Okay, everyone hates Meg, for reasons I don't understand, but honestly, the poor girl, she should have just ONE episode where she really lets her family have it without it backlashing on her tenfold. I always root for the Unfairly Oppressed, Lord knows why, I'm sure it's a Freudian youth throw-back thing. I have it with South Park's Butters as well, but unlike Meg, he has had his Revenge moments and I loved those so much, they're among my favourite SP moments.

I also saw the Family Guy Movie, which wasn't bad at all, it was very much the same as an episode actually and they managed to spread a rather thin plot into a moviechunk without getting boring. Despite the FG movie not having been theatrically released, I actually thought it was a better effort than the Simpsons Movie, especially considering the difference in time spent on the respective projects. I hope I don't get any Simpson Movie fans on my case now. Ow yeah, that's right, Kenneth doesn't read this blog anyway. Few, dodged a bullet there.

Staying in the realm of the animated, I also watched the Care Bears Big Wish movie. That blew chunks of viler quality than anything I feel capable of producing. They really fucked those up, I used to love the care bears (okay, a haze of about 20 years may have coloured my memory), but now it's so plastic. It's right up there with the Bratz Dolls really, except the Care Bears don't encourage children to give hand-jobs on street corners in exchange for Pussycat Dolls tickets. The Bratz are total whores. And the Care Bears are soulless corporate shells, booh.

I also watched 'Meet the Robinsons', which I'm not sure has been in cinemas here yet, but I suppose it's still coming. (note: imdb just told me it's not due here until october). Anyway, excellent movie, quite funny, but without neglecting the story. Actually, although the astute viewer will figure out most of the plot within 10 minutes (Kev will take about 35 I guess), it's complicated enough to leave the little ones guessing until the very end, and maybe even then they'll still be confused. I was pleasantly surprised by it and it gets a good recommendation.

Another animated movie (hey, cartoons are good for your health): Happy Feet. My former co-worker Anke told me about that one moooooooonths ago and she said how great it was, so I figured I'd give it a try and it was pretty good. Nicole Kidman's voicing is ludicrous and somehow brilliant and Brittany Murphy has a way too sexy voice for a childfriendly penguin and manages to make every piece of dialogue she utters sound raunchy somehow, but that only adds to the grown-up fun. Happy Feet is a jukebox musical, utilizing a bunch of songs that have been used a million times before, but it does it rather well, so no complaints there. In both 'Robinsons' and 'Happy' it goes towards a mushy ending, but luckily both movies quit before they drown in a too saccharine conclusion.

And then, two comedies, with the same lead actor, yet as far removed from one another as possible.

Napoleon Dynomite is a movie I had read a lot about, but it was never released in Belgium. From everything I'd read about it, it was supposed to be awesome. I'm still not sure, it's either really brilliant or a total piece of crap. I swear, I was watching this thing and wondering whether I liked it or not and I couldn't quite decide. The characters are ennerving and sad, but too annoying to invoke sympathy, the situations are too bizarre to relate to, but too mundane to consider silly, and the jokes are well, infinitely subtle and at the same time gapingly obvious. And yet, at the end, I sort of went 'aow'. So I guess it's a good movie, but just weird. Probably brilliant. Yeah. Whatever. Ow yeah, the thing with the cow and the bus of school children was brilliant, very South Parky.

Blades of Glory did pass through our movie theatres some time ago, but for those who don't remember the endless commercials for it: it's about two male figure skaters who are banned from singles competitions because a fight between them caused a mascotte to go up in flame or something, I wasn't paying attention by then (and this is the opening scene, nuff said) and then they team up to compete in doubles, leading to the typical 'opposites who hate each other learn to appreciate each other's differences, bring out the best in each other and become friends', but now it's got the extra dimension of guys in sequined tights. Of course there's a villainous twosome (God, the closing joke about these two I anticipated from the first moment they came on the screen, so predictable) and a good girl forced to help who in the end realizes her inner strength and stands up for what she believes in, just in time to be kissed by the effeminate hero in his sequined tights. Big Fat Yawn. Best bit: the South-Korean Iron Lotus video, I love it when Asians in tights get hurt.

Last up, Knocked Up, another movie that won't be released here until october (why is that actually, why do we have to wait so long for movies to trickle down to here? It cannot take THAT long to slap some subtitles under those bitches.). Premise of the movie: hot television girl drunkenly boinks not so hot slacker stoner dude, gets pregnant, hilarity ensues. Pretty funny movie, mainly due to the lead actors really doing their very best. And oeh, the guy who played Phoebe's husband (the last one, not the faux-gay one she married before the show started and then divorced in season one because he wanted to marry another girl and she was all depressed because she was secretly in love with him and he was a figure skater too and isn't it totally weird how the universe sets these things up, woaw) plays a supporting character and he still has that whole dependable doe-eyed puppy boy look thing going which is endearing and all, but you sort of suspect he'd still ream you really hard if given half the chance. I sure hope I have the correct meaning for 'ream', I read the word once and assumed I got it from the context, but it was ambiguous and if I got it wrong, I may have just written something totally dirty.

Anyhow.

Failure is spelled with U and I

2007-08-23T14:46:00.000-07:00

And I'm back in action. Sort of, I guess, as I plan to only post some nutty links, none of which I bothered to verify. If they are real, then Lord Almighty have Mercy upon us poor Sinners. If they're fake, giggle!

First up, this cannot possibly be real (right?), but it's very well done.

Okay, this is real, and not all that amusing, I guess. Or it sort of is, in a really fucked up, sad, "what were those people thinking" kind of way. Also, proves that the internet is just very dangerous for people whose parents can also call each other cousin.

I don't care if this is real, the woman writes a gripping tale, I can totally picture it. She reminds me of my mother, except that she can't type, or tell a coherent story, and she totally wouldn't have gotten away with doing this because my brother and I were brats, and also I'm sure e-bay would confuse her even more than it does me (I get confused in supermarkets and IKEA, and apparantly that applies to the virtual ones as well). Okay, she's nothing like my mother, but still, pretty funny.

Hmm. I seem to have some time left.

Toodoodoo... what to write about, hmmm.

Oeh!

I'm not a big fan of Corbin Fisher!

For those who don't know it, Corbin Fisher is a guy who used to do porn (right? Or did I get my facts mixed up?) and now he runs this succesful porn site. It's basically the same deal as Sean Cody: poor video quality, guys whacking off while talking to the camera guy or two guys talking to the camera guy before they do it (or more than two guys, same principle) and they are always in the same goddamn bedroom, which might as well be Sean Cody's bedroom, because they all look the same and the sheets have this greyish colour which seems to me would totally show cumstains so it doesn't make any sense (yes, I watch porn and I'm concerned about why they picked sheets that show cumstains, I do not know the meaning of 'brain turned off'. Not sober anyway. And only rarely drunk). Sometimes they'll be in a home gym and work out before they diddle each other on the push-up bench and I'm sure that's supposed to be all sexy. During their little introductory talk they'll always be telling us, the viewer, how they're really just gym buddies and "have never done this kind of thing before" and how they are "really nervous, coz dude, I never had a guy suck my cock" and about two seconds after that they're taking that cock so far up their chute it's in danger of getting lost and like, I know I didn't lose my anal virginity under the best of circumstances (no Tim, you're not allowed to tell in the comments, you bastard! Benjamin doesn't read English, does he? Whatever), but still, most unconvincing devirgination ever (read this in the tone of the Comic Book Guy, btw, saw the movie, not bad, nowhere near great). Anyway, I find Corbin Fisher videos really boring, can't help it, bad video quality, bad sound, booooooring sex, and the aforementioned intro talk, not to mention the post-coital talk (That was nice dude, but I gotta get going, my girlfriend is gonna wonder where I'm at, see ya dude. What is the big turn-on with supposedly straight guys?? They look the same naked. They moan the same naked. I'm pretty damn sure once you're in them, they don't feel 20% better or anything!) are brainshatteringly stupid.

I sort of totally forgot where I'm going with this actually. I don't like Corbin Fisher videos. But some of their guys are sort of cute. As long as they don't talk. I wouldn't kick them out of bed I guess. Or out of the home gym. Though I'd still want a different set of sheets. In bed I mean, not in the gym.

Uh, maybe that's really all the point I was gonna make.

I just thought you guys should know

2007-07-14T02:25:00.000-07:00

He sat nervously, as was his default disposition, with his leg jittering uncontrollably and the uneven, cigarette-stained fingernails of his right hand rapping audibly on the tabletop. "Finally!", He exclaimed, as he saw 3 other young men approach.

"You're late." He said dissaprovingly.

"We're always late." said the ravenhaired one.

"That does not make it okay every time."

"Of course it does, as we are always late, there is a pattern, thereby making it possible for you to predict the actual time we would be arriving, thus, in conclusion, one might say you were early."

"For shame." added the guy to his left, who looked rather unhealthy, and as if sleep had eluded him that night.

At this the nervous one looked a little perplexed, then shook his head vigorously, as if shaking of cobwebs, then he reinstated his grey denim cap into its original position, before it was dislodged by the violent shaking, and he solemnly hem-hemmed and scraped his throat, a sure sign for his friends that some odd story was about to be related to them.

With a dignified look and his chin slightly raised, he began:

"I have called you all here today because..."

Immediately he was interrupted by the third of his companions.

"You didn't call us here today, it's sunday brunch, we're always here."

An irritated glare and a disdainful shake of the head (followed once more by a reinstating of the grey denim cap aforementioned) answered this rude interruption, a clear case of lese-majesté as far as he was concerned (he WAS sitting at the head of the table.). Without dignifying his friend with a spoken reply, he continued:

"BECAUSE I have an important announcement to make." He paused dramatically, raising his chin even further into the air in an attempt to look dignified, but unfortunately he more looked as if he had smelled something rather unpleasant.

"You had sex in the middle of the street with a monkey? Again?" said one.
"You got so drunk your pants fell down, but you didn't care and danced around anyway?" said the second.
"You followed two strangers to what you thought was a bar, but turned out to be an underground sauna?" finished the third.

With a wrinkle of his nose and a puckering of his lips, our hero showed his discontent and he answered rather inflamed:

"It was not in the MIDDLE of the street, and it was a Morrocan, not a monkey!"
"They were not ALL the way down!"
"Shut up!"

Thus all 3 scoundrels were rebutted, and with his majectic dignity recovered, he hem-hemmed once more and continued.

"As you all know, I have been dating someone for a few weeks now. He is a perfectly respectable person, charming, nice, intelligent, ..."

"And with a big butt, just the way you like it..." broke in the unfresh looking one.

"... attractive, and very generous and kind to me. I regret to announce..."

"You broke up." said the raven haired one.
"He dumped your ass." said the unfresh one.
"You are no longer dating?" asked the third one, unable to keep the eagerness out of his voice, since the subject of the conversation was quite the dish.
"we got engaged." blurted out the nervous one.

A general awed silence ensued. Many things had been told around this table, ranging from the pitiful to the absurd, the tragic to the hilarious, but this one took the cake (though their Ocassional Breakfast did not include cake).

"Engaged? You've known him for 2 weeks, tops."
"I know! It wasn't my idea!"
"Oh God, I feel a migraine coming on. How do you always do these things?"
"I didn't do anything!"
"You must have at least said yes, you cannot get engaged against your will" said the third one.
"Unless you're one of them monkey women." interrupted the unfresh one.
"This is no time for comically exaggerated racism!" insisted the raven haired one.
"Look, it went like this: he took me out to dinner, I suspected nothing, it wasn't even such a classy place, but it was packed. I was sort of not paying attention to what he was saying, cause this hot waiter was just bending over to pick up a spoon and I was making superfunny jokes about spooning in my head, you know, like to myself, because jokes about spooning a random stranger while you're on a date really aren't appropriate until he's had at least 3 glasses of wine and there's a chance he'll be willing to play along..."

"Could you please get to the point!!" said the third one.

"Sheesh, I am, mister impatient. Anyhow, I was thinking about spoons and pig-roasting when he took my hand and I looked and he was totally ON. HIS. KNEES! I thought he'd lost a spoon maybe, but then he says... Get this, he says: I know we've only known each other for a short time, but I cannot imagine the rest of my life without you. Will you marry me?"

"Noooooooo, he didn't!" screeeched the third one.

"He did!"

"What did you say?"

"What could I say???? He is sitting there, a blissfully happy look on his face, a tear running down his cheek, with about two dozen people looking at us, all expecting me to say yes. So I said yes..."

"But do you want to marry him?"

"Of course not!"

"Then why on earth did you say yes?"

"It seemed rude not to. I blame my mother, she raised me to always be polite and I've not been able to refuse anyone anything ever since I was a kid..."

"Which explains your popularity at Red&Blue..." threw in the unfresh one.

"This is my mother's fault. Oh My God, I bet this is why she and my dad got married: he asked and she was too polite to say no. And look how that turned out!

"So what is it you want from us exactly?"

"I need bridesmaids."

"And we're the closest you could come up with?"

"If Aaron Spelling taught me anything, it's that bridesmaids are supposed to be awful bitches that will try to have sex with my husband-to-be the day of the wedding. You guys will be just perfect."

"Uh. Thank you?"
"Hmmmmm."
"Your ring looks really gay."
"I know, it was his grandmother's"

Come rain or shine

2007-07-13T08:34:00.000-07:00

Well, time for a second quickie update!

I've been here little under two weeks now and it's been quite relaxed. I still don't feel like I have to work very much (Joyce has been in daycare for the past 3 days again, leaving my days open completely). I've resorted to making dinner quite often to make up for it.

The downside of so many free days (not to mention all the evenings) is that I don't really know what to do with my time. I don't know anyone to hang out with yet, and honestly, I've trudged up and down Farnham and Guildford by myself quite enough already.

In an attempt to meet some people, I've attended a "coffee social" by the Guildford Area Gay Society, or GAGS, a local gay group, whose name is either the result of a severe lack of foresight, or of that quirky British wit.

GAGS meets once a week for these socials in members' houses. The one I went to was here in Farnham, literally down the street, in the "teapot house", so called because of the rather large wooden teapot on the front lawn. According to Julian and Jutta, the house is infamous for its gay meetings. Still, despite that somewhat discouraging fact, I decided to go, as one week was already enough to give me a bit of a lonely feeling at times.

It is not easy to describe GAGS. They have existed for the past 30 years... And a lot of their founding members are still around... And they weren't all that young when they founded it... Basically, about 60% of the members could be qualified as ancient in gay years. They did have entertaining stories to tell, about the olde days of homosexuality, when it was not even legal yet, and all the wild clandestine parties they attended. Quite lovely to listen to, but maaaaybe not exactly the group of people I see myself spending my months here in England with. Maybe. Okay, if nothing more suitable comes along, I will probably.

I think the youngest person there was about 32 and I talked to him most of the time, whilst being eyed suspiciously\beningly\somewhat ennervingly by the various other attendants. He seemed nice enough and I got his email so maybe I can hang out with him and meet other people through him, who knows.

There are apparantly quite a lot of gay occassions around, like in Guildford, but the trouble is getting to these places. Or rather, getting back from these places, since the last bus to Farnham is at 18.50 and on top of that, it is outrageously expensive. The fact that I am a 24 year old that cannot drive illicits surprise all over England and I am beginning to see why: it just is quite hard to impossible to get places other than by car.

Farnham has its v ery own gay bar as well. Okay, actually, it is just the cellar of a house, the one where I attended the coffee social. Dark and cheesily lit? Check! Garden with jacuzzi? Check! Lots of dirty pictures and warnings to play safe? Very check! Every friday they have a thing and once a month on saturday a theme disco night. The next one's theme is 'Speedos'. Considering the uhm age and portly dignity of the regular costumers and my lack of a pair of Speedos, I shan't be attending.

I've also joined the gym, both to stay in shape a bit and to meet locals. So far I've only met two personal trainers, a lovely young woman named Clare, and an absolutely gorgeous man named Sam, whose trainings I am sure I will enjoy. Hopefully there'll be more of that sort of meetings, as they are both perfectly lovely people.

I have also signed myself up with this 'ex-pat' website, so far I have gotten one response, from a Latino Norwegian au pair who wishes to "meat" me. I assume it is a case of bad English, but I will keep you informed as it develops.

Speaking of meat, my unfortunate 'no masturbating in someone else's house rule' is fricking killing me, it is going to be a long six months for my loigns. I thought I'd share that with you guys, wouldn't want you to suffer "Bob shares something too intimate" withdrawal.

The weather here is still irradic and mostly bad, though today is nice, which figures, since it is the only day I'm not outside. Mathilde the cat is still quite enamoured with me, and the feeling is mutual, but I could do without the live frogs she keeps bringing as a gift. Oeh, speaking of wildlife! So far I've seen a snake and a fox! I am totally holding out for a giraffe though. Or Prince Harry. That might actually solve my problem in the above paragraph as well.

Anyho, that's it for now, should anything fascinating happen, like Prince Harry desperately falling for me (after I tripped him of course), GAGS making me their mascotte or the revelation of exactly what Norwegian beef tastes like, I shall return and share it with you all in inappropriately detailed ways.

Cheers!

And to top it all, English boys have bouncy bouncy

2007-07-06T03:53:00.000-07:00

Okay, quick update before I forget how to do it.

I doubt I will be writing a lot on this blog the coming months, since I am using a QWERTY lap top and I find it terribly annoying to type with.

For those who didn't get the memo: I am in England, and I'll be here for the next 6 months or so, working as a sort of au pair. The family I am living with is extremely nice, and their daughter is precious, despite entering the terrible twos and being quite a handful at times. The house is swell and my room is terrific, much nicer than anything I'm used to. The two family cats, Mathilde and Magnus seem to agree, as they spent all their time in here.

The town of Farnham, where I am, is a type of suburb to London, which means its residents tend to be rather wealthy. The centre is very beautiful and has some great shops, including a Waterstone's, which spells doom for my solvability. We're not too far from university city Guildford, and I've already been there once and prolly will head there again later today. London is either for this weekend or the next, depending on the weather, which has been the only downside here so far.

Right now I have more free time than I know what to do with, because little Joyce is away at daycare 3 days a week, and she goes to bed right after she gets home, so I'm only busy in the mornings, and even then her parents do most of the work. In a few weeks she will go to daycare less though and I should get a little busier, and I'll be glad to, right now I feel like a bit of a moocher.

They have been very generous to me here, getting me a computer and DVD player in my room, a laptop, a cellphone which is way too fancy, with a subscribtion I don't have to pay, and they are buying me a local gym membership as well, which is quite costly. I'm very grateful of course and I wish I'd have to work a bit harder!

Yesterday I made Chili Con Carnem because I felt like cooking and they said it zas the best they ever had, which zas nice to hear naturally. After that Julian took me to a local pub, and we had some pints and a very good time.

Long story short: I think I'll do rather well here.

Anyhow, I'm just about fed up with this keyboard, so that's it for now.

Cheers

Sorry Kevin

2007-06-11T15:44:00.000-07:00

But no, it's still not the long awaited update.

It's just that I had to share these videos with you. This one proves that we as a society are doomed, whilst this one is merely sort of unnerving. It might be worse, if only that first one wasn't so bad already.

Posts via Best Week Ever, which is incidentally a very fun website to kill some time over every day.

People aren't snowflakes

2007-06-11T03:52:00.000-07:00

Endless Audacity *I don't mind a little weight on my back zegt:
Dude, I's so old!
Endless Audacity *I don't mind a little weight on my back zegt:
which makes you even more old
Endless Audacity *I don't mind a little weight on my back zegt:
I just thought I'd let you know that
Kev (good music / i dance / no good music / i not dance) zegt:
ow screw you
Kev (good music / i dance / no good music / i not dance) zegt:
I do not age
Kev (good music / i dance / no good music / i not dance) zegt:
nah
Endless Audacity *I don't mind a little weight on my back zegt:
you just ripen
Endless Audacity *I don't mind a little weight on my back zegt:
... like cheese
Endless Audacity *I don't mind a little weight on my back zegt:

except cheese grows hair as it 'ripens'

While I know that doing a political commentary after the results are in, is slightly redundant, I'm still going to anyway, as I had this post sort of planned on friday, but I didn't get around to it.

Political commentary is a bit too strong a statement, since I know very little of politics. You hear a lot about 'the uninformed voter'. I consider myself a 'semi-informed voter' and I think there are a lot of those. I know what each party stands for in a broad way, their values and ideals (at least, insofar as it is still possible to find clearly outlined values and ideals in some of them) and I know their main political points. I don't follow debates, not even during election time, since I don't care very much what separate members of a party have to say, I only vote for the entire party, even if there are people on the list, like that Guidone woman there was so much to do about, that I don't particularly care for. Another reason I don't watch debates is because they always have Siegfried Bracke moderate them and just his face is enough to send me into a nightmare riddled snooze.

Anyhow, not having a sound political mind, like Kevin, who watches all things political with great ardour, I cannot comment on it in any kind of professional manner. Come to think of it, there's not a whole lot I can comment on in any kind of professional manner. I probably really should specialize in something... But that's neither here nor there at the moment.

Even someone like me who doesn't watch political debates and who changes the channel as soon as there is even the threat of Bracke's presence, cannot escape politics in election period, of course (although, was it just me or were there a lot less posters, flyers, pamphlets etc. this year?). Even at my work, where people ranged from semi-informed to uninformed, the subject was breached.

Now, from a sociological point of view, who are we at my work? We have a young, moderately educated homosexual (that would be me, in case it wasn't clear), we have two young mothers with partners, one 30something single mother of two and one on the way, one 30something married mother, two older mothers, and a bunch of young unwed women. Most of them, though not all, have high school diplomas and several of the young unwed women are following adult education courses. We all get paid uh not so much and none of us could be considered to be very affluent, with some even just barely keeping the head above water. Finally, with the exception of myself and two of the mothers, they have very little experience with so-called urban life, and Antwerp is almost a demonical, sinful city of fear to them.

Where do these people fall politically then? Since we don't discuss these things during the year (and honestly, if it was up to me, I wouldn't discuss them during elections either, because sometimes it's just easier not to know), I was in for some surprises.

We have one ardent Vlaams Belangblok supporter, who's voted for them 'ever since she was 18', which monumentous occassion happened 2 years ago. Her main reasons for voting thus were a) their position on the family, which is something I can at least sort of understand, a lot of my co-workers, all mothers or planning on speedy motherhood, feel that other parties do not pay enough attention to the family and stay-at-home mums and so on, and b) those dang foreigners. It always surprises me when someone who lives in a small rural town where I've seen about 5 foreigners (one being a German, one a Swede, one Portugese and two Turkish guys who keep a restaurant) can be so afraid and/or disgusted by foreigners, by which they always mean anything dark-skinned. They seem to feel that they are lurking around every corner, ready to rape our women and rob our men. When asked if they have ever had a personal problem with Them, it's always answers such as 'You can see them standing on the street and you know they're up to no good' or 'no, but my friend's friend once...' or 'On the television...'

Not to be the dense and claim there isn't a problem, but it's just that these people don't have a problem. They hear things on the television and are convinced that Antwerp is a den of throatcutting Turks who rape young white women in the name of Allah. If you hear them talk of Antwerp, a place they refuse to visit, it's a miracle any of us good honest white folks make it out of there alive, I do count myself very lucky in that regard then. They're afraid and they're conditioned to hate what they're afraid of, at least that's how I see it and I suppose you can't even be mad at them for that. But I can be mad at them for being ignorant in my opinion.

Then there's several who are liberals, a position I find hard to defend seeing that we are not exactly the audience they serve best in general. Being labourors on part-time of the lowest echelon, I fail to see they propagate anything that does us a whole lot of good. I do actually like VLD and SP.a together, they kept each other in a nice balance between smarter economics and better social measures, but I wouldn't want to see what happens if VLD got to do it all alone (not that we have to worry about that any time soon). Things do make a little more sense when you find out their husbands are actually their target audience, and when you find out that they literally have no idea whatsoever what VLD stands for, or what any of the parties stand for.

The most striking thing to me was the 'dilemma' the mother of four was having. She had no idea who she was going to vote for. She didn't like the things Vlaams Blokbehang stood for (except the family values, forgetting or neglecting perhaps that they would probably frown upon a mother who got pregnant by 3 different men without marrying any of them, or even being with them in a less traditional manner), but she was probably going to vote for them. Why, one might ask.

Several years ago, when her second child was still a baby, she went to the town council with a request. The specific request doesn't matter, but it was something that couldn't be done, as it would require bending certain social laws. While I did know why it was impossible to be done, she didn't know and it seemed a fair enough request to her, and had she known it was impossible, she still wouldn't have cared, because she wanted it in the best interest of her children, as she saw it.

Put yourself in the place of these council members. You have this woman who is already getting a lot of financial and other support at the expense of the state, coming to ask a completely unreasonable thing, thinking she is perfectly entitled to it. Do you give it much thought? Probably not. You may even treat her with a certain amount of scorn. And that is exactly what happened. She was in her own words 'ridiculed and cursed' by all council members. All council members? No, the Vlaams Blok people were 'very nice to me and they listened'. Did they offer her solutions? Heck no. Did she get what she wanted? Of course not, couldn't be done.

But they were nice and listened and despite disagreeing with almost every single thing they stand for, and abhorring their position on foreigners, she most probably voted for them. You can think she is an idiot, but I think she is like a lot of people are. And to me those other council members are the idiots.

Okay, I could probably go on for a while, but I actually have to go to work now, and hopefully after today's inevitable discussion of the election results, I won't have to hear about politics for a while again.

Ow, right, and to not make me a liar after my final line in the last post: Sex is fun!

(No seriously, I do have one lined up, but if I waited with this one any longer, it would have been even more redundant, but don't worry Kev, you'll get your post :))

Cheers!

I'm not a slut, I'm just vertically challenged

2007-05-21T14:46:00.000-07:00

Kev (good music / i dance / no good music / i not dance) zegt:
in stimulation?
Endless Audacity zegt:
oh sweety I'm in the mood for just about anything
Endless Audacity zegt:

well, except goats and other assorted farmanimals

Short news:

1) Apparantly my name is an anachronysm for a sexual act. Unfortunately, I'm not too happy with the specific act.

2) You have to watch at least part of this video. It's very long yes, but it has some great parts. I'm not sure whether I should laugh or masturbate.

3) Britney Spears is thin again! Now if she just learns how to dress herself, she might be bearable to look at. Seriously, put on pants, bitch.

4) Jessica Simpson got dumped by John Mayer. Possibly because she's been out partying and acting like a (fat) slut for the past two weeks.

5) The awesome webcomic CTR+ALT+DEL did Spiderman the way it should have been.

6) Though I don't like arrogant guys in person, there is something about arrogant looking guys in pictures.

7) Thanks to Janti, I am now obsessed with Kingdom Hearts, and shall attempt to break into his appartment to play it as much as possible.

8) Also, Janti looks damn cute in this picture from sunday, whereas I look like a broad-shouldered, though totally hot, woman in this one, Karo looks deranged and like she might bite here and Kevin smiles in this picture, which I'm sure is a sign of the pending Apocalypse.

9) My obessive passion for Stephen Lynch was rekindled on sunday and I converted Janti. Soon we shall be numerous enough to abduct him to our evil (yet sexy) lair... *evil laugh*

10) I got a birthday gift from Karolien (my birthday was in october, but still, thanks!). She got me a book about the first season of Desperate Housewives, which is actually quite kicking.

The next update will be all about sex, Bob-style. Be warned!

Holy Abdomen, Batman!

