I keep saying one night stands are not really my thing, but if you do them right, they can be seriously amusing. As in, weird, fucked up, hilarious and hopefully a little freaky for the guy. I mean, you know you're probably not going to see each other again, so might as well do/say/feel whatever the hell you like. And I usually do. One of the fucking crazy things I'd do is to pretend I'm totally in love with the guy. I don't really hold that act too long though because it just gets freaky, but it's still funny.
So, couple of days ago, I picked up this Norwegian guy at Zouk. Kinda hot, your typical athletic Viking dude, gorgeous body, chiseled face, easy going vibe. He comes home with me, and we're not really drunk so we don't get right at it. I make him a drink and we're sitting around talking and drinking on the couch. He's taking a look at Phil's books, the one on the shelf right behind with books on Politics and Philosophy. He then starts talking about how shit the world is, and how nobody ever does anything. I don't know what I said, exactly, but at some point he starts accusing me of being apathetic.
People always misunderstand me on this point. When I say I'm apathetic about this whole business of saving the world, I don't mean I don't care or I don't try and do my part. I'm apathetic about the current system in place, and I think it's a load of bullshit, and that every time Bono steps on his private jet to a save the world conference, he is contributing to the drowning of the people in Bangladesh. But then, so am I every summer when I hop on that Emirates flight to Europe.
But he's kinda drunk, and I must say it was my fault because I always make the drink stronger for my guests, especially if there is a possibility of awesome sex. So he doesn't get anything I'm saying, and he's getting more and more pissed, and pissed off. And it's making me annoyed, because I didn't bring him back to have him rant at me.
"How old are you?" I ask, quite out of the blue.
"20? I'm turning 21 in a few weeks."
"Oh. Where do you live?"
"With my parents down on Harbour Front."
"Oh." (thinking, that explains a few things........)
He could tell I was starting to get severely annoyed, so he stops talking about what an evil person I am and comes over to my couch and starts trying to make out with me.
He was hot. If he'd shut up a little bit earlier I wouldn't have been blissfully right into it, but he had to go and say all those horrible things without understanding that I was actually on his side, and worse of all, not listen to me try and explain myself.
So I'm reclining on the couch, all pissed off, and he's all over me trying to get me to loosen up.
"Why so cold all of a sudden?" He asked.
"Because you just massively upset me?" I said.
"Oh come on." He said. He kissed me on my forehead and grabbed my boobs.
I rolled my eyes and went "Ugh
"C'mon, I'm sorry." He said, still grabbing my boobs.
"Oh... Maybe I'm not that kinda girl you know." I said.
"You're not a virgin are you?" He asked.
"Fuck no. Oh, I don't know."
He carries on feeling me up. I thought to myself, if I continue staying annoyed with him, then I'm going to kick him out soon, and that would be a waste because he was really pretty.
So I get up and tell him to follow me into my room. He sits on the bed, and I proceed to shut the door tight. Then I climb on top of him and start pulling his clothes off, and he's looking at me like, "what the fuck just happened."
I take off all my clothes and find the necessary protection (yes, this is a public sex ed announcement little children....) and last, but not least, pull out my bag of toys.
Now, I have this bullet vibrator that I almost never use. But I was still slightly pissed off, and I was in the mood for freaky shit. It wasn't going to be really freaky, but if he'd never done it before, then it would have an element of that, I imagined.
"Do you like things up your arse?" I ask. "I personally don't, but if you do..." I turned the thing on and gestured at him with it.
"Don't worry, the thing is practically a virgin, I got it as a gift and only used it once on myself."
"Whoa! No. I'm not gay. No no." He said.
"C'mon. It's not like I was suggesting you let me invade Poland." I said, tossing it aside and jumping right on him and kissing him, to prevent a verbal retaliation. I had really had enough of that.
He was quite annoying, but he knew what to do with his body so, I would say I came up on the whole deal. He probably did too. The vibe would have been so much more awesome if he'd just kept his mouth shut. But then, I don't know, maybe the conflict did make things steamier after. Maybe it would have been anyway. Whatever...I gave him my number before we started having that stupid argument, but seriously.. fuck it.
Saturday, February 27, 2010
Friday, February 26, 2010
Dreaming about D&D
I am suffering from a mild case of cabin fever. It's not a problem when you have someone you love to share the cabin with you, but staying indoors alone all the time can start to fray your nerves. I knew I had hit the end of the road when I took an afternoon nap and dreamed about playing Dungeons and Dragons. In the dream, I woke up to Indy's voice (duh). He was sitting outside my bedroom window with Ramm the Dwarf and a gaggle of other adventure seeking characters. I got up and shouted at them, pissed that I hadn't been invited to join the game.
Dead end man, dead end. :-P
Dead end man, dead end. :-P
Thursday, February 25, 2010
Late Nite Randomness
My life was going along in a perfectly sensible manner for the last 3 weeks since Tom and co. decided to stop drinking, and I attempted to stop drinking massively, and then last night happened. Nothing really strange happened last night, except I got drunk on a couple of drinks and got laid. And then started smut talking to Special K on Facebook. (Oh no! I've done it again, I've given one of my friends a lame pseudonym.)
Right after I was done with the gym, Dave texted me out of the blue, saying "You need a great orgasm". Normally I would have been slightly offended, but I guess I felt comfortable enough with him to not feel sleazed on. Anyway, I'd also reached the point where I was starting to feel like I'd use anyone that fell within my catchment for shag-ability. Which by the way, is quite niche, I realized...
He left a bit too early for my liking, so I went online and started chatting to Special K and this other guy I met online. At some point I thought it would be really funny to put a picture of my tits on my Facebook, but some fucker reported me, again! And they've taken it down now :-( I know, I'm probably sounding like some kind of nerdy girl that wouldn't be able to get any if the internet didn't exist. Fuck it.
I should probably get back to work -_-"
Right after I was done with the gym, Dave texted me out of the blue, saying "You need a great orgasm". Normally I would have been slightly offended, but I guess I felt comfortable enough with him to not feel sleazed on. Anyway, I'd also reached the point where I was starting to feel like I'd use anyone that fell within my catchment for shag-ability. Which by the way, is quite niche, I realized...
He left a bit too early for my liking, so I went online and started chatting to Special K and this other guy I met online. At some point I thought it would be really funny to put a picture of my tits on my Facebook, but some fucker reported me, again! And they've taken it down now :-( I know, I'm probably sounding like some kind of nerdy girl that wouldn't be able to get any if the internet didn't exist. Fuck it.
I should probably get back to work -_-"
Tuesday, February 23, 2010
The Snake in the Bathroom.
I dumped my backpack gratefully on a couch and hastily took off all my clothes and went into the bathroom. There was something peculiar about it on that day. I sensed another presence in there. The will of another living creature, or something like it. I don’t think I was so much afraid as I was excited and curious. Then I saw it. There was a snake lying dormant on the floor, coiled around the base of the toilet. It was a wet, green, shiny thing, just laying there, I didn’t know if it was asleep or dead.
I have to admit I was quite scared. I’d encountered centipedes in my shoe, leeches on my ankle and bats in my washbasin, but never a snake coiled around my toilet. This one, unlike the others, was both poisonous and big (relative to the size of a 5 year old girl).
I flushed the toilet to create a din to see if it would stir, but it didn’t. I poured hot water over it, but it lay there, still as ever. I concluded that it must be dead. Reassured by this, I bent down to pick it up. I reached for the bit right behind the head, and picked it up in one quick, snappy movement, one hand tightly grasping the base of its skull, the other clutching it’s body mid-way.
The fucking thing wasn’t dead. It reared its head and threw its entire body into an epileptic fit. The thing was slippery, and my tiny hands couldn’t keep a secure grip on its trashing body. It twisted its head all the way around, and stretched its mouth wide open to reveal inch-long fangs and the dead white inner lining of its mouth.
My heart started racing. It all happened so fast I didn’t have time to be afraid. The seconds stretched out, and it felt like I had the time to take in the entire situation, in what I thought must have been an objective, rational manner. What-if became what-was in infinitely miniscule units of time. But still, it was undeniable, the sensation I had of knowing first, before telling myself what I needed to do. Even if it was only in that moment between comprehension and action.
I was extremely excited and confused; I know that the fear of snakes is an innate thing, and that the prey always knows its predator, even at an early age. But in that moment, I wasn’t sure. All I could do was take deep breaths and hold on, as tight as I possibly could.
Marilyn heard all the commotion and barged into the bathroom just as I felt the beast gripping hold my flesh and hypodermically injecting its venom into me. This made me let go of the creature quite suddenly and it recoiled back into an even darker, and wetter position behind the toilet.
