...a guy grab you by the waist, drag you off the dancefloor, walk over to the bar, grab two Tequila shots, do the shots with you, and then ignore you altogether?
What's the fucking point of that?
I've been wondering for two days now and I still don't get it. Any ideas?
And why would said guy bite into the lemon before taking the shot?
Tuesday 29 January 2008
Monday 28 January 2008
Saturday 26 January 2008
Come on baby, so we can dance this groove...
Even a socialist backwater can produce sexy lounge tunes. Here are Sweden's Plej, with "You".
Tuesday 22 January 2008
Four Hookups and a Funeral
Just joking. Relax, I'm not that bad. Just couldn't resist this title. But what a crazy day it was.
My mom had decided to go to the funeral after all, and so we decided to travel together.
Waking up early, getting into my formal dress, I discovered it was pouring outside. This always seems to happen at funerals: curtains of rain, and shivering under an umbrella as the casket is lowered into its final resting place. I was thinking of Guns 'n Roses' November Rain, without Slash, that is.
And the rain kept on coming: driving towards Amsterdam, it got so bad I had to slow down sometimes as vision declined. Then, finally, we got lost in the posh suburb that surrounds the cemetery as the roads were broken up and cars were directed onto bike paths. We arrived a few minutes late, but it turned out my cousin and his new Russian girlfriend had run out of petrol, much to his father's anger. LOL. He then got lost as well, and in the end couldn't find a place to park.
And it kept on pouring. We were shepherded into the chamber for the ceremony, where eulogies were held that made me reach for the sick bag. I mean, the deceased wasn't a saint, so why do we posthumously have to pretend it was the case? I know a funeral is no place to be truthful or critical, but in these speeches an unrealistic fantasy creature was sketched that in no way resembled reality.
So after the ceremony, the casket was carried outside, into the pouring rain and dropped into the family slot beneath the beautiful pines. It really is an amazing spot.
Afterwards, we all met up for drinks at a quaint old restaurant near a dune, a place I have fond memories of. My sleazy Swiss relatives, friends of my grandma and a nasty old queen who used to go to school with my uncle were all there. The old homo was definitely checking me out. Gross.
We left rather early, pleading distance. My mom dropped me of at my place, and I went back to casual clothing. Then prepared myself for a night on the town. I was in predator mode, which usually means I'll do something stupid.
Getting tanked on wine, cocktails and the occasional brewski, bored by the club, the music and all those guys I have seen too many times before, even though there was some cool eye contact with the boy I have been eyeing for weeks, I moved in on a cute Indian exchange student, and we spent the night together.
No, he wasn't as good as Barbie.
PS. I have decided not to get my tongue pierced. For now. Reason? Too scary.
My mom had decided to go to the funeral after all, and so we decided to travel together.
Waking up early, getting into my formal dress, I discovered it was pouring outside. This always seems to happen at funerals: curtains of rain, and shivering under an umbrella as the casket is lowered into its final resting place. I was thinking of Guns 'n Roses' November Rain, without Slash, that is.
And the rain kept on coming: driving towards Amsterdam, it got so bad I had to slow down sometimes as vision declined. Then, finally, we got lost in the posh suburb that surrounds the cemetery as the roads were broken up and cars were directed onto bike paths. We arrived a few minutes late, but it turned out my cousin and his new Russian girlfriend had run out of petrol, much to his father's anger. LOL. He then got lost as well, and in the end couldn't find a place to park.
And it kept on pouring. We were shepherded into the chamber for the ceremony, where eulogies were held that made me reach for the sick bag. I mean, the deceased wasn't a saint, so why do we posthumously have to pretend it was the case? I know a funeral is no place to be truthful or critical, but in these speeches an unrealistic fantasy creature was sketched that in no way resembled reality.
So after the ceremony, the casket was carried outside, into the pouring rain and dropped into the family slot beneath the beautiful pines. It really is an amazing spot.
Afterwards, we all met up for drinks at a quaint old restaurant near a dune, a place I have fond memories of. My sleazy Swiss relatives, friends of my grandma and a nasty old queen who used to go to school with my uncle were all there. The old homo was definitely checking me out. Gross.
We left rather early, pleading distance. My mom dropped me of at my place, and I went back to casual clothing. Then prepared myself for a night on the town. I was in predator mode, which usually means I'll do something stupid.