2007-05-14T03:27:00.000-07:00

Kev (good music / i dance / no good music / i not dance) zegt:
I'm supposed to be the selfish prick, not you!
Endless Audacity zegt:
you've rubbed off on me

This sunday, after yet another rather partiful weekend and a very late night, Tim somehow reminded me again of a discussion that's been going along on and off during the last years between Kenneth and Kevin, and whomever happens to be near at the time. Since I'm near quite a lot, I've discussed the topic quite a few times myself. The object itself is rather boring, possibly the reason that's it's been a while it's been brought to the table, but hey, I'm bored and have nothing else to say.

Position Kevin: everyone acts only in their own selfish interests.

Position Kenneth: people can act out of pure altruism.

Since both parties are usually very adamant about their respective positions, these discussions, benevolent as they may start, tend to quickly disentagrate into decibellicious (I know that's not a word, but it totally should be) he said - he said matches that not even Vlaams Belang politicians could do better. (author's note: all resemblance between aforementioned parties and Vlaams Belang politicians ends there.)

Since I'm a tad wishy-washy and very much a Belgian Boy, I always take the middle road in the discussion, granting that most behaviour is inspired by selfishness, but leaving room for the possibility of altruism (and basically deciding nothing, I only take a firm stance on very frivolous objects such as Sid Vicious pants {against}, leggings {against}, colourful underwear {in favour}, Paris Hilton {firmly against}, etc).

As far as I know, no winner was ever decided in the ongoing battle of me me me and the complete disregard of self. Both parties make some convincing points, though I usually am forced to agree more with Kevin's, which I don't really like, because I'd like to believe in altruism to some degree.

But, does it really exist? Of course, some people will claim that we very often do things we don't want to, purely for the benefit of others. But do we commit these generous acts simply because they are generous, or is there an underlying reason of self-preservation or -promotion of some sort?

When a friend calls, depressed and alone, while you are enjoying a good movie and he asks you to come over to talk, and you reluctantly abandon the movie, heaving a deep sigh and head over, do you do this purely for your friend or because of other reasons such as social conventions, the fact that your friendship needs to be maintained for your own future benefit, the Catholic tendencies that are still rooted in most our childhoods, or maybe just because, well, we all like a little drama in our lives, especially when it's not really ours.

Then there are those people who chronically seem to do things they don't want to, in order to help others. I know a woman who is constantly telling us how she drives around old ladies, babysits children, organises family gatherings, and generally supports an entire village with numerous acts, despite her own health problems. Yes, a brave woman indeed, but the sarcastic in me has begun to think that, yes, she does get something out of it. By mentioning these acts, usually in a sullen 'you should hear what happened now, why does everyone depend on me so?' tone of voice, she establishes herself as a near-tragic Saint, a Mother Theresa of the Kempen, often praised and pitied to her face (and derided as a whiny old push-over behind her back, but most of us are very unaware of what is said behind our backs, unless if it's in a bend-over situation, but that's entirely different).

So yes, she gets to feel like a martyr, a heroine, a great Personage of Good and it is a role she wallows and delights in, emphasizing it at every turn. Now, I'm not saying she's not a very nice, helpful woman, I'm only putting it out there that maybe it cannot be called true altruism.

When I was studying social work, we had a teacher who asked us why we studied social work, and a lot of people answered something along the lines of 'to make the world a better place' and 'to help people'. I was one of them, but being wishy washy and unfirm I selected the less ambitious 'to make a small part of the world a better place'. He then said we were kidding ourselves and that most social workers are, though kind (hopefully), selfish and trying to feel better themselves. They don't want to make the world a better place, they want to FEEL that they've made the world a better place. They don't want to help people, they want to FEEL they helped people and bask in the near-orgasmic glow of being a hero, a role model, a People Helper. A sentiment Tim echoed in our short conversation on the topic.

On to the next form of altruism: true love. If you truly love someone, you're willing to make sacrifices, purely for that other person's pleasure.

First off, if you consider it a sacrifice you're martyring yourself again, and that puts the selfish right back in there. Second of all, no one, no matter how loving, sacrifices and sacrifices without expecting some sacrifice from the other party in return.

An example often brought up in favour of the selfless theory has to do with a burning building. Why do people go back into a blazing fire to save their loved one? Well, you know, if you don't, you'll be alone. And if he survives, but it all burnt and stuff, it will be totally socially unexceptable to leave the ugly bastard and surgery be expensive, y'all. And if it's a mother and child, imagine being the mother who didn't lift a finger as her child was being charcoaled. She better move to a whole new neighbourhood, because all her kind, caring neighbours will be calling her 'that woman who let her child die' until the day she goes to meet her maker, who hopefully will be either a lot more forgiving, or non-existant.

Mother Theresa is always mentioned as well. Now, I never trusted Mother Theresa, there was something in that beak-faced leer of hers that always made me suspect she secretly hated puppies and various other unpleasant characteristics. It cannot be denied, however, that she gave her life to good pursuits and helped countless of people (though she did maybe kick a puppy or two). Of course, she was thrusted on by her religion, praised by the hatted man in the Vatican, loved by countless more than she helped and she became a celebrity. I daresay she felt pretty damn good about herself every time she glided through the slums on those silly sandals of hers.

So basically, we're all selfish bastards. It's the way we're made, we do what we have to in order to get on and fulfill our needs. And there's nothing wrong with that, it's what got us this far. And the ingeniosity of that system is that we actually need each other to fulfill those needs, thus ensuring love, friendships and family ties a chance of surviving our own selfishness. And heck, most of the time we really do believe we're helping out for the sake of helping out. And feeling damn good about that too, us tragic heroes.

(author's note: unwilling to seem as if I'm taking a definite stance against altruism, I hereby state that I'm sure it may happen from time to time, but the nature of altruism being not to brag about it, no one ever hears about these instances. That's why Jesus Christ, if he existed, doesn't count, because that bitch clearly made too much noise about his whole 'sacrificing myself for mankind' - schtick.)

And for those who got this far without getting bored and/or a little mad, and also because it's been a while, this sentence is ALMOST entirely composed out of boys!

Het Leven Zoals Het Is

2007-05-09T10:45:00.000-07:00

- Ja zie, ik weet ni hoe da gij daar tegenoversta, ma voor mij kan da dus echt ni he!
* Uhuh
- Nee, da is volledig en compleet tegen mijn principes en mijn principes, die zijn heilig!

* Ja.

- Als ge een probleem met iemand hebt, moet ge da in die hun gezicht zeggen, en niet acherlangs hunne rug. Heb ik gelijk of heb ik dubbel gelijk?

*Uhuh, groot gelijk.

- Uiteindelijk, wa lost ge daar nu mee op, met achter mensen hunne rug te gaan sjauwelen? Niks, rien, nougabolle. Over nougabolle gesproken, passeert de pralinen ne keer langs hier.

*Alstublieft.

- Merci. Wa was ik nu weer aan't zeggen? Ah ja, ik kan daar dus ni tegen, dat ze zo achter ne mens zijne rug zitten te roddelen he.

* Uhuh.

- Allez, kan da nu, da die achter mijne rug, zonder da eerst tegen mij te zeggen, durft beweren da ik meer tijd verschijt op't werk me tetteren, dan met m'n job doen? Allez!!

= Mevroooouhouw? Ik ben op mijn knie gevallen en nu bloeit dat.

- Nu effe ni schatteke, ik ben bezig.

= ...

* ...

- Want da durft die te zeggen he? Tegen jan en alleman, maar tegen mij is ze de vriendelijkheid zelve. Hypochondrie noem ik da! Of allez, ge weet wel, hoe noemen ze da?

* Hypocrisie.

- Just, dadde, da bedoel ik nu zie. Da geroddel, daar krijgde alleen maar ne slechte atmosfeer van, een bad vibe, en dat komt het werk niet ten goede he, da's het ergste. Schuift gij die doos me wafels eens tot hier. Merci. Ma wa ik nu wou zegge, goei wafels amai, oei sorry, 'k heb wa op uwen trui gespeekt, excuses, allez, wat ik dus wou zegge, eigenlijk feitelijk heeft da mens echt geen recht van spreken he! Vorige week nog is ze een uur vroeger vertrokken, zonder boe of ba! Maar assekik nen halve minuut met iemand sta te klappen, oei oei, dan hoorde ze komen he, of allez, ge hoort ze ni zelf komen, ge moet het van ander mensen horen, da's toch straf!

* Uhuh, straf.

- Da loopt hier rond als de Moeder Theresa van Vlaanderen en de Kempen, alsof hare stront riekt naar potte-pourrit, ma ondertusse, hebde gezien da die gisteren tijdens de pauze drie patékes heeft in hare gob gestoken? Drie! En dan nog het laatste pakken ook he, goei manieren zijn het ni.

* D'er waren patékes?

- Ja, ze waren al op toen gij aankwam, 't waren er goei zenne.

* Allez dan.

- En dan nog iet! Eergisteren zei Janine da Marie had gezegd da Charlotte had gehoord dat madam zei da ik de laatste week elken dag tien minuten te laat was. Nu, ik ga da ni ontkenne, ik was te laat, ma ik had een goei reden, 't is ni simpel als alleenstaande moeder met twee kinderen die naar't school moete en uwe was en uwe strijk moete gedaan zijn en ge moet naar den bakker, en allez, ge hebt van die weken, ge kent dat he, of ge zou da toch kennen moest ge kinderen hebben, en allez, als ge geen kinderen hebt, kunt ge daar eigenlijk niks over zeggen, want dan kende da ni, dus hebde geen recht van spreken, da vinnik maar logisch, ni waar?

* Natuurlijk.

- Maar wa was ik nu aan't zegge. Just! Toen da haar dochter begot een flauw vallingske had, toen moest het maar kunne dat madam 3 dagen thuis bleef, en da kind is dan begot 14 jaar he, allez, komaan, ge kunt ook overdrijven he seg. En tussen ons gezegd en gezwegen, ik zen er nog zo overtuigd ni van da heur dochter echt een valling had zenne, want Carmèn, ge weet wel, die da komt kuisen op maandag en donderdag, awel, die zei dus da ze madam den dag tevoren me die sprichtige man van haar had gezien in de Rosse Hengst en Carmèn zei ook da madam zich complètement ni aan't inhouwe was met de rooie wijn, ge snapt het wel. En dan toevallig den dag erna kan ze ni kome werken? Zo toevallig vinnik da nog ni zenne. Allez, zegt gij nu is iets. Weete wa, ik ga mij toch nog zo'n chocolatte wafelke pakke, de doos is al open en anders ga da toch maar muf worre he, is't ni just?

* 't Is just.

- En over die hare sprichtige vent gesproken, ge weet toch da da haren tweede al is? Den eerste is eruit getrokke me een barmadam uit Poeiel, da moet naar't schijnt echt een hoer zijn geweest, met van da groot haar, een luipaardentoppeke, veels te veel lippenstift en nen hoop nepgoud tussen haar decolleté, ge kent dat tiep wel, allez, ik hem ze nooit gezien natuurlijk, maar nu ja, als ge één barmadam uit Poeiel hebt gezien, dan hebde ze allemaal gezien,bij wijze van spreken he. Maar madam hare man dus, dien is 15 jaar jonger dan madam he! En ja, me de jaren ziede da verschil harder he, en ik hem gehoord van Germaine, die da komt kuisen op zaterdag, en die is de schoonzus van Bernardine, die getrouwd is met een kozijn van de man van madam, dat de man van madam zowat op madam is uitgekeken op het gebied van ... ik moet het ni zeggen zeker? Allez, ik zal het zeggen, op het gebied van de seks. Dus geen wonder da die er bijloopt als nen triestige kamerplant die al nen tijd ni besproeid is geweest. Oh, akkerdjie, da's na een mal gekozen woordkeus, hohoho, ik durf nogal, ni verder vertellen he. Ma 't is dus ni omda madam droogsta, da ze moet denken da ze hier wa kan komen oproer strooien en mij zwart kan maken he. Roddelen, daar kan ik ni mee om. Allez, zegt gij nu uw gedacht is!

* Nog een praileneke?

- Neeje, merci, ik probeer er wa op te lette.

And now we return to our scheduled programming

2007-05-08T13:11:00.000-07:00

Bob *You've got 206 bones in your body, want one more?* zegt:
I am though, I fell asleep on the couch earlier and woke up with the biggest, hardest cock ever
Bob *You've got 206 bones in your body, want one more?* zegt:
well, biggest,hardest might be overstating it, but I'm sure it cracked the top ten
Kev (good music / i dance / no good music / i not dance) zegt:
congratulations!
Kev (good music / i dance / no good music / i not dance) zegt:
this deserves
Kev (good music / i dance / no good music / i not dance) zegt:
a cake!
Bob *You've got 206 bones in your body, want one more?* zegt:
I was wondering what the appropriate response to a statement like that would be

Now that the England saga is over and done with, I shall bring you up to speed on more current events.

1. I have finally quit my job.

That's not completely correct, I haven't actually quit yet, but I have informed my boss and co-workers that I will be leaving at the end of june, before the summer vacation starts. It seemed fair to me to give them some warning, as it would be a big problem for them if I just left at the start of summer (we only have a one week notice policy) without anyone to replace me. Unfortunately I have the feeling that my boss is somewhat resentful about me leaving, though I have very good reasons to do so. On top of that, certain co-workers with whom my relationship was 'strained' now see no reason to hide their dislike any longer. On the bright side, neither do I, which is rather fun actually.

The big drawback is of course that I have no new job lined up, and that I have absolutely no idea what I want to do. Which leads to something of a panic, which typically in my case, leads to total paralysis and inaction. I am currently considering two options: either just start looking for work here and hope for the best, or going back to England on my last paycheck and try to find a summer job in the tourism industry there. The last option appeals to me most of course, but it also sort of scares me. First of all, I'd be alone in a foreign country and I'd have to look for a job there, something I even hate doing in my own damn country. Second, if I go there on my last paycheck, I'd have about a week, week and a half tops before my money runs out and I'd have to come back if I don't find something, so then I'd be back, broke and without a job. So I'm not quite sure yet, though it's about time to decide.

Anyone with practical advice on how to arrange working in England is always welcome :)

2. I had an awesome weekend.

It was Kevin's 26th birthday on saturday and a bunch of us headed out to Red&Blue (again, yes, but this time it was quite the hoot). The bunch being Kevin, Kenneth, Janti, Tim, Johan, Frank and Julien and uh, I hope that's it and if not, sorry to whomever I left out. Anyhow, I have no idea what the theme was, but there were drag queen nurses and you could get a professional massage in the lounge, which several of us took advantage of, though I only did when I was already drunk and according to Janti and Tim I sort of humped the massage table. Luckily I don't remember any of that, as I think I fell asleep during the whole thing. My back did feel a lot better afterwards though.

As everyone dropped off home one by one, Janti and me were left as the last ones standing, and we made some new acquaintances, met up with some old ones we hadn't seen in forever and drank entirely too much. Eventually I also gave out and left Janti to party without me. A very odd thing did occur on the way to bed, but that's another one I'll keep to myself for now.

On sunday we had our traditional brunch and for the first time in history, Kevin and Kenneth were there before I was, a shocking event indeed, especially as both of them were fresh as daisies. After lazying about some, we dispersed and I went with Jan to his appartment to play some Playstation, though it quickly turned out I was too lazy to do so and we watched movies instead. We saw the very bizarre and very awesome Shortbus, and the Advent Children, a sequel to the events in Final Fantasy VII, which was also pretty cool. After that Janti made delicious pasta and we ended the evening as pleasant as could be. It's pretty sweet having Jan back in Antwerp, I'd nearly forgotten how much fun we used to have hanging out and now it's as if nothing's ever changed, though of course, everything is different.

3. I'm late with this, but can you believe Paris Hilton is actually going to go to prison.

I'm elated, it only took a dozen serious traffic violations and being caught with illegal drugs redhanded twice. If she hadn't been Paris Hilton she'd have gone to the slammer a lot sooner, so no pity for her.

4. Jessica Simpson has been abducted and replaced by an Indian look-a-like and no one has noticed.

This is not a tan anymore, it's simply a crime against the skin. Also, if she didn't have the enormous boobs on display, she'd look a little like Fabio. That's one butch Simpson.

England: Day Six + Day Seven, Manchester

2007-05-08T11:54:00.000-07:00

Bob *You've got 206 bones in your body, want one more?* zegt:
Man, I haven't washed my hair in a week, it's awesome
Bob *You've got 206 bones in your body, want one more?* zegt:
and a little itchy
Kev (good music / i dance / no good music / i not dance) zegt:
seems gross to me
Kev (good music / i dance / no good music / i not dance) zegt:
yet
Kev (good music / i dance / no good music / i not dance) zegt:
I never really minded a bit "gross"
Bob *You've got 206 bones in your body, want one more?* zegt:
admit it, you're totally turned on now, aren't you?
Kev (good music / i dance / no good music / i not dance) zegt:

I'm rubbing myself with butter as we speak.

So, we're at the very last England blog (thank heavens) and our final destination is Manchester.

Manchester was by far the "ugliest" city we visited in England, but that didn't mean much, as it was still cleaner than most of our cities. Now, what is Manchester known for, as far as I know?

- Manchester United, which I couldn't care less about.

- Being an old mining town (I think?), but I don't give a rat's ass about that either.

- Being the home of Canal Street, where they taped the British QAF, which was pretty much the only reason Tim and I had for heading over there.

Our hostel room was an 8-person room this time around, but it never got filled up completely. Upon arriving, I felt awfully ill again and took a nap, whilst Tim indulged himself by visiting a bunch of comic/game stores, or whatever the proper name for those things is. Whilst feverishly napping I did hear two roommates come in, but since they spoke German, I decided I didn't care enough to meet them and stayed put under my sheets. I'm not sure exactly how long I slept, but Tim apparantly did have a good time while he was gone, coming back with a whole new wardrobe, excited like a naïve schoolboy on Christmas morning. Simply adorable.

Since I refused to spend another two days in bed, we asked the hostelpersongirl where we could score some painkillers, and we were once again directed towards the local Tesco, where painkillers of all sorts were incredibly cheap. Naturally I stocked up and those babies helped me through the next week or so. English supermarket painkillers way rock, Dafalgan is absolutely nothing to them.

My body having been thus tricked into believing it was better, we headed out into Manchester. Honestly, I will probably be mixing up what we did on which day, so I'm not going to try and bother being all that chronological about it. We did eat very well in Manchester, that I know. It was also the cheapest city by far, and I think all our meals there combined cost about as much as one meal in London. My wallet was very grateful.

We visited some of the gaming shops, but while it was fun browding the merchandise, they're not really my thing. We also did some shopping, and I bought a present for Kenneth and Kevin, and a shirt for myself. Uh, I think that's almost it for the first day. In the evening we visited Canal Street, but as it was thursday, it wasn't exactly buzzing with excitement. We went into a couple of bars and had a couple of drinks, but then decided to just go to bed and come back the next day.

Whilst discovering Canal Street and the adjoining streets, we often passed a very dirty looking sauna, which just screamed 'dingy cum-hole', so it's still a mistery to me why we decided to return there the next evening, but more on that later.

Next day, we met another roommate, a girl whose name I've completely forgotten. She was an American from Iowa, and spoke very softly and sweetly and she was just sooooooooo sweet and soft and giggly that my bad tempered morning self was just about ready to throw a book at her, but luckily I have too much respect for books to do such a thing. Sweet, softspoken and giggly Iowa girl was in town for the World Freefighting championships or something or other. I'd seen commercials for it all over England, it was some ultra violent fighting thing, which Sweet and Giggly apparantly followed over the world. She did however assure us that she herself was not violent at all, before retreating into the shower, promising 'I will try not to make the shower messyyyyyyyyyyyyy.' And off she was, and good too, because I was about to burst out laughing. That was about the only interaction I was to have with our roommates (other than one of the Germans asking me if I'd like to have a brown banana) as I only got back to the hostel somewhere early in the morning when everyone was already asleep and I didn't wake up until they had all left.

Anywho, our daytime was spent shopping. England had been a bit of a dissapointment when it came to shopping. It was either the same stuff I could get here for less money, or stuff so outrageous (and outrageously expensive) that I would never want to wear it. Oddly enough, Manchester, of all places, was to me the place with the funnest stores, including a complex named Affleck's Palace, which had a bunch of really nutty stores, with really nutty stuff (I always did wonder where girls got those skirts that don't quite cover their arses, and boots up to their vagajay) and I absolutely adored all of it, though I didn't purchase any stuff there. I did buy some clothes (some say awesome, others say heinous) from a store that only had handmade, unique items, which translates into very expensive and I couldn't have afforded the stuff, had they not had a sale, lucky me.

After having a very good dinner again, we headed to the gay district and conquered our fears to go into the dingy cum-hole which represented itself as a sauna. The service upon entering was rude, a good sign of things to come. After changing into our towels, we found our way up to the sauna part, which was basically a television playing porn with some chairs in front of it, a shower, a cold steamless steambath, a sauna the size of my closet, a dark room with some sort of beds and a jacuzzi. The jacuzzi was nice enough, but we were only just seated when we were disturbed by an enormous erection, attached to a huge dick. This loudmouth character proudly displayed his erect penis (granted, it was a considerable tool), waving it in front of our faces and making his intentions very clear. We wisely ignored him, as much as you can ignore someone in a not too large jacuzzi, and after a while he went and we breathed a sigh of relief. We took a tour of the rest of the place (took about 5 minutes) and decided to return to the jacuzzi, in which another man, much less abrasive was already seated. Somewhere during all this relaxing, my medication got the better of me and I nodded off to sleep. It was thus that I did not notice that our loudmouth erect friend rejoined us in the jacuzzi and it was thus considerable time before I suddenly awoke to find myself indecently fondled by both him and our other companion in the shower. Which was my cue to get the hell out of there and stare angrily at Tim for not intervening. Though in his defence, he had no idea I had fallen asleep and thought I was allowing said men their indecencies. Which says a lot of his opinion about my taste in trolls, I suppose. Having had enough of the sauna by then, I sat myself down on one of the chairs and tried not to look at the porn, nor at the masturbating elder gentleman in front of me. Unfortunately the loudmouth did follow me and stood next to me whilst stretching, in doing so poking his penis into my ear, forcing me to watch the porn and bend my back to its utmost limits in order to avoid his drumstick. He must have taken some kind of pill, because that damn thing stood straight up the entire time we were there and even the most virile of men have their relaxed moments in my experience. Eventually he did give up, proclaiming me a wanker (an epiteth much better suited to the man opposite me, who was still blatantly indulging in this activity) and he went in search of Tim, who by this time had also had enough and we hightailed it out of there.

After prettying ourself up to the best of our abilities, we hit Canal Street again, but after two or three bars, Tim announced he'd rather return to the hostel and we separated, as I continued to barhop. The drawback to barhopping is that you have to drink something in every bar. Since you get a pint in England, by bar seven I'd had about 14 Stellas in me, combined with the medication, I was having a hoot, but I still hadn't quite found what I was looking for: a place you could dance all by yourself and not look like a sad twat. So, exiting the bar, I accosted some nice guys with the simple question: the biggest, danciest party? Having gotten directions, I immediately forgot them and went the wrong way, ending up at a pretty big club, which was like a red&blue on drugs.. uh, more drugs... and with a lot of very young guys in their underwear. Not a bad party for sure, but I was determined to find the one I had been directed to, so after about 40 minutes I left again and retraced my steps, getting hopelessly lost of course. If I inherited anything from my mother, it's my haircolour and my complete inability to navigate. Luckily I ran into a friendly gay couple and we chatted for a while before we together went to the party before mentioned.

I'm not going to bother describing the place, but it was a hell of a hoot, and me and my new acquaintances danced our asses off for the next hours, and the pints flowed freely, leaving me completely off my rocker by the time we left to, I assumed, another bar, although that assumption turned out to be wrong. We made our way through small streets and backways and alleys, across a beam over the river (it's a miracle I didn't fall in) and I had absolutely no idea where I was and yes, before someone starts to whine, that wasn't very smart and wise of me, but whatever, it turned out alright.

Eventually we entered a building, where my companions paid the entrance fee (I think I was sort of out of money by then) and still assuming it was a bar, I went in to being forced to ask the question: Ok, why is everyone naked? As it turned out we were actually in another sauna, though luckily not the same one. This one was enormous and quite fancy, and there were a looooooooot of guys there, I think it was as busy as the Meir on a sunny day. While I know that Kevin's been looking forward to this part of my England update, I do chose to withhold more detailed information about the night and simply let your own minds construct what may or may not have happened. And it probably did.

After the tree of us left, I was getting to be a little more sober and with that came worry that I would never ever find the hostel again. I was just voicing this concern and my company was already hailing me a taxi (they were indeed very nice fellows I must say) when I noticed the street sign. As it happened, we were actually ON the street of our hostel, only a 30 second walk away as a matter of fact. If only we had known earlier :) Anyway, we said our goodbyes and I dragged myself into our room, at I have no idea what time, but it was already pretty light outside and it must have been past five, easily.

By the time I woke up, we had to check out (well, we should already have been checked out actually) and we walked around Manchester a little more, visiting a market, having more good food and taking that picture I put on top, because it reminded me of Karolien for some reason *ducks and covers*. After that we made our way to the airport and after being throroughly frisked by security because our shoes made the alarm thingy go off, we had a smooth flight home and were welcomed by Kevin and Kenneth at his appartment.

And that's all folks. Finally.

Cheers!

England: Day Four, Oxford & Birmingham + Day Five, Birmingham.

2007-05-04T13:39:00.000-07:00

Bob *You've got 206 bones in your body, want one more?* zegt:
I make new friends too
Bob *You've got 206 bones in your body, want one more?* zegt:
there was this time in 2004…
Bob *You've got 206 bones in your body, want one more?* zegt:
… never mind
Bob *You've got 206 bones in your body, want one more?* zegt:
besides, what's the last time you met someone completely new, who you don't just party with and actually do boring friend stuff with as well?
Kev (good music / i dance / no good music / i not dance) zegt:
does sex count?
Bob *You've got 206 bones in your body, want one more?* zegt:

very much not

Okay, I'm actually getting a wee bit bored with the England saga myself, which I should have seen coming, because despite the fact that Tim and me had a lot of fun, it's not a lot of fun to read about two guys having a lot of fun. It's sort of like inside jokes: they're not funny to anyone else, which is why we call them inside jokes. But still, I started this and I'll finish it, damnit.

So, Oxford is where we left off. The second day I was still really sick, and we had a lot of time to kill before we had to take the bus to Birmingham. We had breakfast, which I still managed to enjoy, but after that it all went downhill quite fast. We walked around, saw a lot of stunning buildings, Tim visited a college chapel, but I preferred staying out in the sun.

We also visited the Divinity Room above the Bodleian library. If all that means nothing to you, I suggest you google if you're really burning with desire to find out what those are, suffice to say the room was interesting enough, and had a rich history and it looked real fancy. The girl who gave us a talk about the room was very clearly not English. Actually, that is something I noticed: English people don't work in England. Wherever you go, shops, hotels, monuments, diners, the staff is never English. I suppose if my country was constantly overrun by a herd of tourists, I'd want to avoid interaction with them as much as possible too.

Anyhow, for lunch we went to some tea place and I got scones, which were delicious, but after the first one I was sort of nauseous and the lovely non-English shopgirl gave me the second one in a doggy bag and God bless her, because it was all the food I'd be existing on for the next two days.

The busride to Birmingham was uneventful, and upon arriving there we were picked up by Mark, Tim's English friend and a very nice fellow. He dropped us off at a huge mall. People in Birmingham don't have to go out ever, the whole town is one giant shopping mall, and they're all connected with each other. Considering my being ill, I could totally live with that.

