Just to finish out the story - ll is still here.
Despite being carefully hidden in the fridge, my dinner is not.
:(
Thursday, September 16, 2010
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!"
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