Travel Psycho's and tentacle rape in New York

Just some random musings

One of my friends, who I love dearly despite her nickname, asked me to come to New York with her. Big Bird, as we affectionally call her, wants to travel for a bit to experience the life alone again. She has had her boyfriend (real sweetie) for years now and well she wants to know what its like again with someone else. I am the perfect choice: I have travelled a lot, I am promiscuous as all hell, I speak English and I am most likely to be able to pick up some men. So we’re set. I have opened a special account where people can deposit money for my trip (birthday coming up) and hope to save about 800 dollars before July... hopefully. Now I asked her where she plans on having us go and camp out and she decided New York would be cool... fair enough, Always wanted to see it. But where to stay she suggested searching online for people who want to have lodgers. My mental response went something like;

I DON’T WANT TO DIE YOU FREAKY, FREAKY BITCH HOW ABOUT WE FIND SOME NON INSANE AND LIFE THREATHENING ALTERNATIVE!!!!!!

What came out was: okay. So now we are going to go online and apparently find people who live in New York and who want to show two cute girls a nice time, preferably without any references to lotion in baskets and such. I am scared as all shite.

This same friend hooked me up with a 20 year old (age of younger brother, not attractive), brace laden nerd. Now I am a geek, I don’t mix with nerd’s damnit. He’s a nice little emo though so we talk, but what the hell was she thinking? Well he does have his own company, maybe I should give him more of a chance.

Ken Ken who was mentioned in an earlier blog for being an English Man in Denial has been introduced to the wonderful world of hentai and all its splendours. Every time a Japanese schoolgirl gets raped by tentacle monsters an angel gets his wings is my belief so I love to inform other hentai is out there. That and I fucking love the look on their face after the first badly dubbed scenes Muhahahhahahaha....

Why the world would be doomed if I were a princess

I watched Krull tonight, a typical fantasy movie, a great evil scourges the lands, the prince and princess try to get married, evil kidnaps her, and the prince ( or new king) tries to save her. I don’t get it.

Maybe I am just not a great believer of true, romantical, all consuming love... but give me the choice between the new king of a broken land and his rag tag army of 5 including the comic relief and obligatory kid and on the other hand the supreme evil ruler of the universe who wants you for a wife, can change shape at will and is power incarnate... Let’s just say you’re all screwed.

I would probably scream a little as I get abducted, not too much mind you; you want to leave something for the wedding night. Then I’d start drilling my adductor for details about my soon to be spouse, is he the torture maniac kind / evil overlord/ general of a vast army/ incarnation of some mythical evil. Knowing your husband to be tastes will help you in your marriage later on. Once I get delivered to the castle /mansion/ palace/ spaceship of my suitor I will observe a proper mourning ritual...bout 2 days will do I think. You don’t want the new guy thinking you get stuck in a rut too fast, nor that you were too attached. In that time I would be sure to have him tempt me with dresses, jewels, slaves, spices and all other things exotic that go with general tempting.

The prince unbeknownst of all this is just about finished gathering his new army, having his side-quests and reducing seductresses (he’s such a good guy isn’t he?) out of the way, ready to march to the evil castle /mansion/ palace/ spaceship.

Drop your evil overlord suitor a little list with best ways to dispose of the old prince, you really don’t want the prince defeating the evil overlord in the last two minutes leaving you with a mess to clean up and probably an evil army gone rogue stuck in your old kingdom. Make sure to not be to clear about this, I recommend sentences like: “Oh (insert princes name) I’d rather die then betray your secret weakness is ALOE VERA AT EXACTLY 48 DEGREES CELCIUS SPREAD ON A BANANA FORCE FED TO YOU”. Be sure to pretend you didn’t see the microphone/ lackey listening at the door/ all Seeing Eye peering in/ recorders/ phone taps or obvious spy posing as other prisoner.

Once the evil overlord calls you to tell you the prince is dead ask for conformation saying you cannot believe it unless you touch his severed head (effective and makes sure he really isn’t coming back) In grief tear off half your dress and mess up your hair. Either have your evil overlord ravish you there or seek his comfort in the middle of the night (preferable Vin Diesel shaped comfort). I’m more of a right here, right now on the floor kind of person, but tastes differ.