Getting tanked on wine, cocktails and the occasional brewski, bored by the club, the music and all those guys I have seen too many times before, even though there was some cool eye contact with the boy I have been eyeing for weeks, I moved in on a cute Indian exchange student, and we spent the night together.
No, he wasn't as good as Barbie.
PS. I have decided not to get my tongue pierced. For now. Reason? Too scary.
Primary Colours, a European view
Barack Obama's the greatest political talent in the USA today.
Now watch them nominate Hillary.
Come on, you old soldier. You can win this thing.
I don't like plastic, not even in flip-flops.
Now watch them nominate Hillary.
Come on, you old soldier. You can win this thing.
I don't like plastic, not even in flip-flops.
Friday 18 January 2008
Confessions on a Cell Phone
A little episode from last weekend.
Quick snog on dance floor.
Longer snog in street.
"I want your number," he says.
Hesitantly, I give it to him.
Walk home. Mobile beeps.
My reply:
This is what I get back:
But the next day I do decide to text, just for the heck of it (OK, I was bored):
Well, fuck you too. Learn to trust your instinct...
Quick snog on dance floor.
Longer snog in street.
"I want your number," he says.
Hesitantly, I give it to him.
Walk home. Mobile beeps.
Am in the car on the way home, really want to meet you again soon XXX
My reply:
Fine, tell me when it suits you[I must say I hid my enthusiasm well... NOT. LOL]
This is what I get back:
OK have a headache going to sleep please text tomorrow XXX[Complaining about headaches? Diva alert...]
But the next day I do decide to text, just for the heck of it (OK, I was bored):
Headache gone? ;-)
Yeah, yeah, was up at three splitting headache and still had to see my bf
Well, fuck you too. Learn to trust your instinct...
Wednesday 16 January 2008
RIP My Grandma
Just heard my grandmother passed away last Monday night, a few day short of her 97th birthday. We weren't really close, since my mother and her haven't been on speaking terms since about 1991. In the Eighties she was a great grandmother to me though.
I have mixed feelings about it, she was old, couldn't walk, deaf, and could hardly speak any more. She passed away peacefully in her sleep, so in a sense it must be a blessing: I wouldn't have wanted to continue living much longer in that state.
She was the last true protestant in my family: she had grown up in a cold, hard-hearted Calvinist environment, with a family who wouldn't accept my grandfather, who was an atheist of Jewish descent from the slums of pre-war Amsterdam. She always stayed devoutly religious, even though she changed over to the more relaxed Dutch Reformed Church, in a way I, with my southern Catholic ways could never really understand.
The funeral is on Saturday, there will be family bickering (probably about inheritances) and it won't be pretty. My family is absolutely dysfunctional, and my mom refuses to go: "they'll all just have a go at me".
So I'll be representing my side of the family, even though it's a long drive. It's the least I can do.
I'll be wearing my ring on the other hand that day. My one concession to protestantism.
I have mixed feelings about it, she was old, couldn't walk, deaf, and could hardly speak any more. She passed away peacefully in her sleep, so in a sense it must be a blessing: I wouldn't have wanted to continue living much longer in that state.
She was the last true protestant in my family: she had grown up in a cold, hard-hearted Calvinist environment, with a family who wouldn't accept my grandfather, who was an atheist of Jewish descent from the slums of pre-war Amsterdam. She always stayed devoutly religious, even though she changed over to the more relaxed Dutch Reformed Church, in a way I, with my southern Catholic ways could never really understand.
The funeral is on Saturday, there will be family bickering (probably about inheritances) and it won't be pretty. My family is absolutely dysfunctional, and my mom refuses to go: "they'll all just have a go at me".
So I'll be representing my side of the family, even though it's a long drive. It's the least I can do.
I'll be wearing my ring on the other hand that day. My one concession to protestantism.
Tuesday 15 January 2008
Return of The Diva!
She's back! The woman everyone's copying, the epitome of cool. Alison Goldfrapp returns with a quiet, introspective album, totally unlike her two previous efforts. But the new single, A&E, is so nice... even though it is a bit of a grower. Stuck on repeat all day.
Even the forest leaves are going down on their knees for her...
Even the forest leaves are going down on their knees for her...
Thinking out loud...
I think piercings are hot. In the right places, I mean.
