The Dutch Files

I was on the way to the office the other day and was kinda pre-occupied. Which is a bad thing when you are driving, I agree… But I was… And then… I made a bad judgement in traffic. I decided to dash across the street where I had to go, just before a car coming on… Who in the end was going faster than I had thought he did…

There was no collision but a near one, which infuriated the guy coming up to me. He was right. It was a bad call on my part, I apologized to him… BUT, in the mean time a whole jam of traffic had built up behind me which made me be stuck in between his car and the jam behind me… who started honking their horns already… I rolled down my window… apologized again to the guy and asked him if he could scoot his car back up a few feet so I could get past him and solve the jam piling up behind me…

He refused!

I know, I know… it was obviously my fault… but I was stuck there now… I had already perfusely apologized to him, he had NO cars behind him… I had about a kazillion behind me, I could not move forward, not move back… and if he’d only move a few feet, all would be solved…

That bugs me… I mean, he was absolutely right that it was a stupid thing to do on my part but to be ass-stubborn to make your point that you should be the first one to pass now and therefore pile up a whole traffic jam that, if he doesn’t move, won’t go away by itself… That’s just STOOPID to me… It’s not because I need to have my way… It’s because if there is only one way to solve a problem… Just get over your stupid pride and get your head out of your ass and move!

He didn’t. He just rolled back up his window… made hand gestures that I should be the one to back up (to WHERE, motherfucker!?!?!?) and then decided upon intimidatingly staring at me…

Oh HELL NO! The intimidation thing? NOT a good thing with this bitch. Nu Uh… Intimidation cost me a lot, personally, a few years ago when I let a few people intimidate me into the worst situation a woman can be in. It took me a long time to get myself back together and it sometimes still comes back to haunt me… and well, I don’t “do well” on the intimidation thing at all ever since… It erks me… no, bugs me… no, infuriates me to n.o. e.n.d.!!! Cuz no matter what: intimidation is a bad thing… It’s a thing only people with their arrogant heads up their asses do to people that they feel are inferior to them…

So… with all the kazillion cars behind me honking… I opened my door and got out of my tiny car… and walked up to his big ass Beamer… and tapped his window… with the utmost coolness that I could provide… He looked up kinda weird… as if he had not expected the little woman to come up to him… He rolled down his window just a little bit… (was thís asshole too scared to roll it down further!? bwahahahaha). And this is what came out of my mouth:

“Listen.. you PRICK! I REALIZE that it was not the best call to try and dash in front of your car just now… YOU however know that I already apologized for that, MULTIPLE times”

he tried to mutter something that started with “but” and I didn’t let him…

“Ehm… NOPE. This is the part where you listen and I talk. See that jam behind my car? You KNOW that blocks me from backing up. See that void behind YOURS?… You know that it would be easy for you to back up. So even though you are right about the fact that I shouldn’t have tried to cross the road at that particular time, when you were approaching, kindly get your ARROGANT HEAD OUT OF YOUR ASS and back the fuck up! The intimidation thing, where you stare at me from the closed window in the secure surroundings of the INSIDE of your car is NOT gonna work. If we have a stare stand off, we are gonna be here for a LONG time. That is unless we get killed off by the Mob behind me first… MOVE FUCKER!”

He rolled his window back up… he moved… then I passed him… and the whole jam behind me passed him and all was peaceful again in Dutchyland…

Dear Asshole Stairs Guy,

Next time you walk down the stairs behind me, those parking facility stairs, on an early office morning and feel “stuck” behind me… mumbling “%@!! fucking practical those are %@!! those fucking high heeled shoes %@!! don’t know why the hell women wear them anyway %@!! and then taking the fucking stairs %@!!”

