Last Friday night was glooooooorious. (this was taking place before the dinner… sorry the chronology of these stories is all screwed up).
At one point I had two people supposed to stay the night on Friday and neither of them ended up coming. This turned out to be a good thing. Neither French guy nor ll were home either, so I could do as I please without fear. The dog was here, but no ll in sight. The dog that "has a better life than you and me combined". Luckily it didn't barf or shit anywhere like it had a few weeks ago so all was good in the hood.
Eventually French guy came home but I was already getting ready for bed. ll came a bit later and took the dog for a walk.
He comes back, nothing special. I do hear him tell the dog, “I don’t give a fuck WHERE you sleep, just stay away from me!” Quite shocking to hear, since he takes better care of his dog than he does himself, which I guess isn’t saying much. Then again he tells his boyfriend that he’s not welcome in the apartment, and calls his best friend a ‘white piece of shit’. No wonder he’s an alky – he has to deal with his drunken mistakes somehow – by getting drunk again of course! It all makes sense now…
I hear ll turn on the TV, telling the dog that they hadn’t ‘hung out in a while’. Hahahaha… just like an old friend. Except I’m pretty sure the dog is more interested in licking his own testicles than watching Dutch HGTV. Then that external monologue flares up (did I call it dialogue before??). It seems that they had a run-in with the law on their little walk. This was confirmed when he tried to call a few people to explain the situation.
From what I heard, he was walking the dog who didn’t have his leash on. He was running ahead, sniffing things as dogs do, when several bicycle cops approached him. He then found himself by ’20 people’ (cops), asking for his ID and being pretty aggressive. They didn’t believe that he was with a dog at all. He told me at dinner that he guessed someone maybe called the police, because there was a creepy black man snooping around the neighborhood in the middle of the night. He said he got to the point where he just ‘gave up’. In the telephone version, he had been wrestled to the ground, which ‘humiliated him’. That part of the story was absent in the restaurant version. Also absent in the restaurant version was the helicopter flying overhead and him believing he would be on the news and/or YouTube.
A lady cop saw his dog and asked if it was his. He said that the dog looked terrified and wouldn’t come near ll because it was freaky. The way he made it sound like on the phone, I can only imagine it was like a scene out of cops, with ll running through a field and getting tackled by police, filmed from a helicopter that was shining a spotlight on him. Eventually he got the dog and the cops threw his passport back at him. ll picked up the dog and carried him two blocks home. In the telephone version, the cops stole his 400 euro bike, the one he washed in the shower. His friend back in the states said he was just lucky he wasn’t in California, because the police would have just shot him. Apparently friend was laughing at the whole story and ll got really P Oed.
Then the REAL fun began. ll went to Victor’s room (I think I already used his name, and you can see my face in the fucking mirror as my friend from the internship pointed out, DAMN), who I’m sure heard the whole story just as I had. ll knocked on the door and asked to talk – around 1 or 1:30.
Victor said, in a really sympathetic, almost patronizing voice, “Oh sure Art, come in.”
“I need to get my bike back! They took my bike! IT cost me a lot of money! I can’t let them have it! I mean…” ll was pretty much in hysterics and wasn’t making any sense.
“OK calm down, just tell me what happened.”ll basically tried to repeat the story but he left most of the key plot elements out, and it still sounded like nonsense.
“Wait. I don’t understand what happened.”
“WHAT?! VICTOR!! Just listen to me!” (again, nonsense)
“I don’t understand what you’re telling me. I was not there, I don’t get it.”
“Oh my GOD, are you kidding me?! Are you listening to what I’m telling you?!”
“I wasn’t there, I was sleeping.”
(Again, nonsense)
“So basically they asked for your passport – you got scared and the dog got scared, now you’re here. I don’t get the point.”
“VICTOR, I’m gonna throw up all over you. Are you kidding me? No.. no… Victor STAND UP!”
“No!”
“Don’t you get it?! You know what? You know what? MOVE OUT. GET UP. I WANT YOU GONE. I WANT YOU TO MOVE OUT!”
“No I’m sleeping.”
“This is MY bed and this is MY apartment and I want you to GET OUT!”
“I pay, I pay!”
“I can’t deal with your bullshit anymore, you insensitive asshole. I want you out of here in 72 hours, do you understand?”
“GET OUT! GET OUT!!”
***
When ll had first started his hysterics, he said out loud, to himself:
“Oh my God. I was just raped by a whole country.”
Thursday, October 28, 2010
Wednesday, October 27, 2010
Fine Dining Part II
As ll waited at the bar to order his bottle, he overheard something interesting in a conversation between 3 or 4 Dutch guys in suits. He got pretty curious and leaned over several times to look at one of their faces from behind the guy's shoulder. He was leaning wayyyyy over, and it looked fucking bizarre with his neck craned like that, especially because I'm sure the guy saw him. He then took it upon himself to interject in the conversation, but thanks the good lords their table was ready and they left before he could do significant damage. He finally ordered the bottle of wine and then went to the bathroom, leaving me to leaf through a magazine in Dutch. Yay. I should also mention he kept touching my arm as if we were actually "together", and was acting a lot gayer than usual. Disaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaster, seriously.
After he came back from the bathroom a waiter brought over the bottle of wine. The guy asked if one of us wanted to try it, and of course ll made me do it. Like I said, I don't know if wine is meant to be consumed, and like I said I looked like gutter trash, so it must have been pretty funny to see me swirling around a glass of wine, smelling it, tasting it, and saying that it was 'good'. ll was being a total ass to the waiter, and everyone else as well, meaning the woman he ordered from, the waitress, and the host. Totally unacceptable behavior. Then we had to sit there for probably 10 minutes with a bottle of wine in between us. There must have been 100 or 200 people in the place, and I felt like they were all looking at us.
Eventually we got our place, wedged at the end of a table where 3 guys in business suits were already sitting. Horrifying. Throughout the night ll would glance over at them, but thankfully he did not make any attempt to establish contact with them. When it came time to order, ll said 'get anything you want!' Score!! The food was delicious, as expected. I had pumpkin soup followed by tuna tartare. I had no idea what tuna tartare actually was, but I highly recommend it. The conversation was more or less 'normal' for ll standards. He told the story from another night (which I didn't blog about yet - it involved the police and his dog) and also a splendid tale about him getting drunk at his boyfriend's birthday dinner in a D&G suit. He also asked me again if I was dating someone in Amsterdam. The answer was no, as I told him before. He said he didn't believe me, because he had 'spies' around the city. He claimed these 'friends' of his would tell him, "Guess where I saw Randall last night..." The thing is that I never met any of his friends, and I don't know if he even has any, except for his boyfriend and his ex boyfriend, who are both hardly in Amsterdam. And I certainly never saw either of them outside the apartment. Oooooooookay...
At one point during the meal I needed to use the ladies' room to powder my nose, so I excused myself from the table. ll told me to hurry, because he wanted to smoke a cigarette. I went to the bathroom, and as I walked back to the table I saw that he was gone. There was literally no one sitting at the table except the three guys, who probably thought we were trying to skip the bill. Seriously, who does that? I wouldn't leave the table empty if I was eating at Red Lobster. And on top of that, who leaves in the middle of a nice dinner to go smoke a cigarette?? Classy...
I got to the table before him and he thought it would be a good idea to sit down next to me. Jesus. H. Christ. Clearly I was very uncomfortable, and I began to scan the room for someone sympathetic to my plight to lock eyes with me, so I could telepathically convey how mortified I was. He said he wanted to people watch with me. Which would have been just awesome, you know.
Eventually it came time to pay. ll handed me 150 euros and told me that I needed to ask for the bill, in Dutch. I don't know if I made this clear or not, but I don't speak Dutch. I can say hi, which is 'hoi', and thank you. But that's the extent. It's really an unnecessary language. So ll tried to teach me how to say it as if I were a 5 year old child. Chaaaaarming. Then it came for me to actually use it. I did tell the waitress, 'de rekening alstublieft'. Her reply was, "what?". I then said, "Can we have the bill please?"
She said sure and started to walk away. Then ll grabbed her arm and said, "Wait, wait, I don't think she heard you." The waitress was super weirded out. My face immediately turned red, because it was fucking embarrassing and all. I said, "Can we have the bill please?". ll then repeated the Dutch phrase a few times, laughing to himself. The waitress gave an awkward smile and walked away. Probably a bit confused, and a little frightened. Thankfully I was able to just leave the cash on the little... tray thing, so it didn't appear as if I had paid for the meal (the point of that being??). For good measure, ll told another waitress that she had beautiful hair. Beautiful, blond, curly Dutch hair. KILL ME. Although it wasn't a total loss. The tab came out to be 80 some odd euros, to which I didn't add a single dime (although I greatly feared ll would 'expect' something of me later).
I don't know why I accepted, but ll had offered to go and get 'coffee' at a place across the street. He said it had a really cool view, and since it was one of my last times in Amsterdam I thought it would be nice to see. Yes, I was absolutely shocked and embarrassed throughout the dinner, so I'm sure you're wondering why I would agree to this. I suppose it's the fact that I will never see these people ever again. No one will ever recognize me in Amsterdam - I don't know when or even if I'll ever come back. I really had nothing to lose. I have no ounce of dignity left, and plus I was hoping it could make for an interesting story. Plus it was a bar, where that kind of behavior is more or less anticipated.
The bar was just across the street and was actually a really amazing place. I went to the restroom as soon as we got there, and ll went to procure us some 'coffee'. I told him that they probably weren't serving coffee at 11 at night, but he didn't believe me. On the wall across from the restrooms were some really hilarious XXX themed coloring book pages. One of the funnier ones involved a microphone and the X-Factor, but I'll leave that to your imagination.
When I got back from the restroom, surprisingly... no coffee in sight! But ll had ordered 3 beers in their place. Yes, 3. I maybe drank 2 glasses of wine from that bottle and he most certainly had some before we even left the apartment. So on top of a 33 euro bottle of wine, he managed to put away 1.5 beers before I had even had half of one. Erykah Badu came on and he stood up and tried to dance to it. So bad. So so so bad. He looked like someone with a massive head/neck tick trying to balance on a surfboard during an earthquake.
ll went to have a cigarette at one point, and managed to talk to some guy who also smoking, who thought ll was hitting on him. In all likelihood he was. ll brought him back to where we were sitting. He put up with about 5 minutes of ranting before he asked to use one of our phones because his was dead, and then he left. I really don't blame him. ll then ordered a rum and coke and a carbonated water. He poured the coke and rum in a glass and then said the bottle was for me, but I was already drinking the water. So he splashed some rum in the water - yummy. Totally confused, but I guess that's what happens when someone gets shitfaced. He then suggested we go to Lellebell, the tranny bar he took me to on my first night. It would have made my time in Amsterdam come full circle, to start and end my time at a tranny bar. As appealing as that sounded, I would have preferred to chew my own fingernails off. Before we left he said, "I think I'm gonna throw up".
When we came down to the lobby he started yelling something about people with AIDS go this way, and people with cancer go that way. He was really yelling at this point, being belligerent and stumbling about. I was just trying to get out of the door because there were people about. The security guard looked very, very concerned. He put my hands on my shoulders to stop me and make me look, but I was not having it. I did look into the eyes of the guard as a cry for help, but he didn't get out of his chair. Sad. Once we made it through the front doors, he said, "Doesn't it look like a hospital?"
I told him to point me in the direction of home and I took off on my bike as fast as I possibly could have, after shaking hands with him. He went in the other direction. I have no clue where he intended on going, and I didn't care. Of course as I scrambled home I laughed the entire way. What a night.... However, I knew it probably wasn't over. I was sure that ll would check to make sure I made it home, so I went straight to bed and tried to go to sleep. He arrived about 5 minutes after I had gotten into bed. Before I could fall asleep, as I expected, he came and opened my door. He called my name a few times and I pretended to wake up.
