I know, I know, I know, it's a regrettable if slightly naughty name for a band. They have even sold out, changed their name to "Crazy P" for release in sensitive countries.
I still love this British-Aussie combination though. Here's Lady T, all back to the disco!
Tuesday, 27 November 2007
Monday, 26 November 2007
Forum buddies take care of my needs
I'm a member of a huge Dutch bulletin board where a group of oldbies come together and discuss, well basically everything, even though the topic is supposed to be politics.
Over the years, a lot of us have become good mates, but others have descended into feuds. I belch my right-wing propaganda, and try to position myself to the right of everybody else (impossible), but mainly we post off-topic stuff, as Dutch politics is about as eventful as watching paint dry.
Which means a lot of nude pictures see the light of day.
Usually, this means a lot of Monica Belluci, Laetitia Casta or some random porn star.
Today, they thought of me. The topic: Moroccans are hot and sexy!
So just to please me, this was posted:
Thanks, guys! Really appreciate it.
Over the years, a lot of us have become good mates, but others have descended into feuds. I belch my right-wing propaganda, and try to position myself to the right of everybody else (impossible), but mainly we post off-topic stuff, as Dutch politics is about as eventful as watching paint dry.
Which means a lot of nude pictures see the light of day.
Usually, this means a lot of Monica Belluci, Laetitia Casta or some random porn star.
Today, they thought of me. The topic: Moroccans are hot and sexy!
So just to please me, this was posted:
Thanks, guys! Really appreciate it.
Sunday, 25 November 2007
Not queer enough for D&G?
On my way back to town from work I ended up in a mall in an awful town on the German border. My reason for being there? It had a D&G store, as well as an Armani shop.
I was looking for a shirt, some shoes and maybe a belt, and was hoping to find something good over there.
It was cold and wet, a generally nasty day to spend outside. The town looked grim, the mall was practically deserted, only a few of those work-shy Germans enjoying one of their huge number of days off.
First of all, I was pissed off to find it was paid parking. At a mall. On an industrial estate. I had no change, so I drove off and parked somewhere else. Of course, the moment I got out it started drizzling. This is the story of Dutch autumns; neither warm nor very cold, overcast and constant drizzle.
So what was supposed to be enjoyable wasn't at all. I found the D&G store, and instantly discovered two things. For one, I was in homo heaven. Secondly, I was the least gay guy there, and boy did the queens make me feel inferior.
A quick gaydar sweep returned the following results:
Fashion queens, species Dutch: 3, including the manager
Fashion queens, German: 2
Overdressed, bitchy women: 2
In the end, I selected a t-shirt and went to pay. This is where they tried to put me in my place. I was found wanting, the "straight" invader in a superior gay culture, an alien buying just a t-shirt and not a complete outfit.
Thy made me wait, and helped the German queens before me, even though I was first in line.
I considered ditching my t-shirt and walking out, but as a matter of fact I was laughing inside. The situation was hilarious: I was the victim of homo solidarity.
I considered a loud coming out, but finally decided against it. Too theatrical. I paid up, speaking in my southern dialect, to make it clear I was not German, and being decidedly unfriendly, I walked out.
Still gotta go back for some shoes though.
I was looking for a shirt, some shoes and maybe a belt, and was hoping to find something good over there.
It was cold and wet, a generally nasty day to spend outside. The town looked grim, the mall was practically deserted, only a few of those work-shy Germans enjoying one of their huge number of days off.
First of all, I was pissed off to find it was paid parking. At a mall. On an industrial estate. I had no change, so I drove off and parked somewhere else. Of course, the moment I got out it started drizzling. This is the story of Dutch autumns; neither warm nor very cold, overcast and constant drizzle.
So what was supposed to be enjoyable wasn't at all. I found the D&G store, and instantly discovered two things. For one, I was in homo heaven. Secondly, I was the least gay guy there, and boy did the queens make me feel inferior.
A quick gaydar sweep returned the following results:
Fashion queens, species Dutch: 3, including the manager
Fashion queens, German: 2
Overdressed, bitchy women: 2
In the end, I selected a t-shirt and went to pay. This is where they tried to put me in my place. I was found wanting, the "straight" invader in a superior gay culture, an alien buying just a t-shirt and not a complete outfit.
Thy made me wait, and helped the German queens before me, even though I was first in line.
I considered ditching my t-shirt and walking out, but as a matter of fact I was laughing inside. The situation was hilarious: I was the victim of homo solidarity.
I considered a loud coming out, but finally decided against it. Too theatrical. I paid up, speaking in my southern dialect, to make it clear I was not German, and being decidedly unfriendly, I walked out.