It was then I realized I was kneeling on the slippery floor, hands pressed into my crotch, doubled over from this intensely powerful and slightly painful sensation flashing through my body.
Marilyn was a small woman, but she always seemed big to be then. She towered of me, arms folded, an expression that can only be described as hateful, etched upon her face. Her attention flickered back and forth between the garden hose and me. Water was still pouring out of its mouth but at a languishing pace, its coils restricting the velocity of the flow.
Childhood Sucks!
Out of the blue, one of my friends from Secondary school days started to talk to me about 'the time when we were young and carefree'. Back when we were in that tropical Saint-Trinians' of repressed lesbian wardens and horny boyish girls all just coming of age. It was a school where severe haircuts were part of the uniform, and they took being in the Lord's military most seriously.
Childhood is one of those topics I have a very strong opinion on, mostly because I had a rather horrible time of it. In the attempt to get ADHD drugs 2 semesters ago, I went to see the psychiatrist, and she made me draw a chart of the relative happiness of my life throughout the years. Apparently ADHD sufferers generally rate themselves as being particularly unhappy from the ages of 7-16, or during the course of compulsory education. Not really surprising.
Kim started going on about the 'good old days', and while I think it's kind of sweet and romantic in a way to hang on to the past, I can't sympathize. Those days were a time of utter confusion and terror, of being almost completely incapable of changing your situation if you didn't like the situation you were in, your neck hanging on a stupid exam for a subject you didn't care for because it was taught by idiots that couldn't teach and treated you like shit and spanked you in front of everybody (I didn't have a problem with that one actually). It was a time of no freedom, no money, no privacy to fuck boys (although lesbianism was rampant and free so that made it quite alright), and worse of all, no air-conditioning, and no internet! (I got it at 13, but usage was strictly restricted. Sucks to be first-born, seriously, you get all the shit.)
Childhood was positively a nightmare. I just wanted to grow up and be rid of it. Kim said it was a 'carefree' time. Honestly, where the hell did that myth come from? You are far from free as a child, you're the puppet of all these other bigger, more powerful people that all have their own will, which is far stronger than yours. They know how to manipulate your mind, and when they can't do that they can always resort to force. Gee. Carefree. Sure.
Out on the Beach
(disclaimer: I was 21 at this point)
Kim started going on about the 'good old days', and while I think it's kind of sweet and romantic in a way to hang on to the past, I can't sympathize. Those days were a time of utter confusion and terror, of being almost completely incapable of changing your situation if you didn't like the situation you were in, your neck hanging on a stupid exam for a subject you didn't care for because it was taught by idiots that couldn't teach and treated you like shit and spanked you in front of everybody (I didn't have a problem with that one actually). It was a time of no freedom, no money, no privacy to fuck boys (although lesbianism was rampant and free so that made it quite alright), and worse of all, no air-conditioning, and no internet! (I got it at 13, but usage was strictly restricted. Sucks to be first-born, seriously, you get all the shit.)
Childhood was positively a nightmare. I just wanted to grow up and be rid of it. Kim said it was a 'carefree' time. Honestly, where the hell did that myth come from? You are far from free as a child, you're the puppet of all these other bigger, more powerful people that all have their own will, which is far stronger than yours. They know how to manipulate your mind, and when they can't do that they can always resort to force. Gee. Carefree. Sure.
Monday, February 22, 2010
Right should always feel this Wrong.
To all the awesome, daring, crazy people I've known through romping around in this crazy jungle of sex, drugs, rock n' roll (or electronic music, or Wagner, or whatever). I can safely say I do not know anyone who has lived their lives like my parents did. In the wake of failed marriages, used hearts, alternative sexual arrangements, post-traumatic stress disorder, social humiliation, body modifications, synthetic mental enhancement, voluntarily physical torture, long term sleep deprivation, streaking naked and other such self-deprecating acts. Despite it all, or perhaps, because of it all, you give me a reason to believe that the life of insanity is a life that is infinitely rewarding.
TO THE INTERVIEW
TO THE INTERVIEW
Norwegian News.
This is a really strange article (I have NO idea what it's trying to say) that was in the Norwegian Daily about Asian bloggers, and about young Asia in general.
Lost Girls for Bedtime.
I finally started reading Lost Girls. I read part of volume 1 ages ago, but then got busy and never carried on. It's Alan Moore's take on the fantasies of Alice, Wendy and Dorothy. Their alternate universes as a metaphor for sexual awakening. The Straw Man in The Wizard of Oz wasn't really a straw man, he was a beautiful blonde boy with not a lot of brains. The Queen of Hearts was Alice's all-powerful controlling lesbian lover, and Peter Pan is a gypsy teaching well brought up and so bourgeois Wendy Darling the joys of sex. Captain Hook, by the way, is a pedophile. So was the bunny rabbit in Alice. Go figure.
One thing that got me laughing out loud was the Austrian character in it called Rolf. So I have this impression that Austrian men are pretty decadent, and can charm your pants of. No idea where I got that from. I've met a few that are like that, and more that aren't. So probably from comic books. There's always an aristocratic Austrian man popping up in comic books charming both ladies and gents.
In Lost Girls, this Rolf character, who is having an affair with Dorothy, gets Wendy's husband to have sex with him. He tells Mr. Potter it's "Natürlich" and that "One commandant at Military school would take me in his mouth. You know? My Little Sausage." I almost pissed myself laughing. I just felt it was quite in an Austrian way (whatever the hell that is) for him to refer to his penis as my little sausage. It's like calling your pussy a popo you know?
One thing that got me laughing out loud was the Austrian character in it called Rolf. So I have this impression that Austrian men are pretty decadent, and can charm your pants of. No idea where I got that from. I've met a few that are like that, and more that aren't. So probably from comic books. There's always an aristocratic Austrian man popping up in comic books charming both ladies and gents.
In Lost Girls, this Rolf character, who is having an affair with Dorothy, gets Wendy's husband to have sex with him. He tells Mr. Potter it's "Natürlich" and that "One commandant at Military school would take me in his mouth. You know? My Little Sausage." I almost pissed myself laughing. I just felt it was quite in an Austrian way (whatever the hell that is) for him to refer to his penis as my little sausage. It's like calling your pussy a popo you know?
Anyway! Good night!
Saturday, February 20, 2010
Year of the Metal Tiger!
A long chain of events have led me to The Evil Singing Pandas. They are a Singaporean heavy metal band, but I found out about them on a boat from Stockholm to Helsinki. The entire chain goes like this. In the middle of the Australian outback, Remy Fan of TESP meets Nicola, crazy-about-rock Italian guy working for IKEA. Because he's working for IKEA, he has to head down to Stockholm ever so often, which was where I met him last summer. Actually, to be more specific, I squeezed in beside him on the viewing deck of the Stockholm-Helsinki ship and started chatting to him. When he found out I was from Singapore, he told me to look up TESP. So I did.
The baseline is, it took an Italian guy on a Finnish ship to make me listen to CNY song in heavy metal. How ridiculous is that.
That aside, you can download the album here: Year of the Metal Tiger (link on top right of page). Your relatives are guaranteed to get a hoot out of it. It's 3 classic Chinese New Year songs done in Heavy Metal, and it's a way better way to get your dose of CNY jingles, then the crap they've been playing at Carreefour (oh Lord have mercy). Plus, the website is fucking ridiculous. You play this game on it where you head-bang to the music and it's registered by your web-cam. The result of your headbanging awesomeness will give you your fortune for the year. WTF?
The album was produced by Tribal DDB as a CNY marketing shindig for their clients. Pretty good idea, I'd say. Plus, I love the metal tiger on the cover of the album.
This really strikes a chord with me. Dude. This is my year. I don't believe in either eastern and western astrology, but still, I can't help but feel some sense of solidarity for this arbitrary group I've been placed in with all these other people I'm supposed to share characteristics with. Like aggressiveness, impulsiveness, anti-social behaviour, etc. I read some research once that there are a lot less babies born to Chinese parents during the year of the Tiger.
But still. It's fucking cool. I mean, better than year of the rat. Year of the Metal Rat doesn't quite have the same verve to it, if you ask me.
This was the fortune I got off the site. Man if you want to inspect your shit (like they do in Germany) you're bound to find correlations, signs and omens to the way you live, or plan to live, your life.
1. Yes, my budget will be tighter this year (parents cut off the umbilical cord to steadycash since I'm no longer in University).
2.No I don't have random groupies anymore, it wasn't like the good old days when I was tediously famous for being naked online.