He asked, "Did you see anyone put anything in my pocket?" (Also, not sure if I've mentioned before, he gives himself a slight English accent when he gets toasted. He's never lived in England, I'm sure he just picked it up from television like the rest of us Americans).
I wonder to myself, what the fuck kind of question is that? Why now? When I'm sleeping?
"I found 2,000 euros in 10 euro bills in my jacket."
At this point I can't help but laugh. He looked really concerned about the whole thing, but I don't know what the problem was. If I found 2,000 euros in my jacket I would be fucking celebrating, not investigating where it came from. He was also completely wrecked, so I'm sure he miscounted. I'm really surprised he was even able to ride his bicycle back home at all.
"I only got 150 from the ATM... I don't know where it came from. I checked my jacket -- there's no drugs, no drugs"
"Where did you go after I left?"
He didn't answer the question, and continued to wonder out loud where the money came from. He wasn't even looking at me, he was staring at the wall. It was almost like he was having a conversation to himself, I just happened to be there. Throughout the conversation I'm whispering, and he's using a normal speaking voice. He keeps telling me to "shhh", though. Eventually he said, "It's ok, go to sleep booboo."
Yes... go to sleep booboo, go to sleep.
The next morning he gave me 100 euros of my deposit back in 10 euro bills.
After he came back from the bathroom a waiter brought over the bottle of wine. The guy asked if one of us wanted to try it, and of course ll made me do it. Like I said, I don't know if wine is meant to be consumed, and like I said I looked like gutter trash, so it must have been pretty funny to see me swirling around a glass of wine, smelling it, tasting it, and saying that it was 'good'. ll was being a total ass to the waiter, and everyone else as well, meaning the woman he ordered from, the waitress, and the host. Totally unacceptable behavior. Then we had to sit there for probably 10 minutes with a bottle of wine in between us. There must have been 100 or 200 people in the place, and I felt like they were all looking at us.
Eventually we got our place, wedged at the end of a table where 3 guys in business suits were already sitting. Horrifying. Throughout the night ll would glance over at them, but thankfully he did not make any attempt to establish contact with them. When it came time to order, ll said 'get anything you want!' Score!! The food was delicious, as expected. I had pumpkin soup followed by tuna tartare. I had no idea what tuna tartare actually was, but I highly recommend it. The conversation was more or less 'normal' for ll standards. He told the story from another night (which I didn't blog about yet - it involved the police and his dog) and also a splendid tale about him getting drunk at his boyfriend's birthday dinner in a D&G suit. He also asked me again if I was dating someone in Amsterdam. The answer was no, as I told him before. He said he didn't believe me, because he had 'spies' around the city. He claimed these 'friends' of his would tell him, "Guess where I saw Randall last night..." The thing is that I never met any of his friends, and I don't know if he even has any, except for his boyfriend and his ex boyfriend, who are both hardly in Amsterdam. And I certainly never saw either of them outside the apartment. Oooooooookay...
At one point during the meal I needed to use the ladies' room to powder my nose, so I excused myself from the table. ll told me to hurry, because he wanted to smoke a cigarette. I went to the bathroom, and as I walked back to the table I saw that he was gone. There was literally no one sitting at the table except the three guys, who probably thought we were trying to skip the bill. Seriously, who does that? I wouldn't leave the table empty if I was eating at Red Lobster. And on top of that, who leaves in the middle of a nice dinner to go smoke a cigarette?? Classy...
I got to the table before him and he thought it would be a good idea to sit down next to me. Jesus. H. Christ. Clearly I was very uncomfortable, and I began to scan the room for someone sympathetic to my plight to lock eyes with me, so I could telepathically convey how mortified I was. He said he wanted to people watch with me. Which would have been just awesome, you know.
Eventually it came time to pay. ll handed me 150 euros and told me that I needed to ask for the bill, in Dutch. I don't know if I made this clear or not, but I don't speak Dutch. I can say hi, which is 'hoi', and thank you. But that's the extent. It's really an unnecessary language. So ll tried to teach me how to say it as if I were a 5 year old child. Chaaaaarming. Then it came for me to actually use it. I did tell the waitress, 'de rekening alstublieft'. Her reply was, "what?". I then said, "Can we have the bill please?"
She said sure and started to walk away. Then ll grabbed her arm and said, "Wait, wait, I don't think she heard you." The waitress was super weirded out. My face immediately turned red, because it was fucking embarrassing and all. I said, "Can we have the bill please?". ll then repeated the Dutch phrase a few times, laughing to himself. The waitress gave an awkward smile and walked away. Probably a bit confused, and a little frightened. Thankfully I was able to just leave the cash on the little... tray thing, so it didn't appear as if I had paid for the meal (the point of that being??). For good measure, ll told another waitress that she had beautiful hair. Beautiful, blond, curly Dutch hair. KILL ME. Although it wasn't a total loss. The tab came out to be 80 some odd euros, to which I didn't add a single dime (although I greatly feared ll would 'expect' something of me later).
I don't know why I accepted, but ll had offered to go and get 'coffee' at a place across the street. He said it had a really cool view, and since it was one of my last times in Amsterdam I thought it would be nice to see. Yes, I was absolutely shocked and embarrassed throughout the dinner, so I'm sure you're wondering why I would agree to this. I suppose it's the fact that I will never see these people ever again. No one will ever recognize me in Amsterdam - I don't know when or even if I'll ever come back. I really had nothing to lose. I have no ounce of dignity left, and plus I was hoping it could make for an interesting story. Plus it was a bar, where that kind of behavior is more or less anticipated.
The bar was just across the street and was actually a really amazing place. I went to the restroom as soon as we got there, and ll went to procure us some 'coffee'. I told him that they probably weren't serving coffee at 11 at night, but he didn't believe me. On the wall across from the restrooms were some really hilarious XXX themed coloring book pages. One of the funnier ones involved a microphone and the X-Factor, but I'll leave that to your imagination.
When I got back from the restroom, surprisingly... no coffee in sight! But ll had ordered 3 beers in their place. Yes, 3. I maybe drank 2 glasses of wine from that bottle and he most certainly had some before we even left the apartment. So on top of a 33 euro bottle of wine, he managed to put away 1.5 beers before I had even had half of one. Erykah Badu came on and he stood up and tried to dance to it. So bad. So so so bad. He looked like someone with a massive head/neck tick trying to balance on a surfboard during an earthquake.
ll went to have a cigarette at one point, and managed to talk to some guy who also smoking, who thought ll was hitting on him. In all likelihood he was. ll brought him back to where we were sitting. He put up with about 5 minutes of ranting before he asked to use one of our phones because his was dead, and then he left. I really don't blame him. ll then ordered a rum and coke and a carbonated water. He poured the coke and rum in a glass and then said the bottle was for me, but I was already drinking the water. So he splashed some rum in the water - yummy. Totally confused, but I guess that's what happens when someone gets shitfaced. He then suggested we go to Lellebell, the tranny bar he took me to on my first night. It would have made my time in Amsterdam come full circle, to start and end my time at a tranny bar. As appealing as that sounded, I would have preferred to chew my own fingernails off. Before we left he said, "I think I'm gonna throw up".
When we came down to the lobby he started yelling something about people with AIDS go this way, and people with cancer go that way. He was really yelling at this point, being belligerent and stumbling about. I was just trying to get out of the door because there were people about. The security guard looked very, very concerned. He put my hands on my shoulders to stop me and make me look, but I was not having it. I did look into the eyes of the guard as a cry for help, but he didn't get out of his chair. Sad. Once we made it through the front doors, he said, "Doesn't it look like a hospital?"
I told him to point me in the direction of home and I took off on my bike as fast as I possibly could have, after shaking hands with him. He went in the other direction. I have no clue where he intended on going, and I didn't care. Of course as I scrambled home I laughed the entire way. What a night.... However, I knew it probably wasn't over. I was sure that ll would check to make sure I made it home, so I went straight to bed and tried to go to sleep. He arrived about 5 minutes after I had gotten into bed. Before I could fall asleep, as I expected, he came and opened my door. He called my name a few times and I pretended to wake up.
He asked, "Did you see anyone put anything in my pocket?" (Also, not sure if I've mentioned before, he gives himself a slight English accent when he gets toasted. He's never lived in England, I'm sure he just picked it up from television like the rest of us Americans).
I wonder to myself, what the fuck kind of question is that? Why now? When I'm sleeping?
"I found 2,000 euros in 10 euro bills in my jacket."
At this point I can't help but laugh. He looked really concerned about the whole thing, but I don't know what the problem was. If I found 2,000 euros in my jacket I would be fucking celebrating, not investigating where it came from. He was also completely wrecked, so I'm sure he miscounted. I'm really surprised he was even able to ride his bicycle back home at all.
"I only got 150 from the ATM... I don't know where it came from. I checked my jacket -- there's no drugs, no drugs"
"Where did you go after I left?"
He didn't answer the question, and continued to wonder out loud where the money came from. He wasn't even looking at me, he was staring at the wall. It was almost like he was having a conversation to himself, I just happened to be there. Throughout the conversation I'm whispering, and he's using a normal speaking voice. He keeps telling me to "shhh", though. Eventually he said, "It's ok, go to sleep booboo."
Yes... go to sleep booboo, go to sleep.
The next morning he gave me 100 euros of my deposit back in 10 euro bills.
Tuesday, October 26, 2010
Fine dining with *** ******
Last week chez ll. Sad times, sad times.
Yesterday, Monday, I came home a bit late from my internship. Around half an hour after I got home, ll sauntered over to my closet and asked if I was packing up and whatnot. I said no. About an hour after that, he came over again and asked if I had eaten anything yet. I said no, thinking that he would offer me some grub. For an alcoholic, ll is a really good cook in fact. He doesn't always have 5-finger dinners. But then he asked if I wanted to go to a restaurant. I said sure, why not. He was being friendly (so he had probably had some wine), but he wasn't to the point of being.. sloppy yet. It was also my last week here, and I didn't have any desire to cook. The guy also put me up in his home, not knowing if I was lying about having my wallet stolen or not. I think he... might be a good guy? Deep down? Somewhere?? You have to remember as well, when I first saw pictures of ll and met him for the first time, I thought he was totally uptight and boring. If he was going to be a bore at a restaurant, I could handle that. At least I could get something to eat. I mean for God's sake, look at his profile picture on facebook:
My GRANDMOTHER has a similar picture, although she doesn't look half as douchey as this guy.
He told me to look at the menu online, but my computer was having some problems. So I asked if I could use his computer, and he complied. I took a look at the menu, and I saw two gay dating sites open on his computer. I wanted to investigate further, but it was too risky with him standing behind my back. Hopefully I can check that out later... anyway. Of course he forced a glass of wine into my hand before we left, which I didn't drink. It was easy to pretend to drink in the total blackness on the balcony, without actually imbibing any alcohol.
We took our bikes to an ATM so he could get some cash, and then to the restaurant. The place was really nice, I should have known better. I looked like shit, basically. I had just gotten my haircut that morning and it looked terrible. I hadn't even brushed my hair, so the texture appeared to be similar to that of a brillow pad. My clothes were equally terrible, seeing as the only reason I got up in the morning was to go to my internship, where there were no other employees, and I dressed accordingly. The restaurant was probably one of the nicest places that I've been to in my life, to be honest. And thanks to the magic of the internet, you can even take a look here, if you are so inclined: http://www.caferestaurantdauphine.nl/nl/
Most of the people there were men (and some women) in business suits. It was incredibly uncomfortable for me, looking like a homeless street urchin. I'm sure it looked even stranger, given the fact that I was accompanied by an older black man. I wondered if people thought I was a prostitute, to be honest. But not one of those high class escorts, oh no, just some scraggly whore looking to suck somebody, anybody off so I could get my next hit of crack or meth. I quickly realized that ll was drunker than I thought. Perhaps he had downed that glass of wine without me witnessing the act.