Still gotta go back for some shoes though.
Saturday, 24 November 2007
Bike shed-gate
Want to have a laugh at the hets?
Well, we have a little sex scandal that makes Bill Clinton look classy. At least the oval office is an exclusive place to have oral sex.
None of the people involved are particularly highly placed, but the whole affair sheds some light onto the political culture in this country. It is, well, let's say incestuous. A friend in The Hague tells me "This kind of behaviour is normal. By the way, do you want to know about that Liberal MP that gets a BJ every week in the House's parking garage?"
I sure do, and am once again glad I quit the Liberal Party. Even though the others are apparently just as bad, we don't get to hear about it.
Well, Nijmegen, a mid-size college town also known as Havana on the River Waal due to its left-wing politics, has this week discovered it's deputy mayor (Labour) was caught on security cameras being blown in the council's bike shed. It's a wonderful story, the rancid little details are stunning, but the identity of the sucker makes it even juicier.
A Liberal member of the town council. Nijmegen is not a liberal stronghold, so they only have a small caucus, and consequently only one woman on the council. So we quickly discovered the sucker's identity. And the Libs are, as usual, in opposition in Nijmegen. So a member of the opposition is blowing a coalition leader.
This was too much even for the Liberal Party, so they quickly threw her out. This makes her the first person in about 30 years to lose her position due to a sex scandal in Dutch politics.
Now, on to the suckee. Paul Depla may only be a deputy mayor in a mid-size town, but Nijmegen is important to the left and he is a close confidant of embattled national Labour leader Wouter Bos. For years, he has been named as a likely minister in a Labour government, and when the present (awful) cabinet was named people were surprised to find he was not a member of it.
It has now been revealed the secret service had advised the prime minister against his appointment. His personal life made him too susceptible to blackmail, according to the secret service. For probably the same reason, he also lost a mayorship in another mid-sized town. A former aide sued him, for apparently being fired after she turned down a proposal to have sex. It is now rumoured she was paid off with public cash. And yes, the deputy mayor is married and has three young children.
Nijmegen has a culture of lawlessness and corruption: its former mayor, currently interior minister, was caught on a DUI, but the council didn't care. This is a woman who is currently in charge of national security. What is most revealing, is the fact that the sex in the bike shed took place in June. The whole council was aware of the affairs, but decided to keep quiet. This is disturbing; politicians of all parties are most interested in covering each other's asses and the opposition is not doing much opposing.
The tabloids are having a field day, and so they should. The details are just too cool (come on, a grown man with a good income being blown in a bike shed? By a member of the opposition?), and it has now finally been decided the whole sordid affair justifies a debate in council. This will now take place next week, even though the coalition tried to block it.
I wonder if he will resign.
Well, we have a little sex scandal that makes Bill Clinton look classy. At least the oval office is an exclusive place to have oral sex.
None of the people involved are particularly highly placed, but the whole affair sheds some light onto the political culture in this country. It is, well, let's say incestuous. A friend in The Hague tells me "This kind of behaviour is normal. By the way, do you want to know about that Liberal MP that gets a BJ every week in the House's parking garage?"
I sure do, and am once again glad I quit the Liberal Party. Even though the others are apparently just as bad, we don't get to hear about it.
Well, Nijmegen, a mid-size college town also known as Havana on the River Waal due to its left-wing politics, has this week discovered it's deputy mayor (Labour) was caught on security cameras being blown in the council's bike shed. It's a wonderful story, the rancid little details are stunning, but the identity of the sucker makes it even juicier.
A Liberal member of the town council. Nijmegen is not a liberal stronghold, so they only have a small caucus, and consequently only one woman on the council. So we quickly discovered the sucker's identity. And the Libs are, as usual, in opposition in Nijmegen. So a member of the opposition is blowing a coalition leader.
This was too much even for the Liberal Party, so they quickly threw her out. This makes her the first person in about 30 years to lose her position due to a sex scandal in Dutch politics.
Now, on to the suckee. Paul Depla may only be a deputy mayor in a mid-size town, but Nijmegen is important to the left and he is a close confidant of embattled national Labour leader Wouter Bos. For years, he has been named as a likely minister in a Labour government, and when the present (awful) cabinet was named people were surprised to find he was not a member of it.
It has now been revealed the secret service had advised the prime minister against his appointment. His personal life made him too susceptible to blackmail, according to the secret service. For probably the same reason, he also lost a mayorship in another mid-sized town. A former aide sued him, for apparently being fired after she turned down a proposal to have sex. It is now rumoured she was paid off with public cash. And yes, the deputy mayor is married and has three young children.
