Sock bombs relationships

So here’s what you think relationships looks like: Friends staring into each other’s eyes while telling stories from their latest holiday in some far away country. Photos of newly decorated homes radiating serenity and homeness and screenshots from the long-distance couple, who are declaring their endless love to each other 30000 miles apart.

Here’s what mine looks like: Photos of my cat. I may now call myself an official inhabitant of the man cave (a.k.a. I sleep in between guitars and well used gym bags with last month’s content) Screenshots usually consisting with many unanswered question marks and the occasional “Can you get me this from the store? ‘’

This morning I got woken up by frustrated grunts because 1. I gave him 20 cm less space in bed and now he had a crap night of sleep. 2. The cat purred. Though it is my day off I will be helpful and feed the cat to put an end to the despicable purring. Getting up I trip over sock bombs (rolled up  bombs *smell will hit when in contact* spread out in an unpredictable order over the floor) Trip over cat, feed cat, crawl back into bed and get welcomed back by more grunting and rolling himself up in the sheets “God, you’re always so loud!”. Sigh..#yaylife

Pink clouds evaporate and “No You hang up first” has made room for a lot of two blue ticks followed by “I’m busy”. Intimacy is an event that only occurs only when you are both not feeling tired (Next July) and scrolling through Netflix has replaced making an effort for date night. Like, how does everybody do it and get away with looking like they have it all under control? Half of the time I feel like I am failing something so logical to the rest of the world. I turn over to my bleeping phone, I open it up and one of my friends is going off at her boyfriend about this argument they had last night. For a second I can feel normal again.

It does always kind of come down to the battle of the sexes. Woman want all day (No exaggeration,. I mean All Day) attention if they could. Men want to be men and, that’s about it. We end up getting in each other’s way because men want to be left alone and do their thing. While most of us ladies want to feel special and romantic. Really, half of the little nitpick fights can be easily resolved by sending a few nice words every day. We will be thankful forever, and feel like you are the best thing to ever come across on this earth. No more nagging, we got what we need. End of world problems, I promise.

Ok I won’t pretend I’m perfect. I can translate 1 ignored text to 26 different scenarios in my head within 30 seconds. And even if you think you made an effort and pretended to clean up, I will sniff out that pair of dirty boxers in no time. Also, you won’t stop hearing about it for the next two weeks. Making an effort sinks down the list more and more. I pulled out that comfy pair of pj’s long time ago.

And while we’re trying to learn each other’s languages, half of it gets lost in translation and double blue ticks resulting in another night of silently lying back to back in bed. When all we want is to lay face to face, staring into each other’s eyes, like all the other couples claim to do.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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Vampire cat

When the morning is dark, the city still asleep, the monster is awake. He quietly sits at the end of the bed, silently staring at the two unaware humans. “Sleep for now…” he thinks out loud “..soon everything will be mine.”

An alarm goes off, I desperately try to reach for my phone. Hoping to turn off the sound in time before he awakes. As soon as my hand touches the bleeping device I realize I’m too late. I can feel four tiny paws making their way towards my face. The chainsaw loud purr moves closer to my face. I withdraw my arm quickly silencing my phone under the sheets and close my eyes. I lay as still as I can, but I have failed. A screech is followed by the deafening purr into my ear. He knows that I know what time it is.

The hunt for flesh begins. His nose digs under the sheets, he find my arm and screeches again with joy. He pushes his nose against the bare skin sniffing in the scent and places his paws to hold it in place. From each paw four razorsharp nails emerge digging deeper into the skin, kneeding one by one into my arm..forcing me to get up.

I get up, immediatly hundreds and hundreds of litter particles touch the soles of my feet. He has done it again. When we sleep he marks his territory. The tiny particles are infused with his smell and spread as far as he can. During the day they are kept in one place. A big box, especially for him, but it’s not enough anymore. Most evenings he walks in and out over and over, spreading the particles like wildfire around the house. One day,..the whole house will be taken over and will will stand no chance.

To keep him happy we feed him. Oh do we feed him. But every now and then his mood changes and food is no more than a measly peace offering. He retaliates and in a bloodrage he leaves decapitated frogs all over the house. It’s a significant warning…The worst thing is, we haven’t found out yet what for. all we can do is wait…

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Life purposes

I keep waking up, wanting to write something meaningful. I end up picking on my boyfriend and moaning about it to my cats. Cat’s, I might add, who see me as a walking vending machine. Push enough buttons and food  will come out. We play this game all day.

