Supply shopping. The Condomerie.
Occupy Amsterdam, on the Beurs van Berlageplein. Late morning start.
Ok, where to start? The long and he short of it is, I went shopping and ended up watching the WC.
It originally wasn’t my intention to get drawn into the whole WC madness, I pride myself on being and individual with a strong resistance to the herd mentality. That is until I need a drink, went into a small cafe, and realized it was bedecked in orange with the Dutch flag flying outside, realization dawned too late it was WC Monday! Holland were playing Denmark.
Oh shit! Quietly leave, and face hordes of drunk Nederlanders, or stay and watch the game? Think quick V! My stomach made the decision for me, as a wonderful tuna salad sandwich, destined for someone else, passed in front of my nose my hungry tummy gave a rather unladylike growl, and that was it. I tucked my Mr. B’s bag of goodies between my legs, which contained: a 10mm bamboo cane; G5 Russian gas mask with canister; amyl nitrite; 15m rope; a paddle with tacks; a box of black latex gloves, and ordered.
Now for those of you familiar with my love and adoration for DOM, will know of what I speak when I mention Mr. B’s. For those of you who do not, let me just say it is one of my favorite shops on the Warmostraat, a street in Amsterdam’s famous Redlight district. It has toys galore, whips, floggers, butt plugs ranging in size ‘oh may’ to ‘OH MY!’ Lovely stuff, it makes a Dom all warm and fuzzy with anticipation of the tortures she can inflect on her willing sub.
So there I am sitting in this cafe with a lovely latte, a half a pint of Strongbow, and a joint in front of me. Hey I am in Amsterdam, some people carry cigarets, I carry joints. Funnily you can smoke a joint in a bar, but not a cigarette. Go figure, the Dutch have some wonderful rules for things. The a thought strikes me,“Oh Fuck, Fuckity Fuck, fuck, fuck! What the hell do I do now? I haven’t a clue who half the people on the pitch are? I did recognize the Dutch, thankfully they were wearing orange.”
As the game got into the swing of things, I borrowed the face paint, and somehow it ended up being rubbed on the top of my left breast. Joints and Strongbow are to blame.
All and all it was a cracking good day, Holland won, Cameroon lost, and Italy tied. But by the time I got to this game, I couldn’t have cared less.
Today was a glorious day in my town, and I have to say after getting a pedicure and manicure I decided to pop into the hairdressers for an appointment, well she was totally booked up today, so instead of rushing right home I stopped for a latte at the coffee shop on the corner. The best idea I had today, because it was one of the most delightful lattes I have had in a long time. Smooth, creamy, frothy and rich aromatic coffee. The cream was so thick you could stand the stirrer straight in the glass. I was about to take a sip of this piece of heaven in a glass, when the air was ripped apart by an ungodly yowl. I thought who is hurting some poor animal, again I hear this noise, closer still, so I start searching for the animal to go and help it out of its misery. Then I discovered where that horrendous sound was coming from. It wasn’t from some sick dog, it was from a child, who was basically throwing a tantrum with her adoring parents as the audience. Needless, my concern quickly turned to disdain, and the sudden realization, I really hate kids! I didn’t know who I wanted to slap more, the parents or the annoying noisy little brat ruining my latte experience? Luckily I opted for neither, hurriedly finished my latte and left with the intention of returning another day. I have to say I abhor the abuse of children, but there are times I can appreciate the Florentines of the middle ages, who sent their infants away to be raised in orphanages until they were about 5 years of age, because the wealthy parents didn’t want screaming babies cutting up their peace. Yes, terribly un-PC, but as long as it was quiet, and they could enjoy their lattes. What’s a little bit of childhood trauma, at least they didn’t have the priest buggering them.
I absolutely love my slaves, but there is one in particular that is a long time favorite, and for some reason he started to act up, he made an appointment and didn’t show! I didn’t say anything, I just waited. He attempted to make another appointment with me, and I ignored him, why he wasn’t desperate enough. He tried again, again I ignored him. 4 months later he is on the phone, crying and begging. I make him wait another month