Nijmegen has a culture of lawlessness and corruption: its former mayor, currently interior minister, was caught on a DUI, but the council didn't care. This is a woman who is currently in charge of national security. What is most revealing, is the fact that the sex in the bike shed took place in June. The whole council was aware of the affairs, but decided to keep quiet. This is disturbing; politicians of all parties are most interested in covering each other's asses and the opposition is not doing much opposing.
The tabloids are having a field day, and so they should. The details are just too cool (come on, a grown man with a good income being blown in a bike shed? By a member of the opposition?), and it has now finally been decided the whole sordid affair justifies a debate in council. This will now take place next week, even though the coalition tried to block it.
I wonder if he will resign.
Forever More
Well, the Roisin concert was brilliant - and not the way I expected it to be.
But first, the context.
I had started the day at a mall in an industrial backwater of a town near the German border, because that was the nearest place with a D&G store. I have a post coming about that - a totally hilarious experience. Anyway, the weather was shite and I was glad to get back to my town, even though it's D&G-free.
After the usual Friday cleaning and food shopping, it was time to booze up and prepare for Roisin. After much deliberation, I decided not to be another one of the fashion queens I expected to dominate and dressed conservatively - Hugo always does the trick.
Then I found out my straight friends were bailing out - which in a way was a relief because I had a feeling this concert would not go down well with them. So I went on my own. No problem, as the festival site is only 500 yards away, around the corner from my place.
Discovering that the cloakroom would cost five bloody euros, I headed back home to ditch my coat. Beer was expensive too: 11 euros for five. Otherwise, the organisation was perfect and they had managed to dress up the old Philips factory building they were using really well - it had the look and feel of a club.
Well, I went into the main hall, and it was indeed Fashion Queen City. We have an internationally-acclaimed Design Academy in town, which is closely involved with the organisation, so I guess that was the source. Got myself some beer, and then the mc introduced Roisin, ten minutes before she actually got on stage.
Well, the band came on - and I was expecting this to be fairly acoustic, as there were drums and guitars on stage - but to my surprise they started playing the pumping electro of Cry Baby. Two minutes in, two background singers appeared on stage, and then, finally, Roisin herself, wearing the same white top as in the Let Me Know video and something that looked like a pink bowler hat. She's actually quite diminutive herself, but I was standing close to the stage, so it once again became very clear she has small tits.
Cry Baby was a huge success, and the crowd at the stage itself was surprisingly gay-lite: lots of women though. She followed up with You Know Me Better, a killer eighties-style dance track which the crowd didn't like as much as the previous song. I loved it though.
Then came Checkin On Me, Primitive and Dear Miami, all tracks that are surprisingly better live, and all with pumping electronics with some guitar thrown in for good measure. I have a suspicion that not all singing was live though. Never mind, the show was fantastic. Movie Star was performed with Roisin sitting on a chair, a bit strange for such a hard-ass dance track.
Then came a track I didn't recognise - it eventually evolved into an old Moloko track, Forever More - the last Moloko single, I think. Since her and Mark Brydon are no longer on speaking terms, I guess she can sing whatever she likes from the old times. It fit in remarkably well with the new material, and the entire hall was dancing wildly by that stage.
Then she changed - she changed jackets and hats all the time, but not annoyingly so: she didn't go Kylie - and she came out wearing the outfit from the Let Me Know video - cape and hat and all, to sing that track. A bit of a disappointment, because the band had stripped most of the electronics, including that wonderful acid line, and what was left was not very inspiring.
She finished of her set with Overpowered, with even more beat to the squelches. It was a wonderful way to finish off, leaving me wanting more, much more.
I did take pictures with my phone but they're really to blurry to mean anything.
Afterwards, I ran into some acquaintances, one of which is involved with the organisation, who did not enjoy it at all and were also disappointed about the Chemical Brothers set the previous night. Oh well. Grabbing a final beer and ignoring local alcohol legislation, I walked home. There I decided to do what I had promised myself not to do: drink more and hit the town. After changing into a less conservative top, of course.
There, I spent four hours on the dance floor with a boy in my arms who did not want to kiss (wtf? I usually get what I want!) and finally went home completely wasted, deciding I was only really attracted to his belt anyway, and having to get up much too early to work on a project.
Needless to say, this morning was a little painful, but well worth it.
But first, the context.
I had started the day at a mall in an industrial backwater of a town near the German border, because that was the nearest place with a D&G store. I have a post coming about that - a totally hilarious experience. Anyway, the weather was shite and I was glad to get back to my town, even though it's D&G-free.
