No To the Slaughter!



Our street hosts apple?Pear?, erm Fruit trees of an ambiguous nature. Every spring time we have lovely pink blossoms, full green leaves in summer and yes, the ambiguous fruits in autumn.
Now a big controversy has erupted over these trees. A few inhabitants fear for the lives of their lovely cars, in case one of the "fruits" would fall on the beautiful chrome. They usually just squash and make stains on the street but who knows if a car might be damaged! Instead of parking at the other side of the street during the two months when "fruits" might start their descent, the second-biggest loser of the street was forced by his wife (never seen without yorkshire terrier on her arm) to go to the council. Could the trees be killed please. Council, apparently, said yes. The trees would be replaced by the type of overgrown plant that are called "young trees". The kind with trunks the size of your pinkie and without "fruits".
Today a big event took place when a man who lives here started picking fruits from the trees, to safeguard the cars. Go man! Or maybe he was planning to make a stew with them (to kill the cats of my neighbour? To kill the yorkie? To commit suicide?) or for some kind of scientific experiment. Of course he was encouraged by the street gossip (with doggie on the arm) who exclaimed the horror she faces every day when looking at the trees and how her husband -fearing his life- went to the council.
And I say, ladies and gentlemen, NO to slaughter! Join me in my crusade against the Gossip and her Husband! (the yorkshire never harmed me). Where are the people from "For Mother Earth" when you need them? Join me in the protest march that will take place outside the gossip's house tomorrow at 8pm. Make banners "save the trees", "long live fruits of an ambiguous nature" or "André! Dump her and get a porn subscription!"
Hasta la victoria Siempre, comrades!!

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Tired Of Boredom? Come to Belgium!

Belgium is the ultimate holiday destination for those who want some excitement in their life! Go shopping at Colruyt and get the chance to be held hostage by robbers. If you're not one of the lucky ones inside you can see the live action police rescue. Go to some village pub (in Geraardsbergen (in english: "gay-r-arse-berg-in") and witness a triple homicide! Witness a brutal robbery in Roeselare, only a few miles away from Ms Wildebeest. Meet the local equivalents of Inspector Morse, Derrick, Frost or Taggart.

=
It may not be the days of the CCC or the Bende van Nijvel yet, but Belgium might be going back to its criminal height.
Belgium is easily accessable by plane, boat, eurostar and car. Just follow the Russian mob and be in the land of your dreams

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I will go down with this ship
And I won't put my hands up and surrender
There will be no white flag above my door
I'm in love and always will be
Dido

No concentration
Just rerunning conversation
trying to understand
how I fell into this quicksand
pet shop boys

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oh dear

Do I feel stupid....
- Which country became president of the EU after Belgium, on January 1st, 2002?
- Which boat caused the oil disaster in Spain and Portugal?
- Which NorthPole traveler rests in Ostend?
- Who is President of the Central European Bank?
- Who invented the term "transitional object"?
this is the genre of questions we got on the exam for this job in Ostend today. I should have brushed up on my Ostend-knowledge... and on my political knowledge. I knew the Central European Bank guy was Dutch but I couldn't for the life of me remember his name.
The questions on psychology were ok... mostly. But they will only be corrected if we get half the "general knowledge questions" right. I knew about 13 of the 30 questions... the others were calculated guesses.

In other news, 60-70 people showed up for this one job... I have a chance of 1 in 70. Go me.

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Culture!

Ingelmunster ("the place to be") does it again. After bringing us dance culture (The Illusion anyone), a rich cultural history (prince carnival) and Betty (Big Brother 1) they now also have a Temple for Jehovah's Witnesses!
Go Ingelmunster!
Who dares say Ingelmunster is nothing but a tiny village?
Well me...

(note: this post was mostly to annoy Ellen)

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Flikker!

Bart Vandamme voorspelde het al en vandaag kreeg het verhaal een nieuwe wending. De geliefde van Wilfried Pasmans (Flikken) heet Dominiek/Dominique. Tien tegen één dat het een meneer Dominiek is.
Go Pasmans!
En zo is een nieuwe TV-obsessie geboren. Goed te zien dat mijn leven zin heeft.

Wat me ook altijd verbaast aan het programma Witte Raven is dat men mensen in één maand de kans geeft om zichzelf te herontdekken. En dat het nog lukt ook. Mensen die op sociaal vlak niet altijd heel ver staan (nog bij mama wonen, nog nooit lang weggeweest van thuis) ontdekken dat ze sterker zijn dan ze dachten. En ook al vind je in het begin misschien dat het een grote kneus is, op het einde moet je toegeven dat ze bijzonder veel lef gehad hebben om hun leven zomaar 180° graden te draaien. Ik weet niet of ik het zou durven.