We had to wait for our table by the bar. Uh oh. He brought over the wine menu and told me to pick something. I think wine tastes like shit to be honest, if you actually hold it on your tongue and really concentrate on the flavors. I'm sure that cologne is made by a similar process, and I imagine the taste is not that unsimilar. Why he asked me, I don't know. I chose the cheapest glass of wine, thinking that I was going to have to pay for this mess by myself. He then said, "Don't look at the price". HAHAAHA. Well come to find out, ll had no intention of taking just one glass of wine (I should have known better), but we were at the BAR, not an actual table yet. At that point I knew it was going to be a long night.
Yesterday, Monday, I came home a bit late from my internship. Around half an hour after I got home, ll sauntered over to my closet and asked if I was packing up and whatnot. I said no. About an hour after that, he came over again and asked if I had eaten anything yet. I said no, thinking that he would offer me some grub. For an alcoholic, ll is a really good cook in fact. He doesn't always have 5-finger dinners. But then he asked if I wanted to go to a restaurant. I said sure, why not. He was being friendly (so he had probably had some wine), but he wasn't to the point of being.. sloppy yet. It was also my last week here, and I didn't have any desire to cook. The guy also put me up in his home, not knowing if I was lying about having my wallet stolen or not. I think he... might be a good guy? Deep down? Somewhere?? You have to remember as well, when I first saw pictures of ll and met him for the first time, I thought he was totally uptight and boring. If he was going to be a bore at a restaurant, I could handle that. At least I could get something to eat. I mean for God's sake, look at his profile picture on facebook:
My GRANDMOTHER has a similar picture, although she doesn't look half as douchey as this guy.
He told me to look at the menu online, but my computer was having some problems. So I asked if I could use his computer, and he complied. I took a look at the menu, and I saw two gay dating sites open on his computer. I wanted to investigate further, but it was too risky with him standing behind my back. Hopefully I can check that out later... anyway. Of course he forced a glass of wine into my hand before we left, which I didn't drink. It was easy to pretend to drink in the total blackness on the balcony, without actually imbibing any alcohol.
We took our bikes to an ATM so he could get some cash, and then to the restaurant. The place was really nice, I should have known better. I looked like shit, basically. I had just gotten my haircut that morning and it looked terrible. I hadn't even brushed my hair, so the texture appeared to be similar to that of a brillow pad. My clothes were equally terrible, seeing as the only reason I got up in the morning was to go to my internship, where there were no other employees, and I dressed accordingly. The restaurant was probably one of the nicest places that I've been to in my life, to be honest. And thanks to the magic of the internet, you can even take a look here, if you are so inclined: http://www.caferestaurantdauphine.nl/nl/
Most of the people there were men (and some women) in business suits. It was incredibly uncomfortable for me, looking like a homeless street urchin. I'm sure it looked even stranger, given the fact that I was accompanied by an older black man. I wondered if people thought I was a prostitute, to be honest. But not one of those high class escorts, oh no, just some scraggly whore looking to suck somebody, anybody off so I could get my next hit of crack or meth. I quickly realized that ll was drunker than I thought. Perhaps he had downed that glass of wine without me witnessing the act.
We had to wait for our table by the bar. Uh oh. He brought over the wine menu and told me to pick something. I think wine tastes like shit to be honest, if you actually hold it on your tongue and really concentrate on the flavors. I'm sure that cologne is made by a similar process, and I imagine the taste is not that unsimilar. Why he asked me, I don't know. I chose the cheapest glass of wine, thinking that I was going to have to pay for this mess by myself. He then said, "Don't look at the price". HAHAAHA. Well come to find out, ll had no intention of taking just one glass of wine (I should have known better), but we were at the BAR, not an actual table yet. At that point I knew it was going to be a long night.
Saturday, October 23, 2010
wtf
Now I realize the importance of keeping this updated.
Last night was pretty monumental, and two nights before that as well. And I also didn't even finish the previous post.
Perhaps I'll start three nights ago, which is already getting hazy.
I went to another intern's place after work on Wednesday. She was having people over for dinner at her apartment, since she completed her internship. We talked a lot of shit about the boss, ate some quiche, played some video games, whateva. She lives in a suburb outside of Amsterdam, so we had to take the train to get there. Unfortunately I had brought my laptop there and forgot it at the end of the night and couldn't really go back and get it. I had always feared this moment - to go back to this apartment and experience life without the internet. Fortunately it was late enough that I could consider just going to sleep, so that's pretty much what I tried to do.
ll was on the phone when I came in, but we were both out of each other's range of sight. The conversation sounded pretty heated (and smelled a bit like cheap wine), so naturally I listened at the door. Actually I layed down on my bed with all my clothes on, terrified to go out and brush my teeth, and left the door cracked. ll was pretty furious with his ex-ex-bf - the tall, skinny, blond 25 year old Dutch guy. xxbf had gone a trip to the Middle East for about a month with his work and had just gotten back to the Netherlands. ll had earlier promised that we would all go out together as my last hurrah. I actually would have gone had he delivered. Anywho, I guess the dispute was about some concert that ll had tickets for. I really do not understand what happened, so I won't try to go into it. The conversation went on and on - mostly ll yelling at xxbf about this ticket. It went so far as to ll calling him a bastard and a 'white piece of shit', among other things. This might explain their strained interactions which are going on now as ll serves xxbf 'breakfast' at 1:30 in the afternoon. I suppose ll didn't sleep last night.
Yeah, pretty standard drama crap. However, it started to get interesting after ll hung up the phone.
But first I should mention something. I realized today the only reason I'm able to blog about ll is that he has no inner dialogue. Once the shit hits the fan, the blow hits the nose, the cabernet sauvignon hits the... well, you get the idea. ll channels that little voice in his head and just lets it loose. This includes every tiny insignificant thought that doesn't make it to a complete, well rounded one. Which tends to happen when someone is drunk/stoned/crazy. I can't tell you what he sounds like exactly, but it's somewhat like an extended stutter - most of a word or phrase comes out, and then abruptly ceases. But in any case, the world around ll knows exactly what he's thinking at that very moment, even if it's complete nonsense. Brilliant. Why he chooses to go insane in the living room, and not his bedroom, is something else which should be examined. He must know that French fuck and I can both hear him.
Anyway, back on track. ll continues on his rant, cursing the name of xxbf and his life of privilege and travel and pasty white skin, but then things start falling. I don't know what's going on, but shit starts crashing. ll also starts blasting shitty techno music, and the external dialogue commences. It sounds like he begins to cry a few times, but THEN he just starts screaming. He does a few screams that start off from nothing, kind of like from a frequency a dog whistle operates on, but he increases the volume slowly into a full on scream. And he starts yelling, in a truly sad and pained voice, 'GET AWAY FROM ME! AHHHHHHHHH!! YOU AREN'T REAL! JUST STOP IT! STOP IT! HELLO?!?'.
Now I'm actually freaked out, because this shit is not normal. Talking to yourself to the extent that ll does it is not normal, but hallucinations.. NO. The sounds that are coming from this man are not normal either - he sounded almost like an animal. My door is still open, and there's no lock. I really wonder if he's going to bust into my room and I honestly don't know what's going to happen. I wonder if he's going to jump off the balcony, or if someone's going to call the police. And where am I going to hide if the police actually do come.
He calms down after some more screaming, some more crying, and some more crashing. His 'normal' external dialogue comes back. He went to the bathroom, which is across from my room, and I heard him say, "You CANNOT leave this house... before you pack your bag... and leave." All the while piss is hitting the toilet and floor.
I never did brush my teef that night
:(
The next night ll wasn't there at all. I thought maybe he could have jumped off that balcony, who knows.
Last night was pretty monumental, and two nights before that as well. And I also didn't even finish the previous post.
Perhaps I'll start three nights ago, which is already getting hazy.
I went to another intern's place after work on Wednesday. She was having people over for dinner at her apartment, since she completed her internship. We talked a lot of shit about the boss, ate some quiche, played some video games, whateva. She lives in a suburb outside of Amsterdam, so we had to take the train to get there. Unfortunately I had brought my laptop there and forgot it at the end of the night and couldn't really go back and get it. I had always feared this moment - to go back to this apartment and experience life without the internet. Fortunately it was late enough that I could consider just going to sleep, so that's pretty much what I tried to do.
ll was on the phone when I came in, but we were both out of each other's range of sight. The conversation sounded pretty heated (and smelled a bit like cheap wine), so naturally I listened at the door. Actually I layed down on my bed with all my clothes on, terrified to go out and brush my teeth, and left the door cracked. ll was pretty furious with his ex-ex-bf - the tall, skinny, blond 25 year old Dutch guy. xxbf had gone a trip to the Middle East for about a month with his work and had just gotten back to the Netherlands. ll had earlier promised that we would all go out together as my last hurrah. I actually would have gone had he delivered. Anywho, I guess the dispute was about some concert that ll had tickets for. I really do not understand what happened, so I won't try to go into it. The conversation went on and on - mostly ll yelling at xxbf about this ticket. It went so far as to ll calling him a bastard and a 'white piece of shit', among other things. This might explain their strained interactions which are going on now as ll serves xxbf 'breakfast' at 1:30 in the afternoon. I suppose ll didn't sleep last night.
Yeah, pretty standard drama crap. However, it started to get interesting after ll hung up the phone.
But first I should mention something. I realized today the only reason I'm able to blog about ll is that he has no inner dialogue. Once the shit hits the fan, the blow hits the nose, the cabernet sauvignon hits the... well, you get the idea. ll channels that little voice in his head and just lets it loose. This includes every tiny insignificant thought that doesn't make it to a complete, well rounded one. Which tends to happen when someone is drunk/stoned/crazy. I can't tell you what he sounds like exactly, but it's somewhat like an extended stutter - most of a word or phrase comes out, and then abruptly ceases. But in any case, the world around ll knows exactly what he's thinking at that very moment, even if it's complete nonsense. Brilliant. Why he chooses to go insane in the living room, and not his bedroom, is something else which should be examined. He must know that French fuck and I can both hear him.
Anyway, back on track. ll continues on his rant, cursing the name of xxbf and his life of privilege and travel and pasty white skin, but then things start falling. I don't know what's going on, but shit starts crashing. ll also starts blasting shitty techno music, and the external dialogue commences. It sounds like he begins to cry a few times, but THEN he just starts screaming. He does a few screams that start off from nothing, kind of like from a frequency a dog whistle operates on, but he increases the volume slowly into a full on scream. And he starts yelling, in a truly sad and pained voice, 'GET AWAY FROM ME! AHHHHHHHHH!! YOU AREN'T REAL! JUST STOP IT! STOP IT! HELLO?!?'.
Now I'm actually freaked out, because this shit is not normal. Talking to yourself to the extent that ll does it is not normal, but hallucinations.. NO. The sounds that are coming from this man are not normal either - he sounded almost like an animal. My door is still open, and there's no lock. I really wonder if he's going to bust into my room and I honestly don't know what's going to happen. I wonder if he's going to jump off the balcony, or if someone's going to call the police. And where am I going to hide if the police actually do come.
