The vortex, Charlie

Recently I've discovered there's a vortex on my desk.
I'm not quite sure why it's there or who's on the other side, but it's most definitely there.

I'll explain.

At my internship, I have a desk. A shitty wobbly one. I try not to touch it too much - I fear it might collapse. I've made a desk (partly) collapse once, in a classroom in Russia, and I can assure you, it's not a good time. Good thing I feel no shame, but still, not fun to accidentaly vandalize a classroom when you're trying to make a good impression.

So, my desk. Not only is it shitty. It is also very mysterious.

And it has a vortex.

The first time the possibility of having a vortex on my very own desk came to my mind, was when I lost two pens. They were gone one morning. I had put them precisely between my computer screen and keyboard, and they had disappeared. I posted the idea about the vortex on my twitter feed and got mocked. Like all the great minds of the world, I suppose.

But.

Yesterday I started the eight and final week of my internship. I had not been at the office for two weeks, so I came back completely energized and happy (Bazinga. It was 9 o'clock in the morning. I'm neither energized nor happy in the morning. Ever.).

When I went to sit down at my desk, I saw it.

There it was.

Between my computer screen and my keyboard.

One of the lost pens. The red one.

I used it all day and put it back where it belongs - close to the vortex - and left. When I arrived at the office today, it was gone again.

But the second lost pen was back.

The blue one.

So there you go. The vortex giveth and the vortex taketh away.

So cool.

On retards

-- Warning. This is not a fun post. This is a rant. In advance: sorry for the long post. It contains word vomit and an example of a boring conversation. You need it to understand the degree to which I am annoyed right now. --

Living in Brussels has been wonderful. I love this city, I love the atmosphere, I feel at home, and I’ve made some wonderful friends here. I’ve lived here for one year and will have to move back to my hometown soon, until I can get a job and an apartment in Brussels. Can't wait - I’m looking forward to living here for real.( This is the only positive, happy thought you’ll get today. I was never a very positive person. I do apologize.)

There is, however, a downside to living in Brussels. When you’re a girl, young, and not completely unattractive, you will get some unwanted attention. You get that everywhere, but it’s worse in Brussels than anywhere I’ve lived before.

 So far, nothing too bad has happened to me here, so that’s good. But I do get talked to on the street a lot. And I don’t mean the ‘bonsoir chérie’  ‘tsk tsk tsk’ ‘comme tu es magnifique’ ‘COME TO DADDY’ kind of comments guys make as you’re passing by – no. That’s just constant street noise, blends in with the traffic noise, and it doesn’t bother me all that much. What I’m talking about is guys who start walking next to you, or come site with you on the metro, starting a conversation and asking for your phone number.
Is that so bad? Well. It wouldn’t be if they would just give up once you’ve told them that it’s not going to happen. But ‘giving up’ is apparently a concept most of them have never heard of in their life. And this, dear reader, is where it gets annoying.

In Brussels, it’s aaalways black guys or Muslims. Seriously. No lie. No racism. Don’t start with me – I am anything but a racist – but it’s just the way it is. I haven’t had this problem with white guys. You’ll notice white guys checking you out, obviously, but they have the decency to quickly look the other way when you make eye contact with them. Or they lack the balls to start talking to you, you might also say that. Anyhow, I’m glad they’re scared little pussies and don’t start talking to me on the street, on the tram or the metro, and I wish every guy would follow their example.

You know why? Because I’m on the friggin’ metro or walking down the street. That, my dear mentally challenged guy friends, means that I am on my way. Going somewhere. Ever thought about that? I have to go somewhere and am currently doing what is necessary to get to my destination. This means that I am NOT looking for an interesting conversation. I am NOT looking to give anyone my phone number, and I am definitely NOT looking for sex. So why would you even bother? Why the fuck would you want to start a conversation with me – when I’m wearing my angry face, can you believe their guts? – and in the end try to get my phone number? WHY? Does that ever even work? I believe it does not. Unless with girls who are desperate for attention, maybe, or girls who believe that faith (ha ha) put the love of their life on their way to work. As if. C’mon.

Even if the guys striking up a conversation on the sidewalk or the metro have no real bad intentions whatsoever, this shit fucking annoys me. I get more and more annoyed with it every single time it happens. And in Brussels, it happens a lot. They do not take no for an answer.

“Hey pretty lady! Where you going? You in a hurry?”
“I’m meeting some friends.”
“Hey come sit with me for a second!”
“No, sorry, I really don’t have the time. I’m already late as it is, they’ll be waiting. Gotta keep going.”
“Oh okay. Is it cool if I walk with you then?”
“I’d really rather walk alone.”
“Oh come on, what’s the harm in walking together for a couple of minutes?”
“*sigh* Fine. If you must. I don’t get why though.”
“I just want to talk to you for a second.”
“I don’t get why you want to talk to me, actually.”
*insert mindblowingly boring conversation with full-of-himself guy talking random shit and annoyed girl barely replying, hoping mentioned full-of-himself guy will get the hint*
“Sooo, baby. Can I get your phone number?”
“No.”
“What do you mean ‘no’? Why not?”
“I don’t give my phone number to just anyone.”
“Oh c’mon I’m not just anyone, give me your phone number, let me give you a call some time, we’ll get together for drinks.”
“I’m really not at all interested.”
“Give me your phone number.”
“No.”
“Why not? How are we going to meet again if you don’t give me your phone number?”
“Why would you think I want to meet you again?”
“Do you have boyfriend or something...”
“No.” (That’s right – I’ve so far refused to use the boyfriend excuse. Because that might give them the idea that if I were single, I’d give them my phone number in a second. And I don’t want them to think that - they’re already arrogant enough as it is. Also, I fear that saying you have a boyfriend might not work either. “He never has to know” or “He can’t possibly be as good-looking as I am” shit is bound to follow that excuse.)
“Then why won’t you give me your phone number?”
“I don’t want to.”
“Oh… I see. You don’t sleep with guys, is that it? You’re a lesbian then?” (Honestly, these kind of conversations have really lead to this exact comment in the last couple of months. TWICE.)
“Oh really? I’m not interested in you so I must be a lesbian then? You’re pathetic. I’m not a lesbian, I just don’t want to stay in touch with you. You’re really very annoying.” (I only go there in broad day light and when there’s plenty of people around. I’m not stupid.)