Remember this:

• This IS a free country last time I checked
• Stop whining. I walk down stairs on heels as fast as the next person.
• You CAN in fact kick it up a notch and pass me on the left side of the staircase, plenty of room
• I take the stairs on my way down from the 9th floor cuz it’s about the only exercise I DO get on a typical day in the office: walking stairs
• I wear the fucking high heeled shoes cuz I like wearing them
• And guess what, if you would get your head out of your ass for a second you’d notice: I look fucking good in them!
• Which can’t be said for you who couldn’t even be bothered to neatly zip up yer pants
• Nor find a matching pair of socks
• Nor find a comb to run thru your hair
• You KNOW you love a woman wearing fucking high heeled shoes when it suits you
• and finally: Let’s see you do any better walking down shitty parking facility concrete stairs in 4-5 INCH HEELS!!! You’ll trip and fall flat on your shitface face

Yah! That’s it… Fuck off! Next time I will “let” you pass me on the stairs, happily, so I can plant my heels in your big fat asshole ass, just before I dropkick you down those stairs and walk allllll over you…

OK, I’m back! I had a great time over the weekend. And I am happy to be able to confirm that Saturdaynight out on the town in the 5th city of Dutchyland: Eindhoven - it sucks. It’s “hillbillies all around”. We had a great time anyway, it was a great laugh.
We started the evening, after stuffing ourselves with french cheeze and olives at Farmgirl’s place, at a restaurant. We sat ourselves down, ordered, and worked our way thru the having dinner part. Food was great, conversation was great, we had fun already. There was a couple sitting next to us, who were apparently finished and served the bill. The woman of the couple got up, seemingly to go to the bathroom or whatever, but nope… She moved up to the guy that was still sitting on his chair, bent over him, started kissing him, and she never let off!!! She kept on going, her hands joining in rubbing his belly and whatever else she could get her grubby paws on I guess… Yeah, I am prétty sure she rubbed “it” as well. But I couldn’t see as her ass was blocking my view, and mah girls didn’t dare look… WTF!? I mean: COME ON! Dutchyland is a liberal country, we can take some shit, we’re used to it, but getting it on in the middle of a restaurant, rubbing your man up, slobbering all over him, in full view while other people are having dinner! Get a room! Nuff said…

After dinner we went to one of the bigger clubs of the city. We walked in, nice music, ok people… mostly… so it seemed… SEEMED… We ordered a drink and looked at the dancefloor where a weird dressed guy was playing air guitar on one of his legs that he had lifted up high. Have you got the image? Yeah, like that. There were some more of those crazies jumping round there. So we moved a little back into the club and put our stuff down and started chatting and looking around. Soon enough, next to Farm girl, there was this Mediterranean looking guy eyeballing us. And yes, sure enough he came up to us and h.o.l.y s.h.i.t. He must be the thickest guy I have e.v.e.r. met!

Turns out he was Italian and had been living in Dutchyland for 2 years. He didn’t understand a word of Dutch so he started doing his Italian-English conversation with Farmgirl and me, asking us whether we were Dutch and consequently telling us that he found Dutch women to be rude and abbrasive.

*blank stare*

I am not sure ’bout you, but to me, that is not a great converstation starter talking to Dutch women… I mean: WTF!? If you are trying to get a foot in the door or your leg over, calling Dutch women rude and abbrasive is not a great come-on… I had soon enough heard plenty of him, and as Farmgirl made no attempt to get rid of him, I turned away out of the conversation and started talking to Courgette girl who was asking me what the fucker was saying. She almost peed her pants when I told her.

Farmgirl’s conversation with Italian Fucker continued and was too nuts for words! Soon he had pretty effortlessly switched the conversation to the subject of hardcore sex… Um… yup. That’s what I said: Hardcore Sex. Farmgirl made her first attempt to get rid of Italian Fucker. Yeah, she did: “Hardcore Sex? Know nothing about that. You should talk to her. That’s hér specialty” *points towards yours truly*. I shot her a killing look and Italian Fucker too, so that didn’t work. Shut up about my specialties, bitch! And don’t try to dump your fucker on me either! Heh…

Then he continued talking to Farmgirl, trying to hoax me back into the conversation. He was like a leech! We couldn’t get rid of him even if we tried! Ending the conversation didn’t work, turning our backs to him didn’t work, even other guys bolting in between him and us didn’t work. As soon as he saw his chance, he sucked his way back in and continued his conversation where he had left off minutes before… Thick thick thick!!! Then Farmgirl managed to get rid of him, but no prob: he just moved on to Courgette Girl and me… All the bullshit he had been telling Farmgirl, he just repeated to us. Yadayadayadayada… He wouldn’t let off! Sheesh!