Diamond studs look great on a young guy. It is the ultimate expression of polished metrosexuality at the moment, and I kind of like that. This is not, however, something that looks good on older guys. I have plenty of older co-workers who wear this sort of thing, hopefully remainders of an earlier age, and it just looks a little pathetic, desperate.
The Prince Albert is the most disgusting thing on this planet I can think of at the moment. I'm wincing as I write this. Apparently it is quite safe, as urine seems to disinfect it, and it has to be produced in such a way that it is condom-safe. That is the legal theory, at least, in hyper-regulated Europe. I'm not convinced; the logistics of wrapping that up in a condom look dodgy to me. And I have actually seen one in real life: not appealing.
Pierced bellybuttons. Come on. Even on girls this type looks trashy. They tend to be much too young, slightly overweight and wear tops that are way to small to cover what needs to be covered. On men, it is not only the gayest thing around, but it screams STD. I can't rationalise that last statement, but it probably has to do with the fact that I associate this piercing with rent boys. To make things worse, Bobby (love the blog by the way, you wild Sefrican!) has seen an even more camp version out in the wild. Excruciating.
The tongue piercing... now that one I like. It adds a dimension to kissing and BJs that you would otherwise lack. It adds a focal point to Frenching, that is just very hot.
In fact, I like it so much I have been thinking of getting one myself. There's a tattoo studio around the corner from my house that has them on special offer this month. Tempting. They're fully licensed and appear to be professional, so I'm not really worried about the quality of the work done.
Pros?
1. It's hot
2. It's hot
3. Nobody would expect me to have one
4. It's hot
5. You can hide it quite easily
6. You can pull it out and the tongue will heal fully, quickly.
7. It's hot
Cons?
1. Am I just being ridiculous?
2. Is this the famous quarter-life crisis grad students are always talking about?
3. If they hit a muscle... ouch
4. The vision of a skewer going through my tongue is not very pretty
5. I'd have to rinse after every meal for weeks... I don't think I can handle it. And I haven't even asked about alcohol yet.
6. I might have to visit some companies for my thesis soon and it might be wise to appear conservatively dressed and accessorized.
7. I have a habit of passing out at the dentist's
8. I don't want to slur for the next week or so
I just have to consider this carefully for the next week or so... It would fit in very well with the new me, who does whatever the fuck he wants.
Diamond studs look great on a young guy. It is the ultimate expression of polished metrosexuality at the moment, and I kind of like that. This is not, however, something that looks good on older guys. I have plenty of older co-workers who wear this sort of thing, hopefully remainders of an earlier age, and it just looks a little pathetic, desperate.
The Prince Albert is the most disgusting thing on this planet I can think of at the moment. I'm wincing as I write this. Apparently it is quite safe, as urine seems to disinfect it, and it has to be produced in such a way that it is condom-safe. That is the legal theory, at least, in hyper-regulated Europe. I'm not convinced; the logistics of wrapping that up in a condom look dodgy to me. And I have actually seen one in real life: not appealing.
Pierced bellybuttons. Come on. Even on girls this type looks trashy. They tend to be much too young, slightly overweight and wear tops that are way to small to cover what needs to be covered. On men, it is not only the gayest thing around, but it screams STD. I can't rationalise that last statement, but it probably has to do with the fact that I associate this piercing with rent boys. To make things worse, Bobby (love the blog by the way, you wild Sefrican!) has seen an even more camp version out in the wild. Excruciating.
The tongue piercing... now that one I like. It adds a dimension to kissing and BJs that you would otherwise lack. It adds a focal point to Frenching, that is just very hot.
In fact, I like it so much I have been thinking of getting one myself. There's a tattoo studio around the corner from my house that has them on special offer this month. Tempting. They're fully licensed and appear to be professional, so I'm not really worried about the quality of the work done.
Pros?
1. It's hot
2. It's hot
3. Nobody would expect me to have one
4. It's hot
5. You can hide it quite easily
6. You can pull it out and the tongue will heal fully, quickly.
7. It's hot
Cons?
1. Am I just being ridiculous?
2. Is this the famous quarter-life crisis grad students are always talking about?
3. If they hit a muscle... ouch
4. The vision of a skewer going through my tongue is not very pretty
5. I'd have to rinse after every meal for weeks... I don't think I can handle it. And I haven't even asked about alcohol yet.
6. I might have to visit some companies for my thesis soon and it might be wise to appear conservatively dressed and accessorized.