After the usual Friday cleaning and food shopping, it was time to booze up and prepare for Roisin. After much deliberation, I decided not to be another one of the fashion queens I expected to dominate and dressed conservatively - Hugo always does the trick.
Then I found out my straight friends were bailing out - which in a way was a relief because I had a feeling this concert would not go down well with them. So I went on my own. No problem, as the festival site is only 500 yards away, around the corner from my place.
Discovering that the cloakroom would cost five bloody euros, I headed back home to ditch my coat. Beer was expensive too: 11 euros for five. Otherwise, the organisation was perfect and they had managed to dress up the old Philips factory building they were using really well - it had the look and feel of a club.
Well, I went into the main hall, and it was indeed Fashion Queen City. We have an internationally-acclaimed Design Academy in town, which is closely involved with the organisation, so I guess that was the source. Got myself some beer, and then the mc introduced Roisin, ten minutes before she actually got on stage.
Well, the band came on - and I was expecting this to be fairly acoustic, as there were drums and guitars on stage - but to my surprise they started playing the pumping electro of Cry Baby. Two minutes in, two background singers appeared on stage, and then, finally, Roisin herself, wearing the same white top as in the Let Me Know video and something that looked like a pink bowler hat. She's actually quite diminutive herself, but I was standing close to the stage, so it once again became very clear she has small tits.
Cry Baby was a huge success, and the crowd at the stage itself was surprisingly gay-lite: lots of women though. She followed up with You Know Me Better, a killer eighties-style dance track which the crowd didn't like as much as the previous song. I loved it though.
Then came Checkin On Me, Primitive and Dear Miami, all tracks that are surprisingly better live, and all with pumping electronics with some guitar thrown in for good measure. I have a suspicion that not all singing was live though. Never mind, the show was fantastic. Movie Star was performed with Roisin sitting on a chair, a bit strange for such a hard-ass dance track.
Then came a track I didn't recognise - it eventually evolved into an old Moloko track, Forever More - the last Moloko single, I think. Since her and Mark Brydon are no longer on speaking terms, I guess she can sing whatever she likes from the old times. It fit in remarkably well with the new material, and the entire hall was dancing wildly by that stage.
Then she changed - she changed jackets and hats all the time, but not annoyingly so: she didn't go Kylie - and she came out wearing the outfit from the Let Me Know video - cape and hat and all, to sing that track. A bit of a disappointment, because the band had stripped most of the electronics, including that wonderful acid line, and what was left was not very inspiring.
She finished of her set with Overpowered, with even more beat to the squelches. It was a wonderful way to finish off, leaving me wanting more, much more.
I did take pictures with my phone but they're really to blurry to mean anything.
Afterwards, I ran into some acquaintances, one of which is involved with the organisation, who did not enjoy it at all and were also disappointed about the Chemical Brothers set the previous night. Oh well. Grabbing a final beer and ignoring local alcohol legislation, I walked home. There I decided to do what I had promised myself not to do: drink more and hit the town. After changing into a less conservative top, of course.
There, I spent four hours on the dance floor with a boy in my arms who did not want to kiss (wtf? I usually get what I want!) and finally went home completely wasted, deciding I was only really attracted to his belt anyway, and having to get up much too early to work on a project.
Needless to say, this morning was a little painful, but well worth it.
Thursday, 22 November 2007
100
I guess this centennial should be memorable, something special. And I do have something to celebrate.
I have a day off tomorrow and I'm going shopping. Yeah! Later I have the Roisin Murphy concert to go to, and I'm really looking forward to that. But then I have to be back pretty early to do some work on Saturday morning. Yikes.
That's about as exciting as my life is right now. No complaints though, I'm progressing both in my education and professionally, and the Christmas break is not very far away, even though Christmas is dull as ditch water in this country.
Well, after Christmas comes the new year... definitely a time for decadent debauchery. Options are limitless, and that's just in my town. Basically, the country shuts down long enough for a good bender and a significant hangover, and some people blow their body parts to Mars with fireworks.
And there's lots o'kissing. Good.