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homework

Melissa's doing her homework. Apparently this involves spreading folders, pages and backpacks over my bed, gobbling down Cajun Salsa Dorritos (ugh) and forgetting your glasses on the desk.
Where's the time when I did all my homework sweetly at my desk?

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Today is

littlemoose's birthday!

Now sweetie, you'll have to explain to me how you managed to not-open your presents before today? Is this a first or did your mum confiscate them as they arrived?

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Rituals

My mother doesn't trust my alarm clock, so every morning she walzes in, pulls up the shutters and says one of these things:
"I've been up since 6.30, I feel like dropping dead"
"I've got such a headache.. feel like dropping dead"
or today's special
"I've got a 38.5 fever, I feel like dropping dead".
After this uplifting statement she walzes out again.
There is also the alternative version where she asks me questions like "When is Melissa coming over?" or "what are you going to do today" when I'm still brushing the sleep from my eyes.

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Official Graduation

Due to lateness there was no more place to sit when we got to the "ceremony". A very nostalgic moment. In first year you had to arrive 30 minutes early to a class if you wanted to sit on a chair and have a place to write down notes. If you were later you could sit on the stairs. Even later than that you could stand in the doorway... This phenomenon repeated itself occasionally in later years when they shipped us to smaller auditoria and it was one of those rare days when everyone suddenly decided to show up.
My parents managed to snag two seats in the "video room", where they showed a "livestream" from the activities in the main Aula. Melissa and I headed for the doorway of the Aula. I was not gonna sit with my parents. My mother would have stared at me and I was not ready to handle that.
I have to admit it gave me a shudder when Professor Van Oost, dressed up in her toga, read out my name as one of the Masters of Psychology.
Afterwards my father looked very proud and my mother kept staring at me. Surprise. My mum said "they mentioned the parents a lot didn't they. And how much parents do for their kids." I could have slapped her. She always manages to imply how 'ungrateful' I am when... oh never mind.. there's a lot of issues there.
I posed for the official picture with about a third of the students (the others had noticed the free booze), but since I was sitting at the end only half of me will be on the photo. Let's hope it's my better half.

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"That is a *music* CD right?"

Are the words I uttered to Melissa after she showed me the "Ladies, Queens and Sluts" CD she borrowed from a classmate...
Apparently it is.
I wonder how many hits I'll get from google, looking up the word "slut".... hm...

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Piglet has a headache

Piglet spent money she doesn't have on new trousers for the proclamation. According to Mother and Girlfriend the description "please wear city clothes" means "leave those jeans at home lassie!". And since finding a decent pair of trousers for an interview is always a struggle (not this pair, too low on the hips (too sexy), this pair's too big, this is purple and that one... whatever possessed me to buy that) I decided to go for it. Found a lovely grey pinstriped pair in H&M... but when I got home I realised I only have one winter jumper that goes with it.
So I'm off shopping again tomorrow for a light blue or white top that looks decent enough for an interview and for a proclamation. Thank god I still have 20 euro left over from the voucher I got for my birthday.
Jirina came by and gave me a light yellow jumper that she doesn't wear anymore (she works at H&M and has the wardrobe to prove it). Thank you sweetie. She also lost her keys and sunglasses. After three searches of my room we remembered she'd looked inside my wardrobe for the "find something that goes with these trousers"-dilemma. And there they were. Typical.

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You bloody liars

"First driving lesson? Oh that's just driving around a bit in a deserted place and then in the end they make you take a tour around the block."
"First lesson? They take you out to a deserted industrial zone, no biggie."

The industrial zone indeed. Deserted? Well, If the Huge Scary Trucks That Could Crush Me In A Second don't count...
A little trip around the block? A huge trip all around the city more like. Up a bridge, two roundabouts, big streets, small streets, in the city, around the city, mind the zebra crossing, oops a class full of little kids trying to cross the road, don't kill them (they were laughing at me... especially this one girl with the long blonde braid). The light's red, you might want to stop. You're doing 70 when you're supposed to do 50...
So yeah... apart from killing tens of virtual cyclists by riding over their cycling lanes (I need them to turn, get out of my way petty cyclists), nearly hitting two little poles (city infrastructure, it's replacable) and a near encounter with a low wall when I accelerated in a turn instead of braking (hey, I panicked, it's allowed)... I think it went rather well.

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Today is

Maureen's birthday!

Happy Birthday babe!!