3. My biggest groupies are probably men/women I've slept with... so okay. I love them. I can deal with that.
4. If I can replace sleep and food with synthetic supplements, I will. You know what do you know what nootropics are? Caffeine, alcohol and cocaine are some nootropics that are widely available at your local psychiatric clinic.
The baseline is, it took an Italian guy on a Finnish ship to make me listen to CNY song in heavy metal. How ridiculous is that.
That aside, you can download the album here: Year of the Metal Tiger (link on top right of page). Your relatives are guaranteed to get a hoot out of it. It's 3 classic Chinese New Year songs done in Heavy Metal, and it's a way better way to get your dose of CNY jingles, then the crap they've been playing at Carreefour (oh Lord have mercy). Plus, the website is fucking ridiculous. You play this game on it where you head-bang to the music and it's registered by your web-cam. The result of your headbanging awesomeness will give you your fortune for the year. WTF?
The album was produced by Tribal DDB as a CNY marketing shindig for their clients. Pretty good idea, I'd say. Plus, I love the metal tiger on the cover of the album.
The photo was taken off Blank Kanvas
This really strikes a chord with me. Dude. This is my year. I don't believe in either eastern and western astrology, but still, I can't help but feel some sense of solidarity for this arbitrary group I've been placed in with all these other people I'm supposed to share characteristics with. Like aggressiveness, impulsiveness, anti-social behaviour, etc. I read some research once that there are a lot less babies born to Chinese parents during the year of the Tiger.
But still. It's fucking cool. I mean, better than year of the rat. Year of the Metal Rat doesn't quite have the same verve to it, if you ask me.
This was the fortune I got off the site. Man if you want to inspect your shit (like they do in Germany) you're bound to find correlations, signs and omens to the way you live, or plan to live, your life.
1. Yes, my budget will be tighter this year (parents cut off the umbilical cord to steadycash since I'm no longer in University).
2.No I don't have random groupies anymore, it wasn't like the good old days when I was tediously famous for being naked online.
3. My biggest groupies are probably men/women I've slept with... so okay. I love them. I can deal with that.
4. If I can replace sleep and food with synthetic supplements, I will. You know what do you know what nootropics are? Caffeine, alcohol and cocaine are some nootropics that are widely available at your local psychiatric clinic.
Friday, February 19, 2010
Don't Grab the Crotch.
Massages must feature in every guy's tactical plan when it comes to getting a girl into bed. They're a great way to test the situation. If a girl is willing to lie down and put herself into your hands in a barely dressed state, it definitely is a start. They are a good transitioning strategy, particularly if the girl is a bit shy with more direct come ons, or if she's not realized yet just how much she is into you. But to get it from 'massage' to 'make-out' is an art that they don't teach you at massage school. Guys that have it have it, and guys that don't... suck. Big time. Even if the massage was by all objective standards good.
According to a male friend, the massage should start from the neck down. From what I gather, once the lovely creature under you is sufficiently relaxed, start going, very slowly around the sides of her boobs. If she's uncomfortable with it, she'll shift her weight, and you can desist.
Never, ever, EVER, start with the thighs, and WORSE do NOT grab her crotch. For the more intelligent males out there you'd probably be thinking, "Wow, I knew men were retarded, but how retarded is that?"
I've always been comfortable with being naked in all sorts of situations (that is to say I never learned to be uncomfortable when naked) and I never have a problem with receiving or giving massages. I'm good at it too, as my mother saw it useful to her ends to teach all her children how to give good massages. I quite like giving massages actually, and when I do it, I'm not expecting to get any kind of sexual favor in return. Sometimes I feel it is preferable for the man not to try and attempt to return this favour through offering sex, but annoyingly they do it anyway.
I'm not stupid and I realized soon enough that if I didn't find a guy charming, I should not, in any circumstance, put myself in a private situation with him. You'd think this should be obvious to someone nearly 20, but some things I had to learn rather late in life, after 13 years in an effectively all female environment. (The few boys around were gay, so they don't count).
Back to the crotch grabbing. It's mostly a bad idea, unless the girl explicitly wants it, and shows that she wants it, by putting your hand right there. If she doesn't do it, don't do it. You're just going to make her irritated and/or violent. If the guy is really hot, but stupid in such matters, she might get extremely violent and horny, which is fine for both, but only a small percentage of men have the luck to be that kind of hot, so don't count on it.
According to a male friend, the massage should start from the neck down. From what I gather, once the lovely creature under you is sufficiently relaxed, start going, very slowly around the sides of her boobs. If she's uncomfortable with it, she'll shift her weight, and you can desist.
Never, ever, EVER, start with the thighs, and WORSE do NOT grab her crotch. For the more intelligent males out there you'd probably be thinking, "Wow, I knew men were retarded, but how retarded is that?"
I've always been comfortable with being naked in all sorts of situations (that is to say I never learned to be uncomfortable when naked) and I never have a problem with receiving or giving massages. I'm good at it too, as my mother saw it useful to her ends to teach all her children how to give good massages. I quite like giving massages actually, and when I do it, I'm not expecting to get any kind of sexual favor in return. Sometimes I feel it is preferable for the man not to try and attempt to return this favour through offering sex, but annoyingly they do it anyway.
I'm not stupid and I realized soon enough that if I didn't find a guy charming, I should not, in any circumstance, put myself in a private situation with him. You'd think this should be obvious to someone nearly 20, but some things I had to learn rather late in life, after 13 years in an effectively all female environment. (The few boys around were gay, so they don't count).
Back to the crotch grabbing. It's mostly a bad idea, unless the girl explicitly wants it, and shows that she wants it, by putting your hand right there. If she doesn't do it, don't do it. You're just going to make her irritated and/or violent. If the guy is really hot, but stupid in such matters, she might get extremely violent and horny, which is fine for both, but only a small percentage of men have the luck to be that kind of hot, so don't count on it.
Thursday, February 18, 2010
Happy Birthday Liz + Stef :D
So it was Liz's and Stef's birthday yesterday. It was pretty epic, I'd never seen her this trashed before. Usually she sits around quietly checking guys out and occasionally complains about how crap all of them are. But she was really friendly last night. At one point she was sitting on some random guy's lap outside the bar, unnecessarily and continuously reinforcing in all our brains how drunk she was.
She "I am SO drunk. I mean, been drinking since 2 pm man, with this Swedish model... 10 Margaritas in the afternoon alone..."
Me "Yeah you're drunk I know. I can see that. You're normally not this friendly. You're sitting on a random guy's lap out on the pavement."
She "Ho! You're right man."
Me (grin) "Damn right you're normally a bitch."
She "Yeah babe. Totally. Fuck this."
Extrapolate this into 2 more hours, and that was basically our night. Well, what else man. Mine is in 2 weeks, it's going to be epic. I hope. It's such a pity Joris is not around, he had the ability to make things epic. Both him and MGM. Damnit... I miss the guy -_-"
Oh, and plus their cake SO wins.
She "I am SO drunk. I mean, been drinking since 2 pm man, with this Swedish model... 10 Margaritas in the afternoon alone..."
Me "Yeah you're drunk I know. I can see that. You're normally not this friendly. You're sitting on a random guy's lap out on the pavement."
She "Ho! You're right man."
Me (grin) "Damn right you're normally a bitch."
She "Yeah babe. Totally. Fuck this."
Extrapolate this into 2 more hours, and that was basically our night. Well, what else man. Mine is in 2 weeks, it's going to be epic. I hope. It's such a pity Joris is not around, he had the ability to make things epic. Both him and MGM. Damnit... I miss the guy -_-"
Oh, and plus their cake SO wins.
Wednesday, February 17, 2010
Prospects look good.
The plan to get my shit together and move to Holland is coming along nicely. Trina was right, once I got my ticket booked, things started falling into place. It's almost like magic, but not quite. Subconsciously, I think we all make an effort to get our lives onto the direction we want it to go.
After sending out a few emails and what not, and getting generally positive replied, I've established that there is no shortage of design jobs in Holland, far from it. There's a whole variety of work in design if you're good and you want to do it. From what I gather, the focus in that region of Europe is primarily graphic design. Not so much animation work, but there's a fair about of film/documentary stuff as well.
Also, the Dutch, being traders by nature (which is something they will tell you multiple times a day until you link trading with Dutchness; or should it be the other way around? ) Anyway, they have managed to keep their economy healthy, so the aftermath of the GFC in Holland is not something I'm particularly worried about. Frankly, I'm not feeling the GFC as much as I thought I would feel it back in 2008. In fact I'm glad that people have stopped ostentatiously splashing money about.
So far, prospects look good.