At some point one of the Dutch guys standing opposite to us couldn’t stand it anymore and asked us could he be of service getting rid of Italian Fucker. We told him he was welcome to try but we hadn’t managed yet. He turned, looked at Italian Fucker and said: “How can I break this to you gently? Ehm… Well, basically… Fuck Off Ciao!“… Italian Fucker just smiled his stupid thick smile at him and then turned back to us and continued…

OK… Seriously! How thick can one person be? Like hitting a brick wall…

And then the showstopper was brought out… He started telling us that he could NOT understand why so many women in Dutchyland owned a vibrator. So many available men and these crazy Dutch women were all using vibrators. Why? I decided that it was time for a DutchBitch reply: “You ask yourself why we’d rather use a vibrator than one of the available men? Seriously? YOU ask us that? I’ll tell you. Because vibrators don’t talk shit, and you can put them away in your bedroom drawer when you’re done with them“. Courgette girl started to snicker and said that Italian Fucker was probably small enough to put away in a drawer too. She was probably right… But he’d probably continue talking shit, even IN the drawer…

After that we were totally done with him. I turned my back to him and started a conversation with Courgette girl, while Farmgirl had started a conversation with a Dutch guy. He just stood there, all 3 of us with our backs to him and he just wouldn’t fucking go away!!!! He can’t be for real!!! I think it took another 10 minutes before he finally got the message and finally walked off…

In hindsight I am not surprised that he finds Dutch women rude and abbrasive. There’s no other way to get rid of that fucker so I am pretty sure he experiences it a lot. I’m also pretty sure he doesn’t get lucky very often… I’ll stick to my Vaginator, for now, fuck you very much. Holy cow! We couldn’t restrain from doing a High Five after he had left.

I know, we’re total bitches, your worst dating nightmare… Deal with it!

…in Dutchyland… there was a man. He was probably in his early 40’s and his name was Tom, or maybe Dick or even Harry… He was a flash business man, not bad looking, pretty attractive in fact, good bod, wearing hot ass business suits every day to the office. This particular morning Tom, Dick or Harry was running a tad late. Nothing to be worried about. In a minute he would get into his brandnew big ass Mercedes, break some speed limits and arrive at the office in plenty of time to squeeze his hot new temp secretaries ass and then head over to the board room for his meeting…

He slurped up his last splash of morning coffee, turned to his wife (or it might have been his mistress), kissed her goodbye, walked out the door, got into his flashy Mercedes that was in the driveway sparkly clean, and drove off… His day had started with a great session of morning sex, a hot shower and a great espresso and he was ready to go.

After his usual 20 minute drive, or should we call it turbo boost flight, he arrived at the exit lane of the city where his office was situated. Fuck! A traffic jam, one that had become more rule than exception in the last few months. He looked at his watch, hidden under the sleeve of his expensive new shirt, and realized that this traffic jam was gonna rob him from the minutes he had gained in the past 20 minutes.

Instead of waiting for his turn getting into the line of traffic jammed cars at the start of the exit lane, he decided to drive his big ass car to the frónt of the exit lane. Afterall, all these sorry ass suckers waiting in line couldn’t possibly be in as much a hurry as he was. Look at the wankers! They obviously didn’t have anywhere important to be. They were just in line for no particular reason, for the cat’s cunt, as we say in Dutchyland. Their need to be somewhere at a certain time couldn’t póssibly be as high as his… So he drove up even further down the line until he was at the very very front and then commenced to intimidate the cars in the front of the line and squeeze his brandnew big ass Mercedes in front of the car next to him…

Guess who was driving that teenie weenie car that Tom, or Dick or Harry or whatever was trying to squeeze in front off?

Heh…

And guess what else?

H.E.L.L. N.O.!!!