After a couple of hours Mark, now joined by Italian hottie Nicola, his boyfriend and an equally swell guy, came to get us and we went to their appartment. Tim and our hosts later on went for dinner, but I declined and stayed in bed sick. And I wasn't getting any better either. During my hot shower I suddenly got the most horrific cramps in my back, causing me to fall down and nearly drown, until I managed to get my ass out of the bathtub and into bed, but the pain didn't go away, so I sort of spent 4 hours in agony, literally screaming at times. The neighbours must have loved that, but it was really more painful than anything I've experienced since I was 13 years old.

When the other guys returned, they pumped me full of painkiller (bless them!) and it got better, but for the next two days I pretty much had to take those painkillers non-stop just to be able to walk. That also means that I didn't set a foot outside after that in Birmingham, though Tim did visit Ironbridge Gorge (I think that's what it was called). Luckily our hosts were a lot of fun during the evenings or I would have been bored to death. And luckily they had a lot of pills :)

And that was pretty much Birmingham. The next morning we were taken to the University where Mark works and from there we took a train to Manchester, our final destination, but that's for next time.

Intermezzo: Bailey's

2007-05-04T03:38:00.000-07:00

Waar ben ik weer aan begonnen? Ik mag toch echt niks mee naar huis pakken als ik nen Bailey's te veel heb binnengeslagen eigenlijk. Pas op, 't zijn geen lelijke mensen, dat kan ik niet zeggen, maar komaan, ik voel het aan m'n theewater dat het mijn ding niet is, en uw theewater moet ge altijd vertrouwen, zoals mijn moeder, God hebbe haar ziel, altijd zei. Spijtig dat haar theewater die camion niet had voelen aankomen, maar soit, punt, andere lijn.

Zie mij hier nu zitten, kont achteruit, lul in m'n bakkes en die daarachter maar aan m'n gat likken. Een tong erinsteken, tot daar aan toe, geen idee wat de mens eraan heeft, maar soit, als hij daar aan wil likken gelijk het ne cornetto is, hij doet maar. Als 'm maar niet denkt dat 'm daar iets anders moet gaan insteken, want daar doen ik niet aan mee, misschien moet ik maar ne keer m'n kont minder achteruit steken, kwestie van hier geen verkeerd beeld te geven.

Ah, goe, dat manneke hier kruipt al op z'n knieën, 't wil geneukt worden zegt 't. Allez ja, 't zegt het wel in gebroken Frengels, maar 't is iets dat ge moeilijk kunt misverstaan in eender welke taal natuurlijk he. Vooruit dan maar, dien andere in de zetel, kan 'm wat op z'n leuter laten zuigen, en dan gaan ik er in.

Et voilà. Pfft, zoveel goesting heb ik precies niet. Misschien komt dat door dat gasje zijn haar. Allez, wie verzint zoiets nu, nen geblondeerde Marokkaan. Begot precies Eminem dat te lang onder de zonnebank is geweest. Wedden dat 'm veel schoner is met zijn eigen haar. Echt geen zicht eigenlijk, waarom heb ik dat nu mee naar huis genomen? Pas op, voor de rest is't goe in orde. Knap lijf, schone paal, stevige kont en zo. Maar dat haar! 't Is een distractie, dat moogt ge wel zeggen.

Dju, 'k heb mijn kousen niet uitgedaan. En 't zijn er nog witte ook, eigenlijk geen fatsoen. Niet dat die twee hier veel belang stellen in etiquette precies. Dien andere heeft zijn kousen ook nog aan, ze zijn zelfs nogal vuil. Eigenlijk is't pas een mysterie dat ik die ook heb meegenomen, 't is niet direct een supermodel. Ne smoel gelijk nen bokser, en dat die stomme oorbel. Veel spieren, dat wel, maar of ze naturel zijn? En die bleekscheet gaat duidelijk te veel onder de zonnebank, rood als een kreeft. Denkt waarschijnlijk nog dat 'm een schoon kleureke heeft ook, maar allez seg, precies nen Indiaan met een genetische afwijking. Zal ook ne neger willen zijn zeker. Wat lig ik hier nu eigenlijk op ne sofa te neuken met nen Marokkaan, of nen Turk, daar wil ik nog ruimte voor laten, die een blondje wil zijn en ne overspierde bleekscheet die Afrikaan wil zijn? Minder Bailey's volgende keer, jus d'orange is zo slecht nog niet in feite. Of ne cola.

Dien bleekscheet heeft dan nog zo'n leren ding rond zijn spel gebonden ook, zo'ne ring met ijzeren rondjes op. Misschien krijgt dien 'm ni recht als 'm het eerst niet tourniqueert. Schoon is anders eigenlijk. Hier, meneer staat recht. Ja, 'm wil dat ik 'm pijp natuurlijk, alsof ik het nog niet druk genoeg heb met dat manneke z'n gat. Ja, 't is al goe, kom, steekt 'm er maar rap in.

Geen slechte marchandise, stomme leren bandje errond of niet, ik geef het toe. Met de ogen toe voelt dat best lekker, zo'ne paal dat tegen de achterkant van uw keel slaat. Ge moogt er alleen niet te hard naar zitten kijken, want dan is't precies nen vochtige salami met een touwke rond. Ik wou dat 'm zijne mond wat hield ook trouwens, die vuile praat vind ik dus helemaal niet nen turn-on he. Wat zit die nu te zeveren feitelijk? 'oh zuig mij af' ja, manneke, daar ben ik al mee bezig, zaag zo ni. 't Is toch geen avance.

Dat kan hier precies nog wel ff duren denk ik, dat manneke is nu niet direct het strakste gat dat ik ooit heb ingezeten. Da's het grootste probleem met Marokkaanse Turkskes die bereidwillig mee naar huis gaan met twee complete vreemden denk ik: daar zit meestal al lang gene rek meer op. 't Is nondeju precies de driebaans snelweg richting de kempen waar ge uw spel aan't doorhalen zijt. Richting de kempen, daar zitten ze ook allemaal in de stront te duwen op hun veld. Ja lap, echt geen gedacht voor't moment, in de stront duwen. Hoe proper zouden geblondeerde Turksokkanen eigenlijk zijn daarvanonder? Niet aan denken, niet aan denken.

Dien andere wil het ook eens neuken. Geen slecht gedacht, veel leut heeft m'n leuter er toch niet aan, 't manneke kan beter pijpen, 'k zal mij wel met die opening bezig houden. En vooral proberen niet te veel op z'n haar te zitten zien. Ziet dat nu zijn gezwollen saucisse daaring wringen. Een gigantische bloeduistorting in een loddergat, echt veel kunnen die daar nu toch niet van voelen? 't Zal het princiep zijn zekers? Dat manneke mag trouwens ook wel zijn teut gaan houden zo langzameraan. Pas op, ik heb niks tegen wat gekreun tijdens het neuken he, verre van, maar alleen als er iets te kreunen valt. Daarbij, ik heb niet meer zo nep horen kreunen sinds ik She Good Fighter heb gezien, met die kut van een Dagmar hoe heet ze nu ook weer. En Gaston Bergmans deed er ook in mee, maar ik geloof ni dat dien aan't kreunen was. Dan zou ik die film ook wel hebben afgezet denk ik. Maar enfin, het jong kreunt echt alsof 'm het thuis voor de spiegel heeft staan oefenen. Misschien terwijl 'm zich stond te blonderen. Sebiet is mijn stijve helemaal weg, en dan ziede die twee al denken dat het mijn schuld is natuurlijk, geen moment consideratie met het feit dat 't misschien hun fout zou kunnen zijn, met hun zwakzinnig gekreun en hun vuile kousen en lelijk haar.

Maar hij kan echt wel goe zuigen, het mag gezegd worre. Als 'm dees nu ff een kwartiereke volhoudt, dan kan ik een storting doen in zijn Arabische bank en zijn we der weer vanaf. Hup kleine, keel openzetten en ad fundum! Wat nu weer? Och, hij wil op mijne gerard komen zitten, vooruit maar weer. Net nu ik me een beetje begon te amuseren. Allez dan maar, kruipt erop.

Ziet dat nu geven seg, en maar gaan met die heupen. En die rooie bleekscheet heeft den andere kant nu, de chansaard. Seg, dat jong zit hier wel serieus te speken boven mijne kop, 'k zit verdomme precies in een Belgische regenbui, zo het soort waarvan Sabine Hagedoren zegt dat het hier en daar kan vallen, en dan valt dat altijd hier, nooit daar. Trouwens echt een trut, die Sabine, dat ze dat nog altijd op het scherm laten komen, haar hangtieten blokkeren het onderste kwart van de weerkaart elke keer. Ok, ik woon ni in het onderste kwart van de weerkaart en ik zal er niet rap naartoe gaan ook niet, maar ge moet maar een inwoner zijn van het gebied waar Sabine haar linkertepel overhangt, ge zult lachen!

Ok, ik begin het hier zwaar beu te worre en er zit geen schot in de zaak. Hup, omdraaien dat jong, en nu gaan we derop losbeuken gelijk we een kasteel proberen binnen te geraken begot! Veel last zal 'm er niet van hebben, zijn kasteel is al dikwijls genoeg bestormd geweest. Pffft, dat geram is wel vermoeiend voor de benen. Hij vindt het wel plezant precies, hij kreunt al wat echter. Dien andere begint ook in de buurt te komen denk ik, hij ziet precies nog roder, als dat al mogelijk was. ff niet denken, gewoon blijven rijden met die zevendehandse 2PK.

...

Ah, die rooie is er se. Aansteller. Zo'n stomme dingen dat die roept terwijl 'm spuit. Ge verwacht praktisch de Niagara watervallen, en wat komt eruit? De beek die door den hof van één of andere Begijn stroomt, één waar veel blaren inzitten ook nog dan. Maar allez, 't was tenminste allemaal op Eminem zijne rug, en niet op mijne zetel, merci jongen, goe gedaan. En nu weer voort.

...

Jaaaa, daar gaan we se. Da's toch geweldig aan ne lul zenne, ge kunt dat zelfs in het luchtledige rondzwaaien, als ge dat maar lang genoeg doe, komt ge vroeg of laat klaar. Met een vagijn kan dat zomaar ni. Denk ik toch, 'k heb er feitelijk geen gedacht van of ge een kut zomaar in het luchtledige kunt rondzwaaien, wie weet wat die wijven doen. Ahhhh, nu zijn we der echt. Zie, da's de moeite se. 'k Zal ni zeggen dat het een waterval is, maar 't is toch al op z'n minst een beek waar geen blaren inzitten, haha!

En ook allemaal schonekes op zijne rug se, en de zetel nog proper. Wat doet dat jong nu? Godverdomme, gaat dat op zijne rug in mijne sofa liggen! Nu kannik dien overtrek naar den droogkuis doen. En de kussens misschien ook. Echt waar, minder Bailey's. Ziet dat zich daar nu liggen aftrekken, met zo'n blik op zijn smoel die geilheid moet voorstellen. 'k Heb al geilere blikken gezien in de etalage van ne viswinkel. Die beesten hebben dan ook zo'n openstaand pijpmondje.

Dedju, drupt er nog glijmiddel uit zijn hol ook! Dat manneke heeft echt geen sluit meer op die sluitspier. Veel spier ook niet denk ik. Dat glijmiddel ziet verdacht bruin, 'k denk dat we ineens weten hoe proper de Zonen van Allah zich daar beneden houe. En daar heb ik dan in zitten wroeten, plezant. Eigenlijk een mirakel dat die zijn gevoeg niet gewoon langs die zijn benen naar beneden loopt als em rechtop staat. Aan den andere kant, misschien staat 'm niet zo vaak rechtop natuurlijk.

Allez, hij heeft gedaan. Dat moete die mannekes van rond de 18 nageven, klaarkomen kunnen ze wel, heel sjiek gedaan. Ja jong, die maar, veeg het maar af aan dat kussen, 't moet toch al naar de kuis. Godverdomme, ik wil gaan slapen. Hoe krijg ik die mannen hier tactvol en rap buiten?

"Allez jongens, dat was plezant, maar nu moete weg, moeke heeft viskes gebakken."

England: Day Three, London & Oxford

2007-04-26T08:05:00.000-07:00

After our not so debauched evening of barhopping we got up in the morning (shocker!) and commenced the joys of packing our bags, as we had to take the bus to Oxford that very day. I was feeling oddly crappy, as if the previous evening had been much more decadent than it had actually been, but I decided to write it off to being in the sun too much.

On a sidenote: I am a messy traveller. Okay, I can partly blame it on my bag, which is just not very good for keeping your stuff neat and separate, but it's also just me, I pull things out, throw them back in and generally make a mess of my luggage. Since my bag only had one big compartment, I also had to pile my laundry in with my fresh clothes, which I found to be sort of yukkie. With my extra purchases, closing up the bag turned into a very perilous labour.

Tim on the other hand is very neat. While my stuff was spread all over the floor and under the bed, his was always contained within the boundaries of his (very practical) bag. No matter which hostel we stayed at, I would take up an inordinate amount of space, compared to Tim's little bag, which seemed so tiny, yet managed to keep more things in tidily than my stupid sack on wheels, which was at all times ready to burst at the seams.

Conclusion: screw self-improvement and neatness, Bobster needs a brand new bag.

Anyhow, one last continental breakfast in London and we grabbed our bags and proceeded to cross Hyde Park to our busstop. This had all seemed easy in theory: cross the park, get to the stop, get onto the bus, sit back and relax. In practice it turned out a little differently. Not that we didn't KNOW Hyde Park is fricking huge, but when you're walking across it with your luggage and the sun burning in your neck, you really REALISE it's fricking huge. Having crossed the park, it turned out we still had quite a way to go (we did see the Diana, Princess of Wales Memorial Fountain, which I thought was rather pretty) and by this time I was already exhausted, sweating and my head was trying to explode. I think I trailed Tim by 20 meters the entire time. Not that it mattered too much, because when we got to the place, there were about 25 buses, not one of them ours, and it turned out it could be leaving anywhere along the very long road we were on. In short: we missed it and we had to to take another bus.

Luckily buses to Oxford leave almost continually and after having bought new tickets from a total bitch, we were quickly on our way, me exhausted and feeling really crappy, Tim doing well as far as I could tell :) Our driver was a very nice Santa-esque man, who was terribly helpful and witty. A delight to listen to, truly. Our busride was in any case more relaxed than our way to the bus.

Arriving in Oxford, my first thought was , well, my first thought was that I wanted a Dafalgan, maybe two, but the one right after that one was that I had imagined Oxford very differently. I thought it would look more studenty, as in a couple of really fancy college buildings, surrounded by lots of small houses, stores and neon, and all sort of gritty looking. It doesn't look anything like that. It's gorgeous building followed by impressive monument, followed by quaint house, all spread out between what seemed like a hundred amazing colleges. Basically, once you've seen Oxford, you can just stop visiting England if you're there for the views. Every monument or cathedral we saw after that, we were like 'not bad, but it ain't Oxford'.

Second realisation: Oxford is not cheaper than London, another idea I had. It's not, at all. We noticed this very quickly and I at least breathed a sigh of desperation. We checked into our hostel, a very nice place called Central Backpackers, which I misread ad Central Barebackers every single time, but that's probably just me, I know, I'm a sick man. We were checked in by a very rugged and handsome Australian who'd been travelling around by working in places like that for quite some time, and who would later on make his way through Canada and the US in the same way. Which seemed pretty cool actually.

I though our room was nicer than the one we had in London, and no birds around (we would later notice that our window came out right on the patio where all the smoking and drinking was done, which was also not ideal, but by the time this presented a problem, I was too far gone to care much either way.) so that all looked good. We only had one roommate, who I actually didn't talk to at all, but Tim did, about Discworld as I recall, but I was already in the thrall of fever then and slipping in and out of sleep. But that's for a little later on.

We got right out of there and headed to the mall to get us another pic-nic and then we went to the Head of the River, through a park which belonged to Christ Church College, the biggest Oxford college and the one with the richest history. It also had a long stretch of grass right by the Thames where we had our pic-nic. I was feeling really bad by now and fell asleep for a while after our pic-nic, which Tim took shameless advantage of to shoot this picture.

After that we walked across the path, observing the locals, and admiring the college buildings, and I also fed some geese, which was great fun until they sort of ganged up on me and I became a little nervous. Luckily, we got away unharmed.

Oxford offered other interesting views other than stunning buildings and a rich cultural history. It had some of the freakiest people we came across until then (Manchester was still to come), such as a girl who looked like Pipi Longstockings after an especially tough adolescence. Words could not possibly describe her, she had to be seen to be believed.

We honestly didn't do that much more the rest of the day, at least I don't think we did, it was all a bit of a haze to me. We saw a lot of colleges, but then again, you couldn't swing a dead cat without hitting a college. We visited a pub called the Bear, where the walls were decorated with pieces of tie, which had once belonged to notable or famous people, but the most recent one I could discover was from 1974 and none of the names meant anything to me.

Later on in the evening we went to a cocktail bar, which boasted a plaque saying that it had the second best cocktail menu in the world, according to some organisation. I could sure believe it, the menu was endless, with originally created cocktails and it took quite some time deciding. Tim didn't even attempt to decide and allowed the waiter to just throw something together. I don't remember what I had exactly, but it was very tasty.

We decided to end our day with that and I was glad to, as I was seriously feeling ill by then, so we returned to the hostel. When I walked onto the patio I was immediately accosted by a drunk, blond and unbelievably stunning English bloke. He had actually mistaken me for someone from his own group, but we got to talking after that (though not an easy task, as he'd had quite a few too many). Basically he had just started a new job working as a collector for a charity and they were there for a teambuilding. Tim came out onto the patio after that as well and naturally he also took an interest in the conversation. We told him we would also be going to Manchester and he became rather excited, saying that Manchester was wicked awesome and a great party. We asked him if he could recommend anything and he got a sort of mischievous smile on his face. What followed is sort of hard to write down, but it was hilarious if you were there. It went something like this:

Hot Blond Drunk: well, first off, you two, are you... like... are you? You know (making certain handmotions)

Me: (grinning) No, we're not. But we are... uh... separately.

HBD: (confused) So you guy aren't?

Me: Well, we are, but we're not together.

After finally having gotten the fact that gays can share a room without eating each other's arse, he proceeded to gush about Manchester and how great Canal Street is and how there was one bar which was really awesome and how a guy had bought him a drink and had tried to kiss him and he'd been like Woooaw, I'm not gay and so on and so on. After that he went back to asking whether Tim and me had never (So you two... like... you never?) been together, and even after firm denials he didn't quite believe it (Like, not even once?).

The amazing thing is that we had an entire conversation that was basically about gay sex without the words gay or sex being mentioned once. I honestly don't think he actually finished an entire sentence, it was very much a matter of reading in between the lines and in between those lines there was Tim, me and a lot of gay sex apparantly. I suppose we were confronted with that cliché that gay men can't be friends without anything more. I found it all very amusing and on top of that he was more than easy on the eyes, so the entire exchange entertained me greatly, but I decided to go to bed anyway.

And that's about it for me for day three. Next time: Day Four, Oxford & Birmingham.

England: Day Two, London

2007-04-25T09:07:00.000-07:00

Bob *You Can Be As Loud As The Hell You Want When You're Making Love* zegt:
think Marcello and let the semi-porn flow from your fingers
Bob *You Can Be As Loud As The Hell You Want When You're Making Love* zegt:
ew
Tim - Home zegt:
...
Bob *You Can Be As Loud As The Hell You Want When You're Making Love* zegt:
that didn't come out right

After our scorching first day, we were awakened, as previously mentioned, by an overzealous mother bird who provided food for her extremely loud young. I like birds, but if they hadn't been safely out of reach, I'd have chucked 'm straight onto the pavement...

At 6.30 our Italian Stallion and his mate came in, talking about the night they had (I don't care, either take off your shirt or I go back to sleep), the bars they visited (take off your shirt), the girls they met (that's it, I'm going back to sleep), the 3 hour walk back (Almost asleep), and asking if I could wake them when I got up (sure, zzzzzz). Being a dutiful boy, I did wake them 2 hours later, as they asked, the masochists, and in return we were rewarded with shirtless Italian heading to the showers, sporting that towel again. There really are worse ways to wake up.

We had quite a busy day planned actually, ranging from shopping to sightseeing to barhopping at night, so we headed to breakfast, seated next to some Germans. The English hotels universally serve what they call a Continental breakfast, and it's always cereal, toast, jam and some kind of bun. But hey, at least they had decent coffee. We were soon joined by our roommates, who would be moving out of the room after breakfast (aaaaow) and as we were leaving, Marcello grabbed Tim in an impressive bearhug. It has to be said, Italians are a very physical people. Me, not having talked to Marcello that much, nor being a fan of the Hugging People I Barely Know, tried to get away with a friendly handshake, but to no avail, I simply had to be clasped in those muscular arms and ground against those impressive abs. I think I had a complaint in there somewhere, but it slips my mind. Anyway, his friend did let us off with just a friendly handshake and we were loose in London once again.

I honestly don't remember the exact sequence of events after that, but I do know that we saw a lot of shops, where we couldn't afford anything. The shops were described as 'hip and alternative' in our guide, which basically means like the Kammenstraat: used to be hip and alternative, now they're just really expensive and everyone goes there. I did buy another cap at this suspect store where they sold a lot of print-on shirts, the kind that are really funny and come in two sizes: Anorexic and Citizen of Minnesota, so they never quite fit. We also visited a rather fun, and very gay store, where they were playing very dance dance music and the salesboys just stood around dancing and shaking their groin around. The clothes were actually nice, though way too expensive and extremely queer (not that I ever had a problem with that, it's just that I can dresh trashy and queer like that for a lot less money).

Anyhow, despite visiting a lot of stores, we didn't buy anything, except my cap thing. We did also go to a Waterstones, and everyone who knows me, also knows that I have wood for Waterstones, so it's actually a bad thing that they are all over the UK. I ended up buying four books, and Tim one, which we put into two separate bags, but somehow we managed to lose the bag with one of my books and Tim's book in it after only one day, so that was pretty stupid. I considered buying back the same book at one of the many other Waterstones we visited later on the trip, but in the end I didn't. Speaking of books, since the book I had with me (Tom Lanoye, Zwarte Tranen) was done after only a few days, I also read my newly acquired book, a biography on Lady Jane Grey, The Nine Days Queen, and after that one I started in Sisters to the King, a biography on Mary and Margaret Tudor.

Anywho, we also did some sightseeing, taking the subway over to Southwark Cathedral, which was a nice enough Cathedral, and although we'd only been on the road about 5 minutes by then, we immediately plunked down there to have a coffee, and I had another one of those speaking in English moments, this time concerning a very tall Swedish boy who was sitting at the next table. I don't think he noticed though, and if he did, he was very tactful about it :)

From Southwark we walked along the Thames to London Bridge, which we crossed to get to the side of the Tower. London Bridge is really nice, I didn't bother to look at it very well last time I was in London, but this time I gave it a little more thought and it really is a stunning piece of work. The only downside is that the whole time I was near it, I was stuck with that horrid Fergie song, it just kept racing through my head, on and on and on 'My London, London Bridge wanna go down like blah blah blah', I don't even know the right lyrics. Basically, Fergie ruined London Bridge. And Josh Duhamel. And her pants. And her face, but that's more her own tragedy.

So after that we went around the Tower. We didn't go in, because we felt it would be a bit too expensive and we were already going to see Warwick Castle in Birmingham (we didn't, but more on that later). Next time, no matter what, I'm going inside, that's for sure :) I also amused myself with taking pictures of this really funny kid while we were sitting down. His poor mother was in a bind, but he seemed to be enjoying himself splendidly and I couldn't resist snapping a couple of pictures.

After the Tower, we wandered through the City, staying in the shade (it was fricking hot and I was getting burnt all over the place) and not really passing anything too notable. We did pass by the Monument, which according to Tim you can climb and then you get a certificate that you climbed it. So basically it's scorching hot, and you get to pay to climb a gazillion stairs, to get a view of a bunch of tall business buildings and then you get a paper. Yeah, we didn't do that one.

We'd earlier had a drink at an Irish pub named O'Neills and we rather liked the dinner menu there, so we found our way back there, but the terrace was full and inside they were watching a World Cup Soccer Game, or whatever and it was packed with enthusiastic fans, so we didn't feel like having our food there. Determined to have some real Irish cooking, we sat in wait until people left, but they took their sweet time so by the time they were gone, I was absolutely famished. It was worth waiting for though, I had Colcannon (I think) which is some sort of mash and Guinness and pork sausages, which was absolutely delicious. We did feel rather stupid when we later on discovered O'Neills was actually a chain of Irish pubs and you can find them all over the UK. Oh well, live and learn.

After going back to the hostel to freshen up, we headed into Gay area of London and visited a bunch of bars, none of which I thought were particularly fun. Sure, it was bemusing to see a faux-blond boy with a super-faux tan, strutting around in really short Diasy Duke shorts, and sure we got well and drunk enough, up to the point of taking very embarassing pictures, which are actually on Tim's camera, so sadly (you can feel my pain, I'm sure) I won't be posting those, but (wow, sentence structure went down the drain there somewhere) I didn't think it was all that great. The fact that we made it back to the hostel rather early says enough when it comes to that.

We had no roommates for our last night, but sound sleep was not to be ours, as mama bird was still dedicated to her breed, but that's for the next update: England: Day Three, London & Oxford.

Cheers!

England: Day One, London.

2007-04-23T12:39:00.000-07:00

Bob *Did the United Kingdom* zegt:
yay, I give boys erections
Kev (good music / i dance / no good music / i not dance) zegt:
congratulations!

Okay, I decided to blog about the trip Tim and me made to England, but it seemed a bit too much to put it all in one post, so I'm doing it day by day, which should also make it easier to remember stuff.

So, day one!

After a sleepless night (the universe had ordained my plan to start the week fresh as a bedewed daisy would not come to fruitition) I was up and ready on time to meet Tim (who'd gone out and still got more sleep than I did, lucky bastard) early in the morning, and our travels were kicked off. We took the train at Central, which is like, duuh, but I only mention it because I got to see the 'new' station for the first time. Not too shabby, though getting to your train now takes a good long while, won't be managing to storm in 2 minutes before, buy a ticket and still catch it. Luckily, we were neatly on time.

The train ride over went smoothly enough, though there was a bit of a scare when I tried to check in with a knife in my back-pack. I'm blaming tiredness for not realising that bringing a big, sharp knife might be a bad idea in these troubled times. On the other hand, after making me take it out and asking me what it was for (uh, it's to cut bread, sir...), they just let me take it along anyway, so terrorists, it's not that hard as long as you're lightskinned enough!

We got to London, managed to untangle the complex rates of the Subway, and even faultlessly found our hostel (I credit Tim with that). As we had decided before, our first item of business was to have a pic-nic in Hyde Park, so we went to the Tesco (sort of their Aldi, except they also have Aldi in England, so it's not really and uh, supermarket, cheap, whatever) where Tim and I argued over mayonaise (trust me, it gets important later on), but finally settled on mustard. Which ew, I just remembered is still in my back-pack and probably kind of gross by now. Anyhow, we were off to Hyde Park after that for a sumptuous feast and did I mention how great the weather was? It was like being in ff-ing Greece, I practically got sunburn on the very first day. A positive effect of this: shirtless boys! And nearly pantsless boys, though that one looked a bit odd to my tastes, and I'm a fan of low-rise jeans.