In preparation, I've also started making lists of stuff I needed to complete, and was quite glad to realize that most of the things are on 'finishing' status. That leaves around 3 more weeks to make some new shit, then put everything together and start applying for work.
I'm kind of hoping to get freelance jobs more than anything, because that means I'm not really tied down and will have the freedom to do random things, like MGM's idea to enter us into the Amazing Race Asia.
I'm actually quite keen on the idea. I don't think there's anyone else I would rather enter the race with. It's a match made in heaven. Possible CIA agent (nobody knows this for sure, not even MGM) and once-notorious sex blogger and actress of art-house porn. Is that good value or what. All I need now is to practice climbing a few rock walls and we're set to win.
Who knows. I'm going ahead with the Holland plans, and just going to wait and see what happens with the application for TAR.
After sending out a few emails and what not, and getting generally positive replied, I've established that there is no shortage of design jobs in Holland, far from it. There's a whole variety of work in design if you're good and you want to do it. From what I gather, the focus in that region of Europe is primarily graphic design. Not so much animation work, but there's a fair about of film/documentary stuff as well.
Also, the Dutch, being traders by nature (which is something they will tell you multiple times a day until you link trading with Dutchness; or should it be the other way around? ) Anyway, they have managed to keep their economy healthy, so the aftermath of the GFC in Holland is not something I'm particularly worried about. Frankly, I'm not feeling the GFC as much as I thought I would feel it back in 2008. In fact I'm glad that people have stopped ostentatiously splashing money about.
So far, prospects look good.
In preparation, I've also started making lists of stuff I needed to complete, and was quite glad to realize that most of the things are on 'finishing' status. That leaves around 3 more weeks to make some new shit, then put everything together and start applying for work.
I'm kind of hoping to get freelance jobs more than anything, because that means I'm not really tied down and will have the freedom to do random things, like MGM's idea to enter us into the Amazing Race Asia.
I'm actually quite keen on the idea. I don't think there's anyone else I would rather enter the race with. It's a match made in heaven. Possible CIA agent (nobody knows this for sure, not even MGM) and once-notorious sex blogger and actress of art-house porn. Is that good value or what. All I need now is to practice climbing a few rock walls and we're set to win.
Who knows. I'm going ahead with the Holland plans, and just going to wait and see what happens with the application for TAR.
Monday, February 15, 2010
Porn, Reality TV and Valentine's Day.
I'm a little late, but you know, fuck it. Happy Valentine's Day y'all. To celebrate this, I've thrown in a few photos of my most epic V-day ever. It happened in the dead of winter in Budapest, while I was on exchange. It was my 3rd weekend in this almost terrifyingly foreign country where I did not speak the language, had next to no friends, and was still acclimatizing myself to the -10 temperature.
I did however have one friend, Wright, who is this chaotic Dutch guy that had a tendency to oversleep and collect random crap from the street to make art. He was living in this flat on the opposite end from mine on Király ut. His landlord was a Hungarian guy called Imre. Apparently I had bumped into him at the university on registration day and we had locked stares for an uncomfortably long amount of time. Which is just the way a good stare at a another individual you find sexually attractive should be. Also, I had given both Wright and Imre rather lame ass lap dances about a week ago after dinner in their flat. (I was extremely drunk, and at that point I hadn't developed the ability to keep my clothes on when fucked up. I have marginally better control of this behaviour now).
He managed to get my phone number from Wright and called me up one day while I was coming back from the gym to ask if I wanted to meet up for a bottle of wine. I told him I was definitely game, and that we could meet outside my apartment block.
Of course I knew what the whole visit was about, so to cut to the chase, I invited him in, we had the wine and did the dirty. It wasn't that great the first time, which was disappointing, but he had like this sexy, worked out body, which made mediocre first-time sex forgivable. His excuse was that he was on flu meds. My secret belief (after taking into consideration certain events that were to transpire later) is that he liked me a lot; and sometimes some guys have this thing where they can't perform at their best until they get more comfortable, if they like you a lot. Or that it was just him needing to be a bit more familiar with a girl first, which is also normal. But for the fact that he gave out this total playboy image. Actually it wasn't an image, it was a fact.
We were rolling around in bed and he asked me if I wanted to do anything for the rest of the night.
Me "Keep fucking?"
Him "For sure. But I feel like I want to go out and do something."
Me "You know, I was invited to this Porno shoot out in District 23, where ever the hell that is but I didn't think I'd go because it's fucking cold and I have no idea how to get there."
Him "I know where it is. It's far out. We can drive there."
Me "Sounds good. Yeah, I don't think it would be that interesting, but it's going to be weird, and you know what runs freely on every porn set..."
Him "Would be good. For sure we are going then."
So I packed myself into my fur lined puffer coat which I wore permanently whenever I was outdoors until March arrived, and bundled into his car. I told him how I got this peculiar invite: One of T's friends had seen my status on Facebook as "Gallivanting in Budapest" or something to a similar effect and had asked T to contact me about this porn reality TV he was shooting and ask if I wanted to come or not. They needed extras.
It was one of the weirdest nights in my life, and I've had some pretty weird nights. But it was possibly the coldest night I had in Hungary, about -21, I had just gotten laid with a fit local boy who seemed to like me quite a bit, and now we were driving out into the housing estates which looked like how a housing estate would look anywhere in the world (square concrete blocks) including Singapore. Only it was freezing and starting to snow, the atmosphere was saturated with black, and the estate looked pretty damn shady. Imre told me these were dangerous parts. I was worried when he got out to ask this random poor sod waiting for the bus for directions.
After much confusion, we managed to find this place. It was really something else. It was this big ass house with white washed walls and a jacuzzi in the living room in the middle of suburbia. I guess Hungary has its own San Pornando Valley, but it's no where as glitzy as the one in California. It was fucking grim. Later, I talked to the woman that owned the place. She was a very nice, smart lady, and she was in the business of porn real estate. She bought places and turned them into pimped up porn mansions. Interesting business indeed.
We got out and I met Dave, the guy that invited me to this thing and we had a good chat about porn and Dorothy Parker. Among other things. Actually I liked most of the guys making the film, they were just regular guys, and most of them were probably way over-skilled for the job they were doing. The guys that were IN the porn film however were a different story. They weren't porn stars apparently, they had paid to be in this shoot. It was like a 'porn holiday'. Something Hungary and other central-eastern European countries and the Baltic states specialize in.
They started filming the thing and it got quite boring soon enough. The girls didn't seem to be really enjoying it, and the guys just seemed to be on viagra or something. I was like, so not horny the whole time I was there. However, after drinking copious amounts of whiskey cokes, I started to get into the swing of things and at some point found myself with my top off and fondling silicone boobies.
He was obviously having a hilarious time too...
This was basically what was going on in the background: quite typical huh.
That was pretty much the most memorable V-Day every. It's the way I like it yeah.
Isabella's favoritest Valentine's Day so far.
I did however have one friend, Wright, who is this chaotic Dutch guy that had a tendency to oversleep and collect random crap from the street to make art. He was living in this flat on the opposite end from mine on Király ut. His landlord was a Hungarian guy called Imre. Apparently I had bumped into him at the university on registration day and we had locked stares for an uncomfortably long amount of time. Which is just the way a good stare at a another individual you find sexually attractive should be. Also, I had given both Wright and Imre rather lame ass lap dances about a week ago after dinner in their flat. (I was extremely drunk, and at that point I hadn't developed the ability to keep my clothes on when fucked up. I have marginally better control of this behaviour now).
He managed to get my phone number from Wright and called me up one day while I was coming back from the gym to ask if I wanted to meet up for a bottle of wine. I told him I was definitely game, and that we could meet outside my apartment block.
Of course I knew what the whole visit was about, so to cut to the chase, I invited him in, we had the wine and did the dirty. It wasn't that great the first time, which was disappointing, but he had like this sexy, worked out body, which made mediocre first-time sex forgivable. His excuse was that he was on flu meds. My secret belief (after taking into consideration certain events that were to transpire later) is that he liked me a lot; and sometimes some guys have this thing where they can't perform at their best until they get more comfortable, if they like you a lot. Or that it was just him needing to be a bit more familiar with a girl first, which is also normal. But for the fact that he gave out this total playboy image. Actually it wasn't an image, it was a fact.
We were rolling around in bed and he asked me if I wanted to do anything for the rest of the night.
Me "Keep fucking?"
Him "For sure. But I feel like I want to go out and do something."
Me "You know, I was invited to this Porno shoot out in District 23, where ever the hell that is but I didn't think I'd go because it's fucking cold and I have no idea how to get there."
Him "I know where it is. It's far out. We can drive there."