My first driving lesson

oh dear

And My month-i-versary!

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driving

It's not that I don't want to drive. I do. I really really want to drive.
It's just the learning bit I don't want to go through. I 'd rather just "know" how it all works instead of having to go through several near-death experiences when meeting the first cars driving in the opposite direction.

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Piglet looks on the upside

- Next week I've got a test/exam thingie for a job together with some 100 other applicants (rough estimate, I'll let you know the real number next Monday).
- the Thursday (October 2nd) I have an interview for a job in a psychiatric hospital.
- that Saturday I'm seeing Tom Lanoye in De Spil
- The week after that (starting from Oct 9th) I have two hours of driving lessons a day.
I might just have things to do you see...

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Maybe it's the punk music
(or it could be my mother)

cos I am PISSED OFF!

me: mum can you put a cushion on one of the gardenchairs, I might sit outside to read. (the cushions are in the spider-infested and thus not-frequented by me part of the house)
she: oh but sweetie, you'll be in the shadow
me: so
she: oh no nothing
-later-
Mother comes upstairs to sleep (very healthy habit that, sleeping in the afternoon): I put the cushion back again (in the spider-infested part of the house), there were leaves all over it.

Why doesn't she bloody well mind her own business!!

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changes

It's funny how your goals and beliefs change as the years go by. When I was at school I was worried I wouldn't be "good" enough for university. I considered going to college and it took a lot of persuading before I dared to make the step to Uni. And I passed. Apparently I was "good" enough. For a while I found myself quite clever. I'd managed one of my goals after all.
And now I think "why didn't you get a distinction you stupid cow. If you were really smart you'd have gotten one and you'd have been better at your internship, employers would be jumping at the chance to employ you".
See, this just proves I'm a dummy. Bad Piglet. Think positive thoughts.

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help wanted

Could anyone direct me to some "fuck off" music please? The kind of music you need when you're feeling depressed and want to feel pissed to work yourself up again instead of sliding further into your depression.
So no Radiohead or opera or Muse (hehe) for me at the moment.
My knowledge of "fuck off" music is so bad that the only thing I've found is *gulps* something by the god-awful and-I'm-so-ashamed-to-admit-this Limp Bizkit.
You see how accute the need for help is.
Meanwhile, it's all about the he-said she-said bullshit apparently.
God help me.

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ever wonder

I was gonna post something fairly self indulgent and selfpitying. But I won't, because no one wants to read that. It's just one of those days, weekends, times...

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Controversy!

Apparently the earth has two moons. There is of course "the moon" (see below), but there would also be another planet rotating around the earth, taking 700-or so years for one rotation. This latest "moon" was only discovered in 1997.

At least that's what Stephen Fry said yesterday on QI. I've found nothing about it on the internet, so anyone with some more information: bring it on please.
Yes, it's another fun-packed day at the Piglet Residence. I mean, sometime later this afternoon I'm going to the Post Office! I might try my hand at some more application letters (stealing poor ortho's jobs) before that.
Meanwhile the mystery surrounding Dimi's workplace goes on. Today I got an email from another logger asking me to divulge the information. I reckon it's only a matter of time before we show up at the reception desk, flowerpot in hand, asking for a meeting with The Man.

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I drove

In laps
around a car park.
I sent my mother's head flying
against the windscreen.
And I accidently turned on
the windscreen wipers.
But apparently I'm a natural.
Of course.

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broken-hearted dykes

Lesbians tend to be more overweight than straight women which causes them to be more at risk for heartdisease. According to American Researchers lesbians care less about their figure than straight women, have a higher Body Mass Index and more blubber around the middle.

Well you need some strength to be a good truckdriver. Can you blame us?
Read this in today's paper. Next to this article they printed a photo of... two fat drag queens. I'll bet they had no dykes in their archive. Is this sexism?

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Trams and nutters

A smelly toothless drunk man started talking to me at the tram stop. He inched closer and closer to me to enforce his story. Something about how he moved to a better neighbourhood and was currently painting and he'd needed three beers for energy. I could smell that already. Do I have a sign above my head that reads "Confess Your Alcoholism"? He deemed me worthy to share his wisdom with me. Apparently a bed is for... sleeping. A toilet is for... shitting (his words, not mine) and a door is for...? Locking. Something his old housemates never did. Them bastards! When I chuckled politely to show him how brilliant I found his door-locking philosophy he got angry with me, he thought I was mocking him. I wasn't. I was too uncomfortable to mock him. I smiled in the hope that he would leave me alone. Never been so happy to see a tram in my life. Yes yes, Brilliant Psychologist Piglet (tm) sure knows how to deal with psychiatric patients...
To increase my dose of nutters (kidding) in one day I ran into Bad Hair Boy twice. But no danger, before I could say anything the poor lad ran from me. I am quite scary when I want to be.