Now I am not a fatalist I would say, since puberty I haven’t even toyed with the idea of suicide and I am sure that until I get old and euthanasia becomes an issue I won’t really start thinking about it either. But I swear to god, if someone tells me the world is doomed unless I do something horribly straining and arduous and half way through in some sub-plot I am offered a chance to live in a fantasy world of my making or step outside of time.... I’d take it. I simply don’t have that much of a bond with all you people to go and traverse oceans and climb mountains or stick my hands in fire or any other such nonsense. If this world wants saving it had better get off of its ass. Don’t expect me to do it all.
I know it’s been a while since I updated and some uppity pseudo Brit called Ken Ken reminded me off that (seriously man, thanks for reading :P) So lets all thank Ken Ken on Skype! (Or not as most of you don’t actually use Skype.

once again a farewell and until we meet again

Dawg

I have dated my share of foreigners in the past; I might even say that amongst my friends I am known for it. Then again, I move around a lot more then most of my friends. Now don’t get the wrong idea, it’s really not that bad. I have dated, 2 Americans and one Canadian....see not that bad is it? Of course I have fucked a shitload more when I was abroad, but we’ll not touch that subject shall we. Now both of the Americans were military personnel, because uniforms just yank my crank really. One was air force, but the other was part of the United States Marine Corps...cute as a button though a bit of a whiner.

He has annoyed the crap out of me in the past in many ways, the best would have to be him threatening to kill himself over me when he was going to clean guns the next day, signing off with the message: “I hope my death gives you nightmares” and then not logging on for 2 months, after which I got a message saying “what’s up?” Suffice to say if I had an automatic-internet-stabbing-in-the-face-gadget it would have been deployed right there and then, but I was fresh out so he lived. After some time in Japan he finally got back to America (and some heavy anti-depressants later) felt better, I forgave him as you do the puppy that left a steaming surprise on your carpet, you don’t really want to, you just can’t help yourself. So we’re talking and he expresses his surprise about me being single by saying: but you’re gorgeous, how can you not be dating?

For all of you, who don’t realise how this can be considered rude, let me explain. By saying that I am gorgeous (sweet isn’t he?) he implied it was illogical for me to be single, because I wasn’t a dog, and there for guys would like me. And if guys liked me I didn’t have to be dingle, so why was I? It did not cross his mind that I am single because I haven’t found a nice guy yet and employ certain standards, no; it would have to be the guys not fancying me. Grrrr

This to me brings up an interesting point which Roommate and I discuss with a certain regularity. Is anything better than nothing? Is it better to be with the guy you don’t really fancy yet get along with than to be alone? I am a vehement advocate of the being alone and Roommate tends to veer slightly to the anything over nothing side. This can partially be explained by a craving for attention, which we both possess. Neither of us feels good when there isn’t some poor guy somewhere craving us. Now both of us being intelligent, witty, gorgeous people we have no problems in obtaining such worship, but sometimes the stream dries up a little and you are left with a nagging feeling of uncertain bitchyness. Boyfriends take care of this by giving attention and very importantly, being there to give attention too, it’s hard to feel alone when you can go over and cook someone dinner and snuggle them. So should we simply have someone at the ready or should we wait till we find someone we actually really, really like? And in the words of one of Roommates friends which we shall call Redhead: “If I deserve so much better (man wise) then where the hell are they?” I haven’t heard a conclusive argument yet, but you’re all welcome to make them on Skype or leave a comment.

In other news, I think I need a new set of friends, I am taking applications at the moment and you can always post your résumé as a comment, I offer lots of fringe benefits so apply today!

Lots of Love

Lexy

ps. things I learned this week: Roommate’s female friend does not like him and another guy fondling my tits in the backseat of her car.

First day of school and Cleaning + oral sex

The first day of school is generally something met with an apprehensive amount of fear and excitement rolled into one stomach churning emotion. I normally don’t have any trouble making new friends. I know this must surprise some of you as I am not the nicest person around and I am quite open about that. My theory is that people innately sense when you have no plans to bullshit them and are attracted to it. I can find no other way to explain it. This all can tell you that when I am worrying about school it is –never- about not being liked. It’s about not doing what I am supposed to do. I work hard and I give it my all, is true on every subject save school and cleaning. I simply cannot get my ass into gear to order my books, go to school etc. The last is especially tricky because my subconscious mind is a devious bugger. Ask me anything when am newly woken up and you’ll get to speak to my subconscious bastard of a mind. It is the one that tells you to turn the alarm clock off (one of my boyfriends got in so much trouble when he listened) because we can sleep in, tells you the class isn’t too important and not really mandatory and when all else fails simply tells you, you can close your eyes for half a second longer and it will wake you in 3 minutes leaving you just enough time to look at your toothbrush before you jump on the bus, of course then you wake up 5 hours later having to take the fall for something your subconscious lord of darkness did and you had no control over. Moral? 1) Don’t ask me anything in the morning, 2) I don’t have any books or readers or school supplies and I have to be at school in 2 hours :(