Staring at the blank page continues. First I wanted to write about all the funny (in hindsight) arguments my boyfriend Daan and I had whilst we were travelling. We get so childish, we make other couples feel good about themselves. I thought this was hysterical. ..he did not.

He’s been thrown in like 10.000 projects at once when we got home and he’s working around the clock. I feel bad complaining about hardly seeing each other. However,  it turns out he takes me for lunch during the night.

The other night around 3 a.m.:

D: Ains! (Nudging me with his elbow) You need to pick a sandwich!                                   Me:(Sleepy but entertained immediately) Eh..ok. .which one are you having?               D: Hmmmmmm….that one!                             Me: OK, I’ll take the other one. So where are we now?                                                       D: (Matter of factly ) In town of course!       Me: Oh yes I see.

I like to keep the impression that I’m a busy, responsible adult. For example. .my mum left me the watch her house and cats while she was away on holiday. She managed to use all forms of communication to tell me to not let one of the cats upstairs.  Obviously I did ( not on purpose) let him upstairs for 3 whole seconds. And in this time he managed to pee on my bed and clothes. I must say, I’m impressed by his accuracy and speed. However I did not find the time to write about anything meaningful or life changing.

The only thing I’ll be changing today are my sheets.

Vanlife Diaries

I wake up to Dan siting up in bed, holding the surfboard above his head with two hands and yelling at me. “Ains! Look outside! I can’t see where I’m going!” Here we go again I laugh to myself. Another one of Dan’s sleeping adventures. “Dan,..you’re ok..you’re safe..we’re in the car..” “Damnit just look outside would you!! I have to break!” his eyes are wide and worried. He’s kicking the back door, seriously stressed out. Then he let’s the surfboard go, rips open the curtains and looks around furiously. Then he calms down and starts to laugh “Fuck I’m doing it again aren’t I?”

We wake up with a council warning shoved under our windscreen wipers. Risking a $200 fine by sleeping in a non-self-contained van. Ok, time to find a new sleeping spot. I’m just happy they didn’t wake us up and asked us to move, we both needed the sleep after the vivid dreams Dan has. We read through it briefly, shrug and drive off to brush our teeth in a nearby bathroom.

Being homeless is starting to grow on me. In daytime it’s a small living-space we have learnt the hard way to utilize. I now have a toothbrush and deodorant in ever bag and Dan’s surfboard now functions as extra storage space above our heads. At night it’s our own little fluffy cubby hole, we could be anywhere in the world, wouldn’t matter, that bed is damn comfy.

Just the mornings can be a little challenging. We are travelling with not only 2 bags and a surfboard, but two more backpacks, a guitar and a wetsuit. It’s usually all piled up on the front seats at night. Most mornings we wade our way through it all and drive to the nearest public toilet to get ready for work. But on the weekends I leave Dan be and sit amongst all the stuff eating my cereal or doing my make up in the rearview mirror.

As we don’t always use the allocated spaces and out van is no way near self-contained, we have to be a bit more sneaky about it. I push my alarm to silent as fast as I can. Just in case someone outside would hear it. Roll from the bed onto the front chairs so I don’t have to attract noise by slamming doors. And when having breakfast and someone walks past, I pretend to be casually waiting on someone while I pause chewing.

I can’t even imagine living in a house anymore. And what’s wrong with washing myself in public toilets anyway? Right? 🙂

I’m walking down the beach swapping long audio messages with Charlotte who now resides in Sri Lanka for the moment. She’s explaining to me how to not wash your hair for a week and still smell pretty. I have to, as showers are now a luxury, thank the lord for dry shampoo. And when I run into Hector (one of the chef’s at my work who also lives in his van) we always keep each other up to date on new shower/sleep spots we’ve come across.

I feel like I’m more aware of real important things…and not telling myself all the time I need this or that in order to get through life or to be happy. I’m definitely enjoying my surroundings more. And wherever I go, my home comes with me. Turns out, adventure comes in confined spaces too.

Mandatory dating

On the day of your 29th birthday something amazing happens. You magically skip a year and become 30. Even though your birth certificate says you are 29, to the rest of the world you are now 30. And holy shit, fix that piece of shit life already!

It started the other day with my mum. I caught her mid-sentence “..because now that you are 30..” “Mum, I am 29.” “Yeah so,..you’re thirty.” “Mum …my birthday isn’t for another 6 months yet.” “Ahhgg it’s the same thing.”