That hot ass business man in his expensive business suit with his great bod and cute face, suddenly wasn’t as attractive anymore when he was busy having a tantrum in his car, accompanied by loud honking and vigorous use of both his middle fingers (keep the hands on the steering wheel at all times, babe)…

Aside from attracting the attention of a policecar that was driving by, it did nothing for him…

The fact that, after encountering so many fucktards in my life, I still believe there are good guys out there is a fucking miracle…

But you are the King of Fucktards… You hold the Grand Prize of Fucktard’s…

You fucking piece of shit!

Yes, I am in fact talking about you. And you know who you are…

The fact that we met up at the 2006 NYE party at my g/f’s house and that, though we liked eachother, it didn’t happen between us due to whatever reason, means n.o.t.h.i.n.g

There you were at this NYE party, pretty nice guy, kinda cute looking, talking to me, starting what turned out afterwards an attempt to get it on with me… or so I heard from my g/f…

It didn’t happen, because my son, who totally embarrassed dove behind the couch crying after calling his dad was more important to me at that time. The fact that you chose to take that as a sign that I wasn’t interested in you, well fuck that, your loss… If that is all you are capable off forking out for, and you can’t even be bothered to realize that a woman’s child IS important and that was the reason she broke off the conversation… Fine… No problem… Narcicistic dumbass…

The fact that when we hooked up again on the internet, just to say “hello” and you kept stalking me by email and txt message on the What If’s of the NYE… that’s just fucking awful. YOU were already seeing your current girlfriend for over half a year. I knew that when we got in touch on the internet. And you knew I knew. So I told you there were no “What If’s” and I told you that if that was what our “friendship” was going to be all about, to stop contacting me.

NYE 2007 came ’round and you again kept stalking me with txt messages on whether I was going to take up g/f invitation and go to the NYE party. I told you I was, no matter whether you were joining the party or not. You told me you weren’t sure and “how exciting it could be if we would both be there“. I told you that I didn’t feel that way and that it didn’t matter to me either way, and one more thing: that IF you did decide to come, to fucking act normal with your lady around cuz I was sure as hell not getting in to a cat fight before midnight (and we all know who gets the blame if taken men flirt, the bitches álways come after me).

You didn’t come to the NYE party. I couldn’t have cared less. You had displayed a TOTAL lack of respect towards your own girlfriend and towards me for that matter. You were disrespecting her by continuously txting me about all kinds of shit. Unreplied-to txt’s, I might add, but even ignoring you made no difference. You were disprespecting mé by not respecting my wishes to leave me in peace and concentrate on your own life.

You “stalked” me with txt messages ALL day on Dec 31 and ever since… “Was I excited to be going there?“…. “Would I be staying over and if so in which room“… “Will you be thinking of what could’ve happened last year“… and even during the NYE party, with some of your best friends there… You kept pulling that shit… I didn’t reply… It didn’t matter… You kept at it, even after I had come home from the party and the biggest question of all, that you txt-ed me about 10 times since I returned was “Did anything exciting happen?”

You are such a leech! Feeding on total raunch. I could even feel a tad violated because of you trying to get into my head… I feel so fucking sorry for your beautiful wonderful girlfriend who no doubt loves you very much and has no clue what a fucker boyfriend she is dating. I don’t know her, and aside from meeting you once, I really don’t know you…

But sheesh… Do I KNOW you… I totally get what you are about… I’ve gotten to know your filfthy dirty mind inside out…

And now today, tódáy, you attentionwhore fucktard, you get ángry with me for not replying to your txt messages? ANGRY? WTF! And you know what? You almost had me there. I almóst got totally lethal about that… and you álmost had me sending you a slashing reply… almost…

Read My Lips: I D.o.n.’.t G.i.v.e A S.h.i.t!

Who the fuck do you think you are? Who told you that you are God’s gift to women? And guess what: I am SO happy that nothing happened between us last year. I think I escaped a one way trip to relationship hell and my wonderful son, who is SO SO SO SO SO much better than you could ever hope to be, protected me from that…

You are SO high on my (S)hitlist, you wouldn’t believe it…

God.. how I wish you read this blog… but then, I wouldn’t allow you the pleasure of it… of reading my most inner thoughts and brain farts… Well, aside from this one, maybe…

Wanker…