He calms down after some more screaming, some more crying, and some more crashing. His 'normal' external dialogue comes back. He went to the bathroom, which is across from my room, and I heard him say, "You CANNOT leave this house... before you pack your bag... and leave." All the while piss is hitting the toilet and floor.
I never did brush my teef that night
:(
The next night ll wasn't there at all. I thought maybe he could have jumped off that balcony, who knows.
Friday, October 22, 2010
Finito
I wrote this post on October 4... don't know why I didn't publish it then.
***
Not too much going down as of late... sorry ladies and gentlemen.
I spent nearly one glorious week outside of Amsterdam -- visiting friends in Paris and Ghent, and back here in Amsterdam. I had my first overnight visitor to the apartment last week. Thankfully we did not encounter LL on the first two nights, however he reared his ugly maw on the third. He rambled on about buying a 'love ring' for his partner. It sounded like a really, really bad idea and I think he was drunk. He didn't come home until the next day some time. I can't even imagine the store was even open as it was past 7 and definitely dark outside when he left. He never mentioned what happened and I didn't ask.
The purpose of this post really isn't about weirdness, or about my roommates. I've decided to man up and leave Amsterdam. That's right, man up and QUIT!
I came here with the notion that Amsterdam would be amazing, and that I would want to stay a long time - longer than what my internship required. And once I had found a place, that I wouldn't want to leave it. I was a bit tired of moving around, after moving all my belongings from Oklahoma to Bordeaux, back to Oklahoma and then to Sweden, to Spain, to Poland and through Germany, before arriving here in the Netherlands. Plus, it's Amsterdam! It has one of the most unique reputations and histories as far as cities go.
Unfortunately, things just didn't really come together for me here. I definitely started out on the wrong foot - getting my wallet and legality stolen from me like a pauper stealing a load of bread a la Oliver Twist (did that actually occur?). I definitely do like Amsterdam... I had a really fulfilling experience here - I feel like I did get to know Dutch people, after working in a Dutch office, I saw the country, tasted the local cuisine, got high, partied, paid and arm and a leg for groceries at Albert Heijn, cycled in freezing rain just to save 2.20 euros, and withstood the unbearable awkwardness of my flatmates. The Netherlands is a beautiful and fascinating country, but I really just didn't find my place here. Another time, I suppose.
***
Not too much going down as of late... sorry ladies and gentlemen.
I spent nearly one glorious week outside of Amsterdam -- visiting friends in Paris and Ghent, and back here in Amsterdam. I had my first overnight visitor to the apartment last week. Thankfully we did not encounter LL on the first two nights, however he reared his ugly maw on the third. He rambled on about buying a 'love ring' for his partner. It sounded like a really, really bad idea and I think he was drunk. He didn't come home until the next day some time. I can't even imagine the store was even open as it was past 7 and definitely dark outside when he left. He never mentioned what happened and I didn't ask.
The purpose of this post really isn't about weirdness, or about my roommates. I've decided to man up and leave Amsterdam. That's right, man up and QUIT!
I came here with the notion that Amsterdam would be amazing, and that I would want to stay a long time - longer than what my internship required. And once I had found a place, that I wouldn't want to leave it. I was a bit tired of moving around, after moving all my belongings from Oklahoma to Bordeaux, back to Oklahoma and then to Sweden, to Spain, to Poland and through Germany, before arriving here in the Netherlands. Plus, it's Amsterdam! It has one of the most unique reputations and histories as far as cities go.
Unfortunately, things just didn't really come together for me here. I definitely started out on the wrong foot - getting my wallet and legality stolen from me like a pauper stealing a load of bread a la Oliver Twist (did that actually occur?). I definitely do like Amsterdam... I had a really fulfilling experience here - I feel like I did get to know Dutch people, after working in a Dutch office, I saw the country, tasted the local cuisine, got high, partied, paid and arm and a leg for groceries at Albert Heijn, cycled in freezing rain just to save 2.20 euros, and withstood the unbearable awkwardness of my flatmates. The Netherlands is a beautiful and fascinating country, but I really just didn't find my place here. Another time, I suppose.
Thursday, October 7, 2010
My worldview has changed.
I don't know exactly how to describe what just happen. It's monumental. It will change the way people think, all over the world.
---
ll was sipping his wine, chatting away, and told me that he had to go pick up a gift for a friend, since he had elected not to go to friend's birthday party this weekend. He left. I was happy.
He returned with some underwear for his straight friend, celebrating... his new girlfriend, or something like that. We talked for about about I don't know what, and he leaves again to pick up some theater tickets for this guy and his girl. He returned a few minutes later, came into my room holding two glasses of rose (that's rose-AY), and made me drink a glass with him. He also had a bottle of wine, which I assumed was also for the friend. It turns out the bottle was for me (which I couldn't take on the 'plane' back to Sweden... which isn't happening...). What a gracious gift!! Oh... you bought it from Albert Heijn? You mean the grocery store on the corner two minutes away? Gee... thanks...
We talk about my presence in the house, how he thinks I'm a nice guy, how he thinks I have a nice style, how I'm skinny, that my room is disgusting, that I need to clean my hair out of the drain, and how his boyfriend didn't want me to live there because the he thought the story about my wallet getting stolen was a lie, etc. etc. You know, normal things.
He leaves again, I breathe a sigh of relief, and returns once again with his fucking bicycle. He carried that damn thing up 3 flights of stairs. He said he has to clean it. I imagine that cleaning a bicycle could be done outdoors, even in Europe, most likely with some water, soap, and a rag of some sort. ll had a slightly different approach by inserting the bike into the shower.
It even had suds on it.
---
The thing that changed everything came much later ... when I finally saw the truth.
The naked truth.
NAKED.
---
ll was sipping his wine, chatting away, and told me that he had to go pick up a gift for a friend, since he had elected not to go to friend's birthday party this weekend. He left. I was happy.
He returned with some underwear for his straight friend, celebrating... his new girlfriend, or something like that. We talked for about about I don't know what, and he leaves again to pick up some theater tickets for this guy and his girl. He returned a few minutes later, came into my room holding two glasses of rose (that's rose-AY), and made me drink a glass with him. He also had a bottle of wine, which I assumed was also for the friend. It turns out the bottle was for me (which I couldn't take on the 'plane' back to Sweden... which isn't happening...). What a gracious gift!! Oh... you bought it from Albert Heijn? You mean the grocery store on the corner two minutes away? Gee... thanks...
We talk about my presence in the house, how he thinks I'm a nice guy, how he thinks I have a nice style, how I'm skinny, that my room is disgusting, that I need to clean my hair out of the drain, and how his boyfriend didn't want me to live there because the he thought the story about my wallet getting stolen was a lie, etc. etc. You know, normal things.
He leaves again, I breathe a sigh of relief, and returns once again with his fucking bicycle. He carried that damn thing up 3 flights of stairs. He said he has to clean it. I imagine that cleaning a bicycle could be done outdoors, even in Europe, most likely with some water, soap, and a rag of some sort. ll had a slightly different approach by inserting the bike into the shower.
It even had suds on it.
---
The thing that changed everything came much later ... when I finally saw the truth.
The naked truth.
NAKED.
LIVE!!
ll is peeing a lot and being really friendly and talkative. I told him I was going to Hamburg this weekend and he started calling his friends that live there, trying to get us to meet. He mentioned something about a long (?) ziplock bag full of ecstasy and a lot of other things I didn't understand.
I was looking around for what I thought was his 'juice' glass (in his bedroom) and smelled it - wine.
BINGO!!
I was looking around for what I thought was his 'juice' glass (in his bedroom) and smelled it - wine.
BINGO!!
If I had a blunt I would smoke it right now.
So my boss just forwarded an e-mail to me in Dutch, saying 'Can you already have a look at this too?'
Pop the e-mail in google translate...
Basically another Dutch guy from the European Union Human Rights Commission just FINISHED a project that had more or less the same goals as the one I was assigned to do. A crucial difference is that the commission actually VISITED the various countries, whereas I have to rely on google and wikipedia just to find out who to give surveys to.
Awwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwesoooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooommmmmmmmmmmmeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee ttttttttttttthhhhhhhhhhhhhhaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaannnnnnnnnnnnnnkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkksssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssss
To add insult to injury, it sounds like the guy had told my boss he was doing this "some time ago", meaning before he gave me the project or after I had already started.
Niiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiice
Pop the e-mail in google translate...
Basically another Dutch guy from the European Union Human Rights Commission just FINISHED a project that had more or less the same goals as the one I was assigned to do. A crucial difference is that the commission actually VISITED the various countries, whereas I have to rely on google and wikipedia just to find out who to give surveys to.
Awwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwesoooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooommmmmmmmmmmmeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee ttttttttttttthhhhhhhhhhhhhhaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaannnnnnnnnnnnnnkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkksssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssss
To add insult to injury, it sounds like the guy had told my boss he was doing this "some time ago", meaning before he gave me the project or after I had already started.
Niiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiice
Thursday, September 16, 2010
It's a record ladies and gentlemen
Just to finish out the story - ll is still here.
Despite being carefully hidden in the fridge, my dinner is not.
:(
Despite being carefully hidden in the fridge, my dinner is not.
:(
And the story continues... "I've only missed one flight before"
After the burger incident, ll went to drop his dog off at his bf's ex-bf's apartment - the one who I visited on my second day in Amsterdam. I never heard him come home, which was odd because he hadn't packed (which I gathered from his wandering around the apartment, telling himself that he needed to pack).
Later in the morning, I heard him finally come home and make a lot of racket. I checked my phone - 7:50AM. ll's flight was at 8AM. After bragging that he had never missed a flight before (the first was just a scare), he did just that. I heard him talking with wff, who was getting ready for work, who said that his watch/phone/sundial/time telling device wasn't set right. He said that he wasn't out 'doing anything stupid', although he still sounded drunk to me. He told wff that he had, I suppose, fallen asleep watching his dog fall asleep at his bf's ex-bf's apartment. I feel sorry for that poor man. And I'm sorry, I love my cat too, but that's one of the stupidest things I've ever heard. You missed your flight because you wanted to spend time with your dog? And it wasn't even conscious? And you come back home 10 minutes before your flight, and you haven't packed? HAHAHAHAHA DUMBASS! When wff went to work he told ll, "Have a nice trip!".
I really had no desire to go out and get ready to go to my internship when he was there, probably drunk and angry that he had missed a flight. I also had no desire to pretend I didn't know what happened, even though I heard everything through the door. Thankfully when I did go out he announced, "I missed my flight!".
"Ohhhhhhh no, that's terrible. What time was it at?"
"Well, according to world time (you mean GMT +1?), one hour ago. But according to MY time, 2 hours ago."
I had to think about that for a minute. If his timepiece was ahead, wouldn't he have been early? And not late? And how did that happen anyway?
The kicker though, was when I walked to the kitchen to make myself breakfast. There sitting on the stove was a skillet and MY hamburger patty. NOT his fucking lamb patty, because we ate both of them. Was he going to cook my dinner for his breakfast? Without asking? The salad was also out, which turns was actually MY salad as well. It was brand new, but he had opened it and and used it, presumably to prepare that fucking lamb travesty I inserted into my digestive tract hours before. Quietly, I put my things back in the fridge and got ready as fast as I possibly could.
I listed to him from my room, trying to call Iberia airlines, but wasn't getting through. I wondered why the fuck did he not go to the airport and speak to someone in person?. It's only about 20 minutes away, and it's not like he had something planned for that day that did not involve another country he wasn't currently in. He gave up trying to get a new ticket from them, or even contact them all together because, "it was a cheap ticket". In my books, any flight on a national airline on an international flight isn't going to be "cheap" by any means. A little later I heard him call RyanAir.