You’d think the conversation would end there, wouldn’t you? After you’ve said that you’re not interested a couple of times and even mentioned something about the guy annoying you and being pathetic? But noooooo. These guys don’t back off. Ever. IDIOTS.

I am starting to think that maybe I should just give them my phone number straight away and immediately block their number when they try to call me. Or give them a fake number and a fake name. Or run away – I don’t care that I’d look like a fool if I were to do that. Or just ask them for their number and claim I’ll call them. Yes, ofcourse I’ll call you, kind stranger, for I am most delighted that you noticed me on the metro/street, decided I am hot enough to spend a night in your bed, and sat/walked next to me for the next ten minutes until I could finally find an excuse to get rid of you. Djeezes fucking Christ. DJEEZES FUCKING CHRIST.

Oh. For those of you who are wondering. Saying ‘I’m not interested’, ‘leave me alone’ or ‘fuck the fucking fuck off’ – even from the very start - doesn’t work. Pretending I don’t speak French, English or Dutch does, but surprisingly, only after a while. For real: I will be saying “I don’t understand you, you idiotic little bitch” in Russian for five minutes before they finally give up. For some reason they keep trying. As if suddenly I’ll know how to speak French. Stupid bastards. Retards. ASSHOLES.

I’m sick of this.

Oh dear, look at the time

Punctuality never was one of my strong suits, I must admit. But it has definitely gotten worse over the years. Ridiculous little fact: my sun sign is Virgo, and apparently, we’re supposed to be the most perfectionist and punctual human beings alive. I call bullshit. Seriously, that is the most flagrant lie I’ve ever read in the entire collection of astrology crap out there. 


When I’m meeting friends, I’m usually the one who is ten minutes late. I barge into class rooms mumbling excuses long after the professor arrived. When I’ve made dinner reservations, there’s always a risk of losing my table because I’m not at the restaurant in time. The only exception occurs when I have to go somewhere I’ve never been before: then I’ll most likely be at my destination at least ten minutes early. I always expect it’ll take way longer to get there than it actually does, or I fear I might get lost on the way over there. Don’t laugh, it’s a valid fear – I have the orientation skills of a retarded fruit fly.


So today I had to be at my internship around 9.30. I woke up at 7.15 and decided to snooze for a while. I am the Queen of Snooze. I can’t remember when I last immediately jumped out of bed when my alarm went off, honestly. I woke up again at 9.30. I decided I would send my boss an e-mail right away, explaining that I had overslept and that I would get there as soon as possible. But first I would snooze for another five minutes. I woke up again at 10.20. FUCK. That’s when I really sent the e-mail, got out of bed and got ready. Knowing that I would only get there around twelve o’clock – if I was lucky – and beating myself up over it the entire time: what the hell was I thinking?


I already can’t really afford to be late anymore: I have been late before (nothing too bad, but still), I’ve been absent sick twice, and there was one misunderstanding where I was walking around in the city, gathering information for one of my assignments, and my boss didn’t know about it so she e-mailed me later to ask me where the hell I’d been that day. This is NOT good. I simply CANNOT be late anymore. I’m seriously going to fuck up my internship evaluation if I continue like this. I also fear that people at work are going to start thinking I’m going out every night, or something like that, which is absolutely not true. I stay in every night when I have to work the next day, because I know I’m already having a hard time getting out of bed as it is, let alone when I’ve been smoking and drinking the entire night. But they don’t know that. And I wouldn’t blame them if that was their conclusion.


Anyway. I must stop this.


Therefore I would like to use this opportunity to make a promise: never again will I be late at my internship. I will be the first one there every morning, starting tomorrow. I will also try to be the last person to leave in the evening a couple of times. I mean it. I swear.


N. 

Engage.

So I decided to start writing yet another blog. No, this is not my first attempt – I blogged while I was abroad on an Erasmus exchange program, and had to start a blog for school a couple of months ago. Both died silent deaths. Both were wildly unpopular, as I’m sure this one will be. I don’t intend on telling anyone about this blog, except maybe some of my most trusted friends (one of them actually gave me the idea for this). I hope that this time, I’ll keep it up and I’m definitely going to try to give this blog regular updates. I’ve said that before. I mean it this time. Okay, I’ve said that before, too. But it might actually be true this time around – this is the first blog I’ve started because I actually wanted to. This also will be my first real personal blog. Completely anonymous ofcourse, it’s already scary enough. 


English is not my native language, as I’m sure you’ll notice. But I want to practice, especially since I’m considering moving abroad to go find a job, and good knowledge of English – both spoken and written – appears to be a must. Since I’ve noticed my English spelling capacities have plummeted since high school, this might be a good way to get my written English to a decent level again. Do correct my mistakes if you feel like it.


So maybe, to get us started, I’ll just tell you something about myself, my dear imaginary reader. I’m a 22 year old girl from Belgium. I am writing this post at my internship. I should be working now, but it seems I am absolutely unable to concentrate on anything other than complete and utter bullshit today. Reading and writing are a huge part of who I am. I studied languages and journalism. I am terrifyingly close to graduation and I’m not quite sure what to do with my life. I am willing to try (and fail) a lot in order to find some kind of purpose though, so exciting shit is bound to happen – or so I hope.

N.