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Typical

No sooner has baloo written about his cold, and my head starts feeling stuffy and I start sneezing. Cheers Baloo.
Got a phonecall this morning telling me I didn't get the job. Well duh. Five years at university might not have learnt me much I could use, but I do know when to trust my gut instinct.
But tonight children, is the fantastic re-start of "Queer as Folk US". "We're crap, we moralise and we wouldn't know a great script from our assholes". Must see TV!
Well I am gonna watch it... What else am I meant to do at 11pm?

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Off button

I'm looking for the off button in my head.
Been mulling the interview over and over in my head. What I should have said. What I do know about dyslexia and about keeping schtumm to parents. All things I couldn't think of at the time.
And I blame myself for it, big time. I fucked up. No job for me. And I hate fucking up.

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Donderdagmiddag. Halfvier.

..."Je bedoelt dat puur rationeel bekeken een mens zich beter niet kan voortplanten. En dat als je het wel doet, je het eigenlijk uit louter egoïstische motieven doet. Je neemt geen kind voor het kind, maar voor jezelf. En dus is elk kind het slachtoffer van de kinderwens van zijn ouders."

(Kristien Hemmerechts, Donderdagmiddag.Halfvier. p89).

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Well?

You didn't cross your fingers did you. Fess up!
Three against one it was. Three directors against one poor nervous applicant. Asking questions I didn't know the answer to. Looking critically at me whenever I did know an answer. Laughing at my nerve-induced choice of words.
Deliberately changing my words "so according to you, everyone should go to university". Erm no, I just said bad grades don't necessarily mean someone won't succeed, you have to look at the bigger picture...
"How would you start a treatment for dyslexia?" How the fuck should I know, I'm sure there are protocols for it in your centre, I'd follow those. I come from university... it's not as if I learned something I could actually use there! "Do you know any specialised centres for learning disorders, do they exist?" I dunno.... "How would you guide someone into chosing the right education"... erm... with them silly tests?
I said I didn't have much experience (ok, I have none,... but you don't say that in an interview) with young children but that I was sure I'd manage. This head-director bloke paraphrased me as "oh I'll try and see how it goes". That's not what I said. I meant that I'm a fast learner ... Which was a lie really. The reality is I'm shit with children. But I couldn't very well go and say that could I?!
Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaargh! Can I just kick something??

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state of affairs

Showered - check
Washed hair with new Herbal Essences shampoo (Extra Volume) - check
Shaved legs - check
Put on fake nails - check
Tore off fake nails because they were too weird - check
Read up on the task of a CLB - check
Bother Frederic for my peptalk - to do
phone girlfriend - to do

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Oh boy



I did the unthinkable today. I bought fake nails in a cheap store. I can't afford to go to a beautician and I'm desperate. You see, my "quit biting your nails" plan isn't working 100%. It's working a tiny bit, but not good enough. For me at least. Since I have a job interview tomorrow I thought it was time for desperate measures.
I cut the length of the nails in half (pur-lease, a dyke with nails like in the picture? That's a serial killer) and after I come out of the shower, I'll be putting them on.
Let's hope they don't look too blatantly fake.
Or don't fall off in the middle of the interview.
Or don't cause an infection in my real nails.
Help.
See what happens when I don't get out enough?

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DJ culture

Consider for a minute
who you are
what you'd like to change
never mind the scars
Bury the past
Empty the shelf
Decide it's time
to reinvent yourself
Like Liz before Betty
she after Sean
Suddenly you're missing
then you're reborn
And I, my lord, may I say nothing?

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Why

Why does sleep come so much easier
when you're around.

Filming in Antwerp was strange. Too crowded for one. Strange cameraman-type-person. Went to see Identity afterwards, which was good. I won't be joining the anti-cineplex league just yet. Strangely the possibility to get your ticket without someone at the desk makes me feel nice and anonymous. Not that I think it's a good idea in this time of job shortage to make even more people redundant.
But hey.
Held Buffy-thon today. Again. Hey, it beats going to the fair anyday.
Mother is moaning and annoying the hell out of me.
Not taken any motilium or Metoclopramide today. The latter made me feel scarily restless. Doc couldn't find anything wrong with my stomache (well, he was pressing on my bowels, and not on my stomache but I didn't have the heart to tell him. He probably thought my stomache was too close to my boobies and I might charge him for harrassment or something. Hmm... do I look that frightening?) so if it's just stress (for cryin' out loud!) I just have to will myself to not throw up. Go me.
You'll see how it turned out tomorrow.