Me "Sounds good. Yeah, I don't think it would be that interesting, but it's going to be weird, and you know what runs freely on every porn set..."
Him "Would be good. For sure we are going then."
So I packed myself into my fur lined puffer coat which I wore permanently whenever I was outdoors until March arrived, and bundled into his car. I told him how I got this peculiar invite: One of T's friends had seen my status on Facebook as "Gallivanting in Budapest" or something to a similar effect and had asked T to contact me about this porn reality TV he was shooting and ask if I wanted to come or not. They needed extras.
It was one of the weirdest nights in my life, and I've had some pretty weird nights. But it was possibly the coldest night I had in Hungary, about -21, I had just gotten laid with a fit local boy who seemed to like me quite a bit, and now we were driving out into the housing estates which looked like how a housing estate would look anywhere in the world (square concrete blocks) including Singapore. Only it was freezing and starting to snow, the atmosphere was saturated with black, and the estate looked pretty damn shady. Imre told me these were dangerous parts. I was worried when he got out to ask this random poor sod waiting for the bus for directions.
After much confusion, we managed to find this place. It was really something else. It was this big ass house with white washed walls and a jacuzzi in the living room in the middle of suburbia. I guess Hungary has its own San Pornando Valley, but it's no where as glitzy as the one in California. It was fucking grim. Later, I talked to the woman that owned the place. She was a very nice, smart lady, and she was in the business of porn real estate. She bought places and turned them into pimped up porn mansions. Interesting business indeed.
We got out and I met Dave, the guy that invited me to this thing and we had a good chat about porn and Dorothy Parker. Among other things. Actually I liked most of the guys making the film, they were just regular guys, and most of them were probably way over-skilled for the job they were doing. The guys that were IN the porn film however were a different story. They weren't porn stars apparently, they had paid to be in this shoot. It was like a 'porn holiday'. Something Hungary and other central-eastern European countries and the Baltic states specialize in.
They started filming the thing and it got quite boring soon enough. The girls didn't seem to be really enjoying it, and the guys just seemed to be on viagra or something. I was like, so not horny the whole time I was there. However, after drinking copious amounts of whiskey cokes, I started to get into the swing of things and at some point found myself with my top off and fondling silicone boobies.
He was obviously having a hilarious time too...
This was basically what was going on in the background: quite typical huh.
That was pretty much the most memorable V-Day every. It's the way I like it yeah.
Saturday, February 13, 2010
Zadie Supermaid and Henrik Svensson
You got to give me credit, using Zadie Super-maid as a match-maker wasn't a half bad idea, although it didn't work out in the end. I've started talking to her a little more lately, and she has quite some stories to tell. She's not so much of an exciting personality, as an interesting one; being good at organizing the lives of alcoholic expats, she can't possibly be chaotic by nature. However, she's come a hell of a long way from a tiny village in the Philippines and has a great acceptance of all sorts of weird arrangements people have for their lives. Her stories start of innocuous at first but quickly descend into deeper depths of surreality. It all started to go downhill the day she tried to move my bedside mirror.
My $10 IKEA bedside mirror (it's called Ram, as part of Sweden's plans for reclaiming it's cultural imperialism over other Scandinavian countries) sits at an angle beside my bed. It's there for a reason. I wear makeup only occasionally and dress up once every two weeks when I feel like it. I don't need a mirror to look at myself for the regular purposes most other women would need mirrors for. Looking into all available reflective surfaces when I am out in public, suits me fine.
Zadie didn't know this of course, so while she was vacuuming the room, she mentioned moving the mirror to somewhere more sensible, like the space beside the door.
Me "No, don't move it."
Her "But it doesn't make sense! You can't see yourself in it like that."
Me "I know. But... just don't move it."
Her "Why? If it's there you can see yourself when you need to do your makeup before going out."
Me "I do my makeup in the bathroom."
Her (picking up the mirror anyway) "But you can't access the cabinet if it's placed like this!"
Me "Oh sod it. It's a sex mirror."
Her (bursting out laughing and sitting on the bed) "Fuck! You're so naughty Isabella."
Me (huge grin) "Yeah. It's great man. I love it. I want to put one up on the ceiling too."
Her "Oh my god. You're so bad..."
Anyway, after that point she started telling me more shit about some of the people she looked after. I never thought the job of being a maid could be this interesting. I guess for most maids out there it isn't, but if you specialize in fixing up the lives of alcoholic expatriates of all shape and form, you can have quite an interesting time. I swear to god, if she wrote a book, it would become a bestseller. Her life is fucking hilarious, and she has one of those observer/explorer personalities that make her able to tolerate even the strangest shit flung her way.
At some point she started telling me about this guy called Hendrik. He was a new addition to this flat she had been looking after for a few years, after the previous Irish horn-dog was kicked out for bringing home one too many OT girls. This apparently did not sit well with the land-lady and her attempts to Christianize him.
The first week she was practically gushing about him. The basic description of Henrik was "Sweet, beautiful blonde boy with blue eyes (I have a feeling she also has a thing for blue eyes. There is always a specific mention if so-and-so has blue eyes) in his late twenties/early thirties, tall, fit, funny, open-minded but very polite and soft-spoken."
To me, that was just like, dreamboat. Also, it was typically Swedish. About all the Swedish men I know are exactly like that. They've got this whole blonde haired, blue eyed, gorgeous, kind and totally unpretentious thing going on. Actually so do the women. I guess they are all like that because of this "Undfellenhet" thing, whatever the hell it is. It's probably like the Finnish "Sisu" thing, you don't get it unless you were born on the Northern Rim into a land of eternal summers, never ending winters, socially liberal policies, over-educated people, bountiful natural resources etc.
The next week, she comes back telling me a little more about this guy. "He's a really naughty boy. Condoms under the keyboard, lots of shagging going on, probably not with the same woman, but I can't know for sure."
Me, "Wow. Now you're talking. Sounds like my kinda guy. I mean, I don't need a guy right now, but he could be fun."
Her, "Oh Isabella, he's not good."
Me, "He's very good. I mean, he's both polite and shags a lot. I would very much like to meet him. Most of the men I know are just like that. What's his last name? I can Facebook him."
Her, "I don't know. I'll ask him the next time."
Apparently his family name was Svensson. I almost pissed myself laughing.
Me, "Fuck. Every other guy in Sweden is called Henrik Svensson. It's totally useless."
Her, "Oh just forget him. I know this other Russian guys called Andrew who is really sweet, and quiet, and thoughtful, and organized, and does nothing but read all day in his room..."
Me, "Oh my god no. Totally unsuitable. Does he have a fit body?"
Her, "Yeah, I see him going to the gym and stuff. He's a good looking guy."
Me, "Hmm... but anyway I'm looking for random people to go party with, good boys and me don't go well. In fact, they almost always end in a bad way."
She protests a bit but I showed her some of my drunken party photos... particularly this one (which is SO fucking BAD I'm glad you can't see my face in it, even if you know it's me. And the other person in it is a girl just in case you can't see that) and she gave in.
I wrote a note to this Henrik Svensson and gave it to her. Okay, least you think I'm desperate, I just felt it was a good idea, because if he did contact me that would mean he was a totally random person which is good, and that he was easy going and it was just kind of meant to be. Because you gotta admit, it was a pretty weird, but not implausible, way to get to meet someone. And you know, fuck it. It didn't cost me anything, and it made for a good story. Plus it riled some feathers.
So what happened was that Zadie left the note on Henrik Svensson's computer desk beside the condom wrappers, to-do lists and financial manuals because he had gone back to Sweden to visit his family. Unfortunately for my little note, which I now wished I wrote in Swedish (not that I can do this myself) was intercepted by his current girlfriend and thrown away. According to Zadie, Henrik had returned from Gothenburg to a rather pissed off girlfriend demanding to know who the hell was Zadie and what the hell was this note about. But obviously he hadn't a clue about the note so it was a stupid question to ask.
Me, "Oh my god. That's terrible. I thought you said he was shagging around! I hope I didn't cause any trouble. What did he say? Was he angry? Who did he say you were then to his girlfriend?"
Her, "Well I don't know for sure, I always assumed he had a kind of regular partner here, but I didn't think it was anywhere serious. He wasn't angry, he was laughing when he told me about it. He told her that Zadie was the fantastic lady that cleaned the entire flat and arranged everything and sorted out the laundry and made life possible. Anyway, he said he has a life back in Sweden and spring break in Singapore is going to be over for him soon, so he doesn't really care."
Me, "Haha no shit. He has a life back in Sweden. I've heard that one before. That girl is gonna be so mad. I mean, I wouldn't just throw out a note like that in the same situation. She probably thinks they're going to get married or something. Poor sod."
