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…

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Van People

I moved into a car.

Yes a car. Not just any old car, but a car with a bed in the back and my clothes in boxes, stashed under it. I find myself crazy for saying it out loud but it feels so liberating.

New Zealand turned out to be a bit over my backpacking budget. I’ve been working my ass off but I hand it all back in for rent. Daan and I were getting a little stressed out. Until we met….. the Van People.

Backpackers who turned their vans into homes. Some of them decked out, some of them just have a mattress thrown in the back and a few curtains. But it works. There’s showers on every beach, free campsites all around and bbq’s next to the dunes. It’s freaking perfect. Envious of our newly discovered subculture, we infiltrated their circle, bombarding them with questions about all the how’s and where’s. Which they were happy to share with us newcomers. And a few days ago..We finally became a part of the Van People.

Excited and feeling very mature/free/hippie-like we had our first night sleep in our car last night. I had finished work so late and we both needed to be in a certain area again in the early morning. We decided to sleep in a carpark near a public toilet block. Our car doesn’t look like the typical backpacker car and you can’t see in. This is good because we didn’t want to get caught here. So we had to sneak around a little instead of making ourselves comfortable before going to sleep.

It’s comfortable all right. But sleep could have been better. Daan kept having nightmares about the car rolling into the road while we were sleeping. So every little while he’d sit up in utter shock looking out the rear window to check if it all was ok. Not really awake, not really asleep but very freaked out all right.

Turns out this is the mark of being part of the Van People. One other girl kept dreaming her car got taken by the sea during a tsunami when she would park next to the beach. The price to pay for a free life;)

 

 

 

Capturing infinite life.

For as long as I can remember I’ve been writing down my memories. Turning memories into words is a part of my soul, as they reflect back at me, reminding me why I’m alive. As detailed as possible, so that re-reading them takes me back to that moment in an instant.

This last week I’ve been introduced to a whole new way of capturing life on camera. I travelled to Cyprus for a short holiday get away and a long awaited reunion. But it ended up bringing me back in touch with my life’s purpose. When I say, a whole new way, I obviously know how to work a camera, but this was a different kind of level and was interesting to get a glimpse into the brains of people who feel the exact same way about filming and photography as I do about writing.

Every waking minute is spent on perfecting the frames in their mind. Getting that perfect shot that captures an entire moment and feeling in a few seconds. Because a photograph isn’t a photograph until you can see inside it and feel what it contains.

I’ve been back from my 3 year world trip a while now and have been (somehow) getting used to normal life, where the beauty passes you by and the extraordinary would have to hit you on the head to be noticed. I appreciate my days but new ones appear without me making any effort. If today was boring, I will try again tomorrow. But that’s not what I had promised myself years ago. If I had to explain what I did promise myself, I will have to refer to a scene in the movie called ‘The perks of being a wallflower’. At one point Sam (Emma Watson) is in the back of a big Ute, speeding like crazy and while driving into a tunnel, David Bowie’s “Heroes” is on so loud she doesn’t hear anything else. She closes her eyes, raises her arms and throws her head back and screams “I feel infinite!”

I forgot what it feels like to feel infinite. Something no human being really is, yet if we can stop time in our minds for one second, like a photograph, we are infinite.

I used to go through life trying everything I was scared of, as I know firsthand what hiding behind fears is like. Yet as soon as the subject cliff jumping was brought up in Cyprus, all that my mind said was NO! But hey, hashtag yolo right? Cyprus is beautiful. Vast clear turquoise water, rust coloured dirt roads and more flowers than the Dutch tulip fields. The cliffs were incredible. And jumping looks like the easiest thing ever .. until your mind tells you it’s not. When fear tells you “no”, you can’t do it. Your body responds, your legs turn to jelly and your breath verges on hyperventilation. That’s when I realized no-one is holding me back but me. This is when you need to stop thinking. There is no thinking required for jumping, but simply leaping into the open. Yes, one wrong movement and it could be over. Instead I was overcome with a feeling of freedom…Freedom and a lot of water in places I don’t want to talk about.

Sometimes you will have to jump off, climb over, dive into, feel or just stop thinking. I am happy those days reminded me of this.

I want my life to be one big event of those infinite captured moments all strung together.

 

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.