After lounging and relaxing and quite frankly shamelessly reducing the men around us to pure objects of sexual gratification, we decided to head into SoHo and do some shopping. We went over to Prowler, a funky gay store, where I bought some awesome underwear and was neatly helped by the attendant with fitting form suggestions and the like. Nice people, them Londoners. After that we went back to the hostel to get into our rooms, and this, ladies and gentlemen, is where we were bowled over by the sight of an Italian God. I had actually stayed behind a bit to finish my smoke, but when I got to the room, I didn't think Tim was in yet, so I sat down right in front of the door, when it was opened and behold, there stood a tan, dark-haired, angel-eyed, six-packed cream of a man in front of me, wearing only a towel around his waist. Somewhat taken aback by the unexpected apparition, I managed to mumble some form of hello and we exchanged names, his being Marcello, which I honestly didn't catch, but Tim informed me later. Once inside the room I could easily tell Tim was also in the thrall of delightful admiration. We also met Marcello's friend, our other roommate, whose name I didn't catch either, and for some reason Tim didn't find it necessary to remind me of it.

They were both very nice boys, though Marcello was the only one was spoke some English, and he not a lot and not very well at that. I'm quite certain that I barely understood half he said, so I just agreed to all of it. However, they would only be in our room for one night and then they would move to a cheaper room, which became available only then.

After having refreshed ourselves, we went back into the city, this time to go see Avenue Q, the musical which is described as a sort of adult, graphic Sesame Street. It's pretty goddamn funny, and its two hours flew by in no time. Some absolutely listenworthy songs are Lucy the Slut (I can make you feel special), The Internet is for Porn, Everyone's a Little Bit Racist and You Can Be As Loud As The Hell You Want When You're Making Love.

The set-up of the show is a street, Avenue Q, very low-rent, with young educated people whose careers are nonetheless not quite so fabulous. Humans, puppets and monsters live together and sing a lot about being gay and masturbating and the turmoil of grown-up life. The actors who do the puppets are actually just on stage while doing their bit and their interaction is at times hilarious. Also, two of the actors, one in particular, were smoking hot. I mean, climb on their lap and be their puppet hot, I think I fell in love/lust a little bit with the main actor, who voiced Preston, the newcomer on Avenue Q. So much even that I had my picture taken with his poster, how very fanboy-ish of me.

After the musical we set out for a bite to eat and ran into an Indian restaurant in some side alley, where a very crafty waiter somehow convinced us to order more than we'd planned. It took about 1 minute before we regretted out choice of dining accomodations. Not because of the food, that hadn't even arrived yet, but all three waiters had the revolting habit of loudly and gruntingly sucking the snot back into their noise and then swallowing it. They did this while you ordered, while they served your food, as you ate, continually. It sure did put a dent in my appetite. Right across from where we were eating there was also an adult sex shop, kinky boobless lady harness in the window. Right next to the shop, was the Christ Church Centre, which I found mildly amusing. I can just imagine the neighbourhood squabbles (what store is moving in next door? A what? Oh Good Lord!)

It was at this point that I was also confronted with the fact that I speak in English without realising it way too much. Being in a foreign country gives you the luxury of being able to talk about anyone and anything in as derogatory, objectifying or admiring a way as you'd like (as long as they don't happen to be Dutch, 'cause those are everywhere), but it sort of defeats the purpose if you start doing these things in the native language of the country. While we were on the terrace, some people passed us and Tim said something like 'wow, ge kunt die vrouw haar tepels keihard zien', to which I loudly responded 'Who's showing her nipples?' . Luckily the 50something woman with the rockhard nipples didn't hear me and her husband seemed more amused than anything. I think I did that a dozen or so times over the entire trip, prompting Tim to alarmedly remind me: Nederlands! Nederlands!

Anyway, we wandered around some after that, and then we decided to go to some gay bar, but having gotten confused about the way to go, we ended up in quite another place and had to backtrack a long way. When we passed the building where Avenue Q played, we noticed the two hot guys standing at the artists' door. A very bold Tim went up to them to ask for a picture, which he got, and then it was my turn, so I put myself in between the two blokes, held on tight, possibly more tightly than would be assumed decorous, but hey, blame me. Unfortunately the camera wouldn't go, and as Tim and Some Girl wrangled with it, we just stood there, locked into each other's arms. Hottie main actor even said: It's quite interesting how there's no picture being taken, yet we're still holding each other tightly. It's quite cosy though. To which I sort of swooningly replied: yes, the experience of a lifetime, and they had a good laugh at that. In the end the camera turned out to be out of juice, so I never did get my picture, but I can content myself with the memories :)

We did eventually make it to the bar on Charing Cross, a crowded dark place, where I was ordering Stellas when a 50something grey haired man accosted us. It took me a while to realise what he was talking about, but it turned out that he was a truckdriver who worked for Tesco and he'd seen us in the store that morning. As a matter of fact, he knew absolutely perfectly which way we'd gone through the store and that we had briefly stood arguing about something, to which I spontaneously replied 'oh, that must have been the mayonaise', forgetting momentarily that you should never give gay men gooy thick white stuff to use as a joke. He just went on and on about it, and I just stood there smiling politely and nodding, barely listening, but Tim afterwards told me that I sort of politely smiled and nodded to his suggestion about a tube of mayonaise and that he could always make me some or something along those lines. After that he scurried off. I suppose it's not a turn-on when you offer your semen to a boy and he just expresionnessly smiles and nods vaguely.

We stuck around the bar a little longer, but soon got bored and decided to call it a day, it had after all been a long one. We returned (roommates AWOHL, they would return only at 6.30, which I know because I was awake at 5, because a damn bird made a damn nest above our window).

All in all, a very good, very sunny, very funny, thoroughly enjoyable first day of vacation.

Next time: Day Two, London

The Cobbled Road

2007-04-12T14:39:00.000-07:00

Staring out of the window, he considered that it wasn't all he'd expected it to be.

He saw all the same things he always saw on this drive. Not a lot.

It was early, too early to be out already. Night hadn't quite lifted yet, but the first light began to illuminate the world. This little part of it anyway. Everything looked grey and dull. He passed the grey and dull school, the grey and dull office buildings, the grey and dull appartment buildings.

He'd never even seen what they looked like in the daylight. For all he knew, they might be brightly coloured, cheerful and full of life. He grunted. Like it mattered to him, he only ever saw them like this: grey and dull and dead.

He had hated this road from the first time he had encountered it. Not because it was grey and dull, most of the roads he passed by at this hour were grey and dull, and when they were not, they were lit up artificially in such a way as to make them even less appealing.

No, it was the surface that made this particular road such a pain to his existence.

The surface was old. The cobble stones had seen their best days, they were no longer straight and aligned, but crooked and jutting upwards, making the road a hazard for bikers and a scourge for all other traffic.

He was a reader, you see. The entire bustrip he would read. He would read even though it was early and his eyes were still tired. He would read even though the lights of this old bus were less than stellar. He would read even though there were often very noisy people on the bus. He would read so he would not have to sit and stare at the grey and dull landscape that showed itself in all its unglory outside of the dirty windows of the bus.

The bad state of the cobbled road made it impossible to read. He would shake. His hands would shake. His book would shake. His eyes would shake. He would lose his place on the page. He would be unable to continue the sentence. He couldn't read. For 15 minutes of grey, dull, deteriorated road, he'd be forced to just sit there and stare out of the window. He grew to hate that road.

Of course he had made attempts to find something else to occupy him. A portable gaming computer, same problem. Writing, same problem, aggravated even. Listening to music, not enough of a distraction. Socializing with his fellow passengers, they always turned out to be anisocial Iranians, on their way to Allah knows where, definitely not in the mood to talk to him. Or even listen to him talk. He had tried to observe his fellow passengers as entertainment, but antisocial Iranians didn't like that either. At least they were only silently expressive of their dislike. He'd completely put this method of distraction to rest after an altercation with a very drunk white man who had taking his staring slightly wrong. It seemed best to no longer pursue it.

And now this was his latest attempt. Slightly dissapointing so far. He stared out of the window. The bus had stopped at the same red light it always stopped at. There were no pedestrians. No self-respecting pedestrian would be waiting at a red light at this hour anyway. After what seemed like an eternity (cliché, his mind yelled about his internal monologue - clichés are clichés because they work, he yelled back at his mind) the light turned green again and the bus creaked and heaved as it was forced to spring into motion again. To say it sprang into motion might have been an overstatement. He wondered, not for the first time, why they did this to them: so many new, comfortable buses, driving all day long, but for people that had to take the bus at this unholy hour, who were already screwed as it was, they had this old wreck on the road. It didn't seem fair.

The bus hit a particularly nasty bump in the road and his body shook and trembled on his seat. A thrill went through him. Not bad, he thought. He noticed he had a wide grin on his face. The man he happened to be directing it at looked rather disturbed by it. Another antisocial Iranian probably. He looked back out the window. He was feeling it full force now. Not bad at all.

They were almost off the road. The bus stopped at the last red light. It dragged itself forward again, groaning like an old work horse that should have been put out to pasture years ago. It turned left onto the smooth surface of a road that had been paved in recent years. He opened his book. Page 247. He recommenced reading exactly where he had left off when they had turned onto the detested road. Another twenty minutes and he would be at his destination.

Page 272. The bus stopped, he got up, winced a little, grinned again (no more antisocial Iranians or drunk white people, they always got off the bus before his stop), and stepped down the dirty boards of the pitiful bus.

He walked, somewhat awkwardly, the last 7 minutes to his work. All was still dark, he was always the first to arrive. He unlocked the door and walked through the main room into the kitchen without turning on any lights. He lit the kitchen light and squinted against the sudden attack on his pupils. He made the coffee, read the book (nothing interesting happened yesterday evening, but they had to check the book every day), and checked the message board.

Ten to seven. His co-worker would be arriving soon. He exited the kitchen and went to the toilets to light them. He went out again and entered another door, going to the employee toilets. Looking in the mirrow he saw a very tired face. Some sleeping dust (crut, his mind insisted, not being fond of fairy tales and euphemisms) was stuck in the corner of his right eye. He picked it out. He unzipped his pants and sat down onto the toilet. With a grimace and a light groan, he pulled out the buttplug and held it up in front of his face. Black and shiny.

Not bad, not bad at all, he thought.

My spambots don't even try to be convincing

2007-04-12T14:08:00.000-07:00

Bobster *Brief aan Jezelf* zegt:
heck, if I'm unemployed by then, we could get into all kinds of shenanigans
Kev (good music / i dance / no good music / i not dance) zegt:
I love that word
Bobster *Brief aan Jezelf* zegt:
it is a great word, I use it as often as I can

Only one more day and I'm off to England!

I am so excited, I barely know what I will do with myself until saturday morning. Except, you know, pack, do last minute shopping, go to the gym, find out I forgot to pack something, race back home, repack, race back to Antwerp, take a bath, shave, and Guineveve knows what else.

But figuratively speaking, I barely know what I will do with myself.

I really need this vacation, for a variety of reasons, and I've been looking forward to it so much, I think I've barely noticed anything that's been going on around me. I actually had a bit of 'vacation' this week as well, unexpectedly, as I fell ill last friday and stayed home from work. I did return on tuesday, dragging my ass over there in the morning, but I wasn't feeling quite well yet, and I was coughing and sneezing. My pregnant co-worker wouldn't let me near her, I couldn't cut fruit for the kids, and everyone was sort of worried I'd infect a preschooler, so my boss sent me home, which I get. But I have a cold, and it's not just going to evaporate, and I didn't feel like going to work every day, sitting on the bus for two hours, to then be send home after being there 30 minutes, so I got a doctor's note for the entire week, and it's done me good.

Truth is, I'm seriously considering looking for other employment. I still like my job a lot, and I don't really want to quit, but I'm feeling so exhausted from being on the bus constantly, getting up at 4.30 at times, getting home at 21.30 without having eaten anything yet, sleeping at other people's appartments 2 times a week, barely having 'a place to call my own'. It's all getting a bit too much.

I've told myself I'll have a talk with my boss when I get back from England, and make a decision then, but based on how great I feel (despite snot and coughing) after a week of not getting on that damn bus, it would seem I owe it to my health to find something else.

Anyhow, I'm sure I'll have something more interesting to blog about when I actually get back from London, so 'till then, my pretties.

Cheers!

Wanted: Alternative looking gay male between 18 & 25, must have large penis.

2007-04-09T03:11:00.000-07:00

K_x (good music / i dance / no good music / i not dance) zegt:
ik zie nog steeds geen blog update!
Bob *I'm a Horny Little Teapot* zegt:
seg sjoe, 'k zen wel druk bezig vo m'n werk eh
Bob *I'm a Horny Little Teapot* zegt:
wow
Bob *I'm a Horny Little Teapot* zegt:
where did that come from
K_x (good music / i dance / no good music / i not dance) zegt:
from your feminine side?
Bob *I'm a Horny Little Teapot* zegt:

great, my feminine side was raised on the Luchtbal

Something I forgot to mention last time. Last week I saw something rather touching (if you're into that anyway). I was at the Aldi, the one between Kasteelstraat and Mechelsplein, should you know it, and it was packed, which sucked, because all I was getting was a bottle of bubbly water. Anyhow, the line was of course terribly long, and I was behind a little old lady, the stereotypical old lady, you can imagine something, grey skirt, slightly blue perm, that type, and in front of her was a Moroccan woman, also the stereotypical kind, headdress and all.

Anyhow, the Moroccan woman came to the check register, and after her articles were scanned, it turned out she didn't have enough money to pay for them all, so the cashier rudely started to take things out (okay, of course she wasn't gonna give them with her, and yes, I'm sure she gets that sort of thing several times a day and it gets annoying, but she could've at least given the woman a chance to choose what she wanted to leave behind). The stuff she took out didn't seem all that important for the quality of life and stuff, and the Moroccan woman knew better than to complain so no problem there. Then the old lady paid for her articles and told the cashier to throw in the discarded stuff from the other woman, which the cashier greatly appreciated (ah, goe, dan zenekik dervanaf se madammake). Without saying a word, little old lady took the articles and deposited them into the Moroccan woman's bag. Moroccan woman looked up in grateful surprise and began to remonstrate how that really wasn't necessary, old lady didn't say anything and walked out swiftly. Moroccan woman just found time to yell 'thank you very much' with a smile on her face.

And I thought that was sort of sweet. And somehow hopegiving-ish (though I have no clue what I'm hoping for then).

The only thing that sucks a little is... that it didn't occur to me for one single second to do the same thing that old lady did.

I suppose it's easy to think of yourself as a nice, caring person as long as you're only nice and caring to your friends. I'm not saying we should all be paying for people's groceries at the Aldi, but I felt just a tiny little bit ashamed that I didn't even think of helping the woman out.

Unexpected snoggage and Julien getting hurt: just like old times.

2007-04-05T13:52:00.000-07:00

K_x (good music / i dance / no good music / i not dance) zegt:
you're a bit of a sadist, aren't you?
Bob *I'm a Horny Little Teapot* zegt:
no, I just need stuff like that to make it longer
Bob *I'm a Horny Little Teapot* zegt:
uh
Bob *I'm a Horny Little Teapot* zegt:

wait, in connection to sadist, that wasn't the right way to say it

As you may or may not have read over at www.chouxdanvers.be (links will be updated as soon as I am no longer too lazy to do so, have faith), I had quite the fun weekend with friends. What was conceived as me and Tim (aforementioned Choux) going for caffeinated drinks (btw, being a coffee addict, it was shocking to me that I could order a beverage of the sort, specifically an iced coffee, and find it so distasteful that I left half of it on the table), somehow, by no fault of mine whatsoever, and anyone who dares insinuate differently is a vicious babykilling liar, turned into a night of slumming.

Whilst Tim has a link to the Wikipedia article considering slumming, which is very insightful I'm sure, allow me to try and explain briefly what I mean by slumming. Obviously, considering my last two sentences, this will be anything but 'briefly'. I simply must stop reading Charlotte Brontë, but more on that later, unless I should forget, or become weary of the subject.

Anyhow, slumming: to hop from gay bar to gay bar, particulary those that would by most people be considered as trashy. This requires extensive amounts of alcohol, and at least one friend to accompany you (otherwise it's a little sad and a lot less fun, unless you're looking for anonymous and easy sex, in which case: you go boy!), although it is best to have a whole flock of them.

So, for the ample amounts of alcohol, we directed ourselves to the Happy Hour at Hessenhuis, and applied ourselves to the necessary ingestion of beverages. Our party by now consisted out of Tim, Kevin, Kenneth, Julien, Karolien and yours truly. Having taxed Karolien beyond what she could bear, seeing as she detests Hessenhuis, we took our leave of this fine establishment, where we spent so many nights of youthful folly (though seeing it now, one wonders why), and betook ourselves to the Van Schoonhoven Straat, colloquially known as the Rue Vaseline, and entered the Twilight, being the bar least offensive to said lesbian. After administering more drinks to our party, we headed further down the seedy underbelly of gay Antwerp by heading towards the Rubbz, but underway our companion, Julien, was unfortunately besieged by gravity, resulting in injuries whose seriousness he could not quite appreciate until the next day, when his beer-fueled bliss of ignorance had withdrawn its soft wings. At Rubbz(z?) we enjoyed many an intellectual discussion, and bonded, perhaps in some cases more than we are accustomed to, but life is after all about change (or so I muttered to myself as events unfolded). For further details on this bonding, I must again refer my dear reader to the webpages of my esteemed friend.

After having been left by Kevin, the remainder of our party retreated our steps to Twilight, where we were soon left by Tim, Kenneth and Julien, leaving me and my ladyfriend to drink, gossip and bond(though in an appropriate manner, naturally), before I delivered her safely at the nightbus stop.

The next morning, after having enjoyed not nearly enough of the sweet oblivion of sleep, I presented myself at Kevin's promptly at eleven, this valued gentleman being ready as well, but some other members of our debaucherous group were lacking until a later time. Eventually we managed to get underway to Karolien's, where we were treated to a delicious brunch (of which I partook in no small measure), before being joined by our old acquaintances Bert & Bart, and our other companion, Frank, for a cosy afternoon of fun and games. Naturally, Tim and I were victorious, but any astute reader could have anticipated this without taxing the utmost depths of his or her cerebral masses.

After having been left by Bert, Bart and Frank, the rest of us headed to the center of that glorious city of Antwerp to consume vast amounts of pizza, and then Karolien, Kenneth and I wandered around the Schelde and took silly, sleepy pictures until the sun had almost set, and it was time for us to return and seek our respective abodes.

The rest of the week was passed with working, Easter holiday giving me plenty to do, and I also found time to lay around in the park and catch some rays of Apollo, who seems to have immediatly done me the kindness of burning my visage, once again proving that I can be pale or crimson, but never tan.

On monday I starred in the grand play I wrote, Lieve & Leed, a soap opera, about a boy and two girls and the quirky misunderstandings between them. Naturally this was enjoyed by all, especially our littlest ones, who shouted with glee, and now stubbornly insist in calling me 'Joeri', which was my character's name.

Today I passed another rather enjoyable day, being the Search Hunt thing for our 6 to 8 year olds (termed by us as the Sloebers), which Anke, Leslie and myself presided over. Our dear chil'ren had to search the vast town of Zandhoven for clues and perform perilous assignments (they were not meant to be perilous, but leave it to a child to somehow slam into concrete, get scratched up by bushes or bash into another child with disastrous consequences) in order to win the reward (popcorn during the movie they would get to enjoy that afternoon). Usually there are always a few who don't feel like doing the activity, and they never fail to show their displeasure, leading to us adults becoming cross, the activity becoming an arduous duty, and no one enjoying themselves. Today, however, it chanced that the greatest troublemakers in this area were absented, or otherwise engaged, and we had a very motivated group that came along with us. As I happed to be rather popular with this specific age group (do not ask me why, I have not yet figured out what it is that endears me to them), they all wanted to hold my hand, carry my backpack, carry my papers, and basically, make my job as light and easy as it possibly could be. Add to that a sun pleasantly shining down on us, and you have quite a lovely work-morning.

Whilst the past weekend was a lot of fun and games, it's also made me reflect once more on friendship, and what time can do to it. I know this is a team I return to so often, it becomes tedious, but it always surprises me how many things can change, almost imperceptibly. When you look upon our little group of friends, compared to years ago, you see not so many changes: people have disappeared, some have made returns to the fold, no new people have really gotten among us. We all have 'new', other friends of course, from school, work, hobbies, but they are 'separate' to our little group. We don't hang out as a group as much any more (though lately we seem inclined to do so more), but we see each other a lot in a variety of combinations, and it's actually these combinations that are very interesting to me. Despite still having the same friends, the emphasis between us seems to have shifted somehow. To take me and Tim as an example: when we first met, to me he was really just Karo's friend. I think we already knew each other for almost a year by the time we had an actual conversation. He was one of those friends that I saw frequently, whose company I really did enjoy, but with whom for years, I did not do a anything with, sans the rest of the group. It wasn't until recently, and that even by a coincidence really, that we began spending more 'solitary' time together, and as it turns out, that's quite enjoyable time. Odd thing is, during all those years, I never literally thought 'oh no, I am not going for a drink with Tim alone', but somehow it still didn't happen (this may be mostly my fault, as I do tend to stick with the old familiars and will very rarely invite someone for a "private" drink or chat, unless that person has asked me first, or we've been somehow thrown together.)

Okay, I'm done rambling, mostly because tedium and sleepiness have settled over me, but I suppose I must return to Charlotte Brontë, since I said I would.

Charlotte Brontë is, of course, an author and one of the Brontë sisters, who published books under male pseudonyms. I've read two of her books (Jane Eyre and Shirley) and am currently nearing the end of a third, Villette.

Brontë actually studied and taught at a pensionnat in Brussels, and Villette, the city where the book takes place, is a pseudonym for our capital. A lot of the book is actually an attack on our boorishness, our unattractiveness, and our stupid Catholocism of back then (yes, there are times when even the least patriottic of Belgians will be just about ready to toss the book right in Brontë's face, but seeing she's been dead for a good long time now, it would be a hard feat to accomplish).

Other than that it tells the story of Lucy Snowe, a woman down on her luck, who is near stoic, and suddenly departs England for Brussels and becomes a teacher at a girls' boarding school. Here she meets, through unfathomable coincidences of course, personnages from her past, and she also meets new people. Together these shape her life in this strange and boorish new land, with its odd customs and repressive religion. Of course there are also romantic entanglements and mental anguish and so on and so on, but that's not really the point of my telling you this.

The point instead being, that Brontë is very prone to using astoundingly elaborate language, taxing the comprehension of the English language to the utmost (mine anyway), and she regularly throws in French phrases, and sentences that refer to other literary works or parsonnages (I can only say Bless Penguin Annoted editions, or many of these would have been lost on me). In Villette, the story is actually told by Lucy Snowe herself, and even more than in the other two books, she uses extremely florid language, and clearly, this has affected me, as I seem to no longer be able to utter a short, to the point sentence (something I was never very good at to begin with). Hence the explanation.

Anyhow, a good night to all, and to all a good night. May we meet again soon.

Cheers!

La Comédie Anal

2007-03-25T10:09:00.000-07:00

Kev (good music / i dance / no good music / i not dance) zegt:
straight people like to keep their anusses dirty, smelly and a wee bit brown
Bob *Forever in debt to your priceless advice* zegt:
having been in several of them, I can attest they were nothing like that
Bob *Forever in debt to your priceless advice* zegt:
also, ew, your friends are gross

It's once again been quite a while. I do apologise to those who've been feeling deprived, but honestly, I've barely been home for the past two weeks. Yes, I do realise that technically I don't need to be home to blog, but it's a little bit like masturbating: I don't do it in someone else's sofa.

So, the past two weeks have been busy, but quite fun as well, hung out with friends a lot, went out a couple of times, went to my very first ever baby shower (pretty much the same as a funeral, except you get to look at a baby instead of a corpse and it's less inapproriate to laugh and shamelessly shove crackers with cheese in your mouth). The baby was cute, as far as I know, I'm no expert and it didn't cry a single time, despite all the people and the noise, something which I always appreciate in babies. It's a winner in my book!

A lot has been going on in Celebutard land as well. Jessica Simpson is apparantly pregnant, and being a lot less annoying than usual, even the new hair colour works on her. Let's hope she keeps this up! La Lohan got out of rehab and back into the bars, everyone else went into rehab (Jesse Metcalfe, that dude from the seventies I think, Robbie Williams, a shitload of other people no one really cares about) , Britney screwed random people in even more random bushes, Rumer Willis is the latest Famous For Being Famous Slut who attempts to take the crown from Paris Hilton (Rumer Willis, in case you don't know, has a claim to fame by being the horribly named daughter of Bruce Willis and Demi Moore) and Nicole Richie is passing out all over the place.

In other news, Europe celebrated its 50th birthday, hooray, and I wouldn't even have noticed if I hadn't seen the news. I admit I'm not the most attentive to these things, but you'd think there would have been more stuff going on.

And I completely ran out of things to say. I was gonna do a long update, but I've been behind the computer all day to finish up stuff for work (Easter Holidays coming up, very busy time for us) and I honestly am just writing this to get Kevin off my back.

Cheers!

I can double entendre with the best of 'm

2007-02-26T14:05:00.000-08:00

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

2007-02-02T15:28:00.000-08:00

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

2007-02-01T05:46:00.000-08:00

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.

I'm surprisingly adept at Podsnappery

2007-01-24T15:11:00.000-08:00

This post shall be all about me me me! For those not interested, scroll all the way down and who knows, I might offend Jessica Simpson, though at this time that seems rather like beating a dead horse, which was raped by angry midgets post-mortem, with a very large pointy stick.

Some may have wondered why I have not updated so long (I know who you are, you asked me in person) and the answer is surprisingly bland. I am a man, or something approximating said man, of many quirky habits. Unfortunately, my habits tend to control me more than I control them. Over the course of the years, I pick up more and more habits, and once these are incorporated in my daily routine, they are almost impossible to eradicate.

I think I have already mentioned my obsessive erasing of messages and call registries on phones, and my refusal to type anything in the adress space on my web browser. Other stellar examples include my method of eating (potatoes first, then vegetables, meat last, exceptions made for meat in cubes or when the side dish is rice or fries) and the fact that I can't shave in front of a mirror (and I much prefer the lights to be off whilst shaving).

Anywho, how this relates to the previously asked question, by which I mean, the question I myself asked and no other: this same habitual compulsiveness goes for my internet use. I visit the same sites every single day, without fault (all stored in my favourites of course, since I don't type in my adress space, but you probably got that already) and I only visit new ones if a link is provided, thus enabling me to simply click it.

However! Once I have not visited a particular website for a day, due to some fluke, like server down, or a lack of time, they immediatly drop out of my routine. Sure, they're still there, right there in my list of favourites, but I do not click them. The more I realise that I'm not clicking them, the more I begin to abhor the idea of clicking them, eventually leading to a veritable disgust with said website. This is why I haven't read any webcomics in the last 3 months (and I do so like webcomics *sniff*), haven't seen my OkCupid profile (ok, not too sad about that, though they had a good quiz every once in a while) and I don't even remember what my LM.eu account looks like... Or if it's really called an LM.eu account. Could be LNM.be for all I know. But I have more affinity with LM.eu, if you say it really fast it sounds like Lemou, which is what I imagine a French-Canadian cow would sound like. I should ask Siska if that's true. Are there even any French-Canadian cows? Maybe they're just imported European cows. Then again, all French-Americans are basically imported Europeans. I'm getting just a tad off track here.

