Well, what can I say? There indeed is a 20-year old BMW, net worth roughly 1000e, sitting in the drive. Now before you burst into a spontaneous mixture of laughter and tears, I'd like to point out that this car is probably in better nick than the 3-year old heap of pile-Passat I used to drive for a living. Not to mention the superb style and charisma of a classic BMW.
Is it true that such magnificent machinery can and will be found even for the right price? Is this man of such utter superiority to succeed in such a task impossible to mere mortals, you ask. Well .. uhh I'm not. All credit goes to "'tis a ruse" public^, the local tyre kicker and internet car search addict. And I'm a bit bitter about the whole thing. I mean, without him, I'd probably have ended up with some piece of junk or nothing at all. Sucks to be second best.
I've heard numerous requests on getting a new blog entry up sooner, and I do apologize for the delay. But you must understand, well, first of all, I don't give a shit. And second of all, I've been a victim of the local flue type disease, practically binding me to the bed for about a week. Also I had to make a few critical corrections to my recent blog posts to keep my readers from ganging up as a lynching party and sticking my head on a pike. Not to say it wouldn't make a handsome ornament, but for the time being, I like my head where it is.
What's worth mentioning is the trip to the local nightclub by the previously mentioned public^ character and myself. Heading into unknown territory, I was ready to start meeting people immediately after entering. We were lucky enough to run into the Ladybird gang and their friends though, which made my life a bit easier. So what happens next? I got 6 girls around me, enjoying my company. Truly a fine situation to be in.
Now, in a club environment, one has to be ready to talk loudly. In a Finnish club environment, one has to shout like a fucking fog horn to keep people interested. And I was doing just that, until my vocal chords apparently decided to punch in fold & sit out, which resulted in my interest rate falling down to a negative percentage of about a million and one. Sitting there flapping my jaw like a mute duck, I thought it best to leave.
Monday, 17 March 2008
Saturday, 1 March 2008
Amidst the arduous deeds of Janne, pt III
Yeah, I went through the regular phase of denial. Surely the explanation for my repeated failures would be found in someone other than myself? I mean, losing another sweet lady for utter incompetence? That's just bloody depressing. Besides, how many sweet ladies are there to lose? Seven? And you can't even, as humanitarian as it would seem, recycle girls.
I used to let these sort of setbacks strike with a force that left me sitting at home groaning at my inability to function as a human. Wasn't too different this time. I felt the familiar sense of despair and futility creeping in as I prepared myself for a huge depression. This state of mind lasted for nearly four seconds until I decided to screw it. I didn't need to feel this. So yet again, into the night I went.
I thought I'd go easy on the peacocking and dressed as casually as I could without giving up my confidence in myself. This was a point I was trying to prove: Looks don't score. I mean, think of Zoidberg. The guy's butt ugly and still women look up to him as some Elvis-reincarnation. Yup, the game is played with attitude, not looks. My looks, of course, would by themselves be enough to lay me just about any woman, so I gladly compensate by acting idiotic once in a while, if just to keep the competition alive.
There was a load of drunk guys on the bus, trying to hit on some of girls they had with them. Seemed like a cheap sitcom, sitting there listening to these guys completely ignorant of the correct ways to approach a woman. Not to say that my own escapades would've ended any better, though. That night there was some sort of odd shortage of pretty women. I only saw three interesting ones, and two of them were giving lapdances to some amogs. Not my cup of tea then.
But I wasn't about to leave without at least a phone number, so the third interesting lady of the night I decided to give my standard approach. She had a friend with funky hair, so I thought I'd neg her for being desperate for attention. And thus it came out, my carefully formed neg: "Did your friend stuff her head into a vacuum cleaner or is it always that way?"
Shit, crash&burn for slipping on my own ingenuity. Well, as the captain had taught me, you start something, you'd better be ready to go down with the sinking ship. So when she gave me the expected "you don't talk to women like that" response, I put on my asshole hat and came up with the weird retort I'd heard on Youtube "Now that's enough yack-yack, woman. Pay my drink, would you?"* I was ready to take a slap at this point, but to my surprise, the girl actually took a step back and looked at me with interest. I was so overwhelmed by this reaction that a couple of missteps followed, and a crash&burn it was. Albeit an interesting one. I gotta try that again sometime.
* For the Finnish crowd the actual line went like this "Hei älä viitti säksättää, dooris. Maksahan mun drinkki."
I used to let these sort of setbacks strike with a force that left me sitting at home groaning at my inability to function as a human. Wasn't too different this time. I felt the familiar sense of despair and futility creeping in as I prepared myself for a huge depression. This state of mind lasted for nearly four seconds until I decided to screw it. I didn't need to feel this. So yet again, into the night I went.
I thought I'd go easy on the peacocking and dressed as casually as I could without giving up my confidence in myself. This was a point I was trying to prove: Looks don't score. I mean, think of Zoidberg. The guy's butt ugly and still women look up to him as some Elvis-reincarnation. Yup, the game is played with attitude, not looks. My looks, of course, would by themselves be enough to lay me just about any woman, so I gladly compensate by acting idiotic once in a while, if just to keep the competition alive.
There was a load of drunk guys on the bus, trying to hit on some of girls they had with them. Seemed like a cheap sitcom, sitting there listening to these guys completely ignorant of the correct ways to approach a woman. Not to say that my own escapades would've ended any better, though. That night there was some sort of odd shortage of pretty women. I only saw three interesting ones, and two of them were giving lapdances to some amogs. Not my cup of tea then.
But I wasn't about to leave without at least a phone number, so the third interesting lady of the night I decided to give my standard approach. She had a friend with funky hair, so I thought I'd neg her for being desperate for attention. And thus it came out, my carefully formed neg: "Did your friend stuff her head into a vacuum cleaner or is it always that way?"
Shit, crash&burn for slipping on my own ingenuity. Well, as the captain had taught me, you start something, you'd better be ready to go down with the sinking ship. So when she gave me the expected "you don't talk to women like that" response, I put on my asshole hat and came up with the weird retort I'd heard on Youtube "Now that's enough yack-yack, woman. Pay my drink, would you?"* I was ready to take a slap at this point, but to my surprise, the girl actually took a step back and looked at me with interest. I was so overwhelmed by this reaction that a couple of missteps followed, and a crash&burn it was. Albeit an interesting one. I gotta try that again sometime.
* For the Finnish crowd the actual line went like this "Hei älä viitti säksättää, dooris. Maksahan mun drinkki."
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