And just to annoy a certain Mister Simon "MC": "'t Hof van commerceueueueue! Griet è grjid, kom mor ip!"!! Glad I got that out of my system.

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Laundry Day

Look at me.
Do I look hip? Do I look trendy and cool?
Hell no.
So what am I doing at Laundry Day in Antwerp??
I have to go. They're filming us for the gay eurovision contest (one might as well just say "eurovision contest" since the adjective "gay" is a little unnecessary) there. With the cool incrowd.
God help me.

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waiting room

Mummy what's this?
An eye
And this?
Pol the Mole
And this?
An eye
-
No stop looking at me! And stop looking at my book!
Mu-um I can't look at her book
Quin, stop it
Yeah, stop looking at my book. Oh look here Quin, a kitty. Look!
-
And this?
Flowers
And this?
Mud
And this?
A car
And this?
Pol the Mole

I think I'm getting a sterilisation.

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I'm odd

I feel positively sick and yet I'm having a very productive day.
- Put two attempts to steal social workers' jobs in an envelope.
- Looked up some things about Rational Emotional Therapy because a conversation the other day made me think it might actually have some use after all. E.g. An irrational belief is "Everything must go the way I had it planned". (No, why should everything go the way you planned it? Things change, they don't consciously decide to be against you, it's just what it is. If it's crap, then buckle up and make it better. Whining about it and getting pissed isn't going to change anything. Perhaps it's best not to expect anything. Or to accept that things won't always go the way you'd liked them to).
- Ordered two tickets for Tom Lanoye. Currently thinking of a way to ask the parents to pay for them... hmmm...
- Am putting off being sick. Though I'd best just get it over with.
- Put on Different Class by Pulp, pure nostalgia: you were the first girl at school to get breasts and martin said that you were the best

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Mister Stephen Fry

"Rita Mae Brown once said that if Michelangelo was heterosexual the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel would have been painted white with a roller"

For some reason I found this hilariously funny.
Maybe it's the pseudogoodtrendy outfits.

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8!

I had 8 messages in my spam folder this morning. Two told me "Life will end, get a life policy", a very positive message to start the day with. Some others told me to "open her floodgates of passion"... but what about the sheets? They've only been washed. And the rest were about my debt. Well that's just cheerful.

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Sing along

I've tasted blood and I want more
I'll put up no resistance
I want to stay the distance
I've got an itch to scratch
I need assistance...

And then? Whoever completes this gets a big smooch from Ms Pigletta.

(My nails are begging to be bitten... they are... I swear. I thought typing would keep them safely away from my mouth...)

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The things one must do...

You've got to be very persistent to learn how to drive. The office where I live is only open twice a week for a total of six hours a week. You wait in a classroom till it's your turn. A classroom adorned with pictures and diagrams of roadsigns, carburators and gear-switch-things. The classroom hasn't been aired in weeks and smells accordingly. There are two tiny portable heaters that look like they'll give you carbonmonoxide poisoning if you so much as look at them too much. Suddenly you're glad you didn't fail your theoretical, because this classroom is the prospect you face when you fail it thrice.
The first available class wasn't till September 23rd, so the roads are safe for the time being. Then my second class is October 9th and then they're all in pretty quick succession. By the end of October I'll be let loose on the streets with my shiny blue L hanger.
Scary stuff isn't it....

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Today's News

I'm surprised Cecil hasn't posted about this yet, but Leni Riefenstahl is dead. Another one bites the dust. She used to be quite pretty when she was young. She was also quite the nazi. But then the Verbeke Brothers claim there was no such thing as the holocaust. Quite like Leni. Hm. Negationism is disgusting, but the fact that there's a law out there, forbidding it, is a bit... hm. I don't know. Isn't it a limitation of your freedom of speech? If "spreading lies" is a crime, then what about tBlikske? -I feel a "De Morgen" comment coming on by Hullabaloo. If he's paying attention.- However, in looking for a link to this comment (yes, I actually make an effort for this blog) I came across this site, filled with many a Vlaams Blok fan. My blood pressure should be above normal for a few days I think. Suddenly limiting our freedom of speech sounded like a good idea.
I'll be spending money I don't have on Tom Lanoye's performance in Roeselare on October 4th. Despite being an avid Lanoye reader I've never seen him "live" as it were, so I'm quite looking forward to it.
Also, if anyone wants to see me and my intrepid colleques le Feux de Perrie and DJ Mel I Sa make complete asses of ourselves, the first (afternoon) show of the gay/les/bi eurovision contest is sold out already. What do you want with us as headliners?! There'll be an evening show as well, but if you want tickets better be fast. Could you even consider missing this event? November 30th, for the amnesiacs. That was November 30th.
And as if the unemployment figures aren't high enough already, Mieke Vogels has decided to join the league of jobseekers and will start applying for jobs in January. How dare she! After I voted for her twice, she's going to lessen my chances at employment! Bad Mieke! Bad!
Any other messages of national importance? I've vacuumed. And then changed the bedsheets. And then erm... nothing.
Christ I'm bored.