Roommate and I were rolling over the living room floor fighting on Sunday I believe when we decided it was time for a little bit of cleaning, and not a moment too soon. The thing you need to understand is that each of us by him or her self is clean. My house used to be impeccably clean and every surface freshly waxed. Roommate living by himself had nothing but nice newly scrubbed floors. However when we merged our households we messed up. The cleaning duties were not so clear anymore and we both couldn’t stand the junk the other person was leaving, so we left it. I moved in in Feb. I think it is safe to say that in those lousy couple of months we have hatched more bacteria and fungi then a standard eastern polish kitchen sees in a year. We have gotten fruit flies and as anyone knows who has ever had those they are impossible to get rid of, we found (horror upon horror) maggots in the garbage containers and dead flies in the bottom of the trashcan, there is stuff in the kitchen sink that would qualify as thesis material for a med grad and the refrigerator is filled with items that ask if we can turn the light off whenever someone opens the door. Ever since the dishwashing machine died on us we just haven’t been the same and it’s gone from bad to worse. Thing is we both get cranky when the house is a mess so we’re constantly in a state of annoyance which for two people who fight for fun is not a good state. We’re both having weird dreams (I was building a wall out of sausage-rolls with other woman around a city. The woman weren’t working very hard and I thought that was unfair as we were building the wall to protect against a tsunami. We were building it to protect the children of that city who we as a precaution had put into a ditch filled with water, a kind of inner moat with speeding waters with a sheet of plastic over them. The walls never got higher then my knees and suffice it to say my sausage rolls wouldn’t stick. All the children died and I got rescued by a helicopter...if –anyone- feels they can explain that, please do) and well, we’re getting hurt. Roommate nearly broke my leg as he landed on me the wrong way leaving me bundled up in a little ball of pain and, 2 days later, still leaving me limping at times. We need to take back the house and we will, we have an offensive planned somewhere around when the kitchen sink drains again. Once the dishwasher has been repaired I solemnly swear to not let my house be taken over by anything living but Roommate. In the mean time anyone who can fix our plumbing and cleans the house as well can ask for oral sex by either Roommate or me.

Antwerp and Bruises

I am a sweet woman. Full of compassion, strength, hope, forgiveness and to some lesser extent memory loss. It is indeed hard not to get along with me when I choose to display these finer qualities. However, some manage.

The family was in Antwerp, that’s me, my mother, and one older and one younger brother. And I think the trouble started when we got into an argument on the way to the car, continued through over an hour and a half of driving and concluded it on the hotel doorsteps. Course when I say concluded I didn’t mean we all said our bit were heard and were done with it. I mean someone had to address the hotel clerk and I seemed the logical choice. Now you must understand that for all the logic and love in the world and the patience I have learned my family has a hotkey tapped straight into my unconscious primeval rage and pissed-off-ness. One word out of their mouth and I am done for the day. For instance, my mother finds the oddest things rude. Asking for a second key for your hotel room ( a fucking swipe card for god’s sake), taking the bathroom shampoo ( I am Dutch, so sue me, it’s what we do), asking for another room after we find out –none- of the lights work in the first and the electrical socket is held together with duct tape…. Etc. Anyway, besides my older brother trying to choke me, my younger brother rolling his eyes at me and my mother in tears screaming over her hellion children it was a regular family holiday, with those things included it still was –our- typical family holiday. We went to the Zoo, the Diamond Museum, Cathedrals, some kind of Sail event and the Vogeltjesmarkt, which translates to birdie-market. They sell chickens and small rodents and birds. There is a lot of commentary on the way these animals are treated and because of that they are no longer allowed to sell cats and dogs there as well which they used to do. It was all as it was, nothing too interesting to note.