Well, I'll end the post in style with a random number of "interesting" (ahem) facts about me:
1. I despise avocado.
2. I think the Bush administration would be an improvement on our current government
3. I'm a junky for warm weather, but I still love the winter for skiing
4. I think Eva Green is hot
5. And I love the newish Bond movie
6. I can't stand PSV Eindhoven, even though I love the town
7. And consequently have a love-hate relationship with Philips products
8. I am ambivalent about Apple, though I love my iPod
9. My taste in music is totally gay. I'm a sucker for Diva House
10. And I kinda like Madonna. (That's a secret)
11. I keep on wondering what people think of my sexuality
12. But prefer not to tell people I'm not close to
13. I'm an Alfa Romeo addict and wouldn't buy a non-Italian car
14. Even though I think Mario should work on the electrics
15. I hate the Euro
16. I think the German football team is God's way of having fun at our expense
17. But then remember He also created the English team
18. I think John Edwards is a John Grisham character
19. And Hillary Clinton should go get herself some principles
20. I want to see California
21. Finding lots of facts about me is too much hard work.
I have a day off tomorrow and I'm going shopping. Yeah! Later I have the Roisin Murphy concert to go to, and I'm really looking forward to that. But then I have to be back pretty early to do some work on Saturday morning. Yikes.
That's about as exciting as my life is right now. No complaints though, I'm progressing both in my education and professionally, and the Christmas break is not very far away, even though Christmas is dull as ditch water in this country.
Well, after Christmas comes the new year... definitely a time for decadent debauchery. Options are limitless, and that's just in my town. Basically, the country shuts down long enough for a good bender and a significant hangover, and some people blow their body parts to Mars with fireworks.
And there's lots o'kissing. Good.
Well, I'll end the post in style with a random number of "interesting" (ahem) facts about me:
1. I despise avocado.
2. I think the Bush administration would be an improvement on our current government
3. I'm a junky for warm weather, but I still love the winter for skiing
4. I think Eva Green is hot
5. And I love the newish Bond movie
6. I can't stand PSV Eindhoven, even though I love the town
7. And consequently have a love-hate relationship with Philips products
8. I am ambivalent about Apple, though I love my iPod
9. My taste in music is totally gay. I'm a sucker for Diva House
10. And I kinda like Madonna. (That's a secret)
11. I keep on wondering what people think of my sexuality
12. But prefer not to tell people I'm not close to
13. I'm an Alfa Romeo addict and wouldn't buy a non-Italian car
14. Even though I think Mario should work on the electrics
15. I hate the Euro
16. I think the German football team is God's way of having fun at our expense
17. But then remember He also created the English team
18. I think John Edwards is a John Grisham character
19. And Hillary Clinton should go get herself some principles
20. I want to see California
21. Finding lots of facts about me is too much hard work.
Monday, 19 November 2007
Mixed Up World
I've become addicted to Sophie Ellis Bextor's old Shoot From The Hips album. She looks awful in blonde, but the first single of the album is quite cool. "Making Music" is a better track, but I couldn't find a video of it.
Sunday, 18 November 2007
Toggling three men/sweet revenge
To be honest, I've experienced nothing particularly blogworthy the last two weeks or so. I went to classes and work, worked on assignments and visited some friends in the west. Dull, respectable and no homosexuality involved.
Even so, the subject did come up with my friend. He had recently visited the states during the Larry Craig fiasco, and was full of jokes about it. He knows about me, but usually carefully avoids the subject. I think his reticence has more to do with his own personal issues than mine, but it would be nice if he'd express an interest in my sex life once in a while. I don't need to shout out all the details, but the topic now appears to be troubled water we cannot cross.
So I took a gayness time-out. I felt the need to chill out a little, drink less, and see different people. Moreover, in order to perform reasonably well on Saturdays I needed to avoid hangovers. I decided to dip my toe back into that territory a little last night.
So I put on my new D&G longshirt, Hugo Boss cologne and some nice G-Star jeans, hit back two vodkas, listening to Sophie Ellis Bextor's wonderful "Making Music". Then I hit the strip.
First of all, it was damn cold outside. It was nice to arrive and finally go in. I got some extra tokens (didn't use them), got myself a beer and got hit on instantaneously on the dance floor. Latin-ish guy, a bit shorter than me, V-neck longshirt and a very nice body. A bit of a flamer, and at 20 much too young really, and I was hesitant. But his interest was genuine and he kept on coming back, trying again and again as I acted disinterested but was gradually just playing hard to get, because that works best and I appear to be able to pull it off. We fool around a bit but I lose track of him later on. Darn. What a chest though.
I must have had two or three more beers because my memory gets hazy after that.
I suspect I spent the next two and a half hours or so snogging another guy, who was quite hot but didn't really do it for me. He was really into me, but at one point I just felt tired and decided my bed and I would spend the night together. I got my coat and walked towards the exit...
And bumped into Lame Dumper, in full "I need to get laid mode". "Wait for me", he says. And I do, even though he suspects I'm gonna walk away. He was right about that, but I decide to be friendly so I wait. All the time, I'm thinking longingly of my bed.
