November 19, 2006 - Sunday

November 19, 2006 - Sunday
...and lately...
It's 11am Sunday morning and I'm sitting staring out of a large picture-window at a green field with a few long-haired horses grazing. I'm at an aunt and uncle's large house deep in the Dutch countryside with nothing around but farmhouses, fields, and the smell of cow shit. I just watched a fat black cat walk across the wide expanse of the downstairs living room, bat a dozing grey cat across the head, and saunter away. I have had a good night's sleep and a sandwich and hot chocolate for breakfast. The feeling is healthy, wholesome, and could wear on me pretty soon.

Friday…

I finally went out and sampled some Amsterdam nightlife. Met my cousin and her friend for a few drinks in the University area. Vanessa's friend is a bright and spunky TALL WOMAN of the gorgeous kind – approximately 185cm – slim with a very pretty face. Naturally she has been in a relationship for three years. Also along was a chatty Aussie who talked a little too much and said the word 'money' approximately 72 times in 15 minutes of monologue. Tried to snap John out of it by asking him what he thought of London – where he has his business (which has something to do with money) – and he told me there was a lot of money there. To be honest I'm not sure if he actually had any money.

While walking around the streets of the 'Dam I found myself often wondering whether I could live in the place regrdless of all the tourists. The place was buzzing with lively activity and the quality of the women was actually quite good considering I just came from the Czech Republic. The key thing here was the variety rather than the few Czechotypes you would find in Prague (where they are beautiful, and there are more of them). This was pleasing along with, of course, their TALLNESS

Went to another bar which was called 'Sub-Terraneon' and is, in fact, one and a half levels above ground. This is the sort of incongruity I might expect from the Czechs, but may be endemic misnomer silliness throughout Europe. The bar was packed and there were many TALL WOMEN. However, the clientele tended to be on the younger side. Eventually, we found ourselves wedged in the back corner where suddenly I became anonymous because of the sudden influx of people close to my height or taller. This was unnerving at first, but eventually comforting. Vanessa's ex-boyfriend showed up; an amusing kid with the sarcastic humour typical of the Dutch. He told me that he gets into exclusive bars easily because he is short and therefore special.

John tried to get me to chase women with him in the place, but I was resistant: A) I don't chase, and B) I was just happy to be out and make eye-contact with the occasional TALL WOMAN. John decided that he wanted to compare notes on pick-up lines with me, saying something about using the line 'Well, you're kind of cute' on girls that tend to hear that they're 'totally hot' by slavering guys with tent poles in their trousers. I responded with 'Hey, have you ever been eaten-out in a bathroom stall?' (this line courtesy of a very good Aussie friend of mine) which stopped him.

I could easily have stayed out longer with John – who was frantically desperate about me remaining with him – and have a serious session in the 'Dam, but responsible thoughts gripped me and I left with Vanessa and her TALL FRIEND.

Vanessa and I started our conversation in the car driving back to Haarlem where she has a flat, her TALL FRIEND passed out in the back seat. When we arrived I told her TALL FRIEND that I was tempted to stick my finger up her nose while she slept. She told me 'Yeah? I would kill you if you did that.' my response: 'Well, you could try…'. This was typical of our banter most of the evening. She left us to join her boyfriend in a nearby apartment.

Vanessa and I continued our conversation about herself, myself, and family matters at her place until about four in the morning. She was in open-mouth shock as I related some of my more nefarious activities in Prague.

I had a shower and crept out of her house early the next morning after leaving a nice note. Stuffed a Burger-King Whopper in my mouth for breakfast before catching the train back to my grandparents. I severely relished every bite of that fine, fine juicy hamburger.

Something I repeatedly have encountered here – or rather, never encounter here: a decent bar of soap. People here tend toward the liquid-in-a-bottle variety. I cannot wrap my head around this. First of all, for being generally environmentally conscious people, this is akin to aerosol pepper-spraying a cute kitten in the face. Also, when you squirt the stuff in your hand, you either get too much or not enough. This is further confused by the fact that each type has a different consistency, strength, and usage. My family usually keeps about six different sorts in their shower stalls. I'm often left with an experimental brew of about five different kinds coating my skin and feeling no cleaner. Putting the stuff on your body without the benefit of a loofah (which nobody has) is a little like hand-smearing canola oil all over yourself; generating about the same amount of suds you would expect from engine grease. As a matter of fact, you never feel fully rinsed and can entertain thoughts of running, diving, and sliding your slick naked body across polished hard-wood floors.

Anyway…

Discovered a reply to my email from that fecally-impacted dickhead Gal Peleg – wrote a response to it, discovered he had blocked my email address from the CERES email network, and replied in blog (yesterday's blog, at the end) instead. Not exactly how I would professionally respond, but really, truly how I feel about his retort to my sober email to him.

That sad, deranged fucker…

Had dinner at my cousin Tamara's place and her hubby Joop (pronounced 'Yope'). He has been running a mortgage and insurance company for about 15 years and knows the game very well. He also knows a lot of people and will contact a well-known publishing house for my benefit. Which again raises the question: a job in the 'Dam? The idea appeals. We took a ride in his jacked-up Jeep YJ – a very rare commodity in these parts… I suppose you could say: 'it's Yope's Yeep…'

And, ah?.. I sense impending silliness looming and therefore will stop now.