Anyway, my sudden return here was subsequently an ardous ordeal, mostly accomplished by a few glasses of wine, an ever imploring Kevin and a well-timed convo with Siska (as you already know). And since my habitual syndrome also works the other way, this website is now back on my dailies list, so unless something knocks it out again, I should probably update regularly. Though be it a little less enthused, because really, J-Simp has done such a good job making an ass of herself, that my heart just isn't in it as much anymore. With Lohan in rehab, Reid somewhat cleaned up half of the time and Nicole Richie no longer skinnier than my childhood pet hamster which starved tragically in the cold winter of 1999 (for which I do still feel ever so guilty, don't judge me!), there's really only Paris and Britney left and that sort of brings me back to my beating a sodomised dead horse statement: what's the ff-ing point?

Anyways, since hope springs eternal, I might still get the taste for it again, and besides, isn't Dakota Fanning due to succumb to 'child-stars-always-become-raging-coke-whores (see: Lohan Lindsay; MacCauley, Culkin; Osmond, Haley Joel; Olsen, Mary-Kate and/or Ashley, it's not like I can tell for sure) syndrome? Like I said, hope springs eternal.

So without further ado: Jessica Simpson's saggy breasts. Yeah... Oh God, it's just too sad and mundane.

At least it's Oscar season, so I'll have some nice things to say about Meryl Streep before she returns to whatever shrine the tabloids use to keep the respectable aging actresses of the world (see: Sarandon, Susan; Close, Glenn; Barkin, Ellen; excluded are Stone, Sharon; Moore Demi and others).

Ow, right, for the title reference, Podsnappery is something out of "Our Mutual Friend" by Charles Dickens, definitely worth a read.

Intermission

2007-01-24T14:19:00.000-08:00

Welcome back, skanky side of Tara Reid. For approximately 13 days we were worried we lost you.

Mijn spaarpot uitschudden

2007-01-22T16:35:00.000-08:00

Bob *This just in: Hell froze over* zegt:
and what else is up?
SiS zegt:
Nothing much
SiS zegt:
Hormones running wild, considering everybody to sleep with, but not getting any
SiS zegt:
How're you?
Bob *This just in: Hell froze over* zegt:
hormones running wild, still consciously not sleeping with anyone
SiS zegt:
We can relate, then
Bob *This just in: Hell froze over* zegt:
dear god
Bob *This just in: Hell froze over* zegt:
I'm a lesbian now aren't I?
Bob *This just in: Hell froze over* zegt:
damnit
Bob *This just in: Hell froze over* zegt:
Kevin was right
SiS zegt:
I'm afraid so
SiS zegt:
The words "conscious" and "sex" in one sentence... very sapphic
Bob *This just in: Hell froze over* zegt:
hehe, clearly I must post haste indulge in a cum-soaked orgy with syfillis infested strangers
Bob *This just in: Hell froze over* zegt:
sadly, that sentence kind of turned me on
SiS zegt:
Yes, I was just thinking, when is he finally gonna post haste indulge in a cum-soaked orgy with syfillis infested strangers, but I'm glad you mentioned it yourself
Bob *This just in: Hell froze over* zegt:
we're so in tune it's scary
SiS zegt:
Well, since you;re turned on now, you might just wanna break the principles and get some
Bob *This just in: Hell froze over* zegt:
sadly (again) my principles (surprisingly) are stronger than my hormones (except when it comes to greasy food, sadly, thrice)
Bob *This just in: Hell froze over* zegt:
also I'ts 1.14 here, I'm in my yammies and slippers and about to retire for the night
SiS zegt:
Hm, you'll have to stick to that fuzzy old teddybear
Bob *This just in: Hell froze over* zegt:
not even that, just my own fuzzy self. Though I had every intention of clutching that old thing
SiS zegt:
Well... selfservice is nice
SiS zegt:
At least you know what you want
Bob *This just in: Hell froze over* zegt:
warm hands mostly, I'm astonishingly easy
SiS zegt:
Djees, even I could do you
SiS zegt:
Well, actually, my hands are always cold
SiS zegt:
So I couldn't
Bob *This just in: Hell froze over* zegt:
another sign that we are tragic star-crossed lovers, meant to be, but forever separated by unwanted genitals and a chilly pair of hands
Bob *This just in: Hell froze over* zegt:
woe is us
SiS zegt:
It's is saddening, indeed
SiS zegt:
By the way, when are you gonna write another blog
SiS zegt:
I demand it, darling
Bob *This just in: Hell froze over* zegt:
hmm, that brings the 'demanding people' to 4.
Bob *This just in: Hell froze over* zegt:
well, I probably shall soon
Bob *This just in: Hell froze over* zegt:
well
Bob *This just in: Hell froze over* zegt:
soon-ish
Bob *This just in: Hell froze over* zegt:
some day
SiS zegt:
Next year or something like it
Bob *This just in: Hell froze over* zegt:
tell you what, I shall copy paste part of this conversation as an intro, it will make me feel more obligated to get a move on

And that, dear readers, brings us to my first post of 2007.

Though technically a little late to do a year review, let us see what 2006 brought us.

Lindsay Lohan crashed her car, more times than I wish to recount, we saw Britney’s vagina more than we saw her children, Tara Reid dragged herself out of the gutter and cleaned up, Donald Trump called Rosie O’Donnell a fat loser, Justin Timberlake and Cameron Diaz are both single again, The Devil Wears Prada amused me endlessly, but then again, so did Drawn Together, Jessica Simpson became an ugly mess, Miss USA slutted it up, but got to keep her crown because Miss Nevada was an even bigger slut, I’m still hoping for Miss Belgium’s sex-tape, so finally someone can go represent our country on Youtube. Speaking of sex tapes, everyone seemed to have one last year, from hot and prim little British soccer players I never heard of before they gang-banged a giggling 17 year old (why does she kee giggling?), to a Dutch soccer player (are we seeing a pattern?) getting fucked up the arse with a dildo by his girlfriend, to that guy from Saved by the Bell (maybe he plays soccer is his spare time?) using his penis to slather feces all over some chick’s face. And perhaps the most important development of the year: Jessica Alba is so out, now it’s Jessica Biel and her awesome butt (seriously, to paraphrase Akon, don’t you just want to smack that, all on the floor till it gets sore?) who have taken the much coveted spot of ‘it-girl’.

Will 2007 see Britney’s children file for their own custody? Will Lindsay get clean and learn to drive? Is their a Jessica C-something waiting in the wings? Will we see more soccer players smacking things until they stop giggling? And will I update again any time soon? Only time will tell!

Cheers!

Het enorme netwerk van lesbiennes en hun strijd tegen het kwakje op café

2006-09-15T14:55:00.000-07:00

Bob *Enough to read for the next 5 months* zegt:
and, to pressure you for a final time!!!!!
Deemer / I kill with my heart zegt:
I'll think it over. maybe I'll feel more like it tomorrow [big maybe]
Deemer / I kill with my heart zegt:
aaah the pressure
Bob *Enough to read for the next 5 months* verzendt:
annuleren(Alt+Q)
Bob *Enough to read for the next 5 months* zegt:
the ultimate pressurizer! an adorable kitten
Deemer / I kill with my heart zegt:
ooh
Bob *Enough to read for the next 5 months* zegt:
resist that
Deemer / I kill with my heart zegt:
my weakness WHO TOLD YOU
Bob *Enough to read for the next 5 months* zegt:
kittens are a universal weakness
Bob *Enough to read for the next 5 months* zegt:
well
Bob *Enough to read for the next 5 months* zegt:
except in asia
Bob *Enough to read for the next 5 months* zegt:
there they're delicious

Me and Siska got together in Brussels and scoured bookstores, including two English ones, which really dented my banking account again. Also, Siska, the tyrant that she is, forced me to buy two pairs of pants, since I'd been walking around in torn ones for 3 weeks (all my pants are now torn, so I had little choice). Anyway, I have two new pairs now, one of which I actually like.

I bought the following books:

- Little Women by Louisa May Alcott
- Lolita by Vladimir Nabokov
- Lady Chatterly's Lover by D.H. Lawrence
- Far from the madding crowd by Thomas Hardy
- Hard Times and Our Mutual Friend by Charles Dickens
- Villette and Shirley by Charlotte Brönte
- Grimm's Fairy Tales
- Six Wives, about Henry VIII and his women
- Isabella, She-Wolf of France, Queen of England, about well, her, obviously
- A present for Kevin, which I will not reveal here :)

Other than that Siska and me discussed exes, a giant network of lesbians which apparantly operates in our midst, and we marvelled at a beer type called the Kwak, which basically translates as spooge, and which we really wanted to order, but didn't because it was too expensive. Had the waiter been a man, I still might have, just for the childish pleasure of ordering some spooge from a waiter :p

Since I haven't posted any celeb pix in a while, here ya go.

Jessica Simpson being stupid, dressing very, very badly, looking very tan, Paris Hilton just dessing badly. Or being very fashionable, I don't know, I never was much of a fashionista myself and I must say I don't regret it if this is what passes for acceptable clothing nowadays.

This is the girl who's replacing Jessica in the next Dukes of Hazzard movie. She's pretty, but Lord, I could put my hand around her waist!

So next time, I shall be wise and profound and discuss the death of romance, internet dating and sex. Yes, sex. I barely remember how that goes, but I'll be abstract about it.

Ow , fine, here's a Boy Toy of the Blog showing off his butt

CumEaters Anonymous: Sometimes A Man Just Needs Some Help

2006-09-10T12:57:00.000-07:00

Bob *Just when you think adieu* zegt:
erotic dentistry
SiS - Ready to love, ready to lose... zegt:
I think I'm in
SiS - Ready to love, ready to lose... zegt:
It could help to give people an easier time on the dreaded chair
Bob *Just when you think adieu* zegt:
I'd open wide

Just another announcement post of having had a good weekend. Well, good and bleeding expensive. Had a good time at Red&Blue, despite not partying at all, just talked to people, like Davy, Patrick and his charming boyfriend Frederik (or Fréderic or whichever variation applies). My generosity got the best of me and I bought way too many drinks for other people :)

In the "morning" Kevin and me went for "breakfast" again, which is turning into a pleasant tradition. I had the whole load of coffee, juice, yoghurt, croissants, eggs, bacon, ... which of course also cost something. Afterwards I made the mistake of going into a bookstore, emerging with five books:

- The Fables of La Fontaine
- Karel ende Elegast
- Frankenstein
- The Merchant of Venice
- De Gentse Bruid

And since I was on a roll, I also bought 3 DVDs:

- one which has two movies: Snows of Kili Manjaro with Ava Gardner & Till the clouds roll by with Judy Garland
- Vanity Fair with Reese Witherspoon
- Black narcissus with Deborah Kerr

Tune in next time when we will discuss the merits (or lack thereof) of Sensoa campaigns. Maybe, I just pulled that out of my ass really.

Bob *Let's do the time warp again* zegt:
you better
Bob *Let's do the time warp again* zegt:
I needs me some pimping
K_x (good music / i dance / no good music / i not dance) zegt:
There's a great pimp hiding inside of me
Bob *Let's do the time warp again* zegt:
yeah, he got up there during the turbulent summer of 2003, and he never managed to crawl out again

And he said oh yeah I know you're lonely coz you spent your time with useless things

2006-09-08T17:27:00.000-07:00

This is me, meezinised.

Ya, I couldn't get 'chubby' , it was either thin or fat and if you really have to pick, why be fat? :p

Somehow I always end up covered in other people's shit

2006-09-01T13:12:00.000-07:00

Bob *zaz!* zegt:
I blogged
Bob *zaz!* zegt:
hehe, that's like
Bob *zaz!* zegt:
I farted
Deemer / I kill with my heart zegt:
"dude, did you just blog?"
Deemer / I kill with my heart zegt:
gross man.
Bob *zaz!* zegt:
it even sounds kinda like you just dropped something in the floor
Bob *zaz!* zegt:
oops, I blogged

The title today is actually something I said during a conversation with Karo, Filip, Ben and Kristien and I meant it literally at the time. I'd elaborate, but I don't think the people who owned the shit would appreciate it. I suppose it works as a metaphor as well :)

I usually don't like gay movies and books. Mostly because a lot of them only have one merit: they're about homosexualty. Big whoop, I like reading a love story because it's a good story, not because it happens to have two blokes.

The movie exception to the rule is actually about two ladies, and I saw it on Canal + once. It's called Better Than Chocolate and I absolutely adored it.

Anywho, a while ago, me and Kevin were at 't Verschil and I bought a 'gay' book there, just because the cover text did appeal to me. I finished it yesterday and it's a painfully beautiful story. Mostly painful. During one of the last chapters I thought I might actually cry and then I remembered I don't cry, so I didn't. It did upset me heavily though, and I spent most of the day in a heartbroken daze. Funny what fiction can do to a man.

Anywho, I suppose I'm recommending a book here :)

Title: Now and Then
Author: William Corlett

Cover text:

Now, Christopher Metcalfe returns to his family home in Kent after the death of his father. Sorting through a box of memorabilia from his days at public school, Chris is suddenly confronted by the face that has haunted him for 30 years.

Then, as a callow fifth former enduring the excesses of a school system designed to run an empire that no longer existed, a most extraordinary thing happened amid the trashings and cross-country runs: he was seduced by Stephen Walker, a prefect two years his senior with whom he went on to share a brief but intensely passionate affair.

Now, again, alone, approaching the age of fifty, Christopher is painfully aware of the price he paid for letting go, and resolved to find Stephen, and discover what happened to the only person he ever loved.

Yeah, sounds cheesy, but it's surprisingly well written, with a flurry of emotions and it maintains that difficult balance between descriptive writing and sentimentality, making it a powerful novel in my eyes, and one that strikes a cord, especially in people who have known 'a great love' and lost it.

If you can take a dick, you can take a joke

2006-08-28T16:52:00.000-07:00

Bob *zaz!* zegt:
and the autistic boy licked my face
Bob *zaz!* zegt:
after I told him to stop licking the other kids
Bob *zaz!* zegt:
he took it literally
Bob *zaz!* zegt:
and licked me
Bob *zaz!* zegt:
couldn't even punish the little weirdo

No, I don't hate autistic people, calm down everyone, take a deep breath and just allow it to be a little funny.

Today blew ass! And that basically makes no sense, because while there are many pleasant things to do to an ass (kick, lick, finger, fuck, maybe paint on it a little), blowing it seems kind of hard. I slept for 3 ff-ing hours (isn't it interesting how I have no problem writing 'fuck' but I get all coy about writing fucking?) , left for work at 5.30, worked till 18.45, had a flat tire, spent 4 hours getting home in the soaking rain, and tripped over the damn dog.

This week is gonna be hell. Each day has 70+ kids and it's going to rain all the time. After just one day I feel like I may need some medication. Or some weed. 75 kids bouncing off the walls, screaming, fighting, licking my face (well, just one of those), and making a mess. And on top of that I was ridden like a dog by a bunch of them. I know that sounds totally wrong, but I like to creep you out a little bit. Really, you give one kid a ponyback ride and all of a sudden there's 20 waiting in line.

I also got fired today. It was sort of weird, because Kelly, who does the administration, came up to me with this big smile and said "I have something for you to sign" and I look at it and it's a termination of my contract, making me unemployed from august 31st. So I gave her a weird look I guess, because she hurried to give me another paper, this one rehiring me from september 1st.

Seems a little pointless, but I was originally hired until january and they decided to keep me and since more people are leaving, they now gave me a contract of unlimited duration. Basically, unless I fuck up really badly, I can stay as long as I want. So yay, I have job security. Two other newbie colleagues were given new contracts, though oddly enough not unlimited ones, while we are still hiring two new people. My third newbie colleague is being fired, although she doesn't know that yet. I kind of wish my boss hadn't told me (and Katrijn, and a 9 year old who was sitting with us) that, because now I'll be working with her all week, knowing she's about to be fired and she'll just be happily plodding on. I kind of like her too, even.

Bob *zaz!* zegt:
she's a special kind, most definitely
Bob *zaz!* zegt:
though I got along with it
Bob *zaz!* zegt:
uh
Bob *zaz!* zegt:
her

Anywho, I guess the boss is happy with my work, so that's good. She also talked about giving me a little more to do, something about using my computer skills. I don't have a lot of computer skills, but it seems like I may still have the most that are available.

Good news from work. Also, kittens are adorable. Our 3 little ones are at the cutest cats ever get. Wide-eyed, crawling around the house, peeping, wrestling, scratching with their bow-legged little paws, they're so cute you could die. This is why they don't sell cats until they're 8 weeks old. If you saw them the weeks before, everything after just has to be dissapointing, there is just no way they will ever, ever be this adorable again.

Since we have both become unhealthily obsessed with Stephen Lynch:

Bob *zaz!* zegt:
I think I have a crush
Bob *zaz!* zegt:
on a celebrity
Bob *zaz!* zegt:
I never met
Bob *zaz!* zegt:
that's never happened to me before
Bob *zaz!* zegt:
oh dear, I'm a 12 year old girl
Bob *zaz!* zegt:
I must meet him
Deemer / I kill with my heart zegt:
meet him or do him?
Bob *zaz!* zegt:
you provide the rohypnol while I search for his adress
Bob *zaz!* zegt:
well, meet first, do later
Deemer / I kill with my heart zegt:
I'd just skip the meet bit
Deemer / I kill with my heart zegt:
more time for do
Bob *zaz!* zegt:
myeah, but the rohypnol would need to be administered
Bob *zaz!* zegt:
hmm, maybe that's not the way a 12 year old girl would go about it
Bob *zaz!* zegt:
good, I'm just an adult gay pervert

Rens and me have been youtubing a lot of the Comedy Central stand-up comedy and we came across some really good ones. Worth mentioning is this guy, who also gave me the title for today. Carlos Mencia has two full shows on youtube, one of which you can find here. He's rude, he has a funny accent, he's rude, he insults everyone (the other show you can find has him doing impressions of the mentally disabled) and he's not someone I'd like to meet. Despite all this, you will feel ashamed at how hard you laugh at his obnoxious, racist, sexist routine.

Also, I went out with Kevin and Kenneth this weekend (and afterwards just Kevin) and we ended up all over the place, inluding a very hot and crowded D-Club, where I ran into my niece who is apparantly Fag Hagging since she became single again, so that was funny. Kevin and me had some heavy ass conversations, and also met a guy, who was rather nice, and after Kevin left, me and him talked until the wee hours of the morning, and then got kicked out and talked more someplace else. It was really a very nice thing to do. Before anyone (like some people already have) goes off shoothing little hearts at me: no, it's nothing like that, he's nice, I think he may be interested, but I'm not at that place at all yet. The word relationship right now still sort of makes me feel cramps and a stab to the heart followed by an unpleasant dizziness.

But hey, drunk conversations all night with a nice boy are not bad under any circumstances. And after sobering up, we also went to drag Kevin outside and have breakfast and the 3 of us had a good old time. All in all, it was a pretty good weekend, much better than anticipated.

Uh, yeah, I've been off my habit lately, so lemme just throw in : Jessica Simpson is an overestimated skank with weird lips and and IQ that is shadowed slightly by that of an inbred bastard dog who suffered from oxigen deprivation because the umbilical cord was wrapped around its neck.

Just so you don't forget.

G'night y'all!

I'm lost inside a crowd

2006-08-24T12:39:00.000-07:00

Bob *zaz!* zegt:
I think I made a new friend!
Bob *zaz!* zegt:
well, she's not that new, it's that Siska and I've known her for years
Bob *zaz!* zegt:
But we're gonna have drinks soon, which will be a first, because usually we just sort of happen to run into each other
Deemer / I kill with my heart zegt:
that's really nice news
Bob *zaz!* zegt:
yeah
Bob *zaz!* zegt:
of course
Bob *zaz!* zegt:
she IS moving to Vancouver right after we have drinks
Deemer / I kill with my heart zegt:
hah
Deemer / I kill with my heart zegt:
ofcourse.
Bob *zaz!* zegt:
isn't that always the way
Bob *zaz!* zegt:
make a new friend and then she leaves the continent
Bob *zaz!* zegt:
I think you'd like her
Bob *zaz!* zegt:
she has a sense of humour I think you'd really get
Bob *zaz!* zegt:
Is she wasn't leaving the country we could be the 3 surreal musketeers or something
Bob *zaz!* zegt:
and wear funny hats
Deemer / I kill with my heart zegt:
that'd be wicked
Deemer / I kill with my heart zegt:
you can always tie her to a chair
Bob *zaz!* zegt:
I think our friendship might be a bit too new to survive that

Your trusted uh me is at home with food poisoning. Yaaaaay, not. The doctor man took about a gallon of my blood for research, but it's probably just the result of some bad shrimp. I'm not even feeling that bad anymore, not after uh 'cleansing' myself. That really is the least graphically icky way I have to put it. Anywho, while I was there the doctor man also moved up some other tests I need to have done, which were originally for september, but now they're for tomorrow, for some unspecified reason. I'll just go skipping and singing la la la and pretend that doesn't worry me :)

This does mean another day of not going to work. They're going to hate me :s This week I missed work on tuesday due to a broken down scooter, had a free day on wednesday, and missed work today and tomorrow for medical reasons. I can imagine the kitchen gossip now. I can also imagine all the hours I have to make up for next week. Joy. Maybe I should just go and collect unemployment, since I'm finally eligible. The sad thing is, I would get almost twice the amount I'm making now if I just did that.

Anyhow, I was going to discuss several topics and we'll see how far I get before I'm bored or have to rush to the porcelain pony.

Kids today!!!

I have had lengthy discussions about this with both Siska and Rens. Since Rens is a spring duckling himself, I am at least reassured that my concerns aren't just motivated by me being an old ass.

I don't understand what's happened to kids today, I really don't. And I don't understand why the parents let them get away with so much. I'm not even talking about the 'bad seeds', you've always had those, but even the 'nice ones' seem to lack a lot of basic manners. When I was 10, my mother would have thrown a fit if I would dare ask an adult something and not say please and thank you. At the daycare I seem to spent 90% of my time telling children to say those words (and in the process being presented with the scary view that I am a hairy version of my mother, although hopefully a little less ditzy). What bothers me, is that it doesn't seem to bother anyone else, least of all their parents that they don't do it by themselves. We had an ice cream truck in last week, and there were 65 children, who were all allowed to chose an ice cream. Not a single one said please or thank you unless I reminded them. I gave up around kid 49. So why is that? Have we as a society given up on teaching our kids manners? Are the rude obnoxious antics of a Paris Hilton really the standard now? Do parents simply don't know anymore what the appropriate manner is to educate their children in a world like ours? Are they all going to grow up as little Hiltons and Brandon Davises? Because that's scary. And really, Paris and Brandon are rich assholes, but if you act like them, sans all the money, well, kids, that would just make you an asshole.

The 3 of us also lenghtily discussed media towards children. You know the cartoons on Cartoon Network and Nickolodeon? I love a lot of them, they're great, they're funny, they're sarcastic, they have a lot of pop culture references, they tackle very adult issues, they're very ... adult. Maybe they're too adult to be presented to small children? What's wrong with the Smurfs or Siska's old favourite, My Little Pony? Sure, they were cheesy, sure, they were lamer than a paraplegic. But they were perfect for innocent kiddies as far as I'm concerned. I never heard of children masturbating to Smurfette, while I have heard some rather horny comments made by 9 year old boys about the girls from W*I*N*X* Club. And why DO the female heroines of nowadays comics always fight crime and evil in hooker boots, miniskirts and boobtubes?

And shows like All Grown Up, which is another one of my guilty pleasures, because I like it immensely (and Kids Next Door, Foster's Home for Imaginary Friends, Fairly Odd Parents and Danny Phantom, though I loathe Ed, Edd and Eddy, yuck), but the main characters (the aged versions of the babies from Rugrats) are 9 to 10 years old, and still they're already having relationships and first kisses.

I do find that I seem to grow more conservative as I see kids and teenagers grow, well, grow I guess. Grow a little too fast in my humble opinion.

Classy people in media

Siska dared me to say about media people I do respect, instead of bitching about the ones I don't (she may not have said like that precisely :)) and I found that it's actually sort of hard. You see, the people I don't respect are very easily visible. You can't open the internet without running into them somewhere. Whereas the people I do respect seem to gain that respect by just not being photographed drunk and with their nipples escaping the confinements of their 5000 dollar 'dresses'. For instance: how can you not respect Meryl Streep? What's the last time anyone heard anything about Meryl Streep outside of the Oscar season? Catch my drift?

So, after thinking about it, I did come up with some people that are in the media a lot, but for whom I have a healthy dose of respect. One of them being Hillary Duff, who has appeared here once before, but more in connection to her sister Hailey or Haily or whatever it was, whose fame I didn't quite grasp. I suppose I neglected to mention that I do like Hillary. She has a sweetness about her that doesn't seem to horribly faked, she dates a rocker without feeling the need to tattoo his name on her ass (as far as I know anyways, because:) and I've never seen her breasts or ass hanging out of her clothes, which is refreshing. So yay to Duff even though her name does always make me think of Barney Gumble...

Bette Davis

When Siska asked me about people I felt were classy, of course my first response was Bette Davis, as most people who know me are well aware of my obsession with Miss Davis. Unfortunately she died in the '80s, together with class (hey, look at '80s fashion and tell me I'm wrong!).

Not that Bette was always such a nice person. She was known to be difficult, and even a stone cold bitch at times, but I still feel that she had a certain class. She fought for what she wanted, usually getting it, she took a lot of chances in her work, and she may have been a hard-ass, but she played fair and was absurdly honest about her feelings towards others, such as her much loathed colleague Joan Crawford and (back then) young aspiring actress Faye Dunaway. Anywho, I've written about her once before, including all her most memorable quotes (okay, this one, just because I think it's her at her most rudely honest, right after Joan Crawford died: You should never say bad things about the dead, you should only say good... Joan Crawford is dead, good!). For those who want to, there's always IMDB and tons of other sites.

For those that are interested, there are two you tube videos of Bette being interviewed at her old age, in which she comments on Dunaway and Crawford. She's especially scathing about Dunaway. Ow, in case you're wondering why she's speaking so strangely and holding her arm like that: she had a stroke a while before this, and never completely recovered on the left side of her body. Here and here.

She also speaks of another legendary (and even more forgotten) actress, Lillian Gish, who still holds the record for being the oldest woman to have ever had the leading role in a movie, The Whales of August, which co-starred Davis. Gish was originally a silent film actress, and she never quite got used to speaking: "I never approved of talkies. Silent movies were well on their way to developing an entirely new art form. It was not just pantomine, but something wonderfully expressive."

Conspiracy Theories

Siska also got me onto this, a man named David Icke, who has a lot of conspiracy theories, centering around his belief that the British Royals, George W. Bush, and most other influential people in the world are actually reptilian humanoid hybrids, controlled by pureblood alien reptilians. Among his theories is that Princess Diana was actually killed because she discovered that Charles and Camilla had a son which was sacrificed in a satanic ritual and that she had seen them as reptiles (help me out here, but why would alien reptiles perform satanic ceremonies?). It's really a fascinating read, I enjoyed it immensely, it's almost as stunning as Scientology. I'd say Icke's ideas are a load of crap, but then again, that Paris Hilton does look like she might be part reptile...

The Tiranny of the Everreachability

Another one of my pet peeves and a reason a lot of my friends curse me: I never ever turn the sound on my cell phone on, unless I'm expecting a call, thereby completely defeating the point of cell phones.