He comes back out, says he needs to talk to someone, takes me back inside. I'm standing there, at the bar, in my coat, and this wonderful little scene plays out.
Snogger sneaks up on me from behind, grabs me by the waste and snogs me, just as I'm talking to the dumper. The look on his face was absolutely priceless. He hadn't expected that.
After that, I called it a night. Lame Dumper then texted me and later even tried to phone. Knowing him, that was an act of desperation.
I still haven't read those messages.
Even so, the subject did come up with my friend. He had recently visited the states during the Larry Craig fiasco, and was full of jokes about it. He knows about me, but usually carefully avoids the subject. I think his reticence has more to do with his own personal issues than mine, but it would be nice if he'd express an interest in my sex life once in a while. I don't need to shout out all the details, but the topic now appears to be troubled water we cannot cross.
So I took a gayness time-out. I felt the need to chill out a little, drink less, and see different people. Moreover, in order to perform reasonably well on Saturdays I needed to avoid hangovers. I decided to dip my toe back into that territory a little last night.
So I put on my new D&G longshirt, Hugo Boss cologne and some nice G-Star jeans, hit back two vodkas, listening to Sophie Ellis Bextor's wonderful "Making Music". Then I hit the strip.
First of all, it was damn cold outside. It was nice to arrive and finally go in. I got some extra tokens (didn't use them), got myself a beer and got hit on instantaneously on the dance floor. Latin-ish guy, a bit shorter than me, V-neck longshirt and a very nice body. A bit of a flamer, and at 20 much too young really, and I was hesitant. But his interest was genuine and he kept on coming back, trying again and again as I acted disinterested but was gradually just playing hard to get, because that works best and I appear to be able to pull it off. We fool around a bit but I lose track of him later on. Darn. What a chest though.
I must have had two or three more beers because my memory gets hazy after that.
I suspect I spent the next two and a half hours or so snogging another guy, who was quite hot but didn't really do it for me. He was really into me, but at one point I just felt tired and decided my bed and I would spend the night together. I got my coat and walked towards the exit...
And bumped into Lame Dumper, in full "I need to get laid mode". "Wait for me", he says. And I do, even though he suspects I'm gonna walk away. He was right about that, but I decide to be friendly so I wait. All the time, I'm thinking longingly of my bed.
He comes back out, says he needs to talk to someone, takes me back inside. I'm standing there, at the bar, in my coat, and this wonderful little scene plays out.
Snogger sneaks up on me from behind, grabs me by the waste and snogs me, just as I'm talking to the dumper. The look on his face was absolutely priceless. He hadn't expected that.
After that, I called it a night. Lame Dumper then texted me and later even tried to phone. Knowing him, that was an act of desperation.
I still haven't read those messages.
Friday, 9 November 2007
Co-worker convos from the closet
[cw1]: It was his birthday last week!
[closet]: How old are you now?
[me]: 28.
[cw1]: Hey, don't hit on him! He's straight! [walks off, laughing]
[Shit! How do I deal with this little situation?]
[closet]: That would be gross man.
[Decide to keep quiet. But it sure would be gross!]
Fast forward, about 24 hours
[cw1]: Heard what I said to [closet] yesterday?
[me]: Yeah. That was harsh man.
[How do I explain how hurtful this was?]
[boss]: He's talking about women a lot lately, but I figure he's gay.
[me]: Oh yeah, no doubt about that.
[boss]: Maybe he's "questioning his sexuality" [makes quotation marks in air]
[me]: No, he's just not ready yet.
[cw1]: Don't want anything to do with those pervs.
[If you only knew... we're great mates]
[closet]: How old are you now?
[me]: 28.
[cw1]: Hey, don't hit on him! He's straight! [walks off, laughing]
[Shit! How do I deal with this little situation?]
[closet]: That would be gross man.
[Decide to keep quiet. But it sure would be gross!]
Fast forward, about 24 hours
[cw1]: Heard what I said to [closet] yesterday?
[me]: Yeah. That was harsh man.
[How do I explain how hurtful this was?]
[boss]: He's talking about women a lot lately, but I figure he's gay.
[me]: Oh yeah, no doubt about that.
[boss]: Maybe he's "questioning his sexuality" [makes quotation marks in air]
[me]: No, he's just not ready yet.
[cw1]: Don't want anything to do with those pervs.
[If you only knew... we're great mates]
Thursday, 8 November 2007
OK, new policy
No more exchanging of phone numbers unless it's serious.