7. I have a habit of passing out at the dentist's
8. I don't want to slur for the next week or so
I just have to consider this carefully for the next week or so... It would fit in very well with the new me, who does whatever the fuck he wants.
Saturday 12 January 2008
I know how you'll feel...
They say there's no proper American dance scene... well, there is, and BT is at the centre of it.
Jan Johnston is a truly great singer. A little-known solo artist in the eighties, BT pulled one of her CDs out of a bargain bin somewhere in Maryland and went on to sample one of her tracks for "Calling your Name", well-known as it featured in the first American Pie movie (yes, the stripper scene). They later met up in real life and recorded a number of tracks together for BT's second album, ESCM. "Remember" is one of the stand out tracks. Enjoy.
Saturday 5 January 2008
Braindump
Well, 2007 was an interesting year, to say the least. I went in sorta straight and came out as a player on the gay strip. Food for Freud.
What's been going through my mind over the last couple of days was the question: how do you improve on this experience? I am honestly clueless. We're still in contact, which is quite a good thing I guess. And I think I really do like him as a person. But he's very young and lives miles away. So not much is going to happen, realistically. Still, it's hard to accept this fact and move on, because any experience after this is likely to be disappointing.
So for the moment I'm chatting and texting away without really chasing and that's it. Not even going out this week.
A really sick thought entered my mind the other day about my local scene. It's the sort of deep insight that hits you at that lucid stage of tipsiness that preludes a good night out. It's a wonderfully insightful feeling, but impossible to maintain for long. Well, this is it:
This could have come directly from QaF's Stuart's mouth.
This thought occurred to me earlier on New Year's Eve, before meeting Barbie, as a boy I had been eyeing for weeks suddenly decided to stick his tongue in my mouth. I was halfway through swallowing the last of my beer so a little advance warning would have been nice. Still, I got the oral logistics right and remained cool and collected, which I somehow managed to remain the entire night. But my overall feeling was: this is inevitable, right? I think it's time to broaden my horizon a little.
The idea of a good hotel, champagne and a hot boy have impacted on a different front as well. I should do this more often; the additional glam provides a hell of a kick. Splurge out, enjoy yourself by adding some chic once in a while. It's worth it.
RE: my appearance. This is sort of grating. I have been noticing that I get more attention when I dress less conscientiously. Maybe I'm trying too hard, or maybe it intimidates people. It's a credible expression of high maintenance, which I might well be but don't want to convey. My messed-up hair, old shoes, H&M belt (yes, white, I wanted to be a little camp) and fairly standard discounted Diesel longsleeve work much better than Armani and friends.
Well, the comments to my last post were revealing: there's a future for my highly successful ex-gay programme, with five out of six "cured", including Charlton Heston. ;-) As for my one failure... well, DJ’s spinning up my favorite song, hurry up and get a grove on.
As for Abba - you got me there, Steve. Grumble!
What's been going through my mind over the last couple of days was the question: how do you improve on this experience? I am honestly clueless. We're still in contact, which is quite a good thing I guess. And I think I really do like him as a person. But he's very young and lives miles away. So not much is going to happen, realistically. Still, it's hard to accept this fact and move on, because any experience after this is likely to be disappointing.
So for the moment I'm chatting and texting away without really chasing and that's it. Not even going out this week.
A really sick thought entered my mind the other day about my local scene. It's the sort of deep insight that hits you at that lucid stage of tipsiness that preludes a good night out. It's a wonderfully insightful feeling, but impossible to maintain for long. Well, this is it:
There are three types of men out there: men you've had, men you won't or can't have and men you're gonna have sometime.
This could have come directly from QaF's Stuart's mouth.
This thought occurred to me earlier on New Year's Eve, before meeting Barbie, as a boy I had been eyeing for weeks suddenly decided to stick his tongue in my mouth. I was halfway through swallowing the last of my beer so a little advance warning would have been nice. Still, I got the oral logistics right and remained cool and collected, which I somehow managed to remain the entire night. But my overall feeling was: this is inevitable, right? I think it's time to broaden my horizon a little.
The idea of a good hotel, champagne and a hot boy have impacted on a different front as well. I should do this more often; the additional glam provides a hell of a kick. Splurge out, enjoy yourself by adding some chic once in a while. It's worth it.