So technically I can behave like a complete adolescent for another 6 months. Whenever I get weird stares or shock strangers I can just pull out my ID card and tell them to Relax,..I’m still 29.. But it is a big no no…

Then unfortunately just before I actually turned 29, I became single. And trust me,.before those heartbroken tears have left your chin there is a line of people waiting to jump you with “Soooo…..how’s your love life going?” I can’t figure out what’s worse. Answering that question with “Quiet thanks” or the worried faces people make when they hear me say that. Single at 25 equals freedom and involving a lot of “Good for you girl!” Single at 30 feels like a job interview from hell while someone is pointing a gun at your face.

Suddenly my eggs (What! I have that to worry about too?!) and ovaries are a normal conversation topic. To freeze or not to freeze. My friends take turns in finding random men, sticking a ribbon on their foreheads and dragging them to my doorstep, presenting them to me like: “What about THIS one?” . And what is up with that “Where do you see yourself in 5 years?” question. I mean ..WHAT!!?? Can you even imagine what your life looked like if it had turned out exactly as you thought it would be at 18 or so?  Why start planning now?

The last 4 months there hasn’t been a week where someone didn’t bring up my dating life. As if I don’t have anything else to do than manhunt.  Am I supposed to drag my sweaty (Oh,..and it is I can tell you) ass over to guys ..pretend I am interested in so I can calm the world around me and say..It’s ok..I got a live one..just in time hey?

Sometimes I wish I was less complicated. Not always wanting to be/do the opposite of what is expected. Because that is sort of what I like to do. I wish I liked dating, having just one job and settling down. But the truth is….I am going to 29 the shit out of life till it runs dry.

 

Dear Housemate,

Dear housemate,

Though I know you envision yourself a ghost, a master of disguise,
I now have to tell you this,
I don’t think it will come as a surprise.

That, alas, the opposite is true,
Your grossness has been found out.
We all know it was you.

The long curly hairs in my razor, really weren’t mine.
You transformed the white spotless shower walls into a curtain of body hair and grime.

It’s fine you empty your nose out over the sink.
And what an aim I might say!!I’m impressed!
I would never reach that back wall, I think.

When it’s time to sit down after a long day of work.
You make sure you welcome me with a nice smelly burp.

You close the windows because it’s so cold.
Leaving the stench of your farts and other unleashed fumes to unfold.

This one time I got annoyed and spoke my mind clear.
But you said: “Whatever Ains! It doesn’t smell, it goes straight into the atmosphere.”

That’s fine, I’ll have dinner in my room again, alone.
So you can enjoy your extra loud trash metal and hardcore without my moan.

I’ve always wonder what the limit is of your beer bottle collection on the floor.
Twenty-five? Thirty-two? Sixty-four!?

Ok, ok,..you have your heart in the right place and you do have your good days.
You picked up the hoover once and almost made it across the hall way.

Remember that one time, where you attempted to do the dishes?
The sink was full of water and crap for days, you gave up and went out with the missus.

So I’d lie if I’d say I’ll be missing you, my heart filled with grief.
Actually I know for sure the both of us will find it a great relief.

Soon the day will come where we’re moving out, so we can live without any strain.
So let’s part and promise to never live with each other again.

 

 

Female Chewbacca

When is using Hot Wax ever a good idea? And why do I keep thinking that THIS time it will be better? De-hairing. Not my favorite thing in the world. And as much as I am pro feminism…after a week of not shaving even I agree with the next best guy.

Maybe it doesn’t help that I have dark hair. Where other woman seem like the perfect smooth angels,..I feel like a modern Chewbacca. (Word actually recognizes Chewbacca as a real word, impressed) So I have been shaving and plucking since god knows when.

I remember being like 12 and secretly using my mums razor for my legs, while locked up in the bathroom. (Sorry mum! )Then not long after plucking my eyebrows to shreds and not long after that all hair becomes an obsession.

Most of the time I am just thankful I live in Holland, where you get a break for at least 7 months of the year. When I was living in Australia waxing is the norm. Every four weeks I visited a salon who took care of it all. It was cheap, and I’d be out in 20 minutes. But the pain is insane. And yes, yoi can grow it, but what is with this itching after a certain length?

So now, years later, I’ve settled happily for my razor. Until today. I have a few friends who al keep talking about the epilator (worst torture  method since the iron bull) and waxing at home. They make it sound like it’s the easiest thing ever and I got curious.

Why the hell did I get curious!!