"Goedemorgen. Ik bin **** **** [in that terribly robotic American accent]. I'm having some trouble with my booking; I think I did it wrong. Can you help me? I want to leave from Amsterdam but my ticket says 'Charleroi'."
I had a good laugh at that. Everyone knows Ryan Air sometimes describes its airports as being next to big cities, when in fact they can be hours away. But Charleroi is in BELGIUM - it's more than just a couple of hours away. AND ITS NOT EVEN A DUTCH NAME. How did he get all the way through the booking process with the wrong damn city?
He ended up rebooking the flight to the actual Dutch airport for tomorrow, after paying for the phone call and a 35 euro fee for changing the ticket.
Amazing.
When I left he said, "Have a nice day! See you Tuesday!"
Yeah, Tuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuesday...
Later in the morning, I heard him finally come home and make a lot of racket. I checked my phone - 7:50AM. ll's flight was at 8AM. After bragging that he had never missed a flight before (the first was just a scare), he did just that. I heard him talking with wff, who was getting ready for work, who said that his watch/phone/sundial/time telling device wasn't set right. He said that he wasn't out 'doing anything stupid', although he still sounded drunk to me. He told wff that he had, I suppose, fallen asleep watching his dog fall asleep at his bf's ex-bf's apartment. I feel sorry for that poor man. And I'm sorry, I love my cat too, but that's one of the stupidest things I've ever heard. You missed your flight because you wanted to spend time with your dog? And it wasn't even conscious? And you come back home 10 minutes before your flight, and you haven't packed? HAHAHAHAHA DUMBASS! When wff went to work he told ll, "Have a nice trip!".
I really had no desire to go out and get ready to go to my internship when he was there, probably drunk and angry that he had missed a flight. I also had no desire to pretend I didn't know what happened, even though I heard everything through the door. Thankfully when I did go out he announced, "I missed my flight!".
"Ohhhhhhh no, that's terrible. What time was it at?"
"Well, according to world time (you mean GMT +1?), one hour ago. But according to MY time, 2 hours ago."
I had to think about that for a minute. If his timepiece was ahead, wouldn't he have been early? And not late? And how did that happen anyway?
The kicker though, was when I walked to the kitchen to make myself breakfast. There sitting on the stove was a skillet and MY hamburger patty. NOT his fucking lamb patty, because we ate both of them. Was he going to cook my dinner for his breakfast? Without asking? The salad was also out, which turns was actually MY salad as well. It was brand new, but he had opened it and and used it, presumably to prepare that fucking lamb travesty I inserted into my digestive tract hours before. Quietly, I put my things back in the fridge and got ready as fast as I possibly could.
I listed to him from my room, trying to call Iberia airlines, but wasn't getting through. I wondered why the fuck did he not go to the airport and speak to someone in person?. It's only about 20 minutes away, and it's not like he had something planned for that day that did not involve another country he wasn't currently in. He gave up trying to get a new ticket from them, or even contact them all together because, "it was a cheap ticket". In my books, any flight on a national airline on an international flight isn't going to be "cheap" by any means. A little later I heard him call RyanAir.
"Goedemorgen. Ik bin **** **** [in that terribly robotic American accent]. I'm having some trouble with my booking; I think I did it wrong. Can you help me? I want to leave from Amsterdam but my ticket says 'Charleroi'."
I had a good laugh at that. Everyone knows Ryan Air sometimes describes its airports as being next to big cities, when in fact they can be hours away. But Charleroi is in BELGIUM - it's more than just a couple of hours away. AND ITS NOT EVEN A DUTCH NAME. How did he get all the way through the booking process with the wrong damn city?
He ended up rebooking the flight to the actual Dutch airport for tomorrow, after paying for the phone call and a 35 euro fee for changing the ticket.
Amazing.
When I left he said, "Have a nice day! See you Tuesday!"
Yeah, Tuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuesday...
Wednesday, September 15, 2010
Lamb burglar
A few hours ago I started writing a post with the opening of 'mini shitisode'. This is the term I use for all of those small incidents involving ll that don't seem to merit their own post. However, I can't really remember the details of all of those incidents. Tonight is a perfect opportunity to change all of that! I'm going to try and finish the post quickly lest any vomit inducing detail be lost in the annals of my memory after it's been flooded with alcohol.
Sunday through Tuesday I was more or less not in the apartment - 3 blissful, awkward free days. Today I came home and took a nap, and then was woken up by ll calling my cell phone from inside the apartment. Apparently he was worried that I had been beaten and left for dead somewhere. Isn't that sweet? He also informed me about 15 times that evening that today was the dog's birthday. I thought I should mention it for some reason, despite the fact that the dog probably forgot that it was even born in the first place BECAUSE ITS A DOG, and most likely has no concept of birth, reproduction (it's a virgin), death, or the Gregorian calendar. ll made him some kind of birthday cake in the morning composed of 'some flour, some egg, and some meat' (I had to ask what goes into a dog's birthday cake). Mmmm, meaty.
ll was acting a little strange - maybe he just couldn't handle the excitement of speaking to another human being, since wff isn't packing much heat in social department. He took the dog to accompany him to his place of employment where he had a package waiting for him, and also to show the dog to his co-workers who were at a bar next door. Do you see where I'm going with this? Before he left he said, "I was going to make you a lamb burger, but I can't because I'm leaving." Oh.... okay. Well I started making dinner anyway because it wasn't clear if he was coming back at all, and I was getting hungraaaaay.
About 15 minutes in I received a text message reading, "Can u go out for a drink?". I replied with, "Oooh I would, but I just started cooking. [Hahaha! A real excuse this time!] How long will you be there? [But it doesn't really matter, because I'm never going to come.] Want me to put your stuff in the fridge?" - as I imagine pulverized lamb patties and salad don't keep well out in the open. He responded back with, "Im 5 min away . just asking" I don't really know what to make of that last one. I don't understand why he can't just walk up the stairs and ask me in person.
Anyway, he watches me eat, we chat a little, weird stuff that doesn't make any sense in the first place so it's kind of hard for me to recount. He talks about getting his eyes checked with his ex-bf. He's -.50 in one eye, -.75 in the other. He goes on and on about how everyone thought his eyes would be worse, that he doesn't need glasses but he wants them, and he has trouble riding his bike at night. He's literally cackling at this stupid ass story. I'm truly riveted, as you can tell. He also continues on about how he was worried about me and how he didn't have my mom's number. Yeahhhhhhhhhh, there's a reason for that.
Clearly he's under the influence of something. I can only assume he had been drinking, but usually I can smell it on him. He is/has been urinating quite a lot, with the door open (and not flushing...). He said his co-workers loved the dog, but it sounded like he didn't stay for a drink because they were going to movie. Confused. There is also no alcohol in the house. Confused.
He explains the lamb burger concept (lamb patty, mayonnaise and truffle oil, and rucola on a toasted kaiser roll if you're interested), and tells me I should make it tomorrow for lunch because he's leaving for Madrid in the morning and obviously can't consume it. OK!!
I retreat to my room to work on my thesis.
Interrupted soon after by silent landlord barging in on my 9 meters squared, with a fucking lamb burger and cutlery in his hand. It's 10pm.
So I proceed to take the lamb burger to the kitchen, thinking it would be rude to eat his burger in my room alone. He starts off by saying, "I got my eyes checked."
"Guess what my measurements were. Come on, just guess!"
Ohhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh Goddddddddddddd....
My mind started racing. What the fuck do I say? He's already told me three times what his vision is. Is this a trick? Why do I have to guess? What number should I guess? What's the right answer to this question? If I guess a high number is he going to get pissed?
Thankfully during this pause, ll took it upon himself to answer the question himself.
"Well, how could you know? That's impossible. -.50 and -.75!"
Yes, that's impossible.
---
I pushed around the last bit of the burger on my plate because it was
totally raw. I put it in my mouth and went to the sink with then intention
of forcing it down the drain because I was tired of waiting for him
to finish, but thankfully his phone rang so I spit it up into the garbage
can instead.
<3 best lamb burgie i evar tasted
Sunday through Tuesday I was more or less not in the apartment - 3 blissful, awkward free days. Today I came home and took a nap, and then was woken up by ll calling my cell phone from inside the apartment. Apparently he was worried that I had been beaten and left for dead somewhere. Isn't that sweet? He also informed me about 15 times that evening that today was the dog's birthday. I thought I should mention it for some reason, despite the fact that the dog probably forgot that it was even born in the first place BECAUSE ITS A DOG, and most likely has no concept of birth, reproduction (it's a virgin), death, or the Gregorian calendar. ll made him some kind of birthday cake in the morning composed of 'some flour, some egg, and some meat' (I had to ask what goes into a dog's birthday cake). Mmmm, meaty.
ll was acting a little strange - maybe he just couldn't handle the excitement of speaking to another human being, since wff isn't packing much heat in social department. He took the dog to accompany him to his place of employment where he had a package waiting for him, and also to show the dog to his co-workers who were at a bar next door. Do you see where I'm going with this? Before he left he said, "I was going to make you a lamb burger, but I can't because I'm leaving." Oh.... okay. Well I started making dinner anyway because it wasn't clear if he was coming back at all, and I was getting hungraaaaay.
About 15 minutes in I received a text message reading, "Can u go out for a drink?". I replied with, "Oooh I would, but I just started cooking. [Hahaha! A real excuse this time!] How long will you be there? [But it doesn't really matter, because I'm never going to come.] Want me to put your stuff in the fridge?" - as I imagine pulverized lamb patties and salad don't keep well out in the open. He responded back with, "Im 5 min away . just asking" I don't really know what to make of that last one. I don't understand why he can't just walk up the stairs and ask me in person.
Anyway, he watches me eat, we chat a little, weird stuff that doesn't make any sense in the first place so it's kind of hard for me to recount. He talks about getting his eyes checked with his ex-bf. He's -.50 in one eye, -.75 in the other. He goes on and on about how everyone thought his eyes would be worse, that he doesn't need glasses but he wants them, and he has trouble riding his bike at night. He's literally cackling at this stupid ass story. I'm truly riveted, as you can tell. He also continues on about how he was worried about me and how he didn't have my mom's number. Yeahhhhhhhhhh, there's a reason for that.
Clearly he's under the influence of something. I can only assume he had been drinking, but usually I can smell it on him. He is/has been urinating quite a lot, with the door open (and not flushing...). He said his co-workers loved the dog, but it sounded like he didn't stay for a drink because they were going to movie. Confused. There is also no alcohol in the house. Confused.
He explains the lamb burger concept (lamb patty, mayonnaise and truffle oil, and rucola on a toasted kaiser roll if you're interested), and tells me I should make it tomorrow for lunch because he's leaving for Madrid in the morning and obviously can't consume it. OK!!
I retreat to my room to work on my thesis.
Interrupted soon after by silent landlord barging in on my 9 meters squared, with a fucking lamb burger and cutlery in his hand. It's 10pm.
So I proceed to take the lamb burger to the kitchen, thinking it would be rude to eat his burger in my room alone. He starts off by saying, "I got my eyes checked."
"Guess what my measurements were. Come on, just guess!"
Ohhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh Goddddddddddddd....
My mind started racing. What the fuck do I say? He's already told me three times what his vision is. Is this a trick? Why do I have to guess? What number should I guess? What's the right answer to this question? If I guess a high number is he going to get pissed?
Thankfully during this pause, ll took it upon himself to answer the question himself.
"Well, how could you know? That's impossible. -.50 and -.75!"
Yes, that's impossible.
---
I pushed around the last bit of the burger on my plate because it was
totally raw. I put it in my mouth and went to the sink with then intention
of forcing it down the drain because I was tired of waiting for him
to finish, but thankfully his phone rang so I spit it up into the garbage
can instead.