It appears to be part of hook up etiquette: exchange numbers before walking out the door. This is more of a polite way of saying goodbye than an actual plan to communicate, so I'm planning to be all nonconformist and throw the rule book out the window. Control, not etiquette will be my norm.
You'll get my number if you're planning to dial it. And only if I want you to.
Texting: no problem, same rule applies. And I will spell this out clearly, promise.
E-mail: behave or you'll join the penis extensions in the spam folder.
So friendship, drinks or dinner, or even proposals to have sex: all are OK, but I'm not filling up my address book because that's what you're supposed to do before leaving.
This "one night stand, in your face" attitude will probably go down quite badly, but that's the only way I'll have it. Spell it out boy, I won't led you lead me on.
And choke on your hypocrisy.
It appears to be part of hook up etiquette: exchange numbers before walking out the door. This is more of a polite way of saying goodbye than an actual plan to communicate, so I'm planning to be all nonconformist and throw the rule book out the window. Control, not etiquette will be my norm.
You'll get my number if you're planning to dial it. And only if I want you to.
Texting: no problem, same rule applies. And I will spell this out clearly, promise.
E-mail: behave or you'll join the penis extensions in the spam folder.
So friendship, drinks or dinner, or even proposals to have sex: all are OK, but I'm not filling up my address book because that's what you're supposed to do before leaving.
This "one night stand, in your face" attitude will probably go down quite badly, but that's the only way I'll have it. Spell it out boy, I won't led you lead me on.
And choke on your hypocrisy.
Tuesday, 6 November 2007
CSI: Birthday
I'll have to piece this one together from the evidence found at the crime scene the morning after.
Booze: wine bottle, empty; vodka bottle, empty (how did I do that?), condom wrapper (you guessed it).
Fridge: cranberry juice, Coca Cola Zero, both half filled.
Clothes: in a mess, on the floor, smelling of Hugo Boss and smoke.
Puke: negative.
Head: hurting like hell, as were various other body parts.
Objective: college, to work on a project.
Result: drink beer with a Russian and watch Arsenal - Man U instead.
Later: drink beer with said Russian in a PSV pub and watch them lose to Heerenveen (Yeah! Love you crazy Friesians!).
Difficulty: not cheering when Heerenveen score.
Memory: largely gone, remember shaking hands with my boss and having yet another "talk" with lame dumper. Afterwards? A flash of walking down a street, with a boy...
Financial forensics: found EUR 30 in my wallet. Also, three drinks tokens. This implies at least seven beers or a few beers in combination with hard liquor, in addition to the stuff I emptied at home.
Hook up archaeology: hopeless. John Doe, source unknown.
Sex: definitely had some, remember a nice, smooth body. A nice apartment downtown. Cuddling, kissing and bottoming. Ouch.
Contacts: found them wrapped up in some toilet paper in my wallet. Quite an achievement, given the state I was in.
People I talked to: must have been a number. Met a lot of strangers later on who knew all about me.
Conclusion: probably enjoyed myself, should cut down on the booze a little.
Booze: wine bottle, empty; vodka bottle, empty (how did I do that?), condom wrapper (you guessed it).
Fridge: cranberry juice, Coca Cola Zero, both half filled.
Clothes: in a mess, on the floor, smelling of Hugo Boss and smoke.
Puke: negative.
Head: hurting like hell, as were various other body parts.
Objective: college, to work on a project.
Result: drink beer with a Russian and watch Arsenal - Man U instead.
Later: drink beer with said Russian in a PSV pub and watch them lose to Heerenveen (Yeah! Love you crazy Friesians!).
Difficulty: not cheering when Heerenveen score.
Memory: largely gone, remember shaking hands with my boss and having yet another "talk" with lame dumper. Afterwards? A flash of walking down a street, with a boy...
Financial forensics: found EUR 30 in my wallet. Also, three drinks tokens. This implies at least seven beers or a few beers in combination with hard liquor, in addition to the stuff I emptied at home.
Hook up archaeology: hopeless. John Doe, source unknown.
Sex: definitely had some, remember a nice, smooth body. A nice apartment downtown. Cuddling, kissing and bottoming. Ouch.
Contacts: found them wrapped up in some toilet paper in my wallet. Quite an achievement, given the state I was in.
People I talked to: must have been a number. Met a lot of strangers later on who knew all about me.
Conclusion: probably enjoyed myself, should cut down on the booze a little.
Saturday, 3 November 2007
No A'dam for me
Because I met someone last night (and had a very busy day after drinking way too much last night). This guy looks promising, and I hope to meet up with him again soon. He could well be the one...
Among other things, my alcohol tolerance is worrying me a little... or are vodka bottles getting smaller?