I went out to the shops and got myself some hot wax..I mean, it sounds  like the salon stuff.. My housemate had just left so there would be no questions about  what I was doing in the bathroom for so long.  I heated it up as instructed and started spreading the stuff on. This itself is a complete task. The wax was spilling down my leg, onto the bathroom floor and everything nearby. And hot wax on your private parts is not an enjoyment! Wow! Ok so my hands are covered in green stuff and I’m trying to “make a swift motion against the hairs”. Only parts of the wax come off, some of them have dried so much they are too hard. When the bit finally comes of, I am bleeding. But, yes , I continued.
The hairs come out, that’s something. But it hurts as I have to do one piece over an over before it comes off completely. The wax keeps breaking. It’s hard to time it right, when I am too quick, it hasn’t dried yet and all I do is cover myself more in this green and smelly mess. My sink has a little pile of hard green wax with hairs sticking out of it all over. And then I make the mistake of spilling the wax on parts, one should never have wax smeared on to.

I want to cry. I have no idea how to get this off. I look down and see a pink, bleeding and half hairy mess, with one blotch of green dried up wax that I am too terrified to take off.  Half a liter of oil does the trick and I decide to quit this crazy impulse I had.

As I walk to the bin I can feel parts of me stick together as I move. And I find another strand of wax wrapped around my ankle. I chuck the whole pan in there and vow to love myself, even when I feel like Chewbacca.

 

Puss everywhere and screaming doctors

I’m almost teaching full yoga classes. David, my trainer, keeps complimenting me on how happy he is that I am not grossed out by sweaty people and that I dare to touch everyone without hesitation. I wish he could see me the rest of the week…Sweaty people are the least of my concern.

Monday evening at 10 pm one of the doctors on call rang me up. We had an emergency, a dog had a badly infected uterus (Piometra) and we needed to remove it asap. Did I want to come in for the anaesthesiology? Oh my fucking yes I do!! It’s hard to imagine for anyone who’s not in this field…but for some reason..the uglier and dirtier the case, the more excited we get. Also this was my first time solo, my nerves were flying through the roof!

I was out at dinner with my sister at this point. She’s a people nurse and she said she’d drive me if she could come and watch. Yeah..great plan. The doctor was just happy that we came in, and my sister ended up to be of great help. Sisters in surgery

It was a long night,..the infected uterus was harder to remove than we had thought at first. The dog lost a lot of blood and we were standing in a pool of it, together with well used gauzes and the smell off meat past the date. The stress got too much and there was a point where everyone was just screaming at each other to get things done. I remember trying to calm the doctor down by telling her how well the dog was doing. She was, her breathing remained incredibly stable during the whole operation.”Would you just shut the fuck up!!” I got as a reply. It took a few deep breaths and another doctor who came in at 1 am and before we knew it the dog was up and awake, minus one big fat gross uterus.

There we were, 2.15 am, smelling of blood and dog pee we drove home. In 4 hours my alarm was set to go again. Luckily no surgeries planned,…or so we thought.

Knocking back a cup of iced cappuccino a distressed lady came in with her cat. The cat had given birth to 3 kittens on Sunday and she was still bleeding. This was a lovely white cat but now covered in red gore, it looked like the cat version of Carrie. For all you ladies who have once woken up to the worst period of their life..That smell..multiplied by 100 mixed with cat an kitten poo. Yes, my thoughts exactly.

Another uterus removal in 24 hrs. Yay..this stench was overwhelming, there was pus and blood coming out of her all the time and within no time half the practice had bits everywhere. During the surgery we had to keep a close eye on her temperature. I got out the thermometer and carefully made my way under the operation cloth to find, oh yes, her anus. Now this cat had just given birth, her hoo-ha still swollen to 60 times the size, her butt hole teeny compared to this. Also, as there was cloth over my hands I couldn’t see a thing. Here I am, using my bare hands to find a way through the puss, blood and stench to find a cats butt hole, and it took me minutes too. Why not an office job Ainslie, why did you want to do this soo badly?

At the end of the day, life isn’t pretty, we all pretend to be pretty and clean. But face it, we are all big bad bags of blood and guts.

There is a point where the care of an animal is bigger than anything and you just don’t think about what you are actually doing. Things that gross you out normally, vanish. Because if it was you in that position, you’d be so happy somebody was fumbling around in your blood to find your anus……….