Her, "Yeah probably...."
The conversation then takes a turn for the weirder about her friend that got pregnant by some other Scandie and went back to the Philippines to raise her "blue-eyed baby" by herself. No shit.
Happy Chinese New Year. Go get laid tonight.
My $10 IKEA bedside mirror (it's called Ram, as part of Sweden's plans for reclaiming it's cultural imperialism over other Scandinavian countries) sits at an angle beside my bed. It's there for a reason. I wear makeup only occasionally and dress up once every two weeks when I feel like it. I don't need a mirror to look at myself for the regular purposes most other women would need mirrors for. Looking into all available reflective surfaces when I am out in public, suits me fine.
Zadie didn't know this of course, so while she was vacuuming the room, she mentioned moving the mirror to somewhere more sensible, like the space beside the door.
Me "No, don't move it."
Her "But it doesn't make sense! You can't see yourself in it like that."
Me "I know. But... just don't move it."
Her "Why? If it's there you can see yourself when you need to do your makeup before going out."
Me "I do my makeup in the bathroom."
Her (picking up the mirror anyway) "But you can't access the cabinet if it's placed like this!"
Me "Oh sod it. It's a sex mirror."
Her (bursting out laughing and sitting on the bed) "Fuck! You're so naughty Isabella."
Me (huge grin) "Yeah. It's great man. I love it. I want to put one up on the ceiling too."
Her "Oh my god. You're so bad..."
Anyway, after that point she started telling me more shit about some of the people she looked after. I never thought the job of being a maid could be this interesting. I guess for most maids out there it isn't, but if you specialize in fixing up the lives of alcoholic expatriates of all shape and form, you can have quite an interesting time. I swear to god, if she wrote a book, it would become a bestseller. Her life is fucking hilarious, and she has one of those observer/explorer personalities that make her able to tolerate even the strangest shit flung her way.
At some point she started telling me about this guy called Hendrik. He was a new addition to this flat she had been looking after for a few years, after the previous Irish horn-dog was kicked out for bringing home one too many OT girls. This apparently did not sit well with the land-lady and her attempts to Christianize him.
The first week she was practically gushing about him. The basic description of Henrik was "Sweet, beautiful blonde boy with blue eyes (I have a feeling she also has a thing for blue eyes. There is always a specific mention if so-and-so has blue eyes) in his late twenties/early thirties, tall, fit, funny, open-minded but very polite and soft-spoken."
To me, that was just like, dreamboat. Also, it was typically Swedish. About all the Swedish men I know are exactly like that. They've got this whole blonde haired, blue eyed, gorgeous, kind and totally unpretentious thing going on. Actually so do the women. I guess they are all like that because of this "Undfellenhet" thing, whatever the hell it is. It's probably like the Finnish "Sisu" thing, you don't get it unless you were born on the Northern Rim into a land of eternal summers, never ending winters, socially liberal policies, over-educated people, bountiful natural resources etc.
The next week, she comes back telling me a little more about this guy. "He's a really naughty boy. Condoms under the keyboard, lots of shagging going on, probably not with the same woman, but I can't know for sure."
Me, "Wow. Now you're talking. Sounds like my kinda guy. I mean, I don't need a guy right now, but he could be fun."
Her, "Oh Isabella, he's not good."
Me, "He's very good. I mean, he's both polite and shags a lot. I would very much like to meet him. Most of the men I know are just like that. What's his last name? I can Facebook him."
Her, "I don't know. I'll ask him the next time."
Apparently his family name was Svensson. I almost pissed myself laughing.
Me, "Fuck. Every other guy in Sweden is called Henrik Svensson. It's totally useless."
Her, "Oh just forget him. I know this other Russian guys called Andrew who is really sweet, and quiet, and thoughtful, and organized, and does nothing but read all day in his room..."
Me, "Oh my god no. Totally unsuitable. Does he have a fit body?"
Her, "Yeah, I see him going to the gym and stuff. He's a good looking guy."
Me, "Hmm... but anyway I'm looking for random people to go party with, good boys and me don't go well. In fact, they almost always end in a bad way."
She protests a bit but I showed her some of my drunken party photos... particularly this one (which is SO fucking BAD I'm glad you can't see my face in it, even if you know it's me. And the other person in it is a girl just in case you can't see that) and she gave in.
I wrote a note to this Henrik Svensson and gave it to her. Okay, least you think I'm desperate, I just felt it was a good idea, because if he did contact me that would mean he was a totally random person which is good, and that he was easy going and it was just kind of meant to be. Because you gotta admit, it was a pretty weird, but not implausible, way to get to meet someone. And you know, fuck it. It didn't cost me anything, and it made for a good story. Plus it riled some feathers.
So what happened was that Zadie left the note on Henrik Svensson's computer desk beside the condom wrappers, to-do lists and financial manuals because he had gone back to Sweden to visit his family. Unfortunately for my little note, which I now wished I wrote in Swedish (not that I can do this myself) was intercepted by his current girlfriend and thrown away. According to Zadie, Henrik had returned from Gothenburg to a rather pissed off girlfriend demanding to know who the hell was Zadie and what the hell was this note about. But obviously he hadn't a clue about the note so it was a stupid question to ask.
Me, "Oh my god. That's terrible. I thought you said he was shagging around! I hope I didn't cause any trouble. What did he say? Was he angry? Who did he say you were then to his girlfriend?"
Her, "Well I don't know for sure, I always assumed he had a kind of regular partner here, but I didn't think it was anywhere serious. He wasn't angry, he was laughing when he told me about it. He told her that Zadie was the fantastic lady that cleaned the entire flat and arranged everything and sorted out the laundry and made life possible. Anyway, he said he has a life back in Sweden and spring break in Singapore is going to be over for him soon, so he doesn't really care."
Me, "Haha no shit. He has a life back in Sweden. I've heard that one before. That girl is gonna be so mad. I mean, I wouldn't just throw out a note like that in the same situation. She probably thinks they're going to get married or something. Poor sod."
Her, "Yeah probably...."
The conversation then takes a turn for the weirder about her friend that got pregnant by some other Scandie and went back to the Philippines to raise her "blue-eyed baby" by herself. No shit.
Happy Chinese New Year. Go get laid tonight.
Friday, February 12, 2010
Finders, Keepers.
As my sex life switches from value=1 to value=0, I start descending into nerd-dom and read blogs like the one by Psychologist Richard Wiseman, who possibly has the best advice for this season, (which is most certainly going to be horrid: Chinese New Year and Valentine's...) The title of his post should make you cream your pants with the anticipation of increasing your chances of getting laid multiple times with the same partner. "Improve your love life with science". Okay, I'm being a twat on purpose. It's quite interesting, really.
The following is a list of what I do, to keep the type of man I want (the specification of gender here is deliberate, my forays into lesbianism have been characterized by extreme drunkenness and a secret horror of being inadequate).
How to Find and Keep the Right One.
Assumptions: The person smells right, looks good, and is all round physically desirable.
1. Do something insane within the first few dates. These activities should tell you how far your partner will go before too much becomes a bad idea for them. If you really push it, it can be freakier and way more exciting than watching a horror movie. Dangerous activities that would make the both of you feel like partners in crime is a very good idea indeed. And fun as hell.
These might include having sex in a public place, wandering around town after not having slept for days, participating in politically charged activities, going on a spiritual journey and other intense adventures on the spur of the moment...etc.
2. Talk about this elusive concept we call love. If you've already had sex a couple of times and there's good chemistry, you can talk about love. No matter what Cosmo or "The Game
" tells you. Everyone has given this a good measure of thought and has an opinion on it. A lot of people have no problems sharing the dirty sex they've had (just keep your ears peels in a bar), but the world is against talking about love because it makes you vulnerable.
3. Tell the other person why you like them. Their strengths are not your weaknesses. You are giving them a fucking compliment for fuck's sake, and people like compliments.
4. Have a conversation about your beliefs in God and alternative states of being and the future of the universe, and other similar topics. Everyone you date should have something to say about those things, if they don't, they're lame. There are subjects in this world where your views are uniquely yours, which would make you that special person, which is what you want to be.
5. Flirt with other people. It's a bad idea to let someone feel totally secure on where they stand. Flirting is not a crime. In my books sleeping with someone else accidentally-on-purpose is not a crime. Fuck it, it's your body, you're allowed to do whatever you want with it.
If all else fails, you can take a page from the guy that held my friend captive in his fancy apartment while she was backpacking in California. Just get a girl when she's off her tits and ply her with champagne from dawn to dusk.