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oh dear

I must be sick.
I woke up by myself a bit before ten this morning. And then ... I got out of bed because there was no chance I'd get more sleep. And now I'm here. In front of my computer. Posting. And it's not even eleven yet!
Help me, someone, take away this strange disease!

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hypocrisy

I'm just reading through the physical and mental requirements for driving. I have to sign a form saying I don't have and never had the following illnesses:
- sudden loss of consciousness, sleepiness, coordinationproblems, epilepsy etc
- a mental illness that required treatment
- have the use of fingers, hands, arms, legs, feet and/or their joints
- heartproblems or problems with my blood pressure, any cardiac operations
- diabetes
- taking anti-epileptics, antidepressants, insulin, antihistamins or others
- kidney or liverproblems
etc etc...
Now never have I heard of a psychiatric patient who lost his or her license. Nor of a diabetic that's not allowed to drive. And there's plenty of people who had a heart attack and still drive around daily. So why do they state that it's forbidden if they know that no one follows these rules? I have to lie and say I have none of these problems. But actually, legally, because my blood pressure can be shaky, I shouldn't be allowed to drive.
Wouldn't it be more honest to change it to "the following people should be more careful and go for regular medical checkups if they wish to operate a vehicle"? Or is this a way to ward off possible lawsuits?

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Driving

I went for my theoretical driving test today, in all secrecy. I didn't want to tell anyone in advance in case I didn't pass. The horror of having to admit defeat would be too much for my fragile ego. But I passed! Not even the strangely phrased questions and unclear photos could phase me. Well, most of them couldn't anyway. Go me! *waves homemade pompoms in the air*
After a silly eyesight test ("which way are the openings on these Es") I got handed a stack of papers, a request for more money (nine euro in stamps) and some more information on the practical leg of the crusade that is "learning how to drive". Soon, on this very blog, "13 accidents and a driving lesson", Piglet's attempt at learning how to drive.

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I hate

I strongly dislike the months September and October.
There's reasons why I quite like them too, but that's not what this post will be about. Hence the subject.
The reason for this dislike is them. The creepy crawly scary hairy monsters that seem to run in from the outside and look for shelter in my house. The 8-legged freaks who prey on me, who watch me as I sleep and go about my business, who plot ways to jump on top of me and bite me or or or Kill me! Spiders. A nest of huge black hairy ones seems to have been breeding, since we (well, that's my dad) killed four of them in the past few weeks. Two in my room. The trauma is still fresh.
Now I know Mister Balloo is eagerly awaiting a post concerning the dinner I had with him and Mister Atari (and Spikey and the Italian Stallion). However these were more important matters. Spiders cannot wait. And besides, I linked to his blog by mentioning him, so that's good isn't it. I'll save the tale for another day. I've got plenty of time.

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happy birthday!

to my own little Nina De Man lookalike

As one shall be able to see on this or that blog soon.

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yesterday's post since blogger was acting up

If there's one thing I hate it's being sick.
Sick as in physically. The worshipping-the-porcelain-goddess type sick. I detest it. It's the reason I was never any good at boulemia, but I digress.
This stupid vaccine must have thought it should go for it since Thursday was the last time they administered it, hence its last chance to make me sick. Or maybe it's not the vaccine's fault. Maybe it's the three chinese prawns I had for dinner. Or the fact that Sam kept throwing up in the latest episode of de Pfaffs (yes, yes, I'm a fan). Whatever's to blame, I woke up at 4am feeling a rush to the toilet coming on. When I sat in the living room to recover Dotte didn't seem to mind my activities at all, she kept purring. Strange cat. Meliss said this morning that she thought she'd dreamt my toilet escapade. Bless.
Today's not a good day to be sick because of The Plan. The Plan for Melissa's birthday. Mister de Perrie, the mastermind of plans, is sick and can't make it so it's imperative that I try my bestest hardest best to be entertaining. Puking all over the table isn't going to help me achieve that goal.
Anyways. If Henin can come back from a 5-2 against Jennifer "horse" Capriati, then I can beat a little nausea.
Right?