Buddha Face

Nothing embarrassing for today. No gynecologist appointments recently, no farting in public. Though I am so glad some other guy farted during yoga last night and not me. I ate beans on toast for dinner and a fart would have been disastrous so to speak.

The yoga school I go to is training me from scratch to be an amazing yoga teacher. I am still extremely excited about this and at the same time terrified. While in one way I am completely devoted to learn anything there is about yoga, and in theory, I understand it all. In real life I find zen a highly foreign word in every sense.

“Buddha face! Do a Buddha face!” A lady explained after class this is how your face should be during poses, no matter how hard they are. Maybe even take this thought with you in daily life. But when I cycle home through the busy city centre, crashing into almost 32 tourist a minute all I am screaming in my head is: “F***ing Idiots! Have you never heard of a pavement?!” “Look first, mate LOOK”! Moments filled with heavy sighs, grunting and ringing my bell like lunatic. There is no Buddha face, nor will there ever be one.

I imagine the perfect yoga teachers almost pirouetting their way through the busy streets with a calm smile on their faces…and then there is me; a stressed out catastrophe. My other job is being a waitress. Another challenge now the days grow sunnier and busier and the people become more demanding. I find myself having a hard time keeping my patience sometimes. Empathy is lacking from both angles and again I feel like losing my calm and swearing under my breath a lot.

So how do people do it? How not to want to punch people in traffic? And my biggest question; How am I going to teach calm without being calm myself first? But doesn’t the most advanced yoga teacher get annoyed about something sometimes? I mean, when you bump your little toe on a leg of a table,..it hurts and even the most together people do a little swear word while jumping around on one leg right? I would…..I do.

The perks of disgustingness

So I am almost 29 and half way through my study to be a veterinary nurse. It sounds very cute and fluffy but really, most my days look like this:                                                                                               Instead of this:  

If anything, people who work in this area have the stronger stomach ever. And I’ve seen some pretty disgusting stuff but last week turned disgusting into a whole new meaning.

I recently started an internship at a local petting zoo/ children’s farm. I needed some experience with animals other than cats and dogs. I had already been turned down by another farm by my appearance. I am 5”2 and look like a 18 year old, which has its advantages, but this farmer just scanned me from top to bottom and said  they were full. (Having just said they were looking for interns a few moments before) So I was really happy that this farm wanted to take me on board.

The most important thing I had to experience was a birth, of any kind, just a birth. Luckily all sheep and goats were with young and due within the next few weeks so I was present with a few.

A very interesting experience obviously. Hard too, because there is no way a goat understands you when you say it’s going to be ok. Talking to goats has become my speciality during this time. And they have been so kind to forgive me of everything I have said to them during  labour, as soon as I presented them their babies.

But as any creature, births are loud and bloody. And a little slimy. To think that humans go through the exact same thing in the same way as sheep and goats is something I’d rather not think too much about at this time. The worst is the ‘afterbirth’. This thick, slimy, bulgy thing mixed with blood and string that sort of hangs out of them for ages. After the whole birthing experience is over we clean up and dump everything on the dung heap.

The next morning all of us working there forget about everything the day before because today we have baby goats and lambs! And every morning as usual, we let out our pigs Haka and Hina. Two very stubborn little Maori-pigs from New Zealand. While we are busy cleaning out stables and before we open to the public they get to run around, eat grass, bug us for food. They usually start with a sprint to the dung heap to sniff out any interesting food. Remember they are pigs, they eat absolutely anything.

After returning with a full wheelbarrow of crap I found Haka and Hina fighting over a bloody piece of afterbirth they had dug up in the hill. Fighting over it like a tug-of-war. Feeling rather sick at the sight I called one of my workmates over. It wouldn’t kill them, but it’s a little unhygienic at the least! Another intern came over and the three of us tried everything to move them out of the dung heap. But pigs are heavy and they just found their gold, they weren’t going anywhere.

So picture three little girls shoving and yelling at two indifferent pigs. Mission impossible. When the other girl finally contained Hina I was giving it everything I had to work Haka out of the heap. Unfortunately as I was pushing him he suddenly moved leaving me face downward in the dung and blood.  Slimy, bloody bits of whatever mixed with shit of at least 15 different animals covered my entire body. I wear huge wellington boots and jeans but I am not prepared for this kind of mess.  The rest of the day I go to smell like sheep ass and look like a chicken during moult.

This week I started my other internship at a vets practice. I was almost relieved that the worst thing that happened on my first day was a dog that pissed on my arm.

It’s a vet nurse’s life for me.