<3 best lamb burgie i evar tasted
Thursday, September 9, 2010
Happy Birfday
My week passed in relative silence. By the end, I was actually ready for ll to return. I imagined being in the apartment with a second life form would take some of the burden off from me feeling awkward, being alone in the apartment with my silent roommate. Even if only it were so that someone could hear me scream if worthless French fuck went postal.
That weekend was Gay Pride in Amsterdam. After experiencing a Pride for the first time (I don’t know if I would even call it ‘experiencing’), I wouldn’t exactly say I would ever seek one out. For the better part of the day I smoked and drank with two fellow classmates next to a canal. It was rainy and cold. And also August. Problem. One friend and I ended up going to eat dinner at a Chinese restaurant next to the Red Light District. We feasted on some authentic Peking duck across from two couples dressed head to toe in black latex S&M fetish gear. They were wearing pretty honkin’ boots, chains, caps, etc. etc.
It’s always a bit humorous to see people dressed like they’ve just traversed a lake of boiling human feces, jumped over a pit of eternal flames, and crossed the river Styx, forced into incredible normal situations with the rest of us, for example like riding a bus or shopping at K-Mart. And yes, the damned gotta eat too. What was actually shocking was that their faces and hair weren’t touched by this malevolent metamorphosis. If you had only seen their faces, they appeared to be completely unremarkable, who could have just gotten out of the office or picked up their kids from soccer practice. However their clothes were saying, ‘I enjoy an orgy of blood, pain, and suffering’.
---
ll, his lover, his dog, and his ex-lover all returned on Sunday. It turned out to be a pretty uneventful day. But when day turned to night it was another story. From what I heard listening at my door with my ear glued to the crack, ll must have had a little vino, you know, bottled temptation, and started yelling at his friend. Ex-lover was accused of being boring and stupid. Wow, pretty tough words for a guy who flew across an ocean to spend time with him! But I digress, ll was right… his ex-lover was extremely dull and a bit thick headed. And he wasn’t even good looking. He then called his boyfriend up (by this time it was definitely the middle of the night). I can only imagine it was for him to bring the dog over or to go out with him, as Pride didn’t end until Tuesday. He complained that he spent alllllllll week with him in Germany, and that he was tired too, etc. etc. It ended with, “YOU AREN’T WELCOME IN THIS HOUSE ANYMORE!” Later he told me, “I get emotional about pride”. Well he also gets emotional trying to insert a new trash bag into a trash can, but I’ll save that for the next entry.
The next day ex-lover was nowhere to be found. I overheard wff ask where he was – ll responded that he had gone to Germany to see some friends there. Yeah, I also thought about fleeing across the border to another country in order to get away from his crazy ass. I bet he was staying at a hotel, which would have been hilaaaaaaaaaaaaarious.
Eventually former lover did come back and I managed to avoid any further interaction with this sad sack of sad.
---
I was so looking forward to that Friday, the 13th, as it was ll’s 43rd birthday. ll had drunkenly told me that he was going to have a party, and that I was invited, and promised me an offering of Mexican cuising. I wasn’t dreaming of enchiladas or tostados that week – I was anticipating the sloppy shit show that would probably ensure when ll invited his loved ones over and realized he was inching ever closer to 50. Sadly I overheard the plans get rewritten – ll wanted to have a healthy birthday instead and decided to go to a restaurant. Can we say LAME? Who the hell wants to have a healthy birthday? You should be healthy every day of the year, not on a single event which occurs once per year! I didn’t get an invite in any case, and I’m very glad about that. On Friday I purposely stayed out of the apartment until late in order to avoid any awkward encounters. I found out that ll’s big birthday bash was just him, his boyfriend, his ex-lover, and his … ex-ex-lover, the young Dutch guy. Wow, sounds like a blast. I would have killed to be a fly on the wall though. I recounted the tale to a friend, who said,
“With the exes there it's like, "Honey, these are the people I fucked a few years ago. People I fucked a few years ago, this is who I'm fucking now. Pass the salt please!"
That weekend was Gay Pride in Amsterdam. After experiencing a Pride for the first time (I don’t know if I would even call it ‘experiencing’), I wouldn’t exactly say I would ever seek one out. For the better part of the day I smoked and drank with two fellow classmates next to a canal. It was rainy and cold. And also August. Problem. One friend and I ended up going to eat dinner at a Chinese restaurant next to the Red Light District. We feasted on some authentic Peking duck across from two couples dressed head to toe in black latex S&M fetish gear. They were wearing pretty honkin’ boots, chains, caps, etc. etc.
It’s always a bit humorous to see people dressed like they’ve just traversed a lake of boiling human feces, jumped over a pit of eternal flames, and crossed the river Styx, forced into incredible normal situations with the rest of us, for example like riding a bus or shopping at K-Mart. And yes, the damned gotta eat too. What was actually shocking was that their faces and hair weren’t touched by this malevolent metamorphosis. If you had only seen their faces, they appeared to be completely unremarkable, who could have just gotten out of the office or picked up their kids from soccer practice. However their clothes were saying, ‘I enjoy an orgy of blood, pain, and suffering’.
---
ll, his lover, his dog, and his ex-lover all returned on Sunday. It turned out to be a pretty uneventful day. But when day turned to night it was another story. From what I heard listening at my door with my ear glued to the crack, ll must have had a little vino, you know, bottled temptation, and started yelling at his friend. Ex-lover was accused of being boring and stupid. Wow, pretty tough words for a guy who flew across an ocean to spend time with him! But I digress, ll was right… his ex-lover was extremely dull and a bit thick headed. And he wasn’t even good looking. He then called his boyfriend up (by this time it was definitely the middle of the night). I can only imagine it was for him to bring the dog over or to go out with him, as Pride didn’t end until Tuesday. He complained that he spent alllllllll week with him in Germany, and that he was tired too, etc. etc. It ended with, “YOU AREN’T WELCOME IN THIS HOUSE ANYMORE!” Later he told me, “I get emotional about pride”. Well he also gets emotional trying to insert a new trash bag into a trash can, but I’ll save that for the next entry.
The next day ex-lover was nowhere to be found. I overheard wff ask where he was – ll responded that he had gone to Germany to see some friends there. Yeah, I also thought about fleeing across the border to another country in order to get away from his crazy ass. I bet he was staying at a hotel, which would have been hilaaaaaaaaaaaaarious.
Eventually former lover did come back and I managed to avoid any further interaction with this sad sack of sad.
---
I was so looking forward to that Friday, the 13th, as it was ll’s 43rd birthday. ll had drunkenly told me that he was going to have a party, and that I was invited, and promised me an offering of Mexican cuising. I wasn’t dreaming of enchiladas or tostados that week – I was anticipating the sloppy shit show that would probably ensure when ll invited his loved ones over and realized he was inching ever closer to 50. Sadly I overheard the plans get rewritten – ll wanted to have a healthy birthday instead and decided to go to a restaurant. Can we say LAME? Who the hell wants to have a healthy birthday? You should be healthy every day of the year, not on a single event which occurs once per year! I didn’t get an invite in any case, and I’m very glad about that. On Friday I purposely stayed out of the apartment until late in order to avoid any awkward encounters. I found out that ll’s big birthday bash was just him, his boyfriend, his ex-lover, and his … ex-ex-lover, the young Dutch guy. Wow, sounds like a blast. I would have killed to be a fly on the wall though. I recounted the tale to a friend, who said,
“With the exes there it's like, "Honey, these are the people I fucked a few years ago. People I fucked a few years ago, this is who I'm fucking now. Pass the salt please!"
Thursday, August 26, 2010
Two men enter, one man leaves
Thankfully for me, ll and his boyfriend were headed to Cologne for the gay games a few days after the incident. But before they departed, ll's friend from the states (who he admitted was his 'lover' during our waterside convo) flew to Amsterdam to spend 2 weeks with him. After seeing a bit of the crazy hot messes that are attracted to Amsterdam, and seeing how utterly insane ll is, I had reason to expect this guy was going to be a complete nutjob. ll was hyping up this guy's arrival hardcore -- he had actually moved to Amsterdam with ll, but after they broke up he returned to the states and ll did not (sadly). I thought to myself, what a romantic and wonderful tale. Truly the stuff dreams and cocaine and unicorns are made of. However, landlord's former lover was about as interesting as watching paint dry. He was white, nerdy, middle-aged, and soft spoken. He really had nothing to say, and he spoke about 10x slower than I do. My conversation with ll's fl was about as dry as Margaret Thatcher's nether regions. We'll come back to him later.
The gay games lasted one sweet, blissful week. I had time to cope with the future I had laid before myself and recover from that nightmare.
However, during this week I also learned that my other roommate, who I'll refer to as 'Worthless French Fuck", is also a lunatic in his own right.
When I arrived at the apartment for the interview, wff was in his room. ll tried to coax him out to introduce us, but it took a few tries for him to finally come out and say 'hello' and go back to his room. ll was speaking to him like he was a child, which isn't unusual, except he claimed that they were 'friends' for several years and wff is over 30 years old. At dinner the next night, wff seemed normal as one can be. I was also glad he was there, and had stayed so long in the apartment - that signaled to me that things wouldn't get to the point of wanting to pull a midnight run - leaving with all of my possessions in the middle of the night without warning. I was also excited at the chance to be able to practice French with him as I've been gradually losing it. WRONG. I haven't spoken to him in any language, and I've been here for almost a month now.
We were both in the apartment the entire week at the same times, however I saw him only once. Once in seven days. For the first few days he would go to his room and stay there, and I would stay in mine - as I had a lot of things to catch up on after one month of living out of my suitcases in various countries and cities. After a day or two I had left the door open when he came home. I said 'hey' as he passed my room to get to his and he did the same thing he always does - ran inside and shut the door. He didn't not say "hello", nor did he say "hi"; he didn't do anything. And for a French person I'd consider this to be pretty fucking rude. When I studied abroad in France, the neighbors in my corridor who I resided side by side with for an entire semester would ALWAYS say hello. They never asked my name, where I was from, or try to say anything else except for 'hello', which for the French is basically just to acknowledge that there's a conscious human being in their eyesight. It's as natural for them as jerking back their scorched paws from a hot deep fat fryer.
Maybe he didn't hear me, whatever, but the fact remains that every single day he does the exact same thing - runs to his room, shuts the door, and stays there until he brushes his teef and goes to bed... at 10pm. I know that he is in bed at 10pm because his fucking lights are OFF and I can hear his bed squeak as he turns over. So what I can tell is that his life is basically UH-MAZING. He gets up early and goes to work (around 7:30, thanks for the wake-up call, fucker) and comes home around 6:30, eats, then seals himself inside his tomb until it's time to repeat the cycle of bliss the next day. If working and staying in my room were the only activities that my life revolved around, I would kill myself. I would definitely kill myself.
A few times I did get some communication coming from his end. One night I came home late and the dog started barking. The next morning I was woken up by him slamming the door when he left for work. One evening I was listening to music without my headphones, although it was still quiet, and guess what? I was woken up to blaring music coming from his room. Neither of those events reoccurred, so I'm under the impression he was just trying to punish me for not being a soulless zombie with no friends, no personality, no interests, and no will to live, like himself.
The gay games lasted one sweet, blissful week. I had time to cope with the future I had laid before myself and recover from that nightmare.
However, during this week I also learned that my other roommate, who I'll refer to as 'Worthless French Fuck", is also a lunatic in his own right.