I came home in slight stress not knowing when my introduction days at school start and Roommate causing several bruises to my healed skin. I don’t know if I have mentioned this before but Roommate and I play rather rough. We’ll cuddle and hug for about a minute before one of us (always him) bites. Then the gloves go off and soon we’re rolling over the floor snarling and biting trying to get headlocks, smack down’s and victory in a brawling free for all. He loses when I get my knees on his arms and start licking his face, I lose when he gets me on my stomach and starts biting the skin in-between my shoulder blades, any other situation will have to have judges deciding. Not all of you can probably understand this as it’s nothing sexual at all but simply a standard competing for alpha male status while letting out pent up frustration. I know a lot of guys do this, the standard tussle and arm slapping match, I know very few girls and none really that supports my set of bruises come morning. Still, it works for us and keeps us from inflicting worse. (Not counting the time when he had me on my back and I was inching towards the stairs reckoning he’d have to let go when I got him there seeing as we would otherwise both plummet down the staircase. Thing is, he called my bluff and I called his and neither of us was bluffing. I all of a sudden found myself supported merely by a foot I had hooked between his waist and the banister and an arm on his shoulder. He found himself being almost dragged down holding on merely by one hand on the wall in front of him. After the giggling and tentive movements it was clear that if he moved I would die, and that I was vindictive enough not to die alone. I started cramping and knew I had only seconds left so in a desperate rescue mission of both our hides Kevin changed hands in a millisecond sticking the other down to grab my wrist as I was already plummeting down head first. I held on to his wrist and actually made a spin on the stairs watching my legs go past as I twisted out of harms way to land feet down on a step completely okay still holding to his wrist. We called a truce after that to regain composure.)

But I have gone on too long really and the SIMS2 awaits me after I conclude the last of the Achaea business I have to. For those of you that don’t know it, Achaea is a MUD game, so that means online texting with other people in a fantasy environment. I will talk about it more later, when I am not well… so lazy. I apologise for the scatterbrain composition of this text, better luck next time.

Adult...ish

Contain yourself. This isn’t a triple X post nor will I offer various drugs and herbs to inflate, deflate, lengthen, shorten, broaden or make narrower any part upon your body. Your bank account is safe, I am not an African royal family in need of a western account nor am I 5 hot teens waiting for the pleasure only you can offer, I haven’t pre-approved you for a loan and I am not asking you to check my prices, I will not ask you for your password and I am not telling you you’ll ever get your hair back. ( I am however offering Roommate’s eternal soul at a cheap price after he sold it to me for some candy)

With that out of the way…what the fuck is left? Well being an adult to me means several things. One, it’s the liberty to swear as I fucking see fit without some fucktard slapping my wrist. I will try to contain myself in front of your children, I will try not to teach your puppy to swear and I will try not to swamp your mind with pictures of illegal yet pleasurable sexual acts that seem to define sin and hedonism in a way that clears the way for a revolution. But I will swear…… fuck yeah.

Having an opinion without old people telling you you’ll think differently when you get older. I am sure I will, I am sure you’re not as old as you think and I am sure that this is a valid opinion which means I’ll thank you kindly to butt out of it. ( don’t I sound like a grouchy teenager….woe, goth is me)

Money, to spend on weird things. Example I have 2 pizza’s in the fridge, chocolate and candy a plenty. I do not have bread, a good set of pans, furniture (besides an adorable glass table and previously mentioned fridge) and any of the other stuff. Yet it being my money I will happily scarf down my candy at 7.30 am watching my colleagues eat their bread the wife or husband* prepared that morning with love.
*How come no matter who I work with, male, female, old young, infirm or able bodied, NO ONE EVER PREPARES THEIR OWN LUNCH??!!??? It’s always the other partner the mom, the kid, the anyonebutthem. There is a bread making part of society that is passing me by and I can’t stand it. Show me who you are!!!!

Sex, ( I promise not the xxx kind though as I said in the beginning) I know it’s fashionable now to start at 12 and god knows you slutty lot probably did, but I waited until I was 19 (hormones out of my fucking ears by then) and am still happy about it. But what I mean by sex is the wonderful realisation (strengthened by not living with your parents but in your own pad) that you can, when the whim strikes you and he doesn’t resist the chloroform too strongly, hook up at random and shag someone’s brains out. That’s good, it’s the ultimate freedom (granted, plastic wrapped freedom) to share your body and mind in a (at least at the start) single mind melting experience.

Geekyness. I geek therefore I am. I play dungeons and dragons, I read webcomics religiously, I own a sliver deck in magic and I play Munchkin and other card games when Roommate has been callous in his defences of said cards. When you’re young you’re just a tomboy, when you’re older you’re the cute girl who all of a sudden quotes the cover rules in 3.5 edition and goes to conventions to party backstage with the famous actors.

Partying and Drinking. I drink about a glass of mead a month and my idea of a party is costumes and pool, but still… Knowing I –can- go out and get plastered makes it all better.

So those were some of the points.

Add on:
Roommate just invited me to a family dinner of his, seeing as he was paying I graciously accepted and went. It was a great meal (with bad cheesecake L ) and I enjoyed myself. But damn, his aunt needs to raise her Secondborn. Secondborn ( don’t sue me Millington) is a blond ditz of a girl, aged twelve who flicks her hair, tells jokes without punchline, timing or well, comedy and who gets up in the middle of dinner with her moms mobile, says she’s going to the bathroom and leaves for twenty fucking minutes. Oh Gods of parenting, strike down this child. Badly raised kids annoy me, not as much as anyone with bad comedy timing though. Next rant will probably be about comedy timing seeing as I am now sitting here thinking of a million things I want to say about that.