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I love Strassbourg!

The European Parliament asked all the EU states to allow gay and lesbian couples the right to adopt. They ask that all discriminatory laws should be changed.
Why thank you.

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Today I....

- Got out of bed at 8am & drove 20 mins for an "interview" with the temping agency that took all of 10 minutes.
- Lent my right arm to medical science. They gave it back to me all ouchie. The things I do for GlaxoSmithKline.
- Filled in a questionnaire about my hiv risk behaviour. I answered no to the question of whether I had vaginal, oral or anal sex with at least five people of the opposite sex in the past three months (at the same time?), and to the question "do you get paid for sex".
- Wondered, just now, how many hits this blog would get for the previous statement.
- Considered and reconsidered and considered again what I'd get Melissa for her birthday. I'm still considering
- Fell asleep on the train.
- Avoided Amnesty International People who would come begging me for a donation.
- Got a refusal letter for a job.
- Blogged.

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Meneer Dimi heeft me vijf vraagjes gestuurd.
Als brave jongedame heb ik die naar eer en geweten beantwoord.


1. Als groot kenner van de menselijke psyche heb je eindelijk besloten jezelf eens onder handen te nemen. Welke 3 tekortkomingen neem je onderhanden en hoe ?

Ja inderdaad. Groot Kenner (want hoofdletters zijn hier zeker aangewezen) van de menselijke psyche ben ik wel. Lol.
Ik neem als eerste mijn zelfbeeld onder handen en de daarmee samenhangende onzekerheid en hunker naar liefde en goedkeuring. De traditionele manier om dit te doen zou via cognitieve gedragstherapie zijn. Bv mijn zeer actieve denkschema “dit zal ik nooit kunnen”, concretiseren, bewijzen pro, bewijzen contra, alternatief formuleren, uittesten, evalueren.
Ten tweede ga ik voor het piekeren, piekeren dat samenhangt met faalangst, nervositeit en perfectionisme. Gedragstherapeuten zeggen weeral dat je dan met een gedachtenstop moet werken. Heel simplistisch “stop” zeggen en iets anders doen. Nog nooit geprobeerd. Ik hou teveel van mijn kwaaltjes?
En ten derde… mijn soms autistisch-aandoende angst voor het nieuwe, het onbekende. Oplossing? Pull myself together. Gewoon doen niet denken.
Nu maar hopen dat prospectieve werkgevers de weg naar deze site niet vinden!

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2. Wat bezielt je om slash fiction te lezen ?

Maar schat! Wat bezielt jou om het NIET te doen!?
Ik kijk graag tv, en als enig kind heb ik altijd een zeer rijke fantasie gehad, ik speelde immers vaak alleen. Van in mijn puberteit begon ik spin-offs te fantaseren van mijn favoriete series… (durf ik toegeven… één daarvan was star trek, the next generation.. een ander was the brittas empire).
Toen ontdekte ik plots bij toeval dat op internet een hele horde mensen hetzelfde deden als ik, maar het dan ook nog es neerschreven in series die vaak spannender en interessanter waren dan het origineel. Het feit dat slashers hun personages homo maken en er doorgaans sprake is van erotiek maakt het alleen nog interessanter. Nadeel: soms weet je niet meer wat canon (gebeurd is in het boek of in de serie) en wat fanon is (verzonnen door fanfiction schrijvers).

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3. Algemene malaise in Eurosongland. De Vlaamse artiesten zijn hun stem kwijt en de VRT zoekt jou aan om het nummer ten berde te brengen. Je mag kiezen uit een tekst die geschreven wordt door één van de drie grote Vlaamse tenoren : Luc Steeno, Jo Vally en Eddy Wally. Wie kies je en hoe zou z'n tekst eruit moeten zien ?

Evil bitch dimi… mag ik niet zelf mijn nummer schrijven? Of het laten componeren door mijn collega, le feux de perrie? Soit. Maak er maar Eddy van, voor het absurdisme. Ik zou hem gewoon hardop laten denken en dat noteren. Dan overgieten we het met een discobeat, heel wat dubbelzinnigheden en een typische eurosong-act waarin kleren worden uitgespeeld en zo. Who will be second….? Because We will be number one!

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4. Wat zou je er voor over hebben om toch maar mee onder de douche te kruipen na een handbalmatch van de missus ?

In alle eerlijkheid. Niets. Ik zou niet weten waar gekeken van schaamte. Geef mij maar een privé douche met de missus.