The following is a list of what I do, to keep the type of man I want (the specification of gender here is deliberate, my forays into lesbianism have been characterized by extreme drunkenness and a secret horror of being inadequate).
Assumptions: The person smells right, looks good, and is all round physically desirable.
1. Do something insane within the first few dates. These activities should tell you how far your partner will go before too much becomes a bad idea for them. If you really push it, it can be freakier and way more exciting than watching a horror movie. Dangerous activities that would make the both of you feel like partners in crime is a very good idea indeed. And fun as hell.
These might include having sex in a public place, wandering around town after not having slept for days, participating in politically charged activities, going on a spiritual journey and other intense adventures on the spur of the moment...etc.
2. Talk about this elusive concept we call love. If you've already had sex a couple of times and there's good chemistry, you can talk about love. No matter what Cosmo or "The Game
" tells you. Everyone has given this a good measure of thought and has an opinion on it. A lot of people have no problems sharing the dirty sex they've had (just keep your ears peels in a bar), but the world is against talking about love because it makes you vulnerable.3. Tell the other person why you like them. Their strengths are not your weaknesses. You are giving them a fucking compliment for fuck's sake, and people like compliments.
4. Have a conversation about your beliefs in God and alternative states of being and the future of the universe, and other similar topics. Everyone you date should have something to say about those things, if they don't, they're lame. There are subjects in this world where your views are uniquely yours, which would make you that special person, which is what you want to be.
5. Flirt with other people. It's a bad idea to let someone feel totally secure on where they stand. Flirting is not a crime. In my books sleeping with someone else accidentally-on-purpose is not a crime. Fuck it, it's your body, you're allowed to do whatever you want with it.
If all else fails, you can take a page from the guy that held my friend captive in his fancy apartment while she was backpacking in California. Just get a girl when she's off her tits and ply her with champagne from dawn to dusk.
Wednesday, February 10, 2010
Sky Against Her.
She presses the sky against her lips,
It hides her face and denies her,
Breaths,
Without the scent of melancholy.
The heavy air that suffocates her,
Is soaked in sweat,
And smoke,
From a morning reading, of Macbeth.
Her skin is chilled on the outside,
Above subcutaneous tissue,
Sweat,
Like detergent on a week-old, freshly laundered shirt.
It hides her face and denies her,
Breaths,
Without the scent of melancholy.
The heavy air that suffocates her,
Is soaked in sweat,
And smoke,
From a morning reading, of Macbeth.
Her skin is chilled on the outside,
Above subcutaneous tissue,
Sweat,
Like detergent on a week-old, freshly laundered shirt.
Tuesday, February 09, 2010
Monday, February 08, 2010
All Time Lame Point.
I felt my weekend reach an all time lame point when I realized that Elle was not the girl whose fuck buddy 3 years ago was the man I tried to pick up at my gym. MGM was at her birthday do, and I decided to drop in because there was nothing else to do, apart from hanging out with exchange students at Supper Club, which doesn't appeal to me anymore. You simply can't depend on exchange students for a reliable shag. That said I was totally into a one night stand that night. Some yummy blonde thing :-D But there was no one to go with and I vowed not to drink this month, so I didn't go.
I went to this do and gave my birthday greetings to the birthday girl with a bit of a sheepish smile, because here I was thinking she knew I tried to go out with her man 3 years ago (but didn't eventually), and that she wasn't too crazy about me.
Mistress M. later came by and we gossiped about our skanky sex lives. There was some mention of this guy we all met at MGM's Halloween and his about town activities, and it was then she referred to this other girl called Ella. I asked her if she meant Elle, and she told me "Hell no, they are two different people." MGM started laughing and said "I told you! You got the wrong person!"And there I am thinking, fuck, so for the last year or so every time I bumped into Elle I thought she hated me because she found out I made an attempt to get her guy out 3 years ago.
So. The mystery is all sorted now. Thank goodness.
It wasn't even a big ass attempt, I asked him if he wanted to get a drink after the gym. For fuck's sake. He was all weird about it, which made me realize that he'd thought about getting with me, because if he didn't we could have just had the fucking beer and that would have been it. Anyway it was a weird time.
I went to this do and gave my birthday greetings to the birthday girl with a bit of a sheepish smile, because here I was thinking she knew I tried to go out with her man 3 years ago (but didn't eventually), and that she wasn't too crazy about me.
Mistress M. later came by and we gossiped about our skanky sex lives. There was some mention of this guy we all met at MGM's Halloween and his about town activities, and it was then she referred to this other girl called Ella. I asked her if she meant Elle, and she told me "Hell no, they are two different people." MGM started laughing and said "I told you! You got the wrong person!"And there I am thinking, fuck, so for the last year or so every time I bumped into Elle I thought she hated me because she found out I made an attempt to get her guy out 3 years ago.
So. The mystery is all sorted now. Thank goodness.
It wasn't even a big ass attempt, I asked him if he wanted to get a drink after the gym. For fuck's sake. He was all weird about it, which made me realize that he'd thought about getting with me, because if he didn't we could have just had the fucking beer and that would have been it. Anyway it was a weird time.
Sunday, February 07, 2010
Florence and the Machine
Phone call to Sara "Hey, we're supposed to meet this afternoon right? I bet you're going to Florence and the Machine. Yes? You fucking bitch! Both of you, why don't you ever tell me this shit? You know I'm always there too. Man. Avoiding me? You know resistance is futile, I'm stalking you through all the experimental music gigs in the Esplanade diary. Well okay it doesn't matter, Tom has been sneakily keeping on top of things really. But still! Argh! I hate you! You still owe him his Marquis de Sade. See you later you hobo."
Saturday, February 06, 2010
From Sentosa to The Winter Olympics
Just as if to remind me of how fast and far time has passed, someone posted a link to the Alberta World Cup (a kind of prelude to the 2010 Winter Olympics) on facebook, and I saw this sprint skier Liz and I met last year at Singer's own crappy Cafe del Mar on Sentosa. It wasn't so crappy then though.
The guy on the left is Peter Larsson, who bought Liz a bottle of M&C after much fuss around this time of the year. The whole deal was a little complicated, but it started out with a very pretty girl with an orchid in her hair approaching Liz for her number. Liz (having flexible sexual preference as all PL girls do) thought the girl was coming on to her and gave her her name and number. A quarter of an hour later, a bottle of champagne arrived. The waiter pointed out the guy who had bought it, and of course we had to check him out. I mean, when something like this happens, you're practically obliged to check the guy out.
She wasn't impressed, but I was. I mean, c'mon, he was tall, blonde and hunky. And a professional athlete. Okay, she wasn't impressed because she's not that into blondes (and he probably needed braces), but I am. Totally have that thing for Scandies. Light blonde hair with a deep tan and clear eyes? So my thing. I mean I dig all kinds of cute nerds, but a certain kind of cute nerd is especially potent.
My friends were all going, "Oh my god, sloppy seconds!" But you know, (haha) good fun is good fun. Also, at that point in time I had plans to visit Sweden (which I did in August '09), so there was the possibility of having a good time there with a hot guy I already knew, which always helps if you like your European experience chock-a-bloc with steamy rendezvous. Honestly, what kind of girl doesn't.
It didn't work out though, and I feel a bit sorry that he's retired now. Not that I know jack-shit about skiing. But it's a bit sad I guess because he did say he was going to take part in the Winter Olympics this year and it looks like it's just not going to happen. Oh well!
The guy on the left is Peter Larsson, who bought Liz a bottle of M&C after much fuss around this time of the year. The whole deal was a little complicated, but it started out with a very pretty girl with an orchid in her hair approaching Liz for her number. Liz (having flexible sexual preference as all PL girls do) thought the girl was coming on to her and gave her her name and number. A quarter of an hour later, a bottle of champagne arrived. The waiter pointed out the guy who had bought it, and of course we had to check him out. I mean, when something like this happens, you're practically obliged to check the guy out.
She wasn't impressed, but I was. I mean, c'mon, he was tall, blonde and hunky. And a professional athlete. Okay, she wasn't impressed because she's not that into blondes (and he probably needed braces), but I am. Totally have that thing for Scandies. Light blonde hair with a deep tan and clear eyes? So my thing. I mean I dig all kinds of cute nerds, but a certain kind of cute nerd is especially potent.
My friends were all going, "Oh my god, sloppy seconds!" But you know, (haha) good fun is good fun. Also, at that point in time I had plans to visit Sweden (which I did in August '09), so there was the possibility of having a good time there with a hot guy I already knew, which always helps if you like your European experience chock-a-bloc with steamy rendezvous. Honestly, what kind of girl doesn't.