When I arrived at the apartment for the interview, wff was in his room. ll tried to coax him out to introduce us, but it took a few tries for him to finally come out and say 'hello' and go back to his room. ll was speaking to him like he was a child, which isn't unusual, except he claimed that they were 'friends' for several years and wff is over 30 years old. At dinner the next night, wff seemed normal as one can be. I was also glad he was there, and had stayed so long in the apartment - that signaled to me that things wouldn't get to the point of wanting to pull a midnight run - leaving with all of my possessions in the middle of the night without warning. I was also excited at the chance to be able to practice French with him as I've been gradually losing it. WRONG. I haven't spoken to him in any language, and I've been here for almost a month now.
We were both in the apartment the entire week at the same times, however I saw him only once. Once in seven days. For the first few days he would go to his room and stay there, and I would stay in mine - as I had a lot of things to catch up on after one month of living out of my suitcases in various countries and cities. After a day or two I had left the door open when he came home. I said 'hey' as he passed my room to get to his and he did the same thing he always does - ran inside and shut the door. He didn't not say "hello", nor did he say "hi"; he didn't do anything. And for a French person I'd consider this to be pretty fucking rude. When I studied abroad in France, the neighbors in my corridor who I resided side by side with for an entire semester would ALWAYS say hello. They never asked my name, where I was from, or try to say anything else except for 'hello', which for the French is basically just to acknowledge that there's a conscious human being in their eyesight. It's as natural for them as jerking back their scorched paws from a hot deep fat fryer.
Maybe he didn't hear me, whatever, but the fact remains that every single day he does the exact same thing - runs to his room, shuts the door, and stays there until he brushes his teef and goes to bed... at 10pm. I know that he is in bed at 10pm because his fucking lights are OFF and I can hear his bed squeak as he turns over. So what I can tell is that his life is basically UH-MAZING. He gets up early and goes to work (around 7:30, thanks for the wake-up call, fucker) and comes home around 6:30, eats, then seals himself inside his tomb until it's time to repeat the cycle of bliss the next day. If working and staying in my room were the only activities that my life revolved around, I would kill myself. I would definitely kill myself.
A few times I did get some communication coming from his end. One night I came home late and the dog started barking. The next morning I was woken up by him slamming the door when he left for work. One evening I was listening to music without my headphones, although it was still quiet, and guess what? I was woken up to blaring music coming from his room. Neither of those events reoccurred, so I'm under the impression he was just trying to punish me for not being a soulless zombie with no friends, no personality, no interests, and no will to live, like himself.
Thursday, August 19, 2010
Day Dos
Ever since I realized what it meant to be gay, I knew that it was an inherent disadvantage in a heteronormative world. When I was looking for an organization to do my internship with for my 3rd semester, I began by looking at cultural and political organizations; mostly think tanks centered on the EU's internal and external affairs. After 40 some odd unanswered e-mails to an equal number of organizations, I thought it best to take a new approach. During my coursework in Krakow we learned that there is indeed at least one pan-European GLBT special interest lobby. With time running out, I began looking for organizations that dealt with GLBT issues on the international level. Bingo! After contacting over 50 organizations, the two positive hits I got back were both from GLBT organizations - one in Warsaw, and the other in Amsterdam. I really had no desire to move to the 'Phoenix Capital', because Polish people don't even like it (although that might be a prejudice by Krakovians). And I had no desire to remain in Poland period. So my search ended there. And God, do I wish it hadn't.
When looking for an apartment, I found myself in a similar situation. I sent many, many e-mails to different people offering a room in their apartment, or the whole apartment itself, yet most people just ignored me. I assume it was because I wasn't writing to them in Dutch (imagine that). One day I ran across an ad where the author mentioned that he was gay, and it happened to be in my price range and it happened to be for the perfect length of time. I was invited to see the apartment. For once in my life, being gay was opening doors instead of closing them.
These are two fucking doors I wish had remained not only closed, but locked with the key thrown into the deepest crevasse in the ocean.
---
So, sitting on the pier with ll turns into the most bizarre interaction I've ever had with another member of the homo sapiens species. I tried to ask ll why he came to Amsterdam in the first place, but his brain and his mouth were just not connecting. I could barely understand him, and for some dumb fucking reason he started speaking in a fake British accent. But not in a funny way. I will arrange what he said in the order that is most disconcerting.
The first thing he told me was that he was a hacker (and not an academic advisor at some online college as his business card might have some believe). In fact, he said that he had even hacked me, first name B last name (with emphasis on the B). Yes, that is indeed my middle initial, as indicated in my e-mail address. He then said that I had an honors degree from 'somewhere'. I just nodded my head, but in fact I don't have an honors degree from anywhere. I guess anyone who puts a name into google search and presses enter could be considered a hacker.
He also tells me that he was raised as a Jehovah's witness. Wow... issues? And that his family disowned him, but not in the official way. This prompted me to ask if he was still religious, and he replied that he was spiritual, WHICH ARE TWO DIFFERENT THINGS (yes, I know...). "I pray to God, I pray to Buddha, I pray to Gaia when I'm in the shower, asking that everything's going to be OK when I step out". Wait wait wait... back it up. You pray to Gaia? You pray to Gaia in our shower?? The shower that I use?? No no no... this is too much. I never thought Gaia was a real deity; something just made up for Dungeons and Dragons or some other fantasy realm where people are divorced from the norms of everyday society. ANY society.
At some point he announced that he had a book written about him. But it was only in Italian. Only then did he tell me the story - that he had an Italian 'lover' that he met online who came to live or visit him in Amsterdam. And this Italian guy had written a book about him, in Italian, which had his name, address, phone number, etc. printed inside.
Towards the end of the conversation, he said that some people called him the 'devil'. He said that he had done porn, he let it slip that he had HIV, and I assume he's done drugs, because I think the devil would be prone to that sort of activity.
Eventually ll wanted to leave, so I again tried to give him a lift on his bike. It wasn't working (surprise), so we got off and walked. He showed me the facade of his old apartment, which was just down the street from the pier. He said he was taking me to his boyfriend's apartment, who was away on a business trip. I wasn't opposed to this, seeing that it wasn't a tranny bar, but it didn't sound like a good time either. I knew something was awry when we upon arriving in front of his door, after climbing four treacherous flights of stairs, that the was unlocked. I told myself that maybe he unlocked it without me noticing, but when we got inside I realized that it really was unlocked, because there was already somebody in the apartment. ll then explained that this was his bf lived with his exbf, who was standing before us in his own apartment. bf's ex just stood there with his arms crossed, probably wondering what in the fuck this crazy drunk motherfucker is doing in his apartment in the middle of the night with some stranger in tow. ll then lifted both of his arms, similar to being crucified, and walked through the apartment, and showed me around. Awesome. His dog was staying there so he began playing with him and talking to him in his baby voice and then thankfully he decided it was time to leave.
Unfortunately, even after that deadly awkward encounter in a stranger's home, the night was STILL NOT OVER. We did indeed went to the tranny bar. It was bizarre. I don't even know if I could describe it, but I shall try. The place was quite small, but the bar area was fairly full of customers. Full of fat, creepy, ugly looking old men who were not in drag or even trannies. I can only describe the decor as kitsch to the max, and I remember seeing dolls strewn about the place. The bartender was an obese country bumpkin with a girlish voice. ll gave me money to order two pints of beer, one of which I proceeded to drink faster that I've ever imbibed any alcoholic drink before. There were several manish looking Americans there, with pot bellies, button down shirts, and goatees, however they had the most high pitched voices I've ever heard. They were definitely nerds, although instead of discussing the pros and cons of the latest Windows update, they were debating the history of Gay Pride in Amsterdam, which was coming up the next weekend. Great... gay history nerds. At one point ll lifted up my shirt and looked at my stomach. He also showed me his tattoos. I was severely, severely grossed out, more so than I've ever been in my life. I relished the opportunity to use the bathroom, which gave me some much needed alone time to regather my composure and to ask the cosmos for a blessing of courage. When I came back, a meth-faced crackhead who had been in the bar since we arrived, offered to sell ll some cocaine. Luckily ll declined. I don't know what I would have done if I was in the position where ll required medical assistance. I probably would have gone home, packed, and bought the first train ticket out of the Netherlands. I managed to finish the beer, but ll was not having it. He bought us shots of Malibu rum before we left the bar.
As we went home, he was mumbling something about doing something he didn't want to do, because his boyfriend was away. Did he want to go buy crack? Did he want to go have sex with someone? I had no idea, I didn't want to know at that point, so I didn't ask. All I wanted was to be on my couch in the US next to my mom reading a tabloid and my dad watching a Sci-Fi original movie, safe and sound at our house in nowhere, America, where no one ever gets HIV, where no one uses coke, where no one is a tranny, where no one prays to Gaia, and nothing ever happens.
When looking for an apartment, I found myself in a similar situation. I sent many, many e-mails to different people offering a room in their apartment, or the whole apartment itself, yet most people just ignored me. I assume it was because I wasn't writing to them in Dutch (imagine that). One day I ran across an ad where the author mentioned that he was gay, and it happened to be in my price range and it happened to be for the perfect length of time. I was invited to see the apartment. For once in my life, being gay was opening doors instead of closing them.
These are two fucking doors I wish had remained not only closed, but locked with the key thrown into the deepest crevasse in the ocean.
---
So, sitting on the pier with ll turns into the most bizarre interaction I've ever had with another member of the homo sapiens species. I tried to ask ll why he came to Amsterdam in the first place, but his brain and his mouth were just not connecting. I could barely understand him, and for some dumb fucking reason he started speaking in a fake British accent. But not in a funny way. I will arrange what he said in the order that is most disconcerting.
The first thing he told me was that he was a hacker (and not an academic advisor at some online college as his business card might have some believe). In fact, he said that he had even hacked me, first name B last name (with emphasis on the B). Yes, that is indeed my middle initial, as indicated in my e-mail address. He then said that I had an honors degree from 'somewhere'. I just nodded my head, but in fact I don't have an honors degree from anywhere. I guess anyone who puts a name into google search and presses enter could be considered a hacker.
He also tells me that he was raised as a Jehovah's witness. Wow... issues? And that his family disowned him, but not in the official way. This prompted me to ask if he was still religious, and he replied that he was spiritual, WHICH ARE TWO DIFFERENT THINGS (yes, I know...). "I pray to God, I pray to Buddha, I pray to Gaia when I'm in the shower, asking that everything's going to be OK when I step out". Wait wait wait... back it up. You pray to Gaia? You pray to Gaia in our shower?? The shower that I use?? No no no... this is too much. I never thought Gaia was a real deity; something just made up for Dungeons and Dragons or some other fantasy realm where people are divorced from the norms of everyday society. ANY society.
At some point he announced that he had a book written about him. But it was only in Italian. Only then did he tell me the story - that he had an Italian 'lover' that he met online who came to live or visit him in Amsterdam. And this Italian guy had written a book about him, in Italian, which had his name, address, phone number, etc. printed inside.
Towards the end of the conversation, he said that some people called him the 'devil'. He said that he had done porn, he let it slip that he had HIV, and I assume he's done drugs, because I think the devil would be prone to that sort of activity.
Eventually ll wanted to leave, so I again tried to give him a lift on his bike. It wasn't working (surprise), so we got off and walked. He showed me the facade of his old apartment, which was just down the street from the pier. He said he was taking me to his boyfriend's apartment, who was away on a business trip. I wasn't opposed to this, seeing that it wasn't a tranny bar, but it didn't sound like a good time either. I knew something was awry when we upon arriving in front of his door, after climbing four treacherous flights of stairs, that the was unlocked. I told myself that maybe he unlocked it without me noticing, but when we got inside I realized that it really was unlocked, because there was already somebody in the apartment. ll then explained that this was his bf lived with his exbf, who was standing before us in his own apartment. bf's ex just stood there with his arms crossed, probably wondering what in the fuck this crazy drunk motherfucker is doing in his apartment in the middle of the night with some stranger in tow. ll then lifted both of his arms, similar to being crucified, and walked through the apartment, and showed me around. Awesome. His dog was staying there so he began playing with him and talking to him in his baby voice and then thankfully he decided it was time to leave.