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5. Waar kun jij je het meest over opwinden ?

Politiek. Absoluut. In de ruime zin… hypocriete beleidsmakers, domme mensen die toch een mening over politiek willen hebben die langs alle kanten hapert, mijn pa als ie zat is (als ie nuchter is een zeer breeddekend man), leugenachtige desinformatie, uitzendingen door derden van het blok (zie leugenachtige…), de kop van stefaan de clerck, geld dat niet wordt uitgetrokken voor dingen waarvan ik vind dat ze belangrijk zijn, de politiek van de “juiste” (katholieke) universiteit gevolgd te hebben, krantenkoppen int laatste nieuws, een lange arm nodig hebben, de “gewone man” die zijn beklag doet over alles en klaagt nooit gehoord te worden, het eeuwige gemekker over "het" onveiligheidsgevoel en belachelijke visa-bagatels, het woord “gezinswaarden”, Terry Wogan tijdens Eurovisie, overdreven chauvinisme.. Als het over politiek gaat kan het me echt rood voor de ogen worden. Ook voor Terry.

Heb je een weblog en wil jij ook eens geïnterviewd worden ? Laat dan een reactie achter of mail me. De eerste vijf leg ik het vuur aan de schenen volgens de regels van het spel:

The Rules.
1. Leave a comment, saying you want to be interviewed.
2. I will respond; I'll ask you five questions.
3. You'll update your website with my five questions, and your five answers.
4. You'll include this explanation.
5. You'll ask other people five questions when they want to be interviewed.

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kortemark begot

Wie kiest er nu voor om vrijwillig in Kortemark naar school te gaan?
Mijn liefje natuurlijk!
Straks wil ze er nog gaan wonen ook... vlug een job (of een VDAB-consulente) zoeken aan de andere kant van het land.
Goed. Al één probleem van de baan.

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unemployed girl

I'm not even good enough to be a fucking typist.
The company I did the temp job for? They fucked up, right? In the morning and in the afternoon even. Am I working, am I not working... blablabla. I arrived half an hour later back in the office than the other girls because I was already home when the agency called, while they weren't. I know I type faster than most my friends and I typed my ass off. I did about as much work as the other girls with half an hour less time.
The temp agency just called. The company have decided to not ask me to come back tomorrow. Even though I signed a three-day contract. Apparently I won't help them achieve their limit of 50.000 spam-addresses because they fucked up, lost four hours of work this morning and now need super-typists.
On top of all that the most pathetic school ever refused Melissa for a seventh year educator course!! Reason? "Since you've already worked for a year we don't think you'll get used to the school rythm again". Screw motivation, deny someone their right to education why don't you! I'm not even sure it's legal.
Ah well, I'm broke again.
And so's my self esteem.

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Working girl

8.36am: I arrive at the place where I'll temp my way through many an e-mailaddress and earn some money. Too early.
8.42am: Another girl arrives. I try to start a conversation, but to no avail. More and more girls drop in over the next fifteen minutes.
9.00am: A friendly secretary offers us something to drink, there are no computers in sight. We're told we need computers, data and some software to be installed. All that should happen within the next half an hour. We'll be typing in data of the customers of one of Belgium's leading telecom operators so they can be inundated with spam. It's nice to do something for the community.
9.30am: I open my Kristien Hemmerechts book (Brede Heupen) and start reading.
10.30am: Hurray! Computers!
10.52am: A confused receptionist whispers "someone's mum is here" to all twelve girls/women present... In waltzes my mum, plastic bag in hand, "honey, you forgot your sandwiches"... no mum, I didn't. I was coming home to eat. Piglet wishes the ground would open up to swallow her, but alas such good fortune is not bestowed upon her.
11 am: I start reading again
11.17am: I've finished my book. I play free cell on the computer.
11.30am: Someone starts installing the necessary software for our "job".
11.56am: The company-boss-person (who my heterosexual colleagues seems to find a stud) suggests we go out for lunch and get back at about 1pm. The data should have arrived by then.
1pm: Armed with a new book (De kinderen van Arthur by Kristien Hemmerechts), another can of Red Bull and lots of chocolate I arrive at the company. The girls are joking about the lack of work and the boredom.
1.23pm: Someone from the temping agency + the company-boss-person tells us we'll be paid for this morning but could we go home now and come back tomorrow or -if the data would have arrived and they phone us- perhaps later today?
1.56pm: Piglet is about 18 euro richer than yesterday.

2.09pm: temping agency on the phone... the data have arrived.

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