RE: my appearance. This is sort of grating. I have been noticing that I get more attention when I dress less conscientiously. Maybe I'm trying too hard, or maybe it intimidates people. It's a credible expression of high maintenance, which I might well be but don't want to convey. My messed-up hair, old shoes, H&M belt (yes, white, I wanted to be a little camp) and fairly standard discounted Diesel longsleeve work much better than Armani and friends.
Well, the comments to my last post were revealing: there's a future for my highly successful ex-gay programme, with five out of six "cured", including Charlton Heston. ;-) As for my one failure... well, DJ’s spinning up my favorite song, hurry up and get a grove on.
As for Abba - you got me there, Steve. Grumble!
Tuesday 1 January 2008
Wow, wow, wow,...wow!
A couple of days ago I was contacted by a guy from out of town who was planning to spend New Year's Eve over here. Actually, I was contacted by a number of guys but only this one intrigued me.
We got to chat about partying options over here and I shared my ideas with him. We agreed to share a drink if we bumped into each other, something I was sure would happen.
Yeah, he was a little nelly even for European standards (I know Erik and K will agree) but I have no problem with that.
So he arrived, and I recognized him immediately. In real life, he was stunning. I wasn't: I was wearing old shoes because of the dirt outside and my hair was a mess, as it had been raining. I introduced myself and we got drinks. And we really hit it off. He was smoking my favourite brand of cigarettes, which really made my heart melt.
Now up to this point, I wasn't seriously contemplating sex: we'd have a couple of drinks, I would show him my town's hot spots and that would be it, partly because I felt rather washed out. He, however, quickly made it abundantly clear he was up for it. We drank, made out and we danced a little, and people were staring.
After about an hour, he wanted to go. How could I refuse? Would I contemplate refusing? Of course not. It turned out he had a room in the best hotel in town, complete with champagne (which we drank) in an ice bucket. The young night guard stared at as as we walked in, amused. There was no deniability with this guy.
He had the most wonderful body I've ever had the pleasure of touching, and let's say I got to enjoy every bit of it.
Those who don't know this track will have their homo membership card revoked, subito! ;-)
Read my lips, I'm into you,
I'm into you,
I can't resist,
You're so hot (get me under the shade)
The spotlight's on
You creep into it,
You like it and,
Just the way that you dance,
Just the way that you dance.
We got to chat about partying options over here and I shared my ideas with him. We agreed to share a drink if we bumped into each other, something I was sure would happen.
Yeah, he was a little nelly even for European standards (I know Erik and K will agree) but I have no problem with that.
(Yeah yeah) Is enough to love me baby,
(Yeah yeah yeah) Is enough to send me crazy,
(Yeah yeah) Such angelic motion,
(Yeah yeah yeah) You know you're made in heaven.
So he arrived, and I recognized him immediately. In real life, he was stunning. I wasn't: I was wearing old shoes because of the dirt outside and my hair was a mess, as it had been raining. I introduced myself and we got drinks. And we really hit it off. He was smoking my favourite brand of cigarettes, which really made my heart melt.
The way you walk, the rythmn when you're dancing,
Every inch of you spells out desire,
You're such a rush,(rush)the rush is never ending,
Now,
You got it, you're wow wow wow wow,
You got it, you're wow wow wow wow.
Now up to this point, I wasn't seriously contemplating sex: we'd have a couple of drinks, I would show him my town's hot spots and that would be it, partly because I felt rather washed out. He, however, quickly made it abundantly clear he was up for it. We drank, made out and we danced a little, and people were staring.
The more I try, I try to stop,
The more I can feel my antenna just sensing you up,
and what can I do? I'm into you,
I'm into you,
Love the way that you move,
Just love the way that you move.
After about an hour, he wanted to go. How could I refuse? Would I contemplate refusing? Of course not. It turned out he had a room in the best hotel in town, complete with champagne (which we drank) in an ice bucket. The young night guard stared at as as we walked in, amused. There was no deniability with this guy.
He had the most wonderful body I've ever had the pleasure of touching, and let's say I got to enjoy every bit of it.
(Yeah yeah) Such angelic motion,
(Yeah yaeh yeah) you know you're made in heaven.
The way you walk, the rythmn when you're dancing,
Every inch of you spells out desire,
You're such a rush,(rush) the rush is never ending,
Now,
You got it, you're wow wow wow wow,
You got it, you're wow wow wow wow.
Those who don't know this track will have their homo membership card revoked, subito! ;-)
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