It didn't work out though, and I feel a bit sorry that he's retired now. Not that I know jack-shit about skiing. But it's a bit sad I guess because he did say he was going to take part in the Winter Olympics this year and it looks like it's just not going to happen. Oh well!
Friday, February 05, 2010
Guts vs Money.
So, while planning this move to Holland, I have sent my dear friend Trina a message to ask for some advice on "just packing up and going" with a lot of guts and very little money. I have met several people like that in the last few years. One of them was a girl from Siberia who moved to Budapest on exchange... and never went back. If you think your luck is though, some other people have it tougher. And they make it anyway. All you need is a whole lotta guts, a lot of determination... and a ban from Facebook.
Here is Trina's advice for cute girls in the artistic/writer industry that just wanna pack up shop where ever in the world they are and GO.
1) Book a ticket. a lot of things will fall into place once you've decided to go.
2) In Holland (or whatever country X), get out there!!! attend events, functions, get inspired, party, and make contacts, socialize and figure out what exactly you want to do first, either by doing all sorts of random things or talking to everyone. i'm lucky cuz nyc has all sorts of trade shows for fashion, which is where i get contacts. partying is important too!! all the contacts i get is from random basis! there are many jobs in the world which spore doesn't have, esp creative side... just try to get exposed to the existence of them first.
-- LOOK GOOD. seriously. see how the people in that industry dress up and step up to those standards... it's all superficial, at least in NYC, and people need to know that they're talking to a professional. not sure how Holland is though, but Europe is generally more chill.
2) WORK on your portfolio!!! Once you've figured out what you want to showcase, make specific ports for whatever industry. Don't just put out general work from school and expect employers to place you... esp given the current economy. show how you think, and definitely brush up conceptual and technical skills. start by buying magazines or whatever to see who you're competing with in Holland.. design is super advanced there be careful! if you're thinking of story-based work then focus on that... don't try to do everything-- do what you're good at and be honest with yourself.
3) Come prep with CASH! i wasted too much time looking for places to stay... in fact my first three months here was more survival than anything else. which is good in a way, because I'm more integrated with the city now that i've stayed in 7 (!!) locations. (I.e. Cash is important, but something good can always come out of not having enough).
As for visas and all that, honestly you can't do a thing about it without at least an employment offer (freelance or otherwise) to get approval. So do what I did and get out of Europe and back to renew your thing, or try to find company sponsored job in three months. so don't think about that until you're there.
I will write more on prep-ing to move to Holland as this plan unfolds.
Manifest Destiny I say! Namaste.
Here is Trina's advice for cute girls in the artistic/writer industry that just wanna pack up shop where ever in the world they are and GO.
1) Book a ticket. a lot of things will fall into place once you've decided to go.
2) In Holland (or whatever country X), get out there!!! attend events, functions, get inspired, party, and make contacts, socialize and figure out what exactly you want to do first, either by doing all sorts of random things or talking to everyone. i'm lucky cuz nyc has all sorts of trade shows for fashion, which is where i get contacts. partying is important too!! all the contacts i get is from random basis! there are many jobs in the world which spore doesn't have, esp creative side... just try to get exposed to the existence of them first.
-- LOOK GOOD. seriously. see how the people in that industry dress up and step up to those standards... it's all superficial, at least in NYC, and people need to know that they're talking to a professional. not sure how Holland is though, but Europe is generally more chill.
2) WORK on your portfolio!!! Once you've figured out what you want to showcase, make specific ports for whatever industry. Don't just put out general work from school and expect employers to place you... esp given the current economy. show how you think, and definitely brush up conceptual and technical skills. start by buying magazines or whatever to see who you're competing with in Holland.. design is super advanced there be careful! if you're thinking of story-based work then focus on that... don't try to do everything-- do what you're good at and be honest with yourself.
3) Come prep with CASH! i wasted too much time looking for places to stay... in fact my first three months here was more survival than anything else. which is good in a way, because I'm more integrated with the city now that i've stayed in 7 (!!) locations. (I.e. Cash is important, but something good can always come out of not having enough).
As for visas and all that, honestly you can't do a thing about it without at least an employment offer (freelance or otherwise) to get approval. So do what I did and get out of Europe and back to renew your thing, or try to find company sponsored job in three months. so don't think about that until you're there.
I will write more on prep-ing to move to Holland as this plan unfolds.
Thursday, February 04, 2010
Asleep in Life's Waiting Room.
We were looking through web pages that offered advice on the appropriate course of action one should take should one accidentally ingest lamp oil (as you do). The results were not promising. "Woman dies after drinking lamp oil", "Lamp oil intoxication fatal", "Near fatal ingestion of household lamp oil". He told me not to look at the result because it would only make me feel more ill than I already was, which would result in an incorrect diagnosis.
I told him I didn't know what I was feeling anymore, I just felt sick. It was probably the lamp oil, because some things take longer to hit. Thing is, if you want to see foreshadowing in the narrative that is your life, then the shadows are everywhere. But still, shadows can be pretty.
MGM and Joris threw a party to initiate J's (and also my) return to the dream state on the Spirit Roof. It was a good party. The people that mattered arrived, mellow and chilled out, and stayed in the right frame of mind. It was calm and (for me) had a peculiar other-worldly quality to it. The Spirit Roof usually does, but this time I felt I was even more out of myself observing the whole thing. The lamp light flickered through the leaves, the shadows danced, and people sat around talking in little groups. About life, people, gestures: in other words, the greatest story ever told.
It was a good group. Everyone was mellow and chilled, there were no overbearing individuals, people just sat around having a good time.
I wished the night could have carried on, and on, but eventually dawn broke and it was time to go back to bed in life's waiting room........
I told him I didn't know what I was feeling anymore, I just felt sick. It was probably the lamp oil, because some things take longer to hit. Thing is, if you want to see foreshadowing in the narrative that is your life, then the shadows are everywhere. But still, shadows can be pretty.
I had a friend once who told me that the worst mistake that you can make is to think you are alive, when you're really asleep in life's waiting room.
MGM and Joris threw a party to initiate J's (and also my) return to the dream state on the Spirit Roof. It was a good party. The people that mattered arrived, mellow and chilled out, and stayed in the right frame of mind. It was calm and (for me) had a peculiar other-worldly quality to it. The Spirit Roof usually does, but this time I felt I was even more out of myself observing the whole thing. The lamp light flickered through the leaves, the shadows danced, and people sat around talking in little groups. About life, people, gestures: in other words, the greatest story ever told.
It was a good group. Everyone was mellow and chilled, there were no overbearing individuals, people just sat around having a good time.
I wished the night could have carried on, and on, but eventually dawn broke and it was time to go back to bed in life's waiting room........
Wednesday, February 03, 2010
Spiraling Down the Rabbit Hole.
To be honest I didn't think I'd fall in love. What was this crazy little thing anyway? I've felt adolescent obsession, animal passion, tender friendship, but never like this. To have let myself trust someone so fast and so much was out of character for me, and to have had it reciprocated was even more surprising. Before I knew it, I was spiraling down the rabbit hole and making promises to myself I couldn't keep.
It came sneaking up on me as we had fun and shared similar states of mind. It didn't pin me down like an obsession, arresting me with an uncontrollable need to have always the object that is desired. I knew I wasn't chasing after a fantasy. I knew why I liked him, I knew his impossible situation, and I feel level headed about it all. I don't think I am making up an ideal of a person in my head that doesn't exist in reality. Which is the best thing about it. All there was was the right person, the right place and the right time. There are no dreams, this will be what it will be. Something that may become clearer to me with time.
It came sneaking up on me as we had fun and shared similar states of mind. It didn't pin me down like an obsession, arresting me with an uncontrollable need to have always the object that is desired. I knew I wasn't chasing after a fantasy. I knew why I liked him, I knew his impossible situation, and I feel level headed about it all. I don't think I am making up an ideal of a person in my head that doesn't exist in reality. Which is the best thing about it. All there was was the right person, the right place and the right time. There are no dreams, this will be what it will be. Something that may become clearer to me with time.
Tuesday, February 02, 2010
When I Say Love
When I say "love," the sound comes out of my mouth and it hits the other person's ear, travels through this Byzantine conduit in their brain, you know, through their memories of love or lack of love, and they register what I'm saying and they say yes, they understand. But how do I know they understand? Because words are inert. They're just symbols. They're dead, you know? And so much of our experience is intangible. So much of what we perceive cannot be expressed. It's unspeakable. And yet, you know, when we communicate with one another, and we feel that we've connected, and we think that we're understood, I think we have a feeling of almost spiritual communion. And that feeling might be transient, but I think it's what we live for. Waking Life,chapter 2.
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