Friday, October 31


A few weeks ago my boss announced she is sending me to Paris.
She said she wanted me to represent the company.
This means I get to stay at one of the nicest hotels in town, a place that under different circumstances I could not afford.
I plan to take a bubblebath twice a day and order chocolate covered raspberries by phone.
Representing the company can be hard work, but it’s a sacrifice that I’m prepared to make.

Friday, October 24


Lately the dreams I’ve been having are freaking me out. Some of them are about sex, which may not surprise you, but not in a healthy, wholesome way. The first dream features Name Deleted, who’s taken me on a minitrip to a remote village somewhere. The village is completely empty, there’s almost nothing to see, except for a small church and a local restaurant. While walking he whispers: “I think we should do it right here, outside, right on the street.” I look at him and say: “Are you crazy?” And when he shakes his head I start to run. After a few minutes he catches me and drops his pants. He’s out of breath and so am I but when he pulls my body into his I look down and discover there is nothing there.
The second dream features Mr. Dress, who’s invited me to party at his place.
When I get there, it turns out that his house is a perfect copy of Hugh Hefner’s grotto, only instead of water there are clothes and books. The grotto consists of two layers, connected by a small staircase made out of wood. Both layers are completely cluttered, there are books right up to the ceiling, and clothes everywhere on the floor. I ask him: "How can you live like this, how can you live your life inside a cave?" He tells me that he doesn’t care, but that I left my favourite sweater, somewhere in between his books.

Thursday, October 23


Wasn’t feeling too great today, so decided to hit the shops. Needed to buy a pair of sensible shoes and a raincoat, but instead I came home with:
-a grey turtleneck (Why? Because I don’t live on the Côte d’Azur, that’s why).
-a purple turtleneck (When grey becomes boring, purple will do the trick).
-a flimsy red top (Not to wear to the office, but on a hot date with Nicolas Sarkozy).
-a sand coloured top, size extra small, just to show off my boobs.
- a black and white stripy shirt, because every girl should have a black and white stripy shirt.
There were a lot of skirts that I liked, but I didn’t bother trying them on. If I buy a new skirt, it means I have to look for new boots, which is a pain in the neck. There’s a big difference between sensible shopping and therapy shopping, even if both will make you feel good. So now I'm feeling like the sweater queen.

Thursday, October 16


Had dinner and drinks with C., who just returned from a short visit to Berlin. She told me her boyfriend rented two bikes to cycle through town, which she enjoyed. On the last night they stopped for a beer at some Beer Stube, where after some nervous hesitation he proposed.
“He proposed to you at a Beer Stube?” I ask. “What kind of man would do that?” She said he popped the question in a somewhat clumsy way, saying: “How would you feel if I would ask you to marry me?”
To which she responded: “I guess I would feel very happy and more than likely I would not say no.”
He then finally dared to ask 'the real question', to which she said Yes.
“Please don’t turn into Bridezilla,” I tell her, referring to other girlfriends whose only topic of conversation is their special day. Date and venue are fixed, but there’s still a lot that needs to be done. While talking I could not help but wonder: is marriage a shortcut or a detour to happiness? I tell myself I have to focus on my career, even if having a career is completely meaningless.

Monday, October 13


Terrible nightmare last night. Dreamt I had to give a reading somewhere, but I couldn’t speak, no sound came from my mouth. I looked at the pages and none of the sentences made sense, the words looked like they were bleeding off the page. Then I stare at the audience only to discover almost everyone is drunk. In the crowd I discover an old friend from college (Name Deleted), who is now a well known writer. He hands me his book and says: “Here read from this.” I rush through the pages, start reading at random, but there’s hardly any text. A little girl in the audience looks at me, and I make up a two minute story, something for children, even if it’s totally ridiculous. I look at Name Deleted and think: did we sleep together once? Then I remember: Thank God we didn’t, but we came so close. In the end I finish reading and the lady who organised it comes up to me. I tell her: “I wasn’t feeling well.” She says: “maybe you should have cancelled.” And then I faint.
Only to wake up in my own bed.

Sunday, October 12


I was still feeling very sexy when I went back to work. Sometimes the feeling can last for days, sometimes it wears off the moment you switch on your computer and are confronted with your files. So many reasons to run back home. One of my colleagues, a sweet girl from Belgium, noted that I looked radiant.
Whenever I look at her I want to give her cookies and milk.
“Anything out of the ordinary going on in your life?” she asked, her eyes filled with curiosity.
“Nothing special,” I said. “I just bought a webcam, that’s all.”

Wednesday, October 1


Early in the morning C. called to ask if I got home safe and to see if there were any details on The Night with Mr. Dress. I told her we had sex four times: once in the shower, twice on the carpet and one time against the wall. She laughed and said this made her think of a song: “I bounce her in the kitchen, I bounce her in the hall, I bounce her everywhere she wants, she’s like a rubber ball.”