A'dam will have to wait until December, then I will have more time and there will be night trains back to mine.
Among other things, my alcohol tolerance is worrying me a little... or are vodka bottles getting smaller?
A'dam will have to wait until December, then I will have more time and there will be night trains back to mine.
Friday, 2 November 2007
November 2, 2004
Was probably the most depressing day of my life. It also happened to be my birthday, but that wasn't the reason I was depressed.
Something died in me that day, and I haven't recovered. I doubt I ever will, but I hope it will happen. All hope about this country turning out fine slipped away that day, and it hasn't come back so far.
I doubt it ever will.
The event of that day wasn't exactly surprising, but to see it actually happen is a whole different thing. It's like knowing about the apocalypse and actually seeing it.
The country was in turmoil, for weeks, politicians were unable to respond, mosques, schools and churches were attacked. My local muslim school (why do these things get tax payer money anyway?), 200 yards away, was actually bombed, although damage was minor.
People suddenly realised the enemy was among us. Born here, educated here, unlike the 19 of 911, local produce. But just as crazy, intolerant and backward, stuck in the Arabian desert of 14 centuries ago, with an all consuming hatred for someone who didn't do anything but express his opinion.
He had been threatened before, called a pig, a fascist and a racist, but he laughed it all off, saying that nobody would ever attack the town fool. Citing a fatwa by ayatollah Khomeini, he called his enemies a "fifth column of goat fuckers", rude but so fitting to their view of life.
On the second of November, 2004, a young son was robbed of his father, because the father expressed what he believed in: freedom, a certain decadence and a disdain towards mass movements and their instinctive intolerance towards those who disagree.
He has left a legacy of movies, for that was what he really was: not just a man with an opinion, but a prolific director. He left his website, an oasis of liberty in a country that is suspicious of dissent and has no First Amendment right to free speech. And he left his books, compilations of rants, columns and whatever he had to get off his chest, published in various newspapers and for his website, for he was routinely fired for not conforming to the level of newspaper political correctness. He was one of the first to express, that the emperor, multiculturalism, was not only nude but highly dangerous to a society that values cohesion.
And he left Submission, a scathing attack on the treatment of women in Islamic societies, a short, written by Ayaan Hirsi Ali, so controversial it hasn't been aired since.
On the second of November, 2004, Theo van Gogh, relative of the great artist, was shot and killed, as he cycled to his studio to finish his movie about that other murdered Dutch polemicist, Pim Fortuyn.
I'll talk about the depressing aftermath later.
Something died in me that day, and I haven't recovered. I doubt I ever will, but I hope it will happen. All hope about this country turning out fine slipped away that day, and it hasn't come back so far.
I doubt it ever will.
The event of that day wasn't exactly surprising, but to see it actually happen is a whole different thing. It's like knowing about the apocalypse and actually seeing it.
The country was in turmoil, for weeks, politicians were unable to respond, mosques, schools and churches were attacked. My local muslim school (why do these things get tax payer money anyway?), 200 yards away, was actually bombed, although damage was minor.
People suddenly realised the enemy was among us. Born here, educated here, unlike the 19 of 911, local produce. But just as crazy, intolerant and backward, stuck in the Arabian desert of 14 centuries ago, with an all consuming hatred for someone who didn't do anything but express his opinion.
He had been threatened before, called a pig, a fascist and a racist, but he laughed it all off, saying that nobody would ever attack the town fool. Citing a fatwa by ayatollah Khomeini, he called his enemies a "fifth column of goat fuckers", rude but so fitting to their view of life.
On the second of November, 2004, a young son was robbed of his father, because the father expressed what he believed in: freedom, a certain decadence and a disdain towards mass movements and their instinctive intolerance towards those who disagree.
He has left a legacy of movies, for that was what he really was: not just a man with an opinion, but a prolific director. He left his website, an oasis of liberty in a country that is suspicious of dissent and has no First Amendment right to free speech. And he left his books, compilations of rants, columns and whatever he had to get off his chest, published in various newspapers and for his website, for he was routinely fired for not conforming to the level of newspaper political correctness. He was one of the first to express, that the emperor, multiculturalism, was not only nude but highly dangerous to a society that values cohesion.
And he left Submission, a scathing attack on the treatment of women in Islamic societies, a short, written by Ayaan Hirsi Ali, so controversial it hasn't been aired since.
On the second of November, 2004, Theo van Gogh, relative of the great artist, was shot and killed, as he cycled to his studio to finish his movie about that other murdered Dutch polemicist, Pim Fortuyn.
I'll talk about the depressing aftermath later.
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