Thereasily entertained

I always knew I was easy to entertain. As an ex-boyfriend of mine pointed out when we were having the 'this isn't going to work'-conversation: "We have nothing in common. You are just happy sitting in the park with your friends eating french stick with cheese. It doesn't take much to make you happy". I still wonder what his point was, but at that moment he reduced a virtue greatly appreciated by my parents when I was a child ('here honey, have some paper and crayons.' 'Whoehoe! Fun!') to something questionable.
Of course I laughed at him, shook my head and blocked him from my MSN-list.
The same goes for my opinion on movies. Friends have stopped asking me whether I like a film or not, because I usually do. There is always an actor, scene or musical fragment that I appreciate. As long as I don't fall asleep, it's a decent film. Accept for David Lynch: I do not like his work, sorry. (Warning to my friends: this is open for debate, but not discussion; I gave up on Lynch as soon as that blue box hit Mullholland Drive.) I like anything that moves and do not discriminate on genre.

So when I heard the magic words 'Glitterclub, Wipneus and Pim', the 19-year old locked inside me, went 'Whoehoe! Fun!', because I hadn't seen those two dj's in twelve years. Just give me an Indian headband, a room filled with balloons and a technicolor plastic palmtree and I'm good to go. I didn't realise how good, untill the dj needed someone from the audience to come on stage and be the fourth member of the Village People. I found it necessary to scream 'ME!', jump up and down with my finger up in the air. Proud as a parrot, having waited years for this moment, I was invited to join a cowboy, a cop and a builder.
On stage, with previously mentioned Indian feathered hat strapped proudly around my head, I realised, while doing the YMCA shapes, that my new H&M dress, really wasn't so much a dress as more of an elongated shirt. My YMCA dance moves involved some extra gestures; mainly pulling down my black silk shirt-dress... That didn't stop me from shaking it for all I was worth.
According to Tanja, nobody saw a thing and for the rest of the night we were dancing, and playing with whatever came out of Wipneus and Pims toychest; balloons, air-guitars, whistles and cheesy songs.

It doesn't take much to make me happy, but friends and glitter make it even better!

Asia for beginners

Inspired by my traveling friends, I thought it would be a good idea to go ahead and book a holiday myself. After carefull consideration I crossed India of my list (for now). Mainly because eating a lot of chicken Korma, drinking mango lassies and watching Bollywood movies is not going to prepare me for the big cultural shock people keep warning me about.

So I booked a return-ticket to Bangkok instead.

After all, Thailand is like Asia for beginners. My friend Leyla went by herself last year, and if she can do it, so can I. And even though I'm very excited and reading in my Nelles guide about Buddistic history and Thai royalty, I think my environment is even more thrilled than I am. My mum for one, really likes that I'm going. My dad, well, he's still stuck on the image of me on a motorbike, but he'll just draw me a Saint Christopher and he'll be fine.

My colleagues love that I'm going to Thailand. They keep throwing tips, information and unpronouncable cities at me. One has started to look online for hooker-free Thai places, which proved more of a challenge than achieving world peace. Apparently Phuket is nothing like the Beach, infested with prostitutes (pun intended) and Ko Chang the place to be. Check, check and double check.

Of course I am worried about al sorts of things. Missing my flight, mosquitos, getting upset by seeing the ugly fat old men with the 12-year old girls, what to pack, what to wear and getting lost. I mean, I don't even know where Naaldwijk is, I thought the 'Afsluitdijk' was a tunnel and for years imagened that Rotterdam was in the geographical place of The Hague (and the other way around).. So how am I supposed to find Ko Samui or know where Chiang Mai and Ko Phangan are? Not to mention the languague-barriere, accidentally insult locals (by wearing flipflops or something) and getting stomachbugs.

But for now, I am going to stop worrying, keep on reading (currently at page 52: the Great Palace in Bangkok) and ask you, fellow-travelers and stay-at-homers for your help; what to do, where to go and what to definitely avoid?

Fart

Week 44 wasn't just about misinterpreting children's lyrics. My friday was more interesting than Perez Hiltons newsfeed. We had a company outing. And although I appreciate the value of teambuilding, I was relieved when the email we received stated that the programme of the day was going to be relaxed, involve coffee and cake and even more relaxed. So I wasn't worried that I 'had to bring gymclothes and a towel'; hey, that's what my yoga-teacher says!
Imagine my surprise that we got a lecture on the pro's and cons of pepperspray including the 'once in a lifetime' offer of experiencing it ourselves.
Needless to say I declined.
I did do the stormtrack, ran laps (blindfolded), take the fitness-test, did rugbyexcersizes and I shot with a Walther P5 semi-automatic (my shootingskills suck, by the way, but I have no intention of ever holding a gun ever again, I prefer my Wii-remote).

Later that evening I had another First Time.
How often does the folowing scenario occor?
Scenery: hallway of a small hotel in the middle of Rotterdam. Dimmed lights.
There's a handwritten note on the door and you follow the instructions; knock on the door, three times. A hooker, or lady of leisure if you will, -like creature in a black see-through negligé opens the door. She asks you and your friend to take of your coat and sit on the bed, where there's another one of them.
Intrigued you try to look at the girls, but you don't get past the massive sunglases. Naive you shrug (its probably a Russian thing), take of your bag and coat. The girl on the bed tugs your vest, but, you refuse to take it of. So she strokes your clothed shoulders and pulls your hair back, to place yet another massive pair of sunglasses on your nose, before inviting to to rest your head on the pillow of her lap.
It is quite comfortable actualy and the second you decide to relax and just enjoy this ride, the girls shout: 'bunny, bunny, bunny'. A guy dressed as a green easter-bunny jumps out of the closet, which you didn't even notice was there in the first place, and takes a polaroid picture of the four of you.
As you are rushed out of the room, you pay a small fee to become sole owner of the evidence of this 'incident'...

This happened at the Fart (fashion&art)-party at Hotel Central. The event was so hip, the press-people ratio was 1:10. So S-M-L-XL camera's were blocking our views of even more naked girls dancing on single-beds (most popular room in the hotel, for some reason), various corpses, paintings, films of paintings, holidayslides, dressed mannequins, free compliments and a roomsize Twistergame. Too bad my newly discovered Twisterskills didn't do much for us, whilst trying to get out of the hotel, it was so crowded.
But, we enjoyed ourselves a lot, and as I asked one of the Natasha's: I hope it was as good for you as it was for me.