What always exasperates me about their reaction is the assumption that everyone should be reachable all the time. I hate it, I don't want to be and I don't intend on ever being. It wasn't that long ago that the wonderful inventions of cell phones and instant messengers seemed silly, and yet we all managed didn't we? Just because it exists, do I really have to throw away all my apprehensions and follow suit?

I mean, really, leave a voice mail, send an e-mail, and I'll get back to you in a couple of hours tops, there is very rarely something sooooooooo urgent that it can't wait a couple of hours, and even if someone just died, well, he or she will still be dead when I get the message.

Isn't there anyone else who sort of objects to the principle of having to be available all the time?

Pfiew, that's a lot of words in a row. Ten to one only two people make it all the way to the end. I don't really have a Boy Toy of the Blog this time, mostly because I don't feel like looking for one, but I do have this video of an awesome comedian, named Stephen Lynch. Maybe some of you already know him, but I think he's fantastic, especially the songs 'Superhero' and 'If I were gay'. He's also incredibly cute in my opinion and I'd totally do him :) His face is very expressive and a little 'off' and I find him irresistably charming, even when he's being very creepy. For those of you that don't feel like watching the whole 21 minute show, all the songs can easily be found separately on You tube as well, really, check out 'If I were gay'.

Marvelolopendous!

2006-08-23T16:05:00.000-07:00

Today was a nice day.

Just thought I'd let everyone know :) Me and Rens watched Since You Went Away, went to eat (well, I ate) , had too much wine, checked out a cute waiter, bought a book (well, I did), visited EV briefly and invented a word, for which you can check the title.

Next time(s?):

- Kids today!!!
- Classy people in media.
- Bette Davis.
- Conspiracy theories.
- The tiranny of the everreachability.

De Theorie van het Relatieve Sarcasme en de Absolute Massa Daarvan

2006-08-22T16:18:00.000-07:00

In case anyone wonders, no, that's not a song.

I have many guilty pleasures. Mostly because I feel guilty about everything. One of those is to go on to Chatguy sometimes when I am bored and read through the profiles. Over the last week I have been offered 500 euros to get rimmed (500 euros is only 70 euros less than my salary!!!! I hate having morals!!!!) and 1000 euros to pee and/or shit on a guy (omg, I hate being a hygienic person with a distaste for wallowing in excrements!!!). Other similar though less spectacular offers have occurred also, which proves that you really just need to be under 30 to be a succesful prostitute. I suppose over 30 you also need to be hot. Or have really gooey feces.

Iew, that's gross.

I also like it when I run into people who act all supreme and virginal in real life and then go 'chat' there. No one goes there to talk after a certain hour. And I suppose not that many people go there to laugh. So I was quite pleased to run into a certain someone who is the Queen of Moral Superiority As Long As No One is Looking.

Anyhow, last time I got on there I shared my findings with Rens.

Bob *I am a cheeky girl* zegt:
how odd
Bob *I am a cheeky girl* zegt:
Algemene renovatiewerken , schilder en behangwerken - ben van beroep huisschilder; maar doe ook verbouwingswerken , bezetten , gyproc , tegels , valse plafonds , parket en laminaat , vloerbekleding , plaatsen van ramen en deuren . Snelle en professionele afwerking door Poolse vakmannen met grote ervaring en referenties ! Gratis prijsofferte. Schilderwerk doe ik volledig naakt als je het wenst en s
Bob *I am a cheeky girl* zegt:
je het wenst en sex is inbegrepen tijdens en na het werk, all in !!! ben zeer onderdanig kan dus ook gebruikt worden als slaaf - neukslet , ook voor meerdere mannen enz . Ook escort ontvangen of verplaatsen ; Ik verhuur mij als slaaf voor een zeer interessante prijs - per uur 40 € . Voor een hele dag van 's morgens 9u tot savonds 19u : 200 €. Een hele week : 1000 € van maandag tot zaterdag.

Deemer / I kill with my heart zegt:
wait, what?
Deemer / I kill with my heart zegt:
...whaaat.
Bob *I am a cheeky girl* zegt:
he's a handy man
Bob *I am a cheeky girl* zegt:
I think
Deemer / I kill with my heart zegt:
god.
Deemer / I kill with my heart zegt:
it starts nice enough
Deemer / I kill with my heart zegt:
& then it all just goes horribly wrong in the middle
Bob *I am a cheeky girl* zegt:
40 euro om m'n deur te laten schilderen en een hol te neuken
Bob *I am a cheeky girl* zegt:
you gotta admit, it's cheaper than most guys to just paint
Deemer / I kill with my heart zegt:
true
Deemer / I kill with my heart zegt:
tzal wel hoge kwaliteit zijn

Bob *I am a cheeky girl* zegt:
hehe, there's these two guys on there looking for a third
Bob *I am a cheeky girl* zegt:
and they misspelled fakers
Bob *I am a cheeky girl* zegt:
2 leuke gasten 31 en 33 zoeken date voor nu 180/80 donker blond/gespierd NO FACKERS
Deemer / I kill with my heart zegt:
!
Deemer / I kill with my heart zegt:
niiiice.
Deemer / I kill with my heart zegt:
fackers
Bob *I am a cheeky girl* zegt:
maybe it's a hip new chatword I don't know
Deemer / I kill with my heart zegt:
could be!
Bob *I am a cheeky girl* zegt:
maybe it's like people who fart while they fuck
Bob *I am a cheeky girl* zegt:
wouldn't want those either
Bob *I am a cheeky girl* zegt:
I'd be all: don't you fack on me

Rising up, back on the street

2006-08-20T12:25:00.000-07:00

I have been thinking a lot about friendship lately.

Yes, I'm going to whine and pretend to make intelligent observations again. Buckle your seat belts, it's going to be a bumpy night! (Yeah, I'm reading the Bette Davis biography, which I got from Kenneth's dad, because I told him I was a fan of hers).

I used to have tons of 'friends', and I made new ones very easily. The last few years, however, I seem to be having a hard time making new ones, instead drawing into the same rather limited social circle more and more. Not that there's anything really wrong with that, except, that social circle consists mostly out of couples and people that are at very different stages in their life, which means that there's only so much sharing you can do. Hey, I can't very well intrude upon Kenneth and Kevin every night :)

My social ineptness and apparant inability to talk to people I don't already know may have deeper roots which I will just ignore, the main issue with it, is that I'd like to make some new friends. Kevin says the answer is going into a completely new social circle, thus meeting lots of new people, and one of them has to be friends material. Setting aside the fact that talking to people I don't know is my problem, I think he might have it wrong.

Going on camp I've spent time with a lot of people I actually already knew a long time, but for some reason never made friends with. To take Siska as an example (who loves being the subject of blogs, hehe): here's a lady who I've run into on quite a few occassions over the years, and I always went away from those encounters thinking "that's a mighty nice girl". I'm not being a suck-up, I remember telling Karo, who's a mutual friend, on several occassion that I really liked that Siska. Now again, at camp, I had a great time with her. So why were we never really friends? It's possible of course that she just hates my guts, but I dare to doubt that one :) I suppose because it would have taken an effort for us to be friends. We're not exactly living closeby each other, and we don't frequent the same places.

Same goes for Anja and Pieter, who I've known since forever as well. Forever being back when I was a wee teenager, which isn't really that long ago, but it feels like forever. I've always liked Anja, but I suppose I never took the time to really talk to her. Now I 'had' to and found out that we really click, and have a lot of things in common. Same for Pieter, though I think we have less in common, but our sense of humour seems to match, and that's basically enough to be friends on :)

Just imagine how many great friends we missed out on because we didn't take the time to see.

And re-reading this, I'm beginning to think I lost my sense of coherently stating a thought, but I'm sure you get my drift.

And since a great part of this blog is dedicated to Siska, I shall not offend Jessica Simpson this time around ;) But I'm not promising it will last!

You're my new law, my new right, my new wrong

2006-08-20T12:13:00.000-07:00

The Little Brown Bunny and the Daffodil

The little brown bunny hopped across the green meadow, clearly in great haste. Upon noticing the daffodil, it halted, wriggled its nose and hurried over to the flower, who was just enjoying the bright afternoon sun. And the little brown bunny said:

"Oh daffodil, have you seen the little white bunny? She has spurned the affections of my heart and I wish to enact revenge on her."

Clearly it was a rather dramatic bunny.

And the daffodil said:

"Oh little brown bunny, you may think I am just a flower and that I know very little of the world. It is true, I do not ever leave this little place of ground, and I will never touch anything beyond the length of my roots. But make no mistake! Through those roots I am connected with every other flower in this whole wide world. I know what the lily in the pond of Japan knows, I feel what the anthurium in Hawaii feels and I sense the chill in the mosses of Antarctica. I have seen, heard and felt more of this world than you will ever be able to, and I know one thing for certain little brown bunny: violence is never the answer. No, I will not tell you where the little white bunny is, unless you promise not to harm her.

And the little brown bunny said:

Well fuck you daffodil!

And bit off her head.

The End

All that you can't leave behind even though it's bad for you

2006-08-17T16:03:00.000-07:00

Deemer / If I had my way I'd crush your face in the door. zegt:
I think its really réally weird that you read hi at like 7-8
Endless Audacity *Your mama's so fat when her beeper goes off, people think she's backing up* zegt:
my dad read him
Endless Audacity *Your mama's so fat when her beeper goes off, people think she's backing up* zegt:
and my parents always tended to forget I was only 7
Endless Audacity *Your mama's so fat when her beeper goes off, people think she's backing up* zegt:
besides, as long as I was quietly reading, it was all good
Endless Audacity *Your mama's so fat when her beeper goes off, people think she's backing up* zegt:
some trauma aside

Rens has been asking for an update and I can't refuse him anything so here goes.

Camp was great. It was exhausting, it was stressful, it was unforgettable and I'm so glad I did it. I'm not going to divulge into details, but really, I felt for the first time in a while that I was doing something worthwhile.

Me and Lien also shared 'Dumbest camp moment' , with her running into the side of a door and me falling off a stage during a fit of laughter. We were of course both parodied at the free podium and I feel certain we will be reminded of it for years to come.

Anyways, I laughed a lot, and had such a good time, I'd forgotten how nice it could feel to just laugh and act like an idiot. I didn't have any break down moments though. No crying. I kind of wished I did, I think a good cry would release a lot of stuff, but I'm not the kind that easily cries.

Despite the fact that I had known all the other camp-guidance-people (I don't know the word, okay) for years, I was really surprised by all of them. Some of them I even will really miss hanging out with. Bert, Siska, Vlien, Tom and of course Anja come to mind, and I loved talking to Pieter, which is strange, because I've known him since forever, and we never really talked before.

After camp, I had to go straight to work, which was less fun, but it was very calm. Tuesday and wednesday I had the day off, so I went out for drink with Kevin and Kenneth and we ran into Janti, which was nice, he's still a bitch though :)

In the morning, Kenneth had to go to work, and Kevin and me went out for breakfast and it was one of the funnest mornings in a long while. I've read somewhere that I am at the age where you create the friendships that will be the most lasting and important in your life. Maybe that's true, but I've known Kevin and Kenneth since I was 19 and I do believe we will be friends for a long time to come. I hope so anyhow. Same goes for Karo, who I have seen very little of the last 6 months, but it doesn't seem to affect how we feel about each other. Tim is an example of someone it took me a long time to be friends with (not that I ever disliked him, we just didn't seem to click right away), but now I can't really imagine not having him around. At camp he was his usual supportive self, and he really made tough moments better.

Yes, I know, I'm rambling. There's so much I'd like to say about camp, but I don't think I could say it all very well, and some things are just not to be blogged about.

Anywho, I also had mother's day lunch with my grandma, my mother, my brother and my two nieces. They've been around more lately, and it's nice. I've commented a lot on the fact that I don't really feel like I have a family, and it's nice to connect with them a little more. They're nice girls and you know, they are family, so I'm happy to see more of them.

My brother is apparantly leaving for 3 months or more, to work on one of those mining platforms in the ocean, so we won't be seeing him for a while. That'll be weird, not seeing him around. He also sort of urged me to go see my father, he says he changed, got off the alcohol and drugs, and that he's lonely. Maybe I even will, who knows. I'm nothing if not forgiving.

I had a long talk about forgiving and how far one should go with that with Sueann, and I realised that pretty soon I'll be leaving EV, and even sooner, she will have to leave EV. And I like Sueann a lot, I respect her, I appreciate her with her good and bad qualities, and I enjoy her company. Despite this, we never get together outside of EV, and that goes for a lot of people there. And soon, we will probably hardly ever see each other anymore, and that's a shame. I don't really have a point here either, just that I will miss Sueann :)

I might be leaving EV sooner than I expected anyway, in about 2 months, but I haven't really made a decision about it yet. A lot of people are leaving, for various reasons, and I doubt more and more if there is still a place for me there. I could go on, I'm pretty sure I'd get re-elected, even if that sounds pompeous, but I think it's true. I just don't know if I want to be.

I'm gonna stop rambling, can't imagine this being very interesting to anyone. Next time I'll post a story and mock Jessica, promise.

As long as it takes

2006-08-05T07:54:00.000-07:00

Deemer / If I had my way I'd crush your face in the door. zegt:
still, I trapped a big spider & I'm strangely fascinated by it.
Deemer / If I had my way I'd crush your face in the door. zegt:
its quite pretty for a big horrible spider that's right here in my room. I'm so weird, I'm terrified by them but I'm really fascinated by them aswell
Deemer / If I had my way I'd crush your face in the door. zegt:
& while usually I'm all "spider kill it"
Deemer / If I had my way I'd crush your face in the door. zegt:
now I'm actually sitting here hoping it won't run out of oxygen byt omorrow so I can release it alive
Endless Audacity *Your mama's so fat when her beeper goes off, people think she's backing up* zegt:
I have that with Jessica Simpson

I should probably do an actual update.

Missy, the cat my grandma took in from the neighbours because their cat didn't get along with her, and that turned out pregnant, which anyoyone could have noticed due to the enormous belly and huge nipples, but my grandma is used to fat cats so she didn't notice, anyways, that Missy had her kittens 3 days ago. My grandma, my mum and I played gynaecologists, but we weren't really needed, since it was an easy birth. I could have done without watching her eating the placenas though. She has 3 healthy and übercute kittens, two girls and a boy. I have named them Rozebottel, Bintje and JC. We probably won't keep them though, since that would bring the number of animals to 6 cats and an annoying little dog downstairs and an annoying big dog upstairs.

So uh... Jordan Johnson has these pictures of Pamela Anderson looking like an advertisement for sunscreen. She's getting married to Kid Rock four times, because you know... Actually I don't know. Anyway, her tiara thingy is very pretty. Or it's so ugly I can't even mock it.

Speaking of Jordan, his blog Jordan Is Your Homeboy is very funny and also he's rather cute. Only drawback is that he finds Jessica Simpson very hot. Which can be forgiven because he's cute and funny. But it does fry my bacon. I'm not totally sure I used that saying in the right context, but it seemed appropriate. To recap: Jordan = hot, Jordan = funny, Jordan's blog = good, Jessica Simpson = skank.

Speaking of skank, here are her nipples. She has this whole 'blow for a buck' thing going on, which is a big step for her, coming from 'blow for free'. Good for her!

And she's working on her culture, going so far as even reading a book. Or holding it and looking sort of confused about what to do with it.

Anyways, I'm off to camp from monday till sunday, and back to work next monday, so I won't be around, which will undoubtedly sadden all two of you.

Ow yeah, I changed nightshops (long story) and turns out there's one with an owner that's actually cute. He speaks no Dutch, two words of English and seems to be retarded or just very shy. Big improvement.

Ow yeah, the Boy Toy of the Blog. Here's a couple of them, to hold you for a week or two. They have names, but really, like you care. Did you know by the way that there are only about 5 poses in man-porn?

Settle for a slowdown

2006-08-04T16:16:00.000-07:00

I must look just like a fool here
in the middle of the road
standing there in your rearview
and getting soaked to the bone
this land is flat as it is mean
a man can see for a hundred miles
So im still praying I might see
the glow of a brake light.

But your wheels just turn,
down the road ahead
If it hurts at all
you ain't showed it yet
I keep a lookin' for the slightest sign
that you might miss what you left behind
I know there's nothing stopping you now
but I'd settle for a slowdown.

I held on longer than I should
Believing you might change your mind
those bright lights of Hollywood
would fade in time.

But your wheels just turn
down the road ahead
If it hurts at all
you ain't showed it yet
I keep a lookin' for
the slightest sign
that you might miss
what you left behind
I know there's nothing stopping you now
but I'd settle for a slowdown.

But your wheels just turn
down the road ahead
if it hurts at all
you ain't showed it yet
you're just a tiny dot on that horizon line come on tap those brakes
baby just one time
I know there's nothing stopping you now
I'm not asking you to turn back around

I'd settle for a slowdown
come on just slow down
I'd settle for a slow down.

'Cause our lives suck

2006-07-25T17:56:00.000-07:00

K_x (dirty numb angel boy - F-f-fuck forever, if you don't mind) zegt:
dude
K_x (dirty numb angel boy - F-f-fuck forever, if you don't mind) zegt:
what a saaaad story!
K_x (dirty numb angel boy - F-f-fuck forever, if you don't mind) zegt:
pretty agressive kitties as well
Endless Audacity *pussywillow* zegt:
they're cats, it's what they do
Endless Audacity *pussywillow* zegt:
although possibly without the aspect of world domination

Has anyone else seen these pictures of Paris Hilton kissing her ferret? Probably and I'll not make any jokes about 'running out of men' or 'who has the biggest risk of catching a disease from this' , except I sort of did already now. What concerns me in these pictures, is her back. Is that hair? Because that's hairier than a woman's back should be. A lot.

And Ashlee Simpson has been laminated and preserved for all time as Slut Barbie. Good for her, it's pretty obvious that's about the highest career goal she could have attained anyway.

Endless Audacity *Your mama's so fat when her beeper goes off, people think she's backing up* zegt:
I got this weird message on okcupid
Endless Audacity *Your mama's so fat when her beeper goes off, people think she's backing up* zegt:
hi, my name is bernard addy,am from ghana and an up coming musician.am 20 yrs of age and i want to take u as my penpal b'cos i read ur profile and i found out that u very kind and loving.i also like travelling to other country as well.please am a christian and a catholic member.am serious and respectiful boy to be.please reply me on my email :wonu_2@hotmail.com and my contact as well 0023324340342
Endless Audacity *Your mama's so fat when her beeper goes off, people think she's backing up* zegt:
may the lord richly bless you in jesus name amen.take care and stay away from trouble. if u have given birth and u want me also to take care of you, i can do it better.as an househelper.bye
Deemer / If I had my way I'd crush your face in the door. zegt:
what the hell.
Endless Audacity *Your mama's so fat when her beeper goes off, people think she's backing up* zegt:
I think someone's is trying to illegally get somewhere this was clearly sent to lots of people, I mean please, 'if you have given birth' ?
Deemer / If I had my way I'd crush your face in the door. zegt:
that's really really sad.
Endless Audacity *Your mama's so fat when her beeper goes off, people think she's backing up* zegt:
hmm, do I want me a hot black houseguest *ponders*
Endless Audacity *Your mama's so fat when her beeper goes off, people think she's backing up* zegt:
It'll prolly have more downsides than upsides
Deemer / If I had my way I'd crush your face in the door. zegt:
well he's christian and catholic
Endless Audacity *Your mama's so fat when her beeper goes off, people think she's backing up* zegt:
there's at least two right there
Endless Audacity *Your mama's so fat when her beeper goes off, people think she's backing up* zegt:
hehe, I could be a slave owner: strip bitch, or I'm calling the foreigner police
Endless Audacity *Your mama's so fat when her beeper goes off, people think she's backing up* zegt:
it rubs the lotion on its skin
Endless Audacity *Your mama's so fat when her beeper goes off, people think she's backing up* zegt:
Great, now I want me some chianti and I barely even know what that is

There's not really a point about that, except hey black Boy Toy of the Blog.

Endless Audacity *Despite al your words, you insist to hurt* zegt:
my anus is blocked up
Endless Audacity *Despite al your words, you insist to hurt* zegt:
I could not resist that
Endless Audacity *Despite al your words, you insist to hurt* zegt:
sorry
Deemer / If I had my way I'd crush your face in the door. zegt:
I know
Deemer / If I had my way I'd crush your face in the door. zegt:
I was saying it in my head, so don't worry
Deemer / If I had my way I'd crush your face in the door. zegt:
it hàd to be said.
Endless Audacity *Despite al your words, you insist to hurt* zegt:one of us was bound to

That's not about an actual anus, but about the longer story I'm writing and which I might post parts of later on, if it keeps going well (the uh blockage has been lifted and I'm tearing through it again. Don't that just sound nasty :p)

There's no me there anymore

2006-07-25T17:15:00.000-07:00

De vuilnisbak onder de bomen

Er was niets erg bijzonders aan. Gewoon een standaard vuilnisbak. Hij had die vuilgroene kleur, stond op een paal, en hij had dat symbool op z’n buik, voor mensen die puur op het zicht niet zouden doorhebben dat dit wel degelijk een vuilnisbak was. Helemaal niets speciaal dus.

Het enige dat misschien bijzonder te noemen viel, was de plaats waarop hij stond. Niet ergens op een straathoek, en ook niet aan een bushalte of zo, toch heel typische plaatsen voor vuilnisbakken. Neen, deze specifieke groene bak stond tussen de bomen. Ik wil bijna zeggen dat hij in een bos stond, maar dat klopt niet helemaal. Een stel bomen maakt immers nog geen bos, net zoals een zwaluw de lente niet maakt. Ooit, lang geleden was het wel een bos, maar ooit lang geleden was zowat alles wel een bos of een zee, woestijnen niet meegerekend, maar we gaan niet mierenneuken.

Het ooit lang geleden waar we nu over spreken, is nu ook weer niet zo ver van ons verwijderd. In de jaren ’50, lang voor de vuilnisbak van de band rolde, werden de eerste percelen gerooid om huizen te zetten. Aanvankelijk waren het er maar een paar. Toen was het plots een heuse straat, en voor iemand het doorhad, stond er een hele wijk. Maar aan één kant van de wijk, waren weilanden, en de boerenfamilie die de scepter zwaaide over die weilanden, vertikte het om plaats te maken voor de vooruitgang, en aldus bleven de koeien - en soms ook wel schapen - rustig grazen, compleet niet beseffend dat zij daar wel lekker de vooruitgang in de weg stonden te staan. Je zou het de beesten bijna kwalijk nemen!

Het allereerste huis, dat dus gebouwd was toen er nog geen sprake was van een straat, en al helemaal niet van een wijk, stond toevallig wel een eindje af van dat weiland, maar nu ook weer niet zo veel van een eindje dat je er nog even één twee drie een extra huis kon neerpoten. En zo kwam het dus dat er daar enkel een aantal bomen, en een zandweggetje waren. Dat weggetje was best wel handig ook, je kon bijna rechtstreeks van het dorpsplein tot aan de wijk lopen, en ook tot aan de scholen die er vlak bij lagen, en dat allemaal zonder de openbare weg te betreden. Best goed hoor, zeiden de wijkbewoners, zo’n achterweggetje, alleen jammer van die koeien (en soms schapen) want bij gebrek aan een trein in de buurt, staan die beesten je zo vervelend aan te staren.

Het mag dus wel gezegd worden dat het zandweggetje frequent en veelvuldig gebruikt werd. Velen gebruikten het enkel maar om van één punt naar een ander te gaan, maar anderen bleven ook wel eens staan op de open plek halverwege. Nog anderen kwamen zelfs echt samen op die open plek, waar ze volledig afgezonderd waren, en het was er ook nog eens mooi en zo, dus dat heeft wel aantrek. Jammer genoeg kwam er nogal wat rommel van, en op een goede dag besliste de groendienst van de gemeente, die toch al maar weinig te doen had, dat het toch wel zonde was dat dit groene stukje zo bevuild werd. En na het invullen van enige formulieren en het motiveren van de uitgave, werd de vuilnisbak onder de bomen geplant. De burgemeester ging er zelfs mee op de foto voor zijn partijkrantje, want, zo redeneerde hij, je moet de bevolking duidelijk maken dat niet alleen die groene jongens begaan zijn met de natuur.

En zo kwam de vuilnisbak daar te staan, op een afgezonderde open plek onder de bomen, helemaal alleen. Hij kreeg natuurlijk maar al te vaak gezelschap, en misschien zag hij zelfs wel meer dan de gemiddelde bak aan de bushalte. Hij had zijn vaste bezoekers, zoals die aardige oude man uit nummer 25 die elke week kwam sluikstorten in de vuilnisbak, want niemand zag het daar, en dan moest die tenminste geen geld uitgeven aan vuilniszakken, die waren zo verrekte duur. Er was ook een mevrouw die elke dag minstens twee keer voorbij fietste, maar zij was nog nooit bij hem gestopt om iets weg te gooien. Ergens anders ook niet voor trouwens, want wat ga je uiteindelijk anders nog doen bij een vuilnisbak? Er was ook een jongen die in de kinderopvang aan het eind van het pad werkte, al wist de vuilnisbak dat uiteraard niet, want wat weten vuilnisbakken nu over kinderopvang? Hij kwam elke dag, of beter gezegd, elke werkdag, ook twee keer langs, en stopte dan altijd om een sigaretje te roken, uit het zicht van de kinderen, en dan stond die een beetje terug te staren naar de koeien, en in de bomen, en dan deed die zijn peuk uit en smeet die in de vuilnisbak. Zo waren er wel eindeloos veel mensen die hem een bezoekje brachten.

Vaak gebeurden de interessantste dingen ’s avonds. In de nachtelijke uurtjes liepen er meer mensen over de open plek dan je zou denken. Zo was de vuilnisbak de enige die wist dat Mevrouw Janssens, van nummer 4, een affaire had met de zoon van haar buurvrouw, en hij was ook de enige die getuige was geweest van het kleine homoseksuele experimentje tussen de neven De Boers. En er was het onaangename voorval met een dronken tiener die hem gebruikt had om in te braken na een slechte ervaring met wat marihuana en als de vuilnisbak gevoelens had gehad, zou hij dat zeker kwalijk genomen hebben.

Ja, de vuilnisbak zag een hele hoop, en menig agent zou zijn arm hebben gegeven om een keertje met hem te kunnen praten. Tenminste, als het idee van met een vuilnisbak te gaan praten ooit in hen op zou zijn gekomen, want laten we eerlijk zijn, het zou een beetje mal zijn. Maar toch, als de politiebrigade wist wat de vuilnisbak had gezien op een warme avond in juli, dan zouden ze toch wel een praatje met hem willen slaan, mal of niet.

Alhoewel niemand ervan op de hoogte was, had de vuilnisbak als enige gezien wat er gebeurd was met Sylvie Verhaevert. Deze frisse blonde meid, slechts 14, was ondertussen toch al een dik jaar spoorloos, en iedereen had de hoop opgegeven haar ooit nog terug te vinden. Moest de vuilnisbak wat spraakzamer zijn, dan had hij hen dat al een dik jaar geleden kunnen vertellen. Sylvie was dood en begraven. Op de avond van haar verdwijning was ze te laat. Ze had om 18 uur thuis moeten zijn voor het eten, maar pas om 19.30 verliet ze de woning van haar vriendin, Lianne Gaverzucht, en ging ze naar huis. Die noemenswaardige vertraging was echter niet te wijten aan Lianne, maar wel aan haar één jaar oudere broer, Jairemy, aan wie Sylvie die avond zeer gewillig haar maagdelijkheid had opgegeven. Niet dat Lianne of Jairemy dit ooit aan de politie hadden gemeld, ze zouden wel gek wezen, en zoveel deed het er uiteindelijk ook niet toe, maar het leek de moeite waard om te vermelden dat ze niet zomaar een beetje te laat was omdat ze met barbiepoppen aan het klooien was geweest.