Unfortunately, even after that deadly awkward encounter in a stranger's home, the night was STILL NOT OVER. We did indeed went to the tranny bar. It was bizarre. I don't even know if I could describe it, but I shall try. The place was quite small, but the bar area was fairly full of customers. Full of fat, creepy, ugly looking old men who were not in drag or even trannies. I can only describe the decor as kitsch to the max, and I remember seeing dolls strewn about the place. The bartender was an obese country bumpkin with a girlish voice. ll gave me money to order two pints of beer, one of which I proceeded to drink faster that I've ever imbibed any alcoholic drink before. There were several manish looking Americans there, with pot bellies, button down shirts, and goatees, however they had the most high pitched voices I've ever heard. They were definitely nerds, although instead of discussing the pros and cons of the latest Windows update, they were debating the history of Gay Pride in Amsterdam, which was coming up the next weekend. Great... gay history nerds. At one point ll lifted up my shirt and looked at my stomach. He also showed me his tattoos. I was severely, severely grossed out, more so than I've ever been in my life. I relished the opportunity to use the bathroom, which gave me some much needed alone time to regather my composure and to ask the cosmos for a blessing of courage. When I came back, a meth-faced crackhead who had been in the bar since we arrived, offered to sell ll some cocaine. Luckily ll declined. I don't know what I would have done if I was in the position where ll required medical assistance. I probably would have gone home, packed, and bought the first train ticket out of the Netherlands. I managed to finish the beer, but ll was not having it. He bought us shots of Malibu rum before we left the bar.
As we went home, he was mumbling something about doing something he didn't want to do, because his boyfriend was away. Did he want to go buy crack? Did he want to go have sex with someone? I had no idea, I didn't want to know at that point, so I didn't ask. All I wanted was to be on my couch in the US next to my mom reading a tabloid and my dad watching a Sci-Fi original movie, safe and sound at our house in nowhere, America, where no one ever gets HIV, where no one uses coke, where no one is a tranny, where no one prays to Gaia, and nothing ever happens.
Tuesday, August 17, 2010
Introduction
I won't tell you my name, or where I live (OK OK... it's Amsterdam, hence A'dam). I won't tell you what I'm doing here, for the sake of privacy, even though you probably know me and you've probably heard or will hear the stories I have to tell anyway. What I will tell you though has to deal with the amazing, hot tranny mess that is my living situation. And some other craziness that involves life in Amsterdam.
I found the place I'm at with an online apartment advertising site. I had scheduled the interview for the day that I arrived, and due to some unfortunate, outstanding circumstances (ie my wallet getting stolen) I took the apartment and moved in immediately.
FAIL.
FAIL FAIL FAIL FAIL FAIL.
THERE WILL BE A SPECIAL PLACE IN HELL FOR THE PERSON WHO TOOK THAT WALLET!
Everything was fine at first... first meaning the first few hours I was there and not in the middle of REM sleep. The landlord and his roommate are older and have real jobs. The apartment is in a very nice neighborhood, it's close to the center, the apartment itself is also very nice - the digs is classy, I gotta say. I've got my own room, there's cable, Wi-Fi, a shared balcony, a nice big window, a rare Egyptian dog from Milan, and a kitchen full of appliances I've never seen before, nor do I know their purpose for existing. I thought evenings would be spent drinking a glass of wine and reading classic English literature under lamplight, or something equally refined. Surprise!!
The next morning my very gracious landlord said he would make dinner for me and invite his ex-boyfriend over, who he said was my age. I thought... OK, I can roll with that. That's not something I've never encountered before. My mind did not immediately scream, "DATING PROSPECT!!", and the good lord knows I need one, because my landlord is 43 years old. I am 25. I can roll with that yes, but that means when my landlord was 30, his ex-boyfriend was 12. And when he was 18, his ex was probably a bag of ambiguous stem cells floating around in his mother's babymaker, or simply nothing at all. It also definitely works in the other direction as well: While x was playing in sandboxes and soiling his Depends, not yet old enough to survive on his own without some sort of caregiver, he might have already had the hots for ll, who was probably having his quarter-life crisis at that time.
When x arrives, I'm a little shocked. Homeboy is tall, pale, blonde, lanky, and a bit childish in the way he looks and acts. I'm not that tall or blonde or pale, but we start looking pretty similar next to ll, who's very professional, put together, and African American. Later, reflecting on these facts made me feel a bit queesy.
So dinner is nice... ll prepares steaks, potatoes, and green beans, served with a decent bottle of wine (rose). Roommate is also present for this occasion. Convo is pleasant and adult like. For the first time in my life I feel like I've got one foot in adulthood. In reality I've got one foot in crazy town, and things are about to get a little insane.
I go to my room and unpack after dinner, and ll/x go to ll's room to listen to music and whatnot. Later ll, on his way back from pissing out his bottle of wine, checks up on my unpacking progress. I appreciate the effort of trying to make me feel included in his humble abode. I notice he's wearing different (see: gayer) clothing. He takes a look around my room, tries on my sunglasses, and remarks that I've got an interesting 'style', and that I have 'cute' underwear. OK, that's fine, it's not like I'm actually in them at the time, they're just lying on the floor. ll retreats to room again, and returns some time later asking me if I want to go to the 'city'. I'm not doing anything that can't be done later, and I'm feeling sociable, having just arrived in a new city which will be my home for the next 4 months.
When we get downstairs, I realize that ll is drunk. He's pretty toasted. x, however, is sober, fortunately. ll then declares that he wants to go to a tranny bar. At this point I say, "Ohhh it's a bit cold, I think I'll go back inside." Especially since it actually IS cold, and I really don't want to go to a tranny bar, and especially not on a Wednesday night. And probably not on any other night in fact, now that I think about it, and certainly not while employing the same mode of transport as wasted ll. I end up riding ll's bike while he sits on the back of x's bike. While we're riding, x says he's not going to the tranny bar. DANGER! DANGER! DANGER! That means it's me, wasted ll, 1 bicycle, on the path to 1 tranny bar. Bad news all around.
x goes home on the basis that he 'had to go to work in the morning'. ll also works every morning, but for lack of better judgment does not heed. I try to give ll a lift, who by this time is pretty fucking far gone. He's talking to people on other bikes, calling them beautiful, which is really awkward when we hit a red light. Letting him ride on the back doesn't really work, because I'm quite small and I've never defied the laws of physics in this way before. Eventually ll jumps off and runs towards a convenience store, and I proceed to follow him across a few lanes of traffic, praying that I don't get run down by a truck in the process. He buys a beer (great...) and a coke (why?). We end up sitting on a small pier, talking and drinking, and I'm actually fairly happy because there's a good chance he'll get tired and forget about his tranny bar 'projet'. Unfortunately he does not, and also reveals some high disturbing info about his truly.
Please tune in some other time (burp) for the continuation of 'First Encounter'.
I found the place I'm at with an online apartment advertising site. I had scheduled the interview for the day that I arrived, and due to some unfortunate, outstanding circumstances (ie my wallet getting stolen) I took the apartment and moved in immediately.
FAIL.
FAIL FAIL FAIL FAIL FAIL.
THERE WILL BE A SPECIAL PLACE IN HELL FOR THE PERSON WHO TOOK THAT WALLET!
Everything was fine at first... first meaning the first few hours I was there and not in the middle of REM sleep. The landlord and his roommate are older and have real jobs. The apartment is in a very nice neighborhood, it's close to the center, the apartment itself is also very nice - the digs is classy, I gotta say. I've got my own room, there's cable, Wi-Fi, a shared balcony, a nice big window, a rare Egyptian dog from Milan, and a kitchen full of appliances I've never seen before, nor do I know their purpose for existing. I thought evenings would be spent drinking a glass of wine and reading classic English literature under lamplight, or something equally refined. Surprise!!
The next morning my very gracious landlord said he would make dinner for me and invite his ex-boyfriend over, who he said was my age. I thought... OK, I can roll with that. That's not something I've never encountered before. My mind did not immediately scream, "DATING PROSPECT!!", and the good lord knows I need one, because my landlord is 43 years old. I am 25. I can roll with that yes, but that means when my landlord was 30, his ex-boyfriend was 12. And when he was 18, his ex was probably a bag of ambiguous stem cells floating around in his mother's babymaker, or simply nothing at all. It also definitely works in the other direction as well: While x was playing in sandboxes and soiling his Depends, not yet old enough to survive on his own without some sort of caregiver, he might have already had the hots for ll, who was probably having his quarter-life crisis at that time.
When x arrives, I'm a little shocked. Homeboy is tall, pale, blonde, lanky, and a bit childish in the way he looks and acts. I'm not that tall or blonde or pale, but we start looking pretty similar next to ll, who's very professional, put together, and African American. Later, reflecting on these facts made me feel a bit queesy.
So dinner is nice... ll prepares steaks, potatoes, and green beans, served with a decent bottle of wine (rose). Roommate is also present for this occasion. Convo is pleasant and adult like. For the first time in my life I feel like I've got one foot in adulthood. In reality I've got one foot in crazy town, and things are about to get a little insane.
I go to my room and unpack after dinner, and ll/x go to ll's room to listen to music and whatnot. Later ll, on his way back from pissing out his bottle of wine, checks up on my unpacking progress. I appreciate the effort of trying to make me feel included in his humble abode. I notice he's wearing different (see: gayer) clothing. He takes a look around my room, tries on my sunglasses, and remarks that I've got an interesting 'style', and that I have 'cute' underwear. OK, that's fine, it's not like I'm actually in them at the time, they're just lying on the floor. ll retreats to room again, and returns some time later asking me if I want to go to the 'city'. I'm not doing anything that can't be done later, and I'm feeling sociable, having just arrived in a new city which will be my home for the next 4 months.
When we get downstairs, I realize that ll is drunk. He's pretty toasted. x, however, is sober, fortunately. ll then declares that he wants to go to a tranny bar. At this point I say, "Ohhh it's a bit cold, I think I'll go back inside." Especially since it actually IS cold, and I really don't want to go to a tranny bar, and especially not on a Wednesday night. And probably not on any other night in fact, now that I think about it, and certainly not while employing the same mode of transport as wasted ll. I end up riding ll's bike while he sits on the back of x's bike. While we're riding, x says he's not going to the tranny bar. DANGER! DANGER! DANGER! That means it's me, wasted ll, 1 bicycle, on the path to 1 tranny bar. Bad news all around.
x goes home on the basis that he 'had to go to work in the morning'. ll also works every morning, but for lack of better judgment does not heed. I try to give ll a lift, who by this time is pretty fucking far gone. He's talking to people on other bikes, calling them beautiful, which is really awkward when we hit a red light. Letting him ride on the back doesn't really work, because I'm quite small and I've never defied the laws of physics in this way before. Eventually ll jumps off and runs towards a convenience store, and I proceed to follow him across a few lanes of traffic, praying that I don't get run down by a truck in the process. He buys a beer (great...) and a coke (why?). We end up sitting on a small pier, talking and drinking, and I'm actually fairly happy because there's a good chance he'll get tired and forget about his tranny bar 'projet'. Unfortunately he does not, and also reveals some high disturbing info about his truly.
Please tune in some other time (burp) for the continuation of 'First Encounter'.
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