Last but not least, Yay, a comment. Anonymous user hoozah. Keep commenting!

Gay Pride, Skype and Old timers

Last Saturday was the gay pride parade in Amsterdam. Living very close indeed me and my roommate decided to go and watch the freak show. And maybe see some interesting guys seeing as I am not the only one with an occasional fancy towards the male gender in our house. So off we went at about 14.00 in the afternoon by bus seeing as neither of us has a drivers license. We arrived at a very crowded Amsterdam and immediately sought our way to the canals were some of the little boats were already passing carrying it’s own load of ( pick 2 or 3 at random) fairies, queers, poofters, gay’s, homo’s, drag queens, leather fetishists, butch lesbians, fag hag’s and Cher impressionists. After some elbowing we had a rather okay spot looking out over the boats enjoying the dances and the bodies and the amazing amount of tits that came into view.

Yes, amazing amount of tits, for when someone says gay to me I always see to males. I imagine Boy meets boy ( the webcomic) or Priscilla queen of the desert (the movie) or the village people. Though I am very much aware lesbians exist and have met my fair share and have finally resolved they are not a figment of straight men’s imagination they just don’t factor in as gay. Odd isn’t it?

But anyway we watched a movie after the main parade which happened to be Superman Returns, shot by a gay director which was in style, as was Superman’s spandex’ed body and us ogling it, so as you can see I was merely staring at that cute ass and those tense biceps to show my support to the gay community. We then went out to have a drink and walked through the most crowded street in the universe. On a dare (quick explanation: I think my roommate isn’t gay enough. The whole liking boys part he has down, but there is no pink, rainbows or limp wristing or any of the other things that makes them so fucking wonderful to live with, so I keep trying to get him to be more…well fagotty) anyways, so on a dare I make him buy a rainbow scarf to wear and he accepts and even adds a Tshirt with DICK on it, payback was I had to wear a rainbow cap. Pfftt…. Hats look wonderful on me, so do caps and I’m extrovert…no problem. We went back through the street this time taking twice as long because Roommate had to stop to have men pinching his butt and read the tshirt and I had to stop to have very gay men touch my boobs and press their face in the ample cleavage I was showing. Which once again shows why gay men are so awesome, compliments without the whole having to turn you down for sex later. We even met a weird Aussie chick, but that’s too long a story.

Skype
I detest Skype. I have it installed because it is the only chat program available to Roommate when he is at work and I need someone to botch at, otherwise it would have been gone by now. I have met 2 nice people on there. I finally changed my name to something rude to scare off most of the people and even that won’t work. Everyone seems to be from Turkey, Pakistan or some other backward country and they all speak English very much like a stuttering half-witted retard. Sentences like: HOW U DOIN??!!1 UR SEKSY and IM FROM MAROCCO WANT MEET FREENDS, U BE FRIEND?!!!1 Make me want to grab a banjo and retreat to the quiet contemplation and great minds of the American redneck community. Consider this a warning my gentle readers, these people are out there, ready to be in your life if you give them a chance. BEWARE

I work with old people, at the moment. I am replacing a planner at the office I am working at. Which means, to put it simply, I make plans. I decide who has to be where and for how long. I make these plans to make sure everyone in my client list gets personalised care and help to keep their houses clean. Most of those are old people who are not able to vacuum anymore, and are unable to wash the windows. And they are the worst fucking pricks ever. I get along very well with most and have received enough praise to keep me cocky for a while, but some waste of good dog bones. Becoming older is one of my personal fears. Not age you understand, but the failing of one’s body while once mind is still there. Screaming behind a window as your body lays drooling in a puddle of it’s own urine with your kids gazing at you with sorrow in their eyes. –shudder- No thanks. I know the elderly can contribute a lot, I haven’t found out what yet, but I know there are lessons to be learned and I know at least most of them earn a certain degree of respect for muddling through the shit life can throw at you but man, these old ladies. They moan and groan and tell you they need help after all they are little old ladies and you cannot expect them to do it themselves, and what’s up with that, in their days they took care of the elderly, and didn’t give them the look you are giving me and handed them the last cake and made sure it would be a cute guy coming over around 3 o clock yes thank you very much goodbye. AAARGGGHHHH –pant- If wasn’t so deathly afraid of the amount of false teeth they can hurl at me I’d say something about it.