Ongeveer om 20.00 passeerde Sylvie over de open plek, niet meteen gehaast, eerder traag zelfs, en met een dromerige blik in de ogen. De vuilnisbak besteedde er weinig aandacht aan, totdat er plots iemand nogal snel aan kwam hollen. Sylvie leek zich er niet aan te storen, misschien dacht ze dat het een jogger was, maar de vuilnisbak bespeurde enige dringendheid in de manier waarop deze persoon liep. Vuilnisbakken staan zelf uiteraard altijd stil, maar ze zijn opmerkelijk getalenteerd als het op manieren van lopen analyseren aankomt. Sylvie had het pas door toen de man – want het was een man – zich op haar stortte en haar hoofd herhaaldelijk tegen de grond stompte, totdat er een dof gekraak te horen was, en haar frisse blonde haar plots bloedrood kleurde. Dat vond de vuilnisbak toch enigszins bijzonder. De onbekende man, die wel iets weg had van vader Gaverzucht, maar helemaal zeker was hij daar niet van, snoof eens diep tussen de benen van het voor pampus liggende kind, en ging aan de slag. Het blieft ons niet meteen om in detail te treden, maar laten we zeggen dat het waarschijnlijk niet zo slecht was dat Sylvie nooit meer het bewustzijn hervond. We zouden willen zeggen dat de vuilnisbak medelijden had met de arme meid, maar hij is nu eenmaal slechts een vuilnisbak en medeogen is niet hun sterkste kant, en zodus was verwondering het verste dat hij raakte. Toen het onsmakelijke gebeuren eenmaal was afgerond, werd snel en eenvoudig een einde gemaakt aan het toch al wegsijpelende leven van Sylvie, en iets minder vlug en makkelijk werd ze begraven in de losse grond tussen de bomen, vlak achter de vuilnisbak.
En hoewel niemand ooit iets aan de vuilnisbak zou vragen, en zelfs als ze het deden, dan zou die niet weten hoe hij er op moest antwoorden, toch was het misschien een geruststelling voor het arme kind dat iets wist wat er haar overkomen was. Zelfs al was het iets dat niet meteen medelijden kon voelen met haar lot.

Hey heeeeeey Goodlooking

2006-07-22T04:33:00.000-07:00

The dynamics had changed once again. It was not the first time this had happened, but it was the first time that she feared the consequences. She was too old to do battle all over again. Damnit! She thought, Who could have foreseen this?!?

In an attempt to calm down she put her head in between her legs and started licking at the tuff of hair underneath her belly. It didn’t calm her the way it used to. She was dry down there now. Another sign that she was too damn old for this shit.

Ever since she had moved here, she had been in control. It had been easy, the ones who were here before her were weak, spoiled, and they did not know how to put up a fight. Besides, she thought with contempt, they were men, and men are always weaker. And that little bitch was old even then, unable to hold up her excrements, and with rotten teeth. It had been kitten’s play to overthrow her. Dogs were stupid, in general, and this one was even stupid for a dog.

The first shift of dynamics had occurred when the older one had died. He had been sick for a very long time, but the old woman who cared for them had kept him alive much longer than he himself had wished. He wished to join his friend, who had already been dead when she had arrived, and end his suffering. Humans, she thought with even more vile contempt, were obsessed with prolonging the inevitable. It didn’t even occur to her that maybe she was doing the same thing by refusing to give up her domincance.

She had been left with the neutered man, one who never bothered her, was even pleasant to deal with, and she had been the undisputed queen of the domain. Sure, he was fatter and more cuddly and people petted him more, but she could not care less. She was fed first, she occupied the best place in the bed, she held court from atop the nicest chair. She ruled her little kingdom, and every cat in the neighbourhood knew it too. They feared her. Ah, I was something then, she thought, a fierce warrior, no one messed with me!

Then a new one had come. Female. Small. Underfed. Not much of an opponent it had seemed. She had been kind to this pitiable newcomer. But soon she grew large on the ample amounts of food that were bestowed upon her. And she was not content to be just a subject, she wanted to reign. Ferocious battles were fought, but she had been stronger. She had kept the man and the dog at bay, tricked the human into thinking that the newcomer was the aggressor. She had fought bravely and she had fought well, and in the end she had been victorious. Her enemy succumbed and bowed down before her.

It had not brought her peace. She had to be constantly on alert for new attempts of the treacherous grey to overthrow her. But she had been smarter. She had lost her mating partner to this younger opponent, but in the end he had not gone along with the plot to battle her together. He loved her, he had said, ha! She scorned his love. She had long ago lost the ability to carry kittens within her. Only one live one had been born out of her uterus, and even that one had only lived a day. She sometimes wondered what her life would have been, if she had been given the chance to be a mother. But it was of no matter anymore now. She was a queen, not a mother. And her throne was under siege once more.

The dynamics had shifted once more when the red man died. He had not gotten out of the way of one of those infernal human machines fast enough. She had not mourned over him, but she had felt sorry for him. She hoped he had not suffered needlessly. Her human and those of the family, had grieved for him. He had been their favourite and she knew it, although she did not resent them for it.

For the longest time after that, they had been 3: she, the grey and the dog, whose life dragged on and on in an endless spray of red shit and burning piss. No cat would want to live like that, a cat would want to end in dignity. The dog seemed to cherish every befouled day she got. Dogs are stupid, she thought for Sheba knows what time. The grey had attempted to ingratiate herself more to the humans of the household. The old woman continued to prefer her, which she was secretly pleased with even though she would never admit it. The younger human female paid little attention to either of them. The young male who had once been her human, in the place where she had come from, disliked the violent gray, and would pet only her, which was good. The other young male treated all creatures with alike violence and anger. The grey attempted to play nice, but she could not keep it up. She would jump on laps and pur, but after a while her nerves would give out and she’d hiss, scratch and bite. The young male took to calling her ther Serpent Grey.

The grey simply didn’t like being petted. But she could enjoy a rough human hand messing up her fur. And she knew it ingratiated her. She knew it would keep her number one.

But now, in the twilight of her life, when she could feel her strength waning, when she was exhausted after every battle, when she stayed in more and more, and slept most of the time, now that the meat on her bones, once supple, had become more rigid, in short, now that she was nearing her life’s end, an unpleasant surprise was sprung upon her.

Oh cruel fate! She hissed and in her fury tore a thread out of the carpet, what vile trick you have played on me! A new inhabitant had arrived. Small and underfed, like the grey had been, but she knew that did not make her harmless. She had been shocked to discover the newcomer, but she had not taken action yet. She kept aloof, and stayed watchful. The grey had not made any contact yet either. But she must be smelling her chance! She thought. Even in my old age, I can keep the grey under, she is not so young anymore herself by now. But a new one… If they join forces, I am doomed.

So she watched and she watched. She soon became convinced that the black one by herself was no big threat. She was quiet, withdrawn and apparantly uninterested in power. She was soon popular with the humans as she enjoyed being petted and would spend hours in their laps, purring away. The grey one approached her once, but het volatile personality caused her to grow annoyed with the timid thing, and she hissed at her. The black one now stayed away in fear. She saw her chance to approach her and forge an alliance.

With forced kindness, she endeared herself to the little knocked up black, and thus made sure she would not ally herself with her enemies. But a strange thing occurred: the more she acted the part of loving older one, the more she felt herself become one. The many years of maternal love she had hidden inside herself, and the grief over her lost children, came pouring out, and she lavished it all onto this young ditzy cat.

Weeks passed and the black one gave birth to 3 healthy kittens. She became like a beningn grandmother, caring for both the black one and her litter. She should have seen that the grey one became more and more deranged, more scared … But she didn’t see it, familial bliss had made her careless. She would later come to understand that the price for being a great ruler, was loneliness, but by then it was too late.

Who knows what possessed the grey to do what she did. Perhaps, in her weakening mental state, she believed she, the black and the kittens would form an army against her. Perhaps she was simply jealous of them. Or perhaps she was just a mean old thing. She always assumed it was all of the above. Like all her foul plots, it was well thought out. The kittens were only a week old, and the caretaker man, who came when they were sick or injured, came to check on the black. She had sat herself on her high chair and supervised his investigations, growling in a warning tone whenever he seemed to be a tad rough.

Only then had she noticed the absence of the grey… A terrible feeling of foreboding befell her, and she rushed away off her chair and into the front room, where the litter was. The grey was towering over them, her ears flat against her head, all her fur was standing upright, and her eyes blazed with bloody violence. The spotted kitten was beyond saving, its head torn off. But the other two were still alive, she had not been able to turn against the terriffied little ones yet. She felt deep grief and terrible rage awaken in her chest. She knew her fur was just as frightening as the grey’s. She lurched at her. The old human made an ‘owowowowowow’ sound, which she always made when upset, but she barely heard it anymore. This was the battle to end all battles…

She lay there, in the dark, surrounded by the black and the two remaining kittens. Her old human and the nicer young male stood above her, looking at her with pity and worry. It no longer mattered. The grey would live, but she would never again be able to hurt those she loved. And she wouldn’t win any kitty shows any time soon either! She thought with malevolent glee and then had a coughing fit, which made more blood trickle into her throat. It would not be long now. It was alright. She was surrounded by love, for the first time in her life, and she was able to give love back, for the first time in her life. And, most importantly, she died as she had lived: as a Queen.

Sparks flying in the dark

2006-07-21T15:16:00.000-07:00

Endless Audacity *Kattenasiel Paula* zegt:
I prefer penis
Endless Audacity *Kattenasiel Paula* zegt:
although vulva is a word that really rolls off your tongue
Endless Audacity *Kattenasiel Paula* zegt:
I just don't want to roll my tongue over a vulva
Endless Audacity *Kattenasiel Paula* zegt:
which is a subtle distinction

I have received many compliments over my little bout of late night madness that I posted earlier so thanks a lot. Next time a thrilling story of sex, violence and manipulation, conducted by teenage singers. I will call it Spearsville and dedicate it to Jessica Simpson's stylist, who must surely have shot him or herself by now. If not, he/she should be shot.

You see, the main problem with part of your blog being dedicated to posting pictures of Jessica looking a) stupid b) ugly c) stupid d) silly e) badly dressed or f) all of the above, is that it's not much of a challenge. It's basically a process of Jessica leaving the house and having her picture taken et voilà all over the internet.

Therefore it is nice to see that she has outdone herself at some event (I'm not much of a researcher) by first putting on a pair of heinous shoes? Clogs? Espadrilles? Slippers?

Let's call it footwear. Maybe it might even have been cute, if it didn't have the colour of an incontinent grandfather's favourite white underpants, you know, the pair he wears on mondays because he wants to feel nice the first day of the week, but he also wears them on sundays, to go to church, so by monday night they're a tad rank and have that exact colour.

The dress is not as clownish this time, but it's awfully full isn't it? Personally I prefer my clothes to be sort of uh you know, one colour, possibly two, maybe with a little decoration, if it's not too much. However, I wouldn't be caught dead in something that looks as if Van Gogh puked on it.

The hair is still a creation of Cheap Ass Extenstions Incorporated so let's just skip that.

The thing that sends this outfit over the wall is, obviously, the huge pair of sunglasses on her remodified schnauzer.

Jess, sweetie? You're inside. You know, in a building. And you're there with the purpose of being photographed. So why the sunglasses? If you were going to cover something up, how about your - still oddly shaped and so tanned I can actually see some kind of rash - breasts? Can we work on that, can we?

Ow right, before Frank starts bitching again (by saying so I have of course made sure he'll find something to bitch about :)) here's a Boy Toy of the Blog. He's not that cute - again, what's up with that? - but he oddly reminds me of Frank. Somehow. Something about him. And it's a little creepy... Because he might be a little cute if he didn't remind me so much of a naked Frank...

*Goes of to his safe place and leaves you with other MSN stuff he needs to put somewhere because his blog document thingy is backing up*

Deemer / My robot will never die zegt:
she really doés have supernipples
Endless Audacity *Ziek* zegt:
yup
Endless Audacity *Ziek* zegt:
and they're attention whores

Deemer / My robot will never die zegt:
god I hope I'm better at sex
Endless Audacity *Ziek* zegt:
I'd be happy to evaluate you, purely in the name of uh science?
Endless Audacity *Ziek* zegt:
yes, science
Endless Audacity *Ziek* zegt:
obey science!
Endless Audacity *Ziek* zegt:
they gave us penicilline and internet pornography
Deemer / My robot will never die zegt:
is there anything they can't do?
Endless Audacity *Ziek* zegt:
make the internet porn free

Endless Audacity *Kattenasiel Paula* zegt:
wait
Endless Audacity *Kattenasiel Paula* zegt:
hold old am i
Endless Audacity *Kattenasiel Paula* zegt:
seriously
Endless Audacity *Kattenasiel Paula* zegt:
23?
Endless Audacity *Kattenasiel Paula* zegt:
right?
Endless Audacity *Kattenasiel Paula* zegt:
shit
Endless Audacity *Kattenasiel Paula* zegt:
wait, I was born in 1982
Endless Audacity *Kattenasiel Paula* zegt:
so 20 in 2002
Endless Audacity *Kattenasiel Paula* zegt:
+4
Endless Audacity *Kattenasiel Paula* zegt:
24?
Endless Audacity *Kattenasiel Paula* zegt:
that doesn't sound right
Endless Audacity *Kattenasiel Paula* zegt:
oh right, I was born in october
Endless Audacity *Kattenasiel Paula* zegt:
I'm 23
Endless Audacity *Kattenasiel Paula* zegt:
I've always been a little forgetful
Deemer / If I had my way I'd crush your face in the door. zegt:
.....
Deemer / If I had my way I'd crush your face in the door. zegt:
oh man my future looks grim

That damn old river

2006-07-20T12:44:00.000-07:00

That noon, at the psychiatrist’s office

“Everyone has their little oddities, don’t they?”
“Of course.”
“My oddity may be a little more to the odd side, but it’s not that harmful.”
“Would you care to talk to me about it?”
“Hmm, I suppose that might be good.”
“I am here if you want me to listen.”
“You see, I don’t even consider it that much of a problem, but my boyfriend does.”
“You have a boyfriend?”
“Yes.”
“Happy together?”
“Very. Only my oddity causes problems sometimes.”
“Is your oddity of a sexual nature?”
“Yes, it is, how did you know?”
“Most oddities, or fetishes, that cause problems within relationships are of a sexual nature.”
“Of course, I knew that, stupid me.”
“Would it happen to be shoes?”
“Shoes?”
“Yes, some men are aroused by shoes.”
“No, not shoes. I know a man who has that though.”
“Everyone does, it’s very common.”
“I understand.”
“So, of a sexual, non-shoe nature then.”
“Indeed.”
“Please, go on.”
“I find it difficult to explain…”
“Take your time.”
“You see, I become aroused when I hear the word peninsula.”
“Come again?”
“Oh, I knew you would not understand! No one does!”
“Calm down my good man. I must admit it is … eccentric… but I would like to hear more.”
“Alright.”
“When did you first become aware of this… attraction to the word pe…”
“DON’T SAY IT!!”
“…”
“Please, don’t say the word.”
“Yes, of course, I understand.”
“Thank you.”
“Maybe we should make a codeword to mean the … arousing word.”
“That may be a good idea.”
“Thank you.”
“But what codeword.”
“How about… cotton candy? Or does that also excite you.”
“No, cotton candy will be fine.”
“So, when did you become aware of this attraction to the word cotton candy.”
“When I was 12.”
“That is very young for someone to even know the word cotton candy.”
“Is it?”
“It’s not the most common word, now is it?”
“I wouldn’t know, in my experience it comes up in conversation more than one would imagine.”
“Does it really?”
“It really does.”
“Alright then.”
“When I was 12, I was dealing with my conflicted sexuality. A very classical story of denial and despair over my attraction to men, rather than to women.”
“Aha.”
“Why did you say aha?”
“It was simply a statement of having understood what you said.”
“It did not sound like simply a statement of having understood what I said.”
“Didn’t it?”
“No, it did not.”
“What did it sound like then?”
“It sounded as if you are ready to lay the entire fault for my oddity with my acceptance process of my homosexuality when I was 12.”
“I was intending no such thing. I was simply recognising the possibility that it had an impact on your situation.”
“Alright then.”
“It would be silly to assume a natural process of self-acceptance would cause your symptoms, after all, there are plenty of homosexual men and woman out there who do not fly into a randy rage whenever they hear someone say cotton candy.”
“Exactly.”
“Go on, you were 12 and dealing with your sexuality.”
“Yes, right. Well, I was desperately attempting to assert my heterosexuality when one of our teachers became ill and he was temporarily replaced.”
“Was he seriously ill?”
“Oh no, a small bladder operation if I recall correctly, he was up on his feet and teaching again within two months.”
“Very good.”
“Indeed.”
“A substitute teacher you said.”
“He was a God. A glorious piece of manhood, from top to toe he was a slice of perfection: wavy brown hair, a noble brow, blue eyes with mischievous lights playing in his irises, a smile that could disarm the entire Russian army, strong broad shoulders, bulging biceps, barely contained by his respectable teacher shirt, pecs straining against the fabric, a flat stomach, hindquarters that were so firm and round that they were like a melon, sliced in half and stuck into his pants, a groin that seemed to WANT to be out of his corduroy slacks, oh, how many nights I have spent picturing what delicious Hors d’Oeuvres were hidden underneath that sturdy fabric, the amounts of pubescent semen I have spilled over the image of his buttocks pushing against his trousers when he picked up his satchel…”
“…”
“I am ever so sorry doctor, I got carried away.”
“Oh no, that is quite alright.”
“Doctor?”
“Yes?”
“Do you… do you have an erection.”
“No… not at all.”
“From over here, it looks as if…”
“I just have an unfortunate crease in my pants.”
“…”
“Please, continue.”
“…”
“Do go on.”
“…”
“Please?”
“Alright then…”
“Thank you.”
“You can guess which teacher he replaced of course.”
“Can I?”
“I should think you can, an educated man like yourself.”
“Yes… Uh… I seem to have a bit of a black-out right now.”
“You seem to be moving around in your seat very uncomfortably.”
“Hemmoroids.”
“…”
“Yes, unpleasant business, I know. Which teacher did he replace?”
“My geopgraphy teacher!”
“Ah, I see, I should have guessed that indeed.”
“The subject matter for those two months was of course…”
“Cotton candy?”
“No, Corsica.”
“Corsica?”
“Yes, Corsica.”
“What does Corsica have to do with anything?”
“Well, since then I associate cotton candy with sex.”
“But Corsica isn’t a cotton candy…”
“… What?”
“It’s an island.”
“Seriously?”
“Yes…”
“…”
“Perhaps you were not paying much attention to the lessons and a little too much to your geography adonis’ endowments?”
“It would seem so.”
“You must feel very overwhelmed now.”
“Yes, I am.”
“I understand.”
“No, you do not. All my sexually active life, I have been afflicted by this animal passion whenever I heard someone say pen… cotton candy. I become a wild raging beast of lust whenever the word is uttered, I must have no holds barred sex! I must lick, squeeze, suck, slobber, fornicate, nothing can stop me! I go on for hours and do not stop until I am completely emptied and bewildered, until my partner passes out underneath me in pure fatigue. And all over a misconception? I become a passionate, uncontrollable sex-god because I didn’t pay attention in class?”
“…”
“Doctor?”
“…”
“You seem to be slobbering a bit, are you alright?”
“Yes…”
“Oh doctor, I simply do not know what to do!”
“I know exactly what to do…”
“You do?”
“Oh yes.”
“Tell me!”
“PENINSULA!”

I've got some big news

2006-07-19T16:18:00.000-07:00

That morning, on a quiet street corner.

"I'm not trying to disgust you or anything, I'm just saying."
"No, I understand."
"After all, people need to be able to talk about their problems don't they?"
"Of course."
"So, here goes... My boyfriend and I are having sexual problems."
"Are you now?"
"Yes."
"..."
"I never thought this would happen, you know."
"Well, any relationship cools down after a while. You must try to keep the spark going."
"Cools down?! I wish!"
"I do not follow."
"He's an insatiable maniac!"
"..."
"I'm practically dehydrated! The man won't leave me alone! I must be the only man with whose anal stretchmars have stretchmarks of themselves!"
"..."
"And as if he is not horny enough in daily life, he also has an odd fetish."
"Shoes?"
"What?"
"Shoe fetish?"
"No, why would you think that?"
"... Some men get turned on by a nice shoe. One with a big heel. Black and shiny. Smelling freshly polished... Sleek..."
"..."
"So ... not shoes then."
"No."
"I was just guessing."
"Alright."
"Do go on."
"Peninsulas."
"... What?"
"He gets horny from the word peninsula."
"..."
"I swear!"
"You are trying to fool me aren't you?"
"No, really."
"... Explain... please... explain."
"I don't have an explanation, whenever he hears the word peninsula he turns into a rabid beast, he literally tears the clothes off my body and has his way with me, his hands groping all over, hos tongue exploring every inch of my body and a lot of inches inside it too! His fingers pry me open and slide..."
"I really do not feel the need to know all the details."
"What? Oh yes, sorry, I got carried away there for a moment."
"So, you don't like it when he's so beastlike with you?"
"I wouldn't say that, it's just so exhausting sometimes. And inappropriate at times."
"Inappropriate?"
"Well, believe it or not, the word peninsula is said a lot more than one would expect."
"Is it really?"
"Yes, really."
"..."
"For example, a few months ago we had dinner with my parents. Nice people, they had a tough time accepting my sexual orientation, but they came around."
"That's very nice of them."
"Isn't it?"
"It really is."
"And they like my boyfriend too, or I should say, they USED TO like him."
"Should you now?"
"Yes, I should."
"..."
"See, at this dinner they also invited my uncle Herm, who is a minister, also a nice enough man, but a tad old fashioned, you know the type."
"I have an uncle Herm too."
"Do you? What a coincidence!"
"He isn't a minister though."
"Isn't he?"
"No."
What is he then?"
"He works for the phone company."
"Well, that's a nice honest job as well."
"It is."
"Now where was I?"
"Dinner with your parents and uncle Herm."
"Ow yes, thank you."
"Not a problem."
"So we are at dinner and my parents are telling me about their vacation they took, they had just come back you see."
"Did they? Where did they go to?"
"Pilio."
"I do not believe I know it."
"It's in Greece."
"Lovely country."
"Couldn't say, I've never been."
"Me either, but I imagine it to be rather lovely."
"Oh yes, the pictures are very lovely."
"So, go on."
"Well, dinner is very nice, we talk about what they did and when we get to dessert, uncle Herm says 'Say, Pilio is an island , is it not?' and my mother says 'No Herm, it's a peninsula.' I swear, I was terrified, because I could see my boyfriends eyes widen and his crotch bulge."
"Oh dear."
"Oh dear indeed! Before I knew it he had me in the downstairs bathroom, pants around my ankles and he kept screaming 'I am going to go Gibraltar on your ass.'"
"Gibraltar?"
"Another peninsula."
"I see."
"I was mortified and kept trying to make him stop, but he really is a beast in these conditions."
"Did your parents know what was going on?"
"Well, in his passion he neglected to close the door, so they had quite a show."
"Oh dear."
"Indeed. My mother is still mentally incapble of throwing a formal dinner party. She tried to have just a simple Fish and Chips get together with her sister, but she broke down sobbing half way through."
"Poor woman."
"Isn't she? My father took it rather well, he mumbled something about his time in the army, but I am not entirely sure what he meant by that, maybe it was the shock."
"..."
"And Uncle Herm positively refuses to speak to me anymore!"
"That is terrible."
"Isn't it?"
"It really is."
"So, afterwards I had a serious talk with him, avoiding any mention of peninsulas and even islands, just to be on the safe side, though I did say something about penis and insult rather fast after each other and that nearly got him going again."
"..."
"Anywho he promised to never act like that in public again."
"That's something."
"Yes, I thought it rather sweet. He really is a sweet man."
"I can see that."
"Thank you."
"That's alright."
"And he did, for quite a while, until yesterday."
"Yesterday."
"Yesterday, my friend Anne came over. Lovely girl, but unlucky in love and all. All her men cheated on her and used her for sex."
"Such a shame what some men stoop to."
"Isn't it?"
"It really is."
"She said she had become convinced that the only man she could be around without having to worry about sex, was me, being a gay one."
"Shame she's so bitter, how old is she."
"She only 22."
"Real shame to be so bitter at such a young age."
"Isn't it?"
"It really rather is."
"So, we talk and my boyfriend is around, but he gives us our friend space, you know."
"Very nice of him."
"Indeed, very nice."
"Suddenly, Anne looks on her watch and says she hadn't realised how late it was and that there was a program on the telly she wanted to see and it was about to start, so of course I say she can watch it on our telly."
"Very kind of you."
"It's only natural."
"Indeed."
"So she turns it on and I ask 'What is it about Anne?' and she says 'The most beautiful peninsulas of the world.'"
"Oh dear..."
"Oh dear indeed! I was anxious, but he seemed to be in control and he bravely attempted to hide his erection, which is no small matter."
"Hiding it?"
"His erection is no small matter, so hiding it isn't either."
"..."
"Problem was, Anne kept talking and saying things like 'is that not the most beautiful peninsula you ever saw' and 'peninsula is such a funny word' and she kept on going like that."
"Oh dear."
"Indeed!! Half way through the show he shouts ' I cannot stand it any longer, I must have you now!"
"Oh my."
"And then he did! On Anne"s lap! She shrieked all the way through."
"Oh my..."
"She joined a woman's group this morning. Shaved her head bald as an egg and threw out her LadyShave."
"..."
"So you can see why I am a tad razzled today."
"I can."
"Anywho, how did we get into all this again?"
"I said: here you go sir, would you like sugar on your waffle?"
"Oh no thank you, just plain please."

I am a Saint for semen

2006-07-17T16:01:00.000-07:00

Deemer / Vows are spoken to be broken zegt:
..why do you want a shetland pony?
Endless Audacity *Little boys who aren't polite give the pro-choice movement a reason to exist* zegt:
I've always wanted one
Endless Audacity *Little boys who aren't polite give the pro-choice movement a reason to exist* zegt:
It's not even a joke
Deemer / Vows are spoken to be broken zegt:
Really? =]
Endless Audacity *Little boys who aren't polite give the pro-choice movement a reason to exist* zegt:
really
Endless Audacity *Little boys who aren't polite give the pro-choice movement a reason to exist* zegt:
why does no one ever believe that

I should update, or else I'll lose my whole rhytmn and updates will be lacking for months again. Unfortunately I have nothing to say, so I'm sort of thinking it up as I go along, which might not be the best idea since I am rather ill.

Or very ill. Which is typical because my two weeks vacation started today. My body fought all the kiddie germs and waited for the vacation to break down in a snotty, blubbering, coughing, feverish mess. Thanks a lot body, like it wasn't enough you decided to expand on me *kicks self*.

So I read "The World According to Garp", which you should all go get, now! But no one ever listens to me so screw you all and don't read it and I'll sit here like a crazy people and scream "You don't know what you are missing" and then hawk up half my longs. That'll show you, muahahahahaha.

Okay, I may possibly have overdosed on my Dafalgan a teensy bit.

So people at work think I'm weird, apparantly. I'm not sure why, since they haven't even been introduced to the things I think are weird about me. But they think I'm weird already, so in a couple of months they will probably think I'm certifiable. Which is by the way a really hard word to spell for me, I always get it wrong, so it might be wrong again now. Same with conundrum, it sounds great, but really, how the heck do you write it?

I don't think I'm that weird. When I look at the people around me, they are all more or less as strange as me. Although the only really weird one I can think of right now is Frank. And he might be hors categorie.

But I , and the people around me, do seem to tend to get (wow, verbapalooza) into odd situations. When I was 18, I became convinced that we were a television show, a bad one, with completely unbelievable storylines. I didn't just joke about it, I thoroughly believed it. I even wrote a sort of thesis about it to convince my friends. I managed to convince only one of them, but I suppose that's something. For the record, I don't think we're a television show anymore. Except sometimes, maybe, a little.

Accoring to Karo, it's strange that I get annoyed when there are numbers in my call register thing, and I always delete them as soon as I've received or made a call. Same for my internet history, I only go to sites via links or favourites, I cannot stand it when there are things in the bar itself. I just consider it a healthy cyber cleaning urge.

And Tim thinks it's weird that I always have to eat my vegetables and potatoes, before I eat my meat (with the obvious exceptions being sausage and chicken cubes). This does not apply to fries or rice, then the order doesn't matter. It's not even really compulsive, I CAN eat the meat first if someone points it out, I just don't do it out of my own will. I think it must be a 'eat your vegetables' thing from when I was a kid or something.

So, I'm not weird. I'm eccentric. And no more than Karo, Tim, or anyone else is. Well, maybe a little more than Kevin. Who thinks it's weird (or maybe that was Kenneth, who really shouldn't talk about weird) that I have a mild distastes for orgasms in porn. I have no objections to it in real life, I just do not feel the need to see it televised.

Also, poodles bother me. They're not really little dogs, but not really big either and what's with the hair? They upset me, creepy doglike-but-not-quite things they are.

Endless Audacity *Ziek* zegt:
that'll be some surprised poodle
Endless Audacity *Ziek* zegt:
what is it with me and insulting poodles?
Endless Audacity *Ziek* zegt:
Maybe they remind me of Jessica Simpson
Endless Audacity *Ziek* zegt:
or vice versa

But I like those sausage dogs, they just look so comical.

Speaking of looking comical, it's time for the Boy Toy of the Blog and a bunch of celebrities.

Boy Toy being this one, who's not exactly so hot. Although he does have something. Possible herpes. But he looks funny, tee hee.

An old picture, but it fits the weird hair thing: Christina Aguilera. Boy, I'd hate to be around her in an angora sweater.

Here is Courtney Cox - Arquette's boob popping out. Not so interesting, but I love the look on the kid's face. He's all "Yo fellas, you getting this? Come on, take a couple of pictures of these mammaries!"

Straight men getting drunk and snogging, a common occurence and I don't know a straight man who hasn't done it. Although, according to some theories by my gay friends, this just means I don't know any straight men. When celebrities do it, you sort of hope for Jake Gyllenhaal and Ryan Phillipe, but what do you get? Yeah, Tommy 'I am a wife beater and proud of it' Lee and Dave 'I married the other, slightly less popular Baywatch chick' Navarro. We are not turned on.

Speaking of the beaten wife, she really has been out and about a lot lately. And I now understand why she doesn't bother covering up her boobs: she has supernipples that refuse to be put out of sight. Even a bra and a sweater will not conceal them. So it makes sense that she pops out of her top every chance she gets. I wonder if her kids are as cool as the Arquette one with all those pictures.

Jessica Simpson had a birthday, which means she is one year closer to being old and ugly and out of the media and possibly hawking pillow cases or leg wax on the Home Shopping Channel, so congrats to you girl! Although I am puzzled at her posing for a non-existant photographer at the party... Luckily a papparazzo was there to capture Jessica standing around and striking poses.

For those who hate Kevin Federline, here's a game. It's dull and lame, but whatever.

And this is mildly amusing and greatly disturbing. If you're too damn poor to afford the real one, you can now hire this Paris Hilton look-alike to come to your parties. Really. To stand around, say something stupid, get drunk, pee in a corner and give herpes to your first born child and/or dog? The amusing bit is how she doesn't even look like Paris at all. She's just fake blond and fake tanned, and that's where the resemblance ends.

And in closing. Eva Longoria is the 'saucy Latina' from Desperate Housewives, who is considered very hot, although I always thought she was pretty, but nothing special. Eva was photographed without her make-up and yikes! Even I have less hair growing in my lip. So next time the ladies despair at not looking like the people on television, keep this in mind.

It's all over your face, baby, tell me how does it taste

2006-07-09T13:52:00.000-07:00

Apparantly I have a rather passionate fan (imagine that!) who has taken the time to study the symbolism in my titles. According to him, they always have some highly obscure relation to the topic post and my mental condition at the time of posting. While such attention is flattering and somewhat scary, I must dissapoint. I used to bother making up titles, but since my posts usually are about everything and nothing, it was sort of hard to find one that suited it. When I first arrived at Blogger, I posted without titles, but I didn't like the lay-out, it just didn't look 'nice' to me. So now I pick my titles in a very simple way: whatever sentence of whatever song rolls by at the time I'm starting the post.

Today that would be part of Cazwell's delightfully vulgar 'All Over Your Face' and there really is no need to look for symbolism behind that one...

In other news: I have resumed writing, finally, after being spurred on by both Rens and Kevin for a while. We'll see how far I get this time.

Uh, and that's about it really. Uh. To make it somewhat interesting, here's picture of Paris Hilton. I'm not completely sure what happened here, but this is my scenario: while visiting the zoo, Paris ran into Pamela Anderson's breasts and, jealous about being under-endowed in that department, she viciously attacked the former baywatch star, eventually succeeding in scalping the mother of two and parading it around as a wiglike trophy. Adrenaline flowing, Paris went on a rampage and brutally butchered the zoo's prized flamingos, causing their feathers to become stuck to her E-Z-Tan spray, which she applies religiously and tends to be somewhat sticky. Only then noticing she was running late for showing up on a red carpet for some kind of event, she rushed to it, stumbling through the gift shop, and becoming entangled in cheap kiddie jewelry in the shape of butterflies. Feeling that the boob tube she had on might be a bit too subtle, she then ditched it and covered her breasts up with her belt.

Or maybe Paris Hilton is just a slut with no taste.

Either way...

I can't wait to freak, see you at the same time next week

2006-07-07T13:31:00.000-07:00

K_x (dirty numb angel boy - Drink the six mile water) zegt:
the internet is zo lek als een zeef
K_x (dirty numb angel boy - Drink the six mile water) zegt:
people are reading this conversation as we type it!
K_x (dirty numb angel boy - Drink the six mile water) zegt:
well
K_x (dirty numb angel boy - Drink the six mile water) zegt:
at least they could if they would be interested
Endless Audacity *It's so sad you just have to laugh* zegt:
wow, they must be bored
K_x (dirty numb angel boy - Drink the six mile water) zegt:
I am a danger to world peace
K_x (dirty numb angel boy - Drink the six mile water) zegt:
let's try something
K_x (dirty numb angel boy - Drink the six mile water) zegt:
"axis of evil" "fuck america" "go allah"
K_x (dirty numb angel boy - Drink the six mile water) zegt:
voila
K_x (dirty numb angel boy - Drink the six mile water) zegt:
that should get their attention
Endless Audacity *It's so sad you just have to laugh* zegt:
"anal sex with children"
Endless Audacity *It's so sad you just have to laugh* zegt:
if I get fired tomorrow , your theory is proven
K_x (dirty numb angel boy - Drink the six mile water) zegt:
hehehehe

I am thoroughly convinced there is an odd cult of nightstore owners that has made Lier its centre. There are by now at least 4 nightstores in Lier that I know of. The original one was about 10 minutes walk from here and was originally run by two brothers, until the elder one killed the younger and after that another one opened up so I never went there again.

The newer nightstore was only a 5 minute walk, and was run by a rather large friendly man. A very friendly man. He was always so cheerful and would ask how I was doing and compliment my dog (this was back when I still walked it and sometimes took it places, but its repeated jumping on cash registers and peeing against windows forced me to abandon this) and he would always offer me a drink in his private quarters, which I always politely declined. He just seemed like a very friendly little man who was happy someone understood his English.

Then he tricked my brother into giving him my cellphone number (it's rather easy to trick my brother, he claimed we went to school together, which just doesn't make all that much sense) and he called me practically every day, inviting me over for drinks. To make matters worse, he then began to take the same bus as me, and he would always sit very close to me. After having rejected his advanced for about 3 months, he turned the nightstore over to someone else (no, I'm not big-headed enough to claim these two events are related) and a new one opened up, this one only a 2 minute walk away. Yes, they're all in the same street, practically next to each other, I never got it either.

The new nightstore was run by a Pakistan man, with very bad hairplugs. The kind that look like plastic pins stuck in the skull. He was also a very nice man. So nice that he managed to grope me halfway up the arm and rub it all the way down whenever he handed me my change. He would also find things to compliment, though the dog was not an option, since by now I no longer let him accompany me.

After a while this man also gave up the nightstore business and it was taken over by another large man, who was very civil at first, but after a while began the same 'grope and return money' bit. I could almost believe it's a cultural thing, except that this one would always very ostentatively wave his pink bracelet that you could get at Navigaytion and other places alike, in my face. Only when I was the only customer though. He would also comment on my jeans, as in, snug.

Getting a bit tired of it, I gave the second nightstore another try, meanwhile taken over by another man. I don't even need to say what started happening shortly after :p

It's a cult. A cult of gay nightstore owners that for some reason all come to Lier to pick up men with promises of free Wodka. There is no other explanation. Then the good news: the latest one is , while far from attractive, a huge step forward.

I am eagerly awaiting his replacement.

Boy Toy of the Blog is another Jiri. Or possibly the same one with a silly cap on. Whatever.

Pamela Anderson, despite having no apparant job, is in the 'news' a lot lately. She also took off her clothes a lot lately. And by lately, I mean since she turned 16, in 1925, when the world was just revovering from the First Great War, as Pam calls it. Here she is wearing a 'dress' and we wonder why she bothered. A quick shot of her rubbing lotion all over herself. There's a ton of pictures with her rubbing and rubbing, but really, there's not a straight person who reads this stuff and I've never heard a lesbian proclaim Pamela Anderson a hottie. And here she is in a bikini, (traumatizing) playing with her kids. Nice funbags mommy!

When the jester sang for the King and Queen

2006-07-05T06:02:00.000-07:00

Endless Audacity *Shred moi* zegt:
surely, though I am dissappointed
Deemer / zegt:
why so
Endless Audacity *Shred moi* zegt:
because sour is a good look for me
Endless Audacity *Shred moi* zegt:
bah humbug
Deemer / zegt:
bumhug?
Endless Audacity *Shred moi* zegt:
I'd love a bumhug
Endless Audacity *Shred moi* zegt:
I guess
Deemer / zegt:
bumhugs are .. always fun? I.. guess?
Deemer / zegt:
I'm confused
Endless Audacity *Shred moi* zegt:
I think it would look weird
Deemer / zegt:
yeah.. sorta.
Deemer / zegt:
especially in public
Deemer / zegt:
.. and with a random person
Deemer / zegt:
anyhoo
Deemer / zegt:
goodnight crazy bobman.
Endless Audacity *Shred moi* zegt:
goodnight bumhugger

For those who are challenged in the sense department: it's bleeping hot! While all I want to do, is crawl under a rock and wait for a cooler day, the kids at the day care insist on playing outside, in the full sun. And they insist I accompany them. There's like 8 others, but nooooooo, I have to go stand in the sun. I'm actually getting a tan. Which hasn't occurred since 1993.

Working in the vacation is very different than in the school year. First of all, obviously, because there are kids around all day. Secondly because we do more organised activities (which we all scratched yesterday in favour of playing with water) and third, because there all a hell of a lot more kids (damnit, I only JUST had the names of the regular 70 memorised.)

In other news: Mister Flufferton - Whiskersniffs has survived, all rejoice. Rens and me met up in Antwerp (it had been a year since we actually saw each other and considering we'd been msn'ing bullshit for all that time, we figured it was time to do it in real life. We succeeded admirably.). Also, I hate the new summer fashion, there is not a pair of pants in H&M I'd consider wurming myself into, except maybe those of the sales boy, but that for a whole different reason. Lorre and me went for a late night terrace and we were squeezed in between loud Dutch people and a stag party. Which was so entertaining we stayed much longer than we had planned. The groom-to-be was seriously liquored up, as were most of the guests, and he continually pawed the other men and tried to kiss them. His father-in-law-to-be (wow, hyphen orgy), a grey, fat little man, showed off his pubic hair (also grey, grissly and more ample than the hairs on his head) and his lesbian daughter kept scoffing for him to come home, which he ignored with all the drunk dignity he could muster. Somewhere along the proceedings the bridal party also arrived, which resulted in a fight between the engaged party, and with the bride-to-be humping the groom's best man. It was glorious from beginnin 'till end, we laughed, we speculated and we commented, perhaps too loudly at times. I imagine them to be like the Pfaffs, if the Pfaffs didn't have money and a mansion and a couple of daughters that are considered good-looking by ailing grandfathers and furiously masturbating virgins with dental problems. Don't ask how I know about their dental problems, it just seems sort of obvious to me.

Dear oh dear, how I'd love to be at that wedding!

Boy Toy of the Blog is James, who looks all wholesome and sort of like he should be driving a tractor, while wearing an overall with only on clasp closed.

Only very vaguely related: I seem to be developing a fetish for bus drivers. I don't know if it's the fact that I'm on the bus all the bleeping time, the uniforms, or the fact that De Lijn has apparantly fired half their drivers to replace them by virile young men that look like movie stars. I was on 4 buses today and each of the drivers was in his twenties, and quite hot. Anyone else notice an increase in attractive bus drivers, or is it just on my lines?

Our top topic of the day: useless celebrities and why people care about them. I'm not even going to mention Paris bleeping Hilton, because, really, what's left to say and I suppose technically she does have some sort of career (mainly having her 'nipples' 'accidentally' 'slip' out of her 'clothes'). Same goes for that atrocity of nature I have such a great dislike for. Though it actually hurts to refer to what she does as a career, it is technically one.

No, I am talking about those people of whom no one really knows what it is they do for a living, and yet they show up everywhere, pictures are taken and splattered across magazines and it is as if no one ever dares to just say: look, who are you and why are you here?

Prime example of this is Bai Ling or Ling Bai, I have no idea which is right. Yes, according to IMDB she has been in some movies. Thrilling roles as 'Girl', 'Panelist', 'Punky Photographer', 'Miss East'. All Oscar worthy and just overlooked I am sure. Her main claim to fame is that her one scene in Star Wars III was cut and she said it was because of her Playboy centerfold, which is ridiculous, because everyone already knew what Bai Ling's goodies look like. She has them out and about whenever she is out and about, which is everytime a camera snaps. Annoyingly enough, despite an obvious lack in taste, brains, or noticeable talent (hey, I saw Wild Wild West and she was crap as Miss East), this overexposing of herself and her not-so-private parts seems to work. She has four movies coming up where her character actually has a name.

Jodie Marsh really has been showcased enough, as has Jordan. They do nothing, except show their ample fake - I hesitate to call them this - breasts, and yet they're everywhere.

Kevin Federline is another puzzle. Yes, he married a famous popstar and turned her into a greasy blubbering mess, quite an achievement. He also released his own album, which no one liked. No one. Not even Mariah Carey's Glitter was disliked by everyone and I'm pretty sure she skins baby kittens to make slippers out of them. Also, he's not attractive, even when he tries to be, and he's not funny, even when he's pretending to rear end his wife.

Remember when Tara Reid was a talented young actress? No? Me either. But remember when she was a young girl, who did get a lot of movie roles and was adored by many? Because she was, around the time of American Pie and Urban Legend and stuff like that. Now she's just a pumped up, pudgy, boozing cow, whose last 'job' was Taradise, and that's sad enough to make any girl cry. Especially a girl that once had her hands firmly on Jared Bleeping Leto.

Brandon Davis is the ultimate example of someone who does nothing. Like Paris, he is the child of a multi-million dollar family and he will not need to work a day in his life. He's actually worse than Paris, because at least she still does things even though she doesn't need the money. Davis shot to fame for being a druggie, drinker, dating Misha Barton from the O.C. and calling Lindsay Lohan a Firecrotch. He is currently in rehab and one can only hope he will die, I mean, heal there.

While I get annoyed at the sight and/or sound of Hillary Duff, she has done things to deserve her status of teen queen. She was Lizzie McGuire, which seems to mean a whole lot, she made music and had new teeth put in. What puzzles me is why her sister, Haylie Duff is just as famous as she is. She looks vaguely like her, yes, like if her twin brother would dress up like a woman, he would look like Haylie. She sings background on her sister's songs, hooray for nepotism. And what? She sneaks into every damn picture of her sister and smiles her, not replaced, teeth into one of the most maniacal grins I've seen since my dad heard that my mum drove her car into a creek.

And then there is Courtney Peldon (and to a lesser extent the unfortunately named sister, Brown Peldon, really, Brown. Like a bear. yes, her name is Brown.) who is always everywhere, almost always wearing something so heinous it almost seems like she's being ironic about it and why is she there? According to IMDB again, she has done some movie work. Guest starring in a couple of episodes of whatever, with descriptions such as:

Five teenage girls learn that they have been chosen to guard the walls between parallel universes. For this purpose, they have been given the powers of the elements.

Basically she has done nothing to deserve any attention whatsoever, except maybe from a merciful stylist. And still, she is everywhere. She practically deserves a blog dedicated just to her and her horrible outfits.

*deep sigh*

Anyways, I remember when I saw Bend it like Beckham and that Keira Knightley was so freshfaced and pretty and sort of cool and how she then made it big and was still pretty, though she made some real stinkers of movies. She must have taken it hard, because this is what that pretty freshfaced girl looks like now. Imagine sex with that. Now imagine explaining to the doctor how you cut off your nipples when you made contact with her ribs.

Another adherent of the legion of the foodless is meanwhile trying to concince us she is putting on weight in a very cunning way. She has bought a shirt 5 sizes too small and now parades the city, screaming at everyone: "You see! You see! I eat! I am bursting out of my clothes, are you happy now?!!? Oh God, I need to purge and have half a lemon slice."

I don't think I mentioned this, but I like Lindsay Lohan. I liked her as a fiery busty redhead in Mean Girls, because that was just so good. I liked her as an attention whore in the mediocre Confessions of a Teenage Drama Queen, I enjoyed her in Freaky Friday, I liked her as a drugged out blonde who just kept creating vendettas with other teen queens after sleeping with their boyfriends, I smirked as her breasts kept falling out her dress whenever, I liked her when she kept crashing cars and blaming the paparazzi, I like how her publicist seems more and more desperate every time she has to deny yet another rumour about her client and I'm waiting for the moment when I read an article about Lindsay being strangled and her publicist screaming "TRY TO EXPLAIN THIS TO THE MEDIA BITCH!", I ESPECIALLY liked her when she made Jessica Simpson cry. In short, she's a talented train wreck with a temperament and tons of entertainment.

I'm not crazy about THIS Lindsay. Holy Kazooks!

In closing: Li'l Kim was released from prison and she wasted no time returning to her routine of letting her breasts fall out of her dress. Bravo, may we all withstand trial and hardship in such a brave way.

En elke zondagmiddag is het feest in de straat

2006-07-02T07:56:00.000-07:00

Endless Audacity *Shred moi* zegt:
some guy on msn I don't remember just kissed me
Deemer / Vows are spoken to be broken zegt:
creepy
Endless Audacity *Shred moi* zegt:
he speaks an odd mixture of english and dutch, i can't decide what language to use
Deemer / Vows are spoken to be broken zegt:
taiwanese!
Deemer / Vows are spoken to be broken zegt:
[.. you can ignore that]
Endless Audacity *Shred moi* zegt:
ignored
Endless Audacity *Shred moi* zegt:
damn, who is this person
Deemer / Vows are spoken to be broken zegt:
haha
Deemer / Vows are spoken to be broken zegt:
I hate that
Endless Audacity *Shred moi* zegt:
ugh, crap

Camperson zegt:
plannen voor tonght?
Endless Audacity *Shred moi* zegt:
nope, probably op café of zow
Endless Audacity *Shred moi* zegt:
jij?
Camperson zegt:
hadto much wine to drive now....
Endless Audacity *Shred moi* zegt:
that's no good
Camperson zegt:
the only thing i can have is some cybersex...

Deemer / Vows are spoken to be broken zegt:
haha
Deemer / Vows are spoken to be broken zegt:
this is going well
Endless Audacity *Shred moi* zegt:
hmm, according to his profile he's from *beep*
Endless Audacity *Shred moi* zegt:
maybe it's one of lorre's aliases
Endless Audacity *Shred moi* zegt:
nah, his english is better
Endless Audacity *Shred moi* zegt:
he stopped talking, guess he got suspicious
Deemer / Vows are spoken to be broken zegt:
aww
Deemer / Vows are spoken to be broken zegt:
too bad
Deemer / Vows are spoken to be broken zegt:
seemed very entertaining
Endless Audacity *Shred moi* zegt:
ah, he asks for cam
Endless Audacity *Shred moi* zegt:
Well, I don't have one
Endless Audacity *Shred moi* zegt:
this guy is ffing weird
Endless Audacity *Shred moi* zegt:
i'm so gonna make him cam, just so maybe i'll know who the hell he is
Deemer / Vows are spoken to be broken zegt:
yeah
Deemer / Vows are spoken to be broken zegt:
still, this is funny
Endless Audacity *Shred moi* zegt:
sorta mean to keep a drunk man on the line though
Endless Audacity *Shred moi* zegt:
plus
Endless Audacity *Shred moi* zegt:
he's gonna want me to 'give instructions' and I'm soooo bad at that
Endless Audacity *Shred moi* zegt:
I was never any good at phone or cyber sex
Deemer / Vows are spoken to be broken zegt:
just be like
Deemer / Vows are spoken to be broken zegt:
"jerk off."
Deemer / Vows are spoken to be broken zegt:
"okay now keep doing that 'till you have an orgasm"
Deemer / Vows are spoken to be broken zegt:
"enjoy"
Endless Audacity *Shred moi* zegt:
I'm not sure that'll turn him on
Deemer / Vows are spoken to be broken zegt:
just call him bitch in between
Deemer / Vows are spoken to be broken zegt:
"jerk off, bitch"
Deemer / Vows are spoken to be broken zegt:
"now keep doing that 'till you have an orgasm, bitch"
Deemer / Vows are spoken to be broken zegt:
"enjoy, bitch"
Deemer / Vows are spoken to be broken zegt:
see?
Endless Audacity *Shred moi* zegt:
you've done this , I take it
Deemer / Vows are spoken to be broken zegt:
yes =] I have cybersex with weird people who talk english/dutch on my msn who I don't even know
Endless Audacity *Shred moi* zegt:
he's preparing the show
Endless Audacity *Shred moi* zegt:
If I see chickens or any ofther farm life...
Deemer / Vows are spoken to be broken zegt:
whut?
Endless Audacity *Shred moi* zegt:
dunno, he needs 5 more minutes to prepare
Endless Audacity *Shred moi* zegt:
no idea what that means
Deemer / Vows are spoken to be broken zegt:
wow
Deemer / Vows are spoken to be broken zegt:
"I'm still trying to take my pants off!"
Endless Audacity *Shred moi* zegt:
ieuw
Endless Audacity *Shred moi* zegt:
dirty white boxers
Endless Audacity *Shred moi* zegt:
classy
Endless Audacity *Shred moi* zegt:
scratch that, white undershirt TUCKED into dirty white boxers
Endless Audacity *Shred moi* zegt:
he wants me to tell him
Endless Audacity *Shred moi* zegt:
help
Endless Audacity *Shred moi* zegt:
help
Endless Audacity *Shred moi* zegt:
damnit, you
Endless Audacity *Shred moi* zegt:
I suck at this
Endless Audacity *Shred moi* zegt:
who still wears undershirts? it's 2006! and it's boiling hot
Endless Audacity *Shred moi* zegt:
ieuw, shiny penis head
Endless Audacity *Shred moi* zegt:
I could really use some feedback here
Endless Audacity *Shred moi* zegt:
you know, he seems to be doing fine without me meddling
Endless Audacity *Shred moi* zegt:
damnit, if at least he showed his face, I might know who the hell he is
Endless Audacity *Shred moi* zegt:
I'm not even sure what I'm looking at anymore
Endless Audacity *Shred moi* zegt:
might be an elbow
Endless Audacity *Shred moi* zegt:
I want it to stop
Deemer / Vows are spoken to be broken zegt:
pretend you're really getting in to it
Endless Audacity *Shred moi* zegt:
would it be rude to like block him now
Deemer / Vows are spoken to be broken zegt:
no. no it would not be.
Deemer / Vows are spoken to be broken zegt:
but
Deemer / Vows are spoken to be broken zegt:
you wouldn't know what he looks like
Endless Audacity *Shred moi* zegt:
almost over thank god
Endless Audacity *Shred moi* zegt:
I don't fucking care what he looks like
Endless Audacity *Shred moi* zegt:
I cannot know this person very well
Endless Audacity *Shred moi* zegt:
none of my friends would do this to me
Endless Audacity *Shred moi* zegt:
I think he splattered the lense
Endless Audacity *Shred moi* zegt:
I am way too polite to people
Endless Audacity *Shred moi* zegt:
really
Endless Audacity *Shred moi* zegt:
the picture is all milky now
Endless Audacity *Shred moi* zegt:
screw this, let him finish by himself , I' gonna play hartenjagen
Deemer / Vows are spoken to be broken zegt:
seriously
Deemer / Vows are spoken to be broken zegt:
block'm.
Endless Audacity *Shred moi* zegt:
after he's done
Endless Audacity *Shred moi* zegt:
only seems polite
Deemer / Vows are spoken to be broken zegt:
"I GOTTA GO BYEBYE."
Endless Audacity *Shred moi* zegt:
i'll just check the window every once in a while
Deemer / Vows are spoken to be broken zegt:
haha okay
Endless Audacity *Shred moi* zegt:
this is taking too long, i'm gonna say something encouraging
Deemer / Vows are spoken to be broken zegt:
"who's my big brave boy?"
Endless Audacity *Shred moi* zegt:
uh
Endless Audacity *Shred moi* zegt:
i just said
Endless Audacity *Shred moi* zegt:
go for it
Deemer / Vows are spoken to be broken zegt:
mine was nicer
Endless Audacity *Shred moi* zegt:
i must be the worst cyber sex ever
Deemer / Vows are spoken to be broken zegt:
weird & creepy. but nicer.
Endless Audacity *Shred moi* zegt:
I'm even cheating with you
Deemer / Vows are spoken to be broken zegt:
haha
Deemer / Vows are spoken to be broken zegt:
you slut you
Endless Audacity *Shred moi* zegt:
though you might be more interesting and have better underwear on
Endless Audacity *Shred moi* zegt:
I hope
Endless Audacity *Shred moi* zegt:
oh lord do I hope
Deemer / Vows are spoken to be broken zegt:
if his was a dirty white one
Deemer / Vows are spoken to be broken zegt:
then yes
Deemer / Vows are spoken to be broken zegt:
yes I do have better underwear
Endless Audacity *Shred moi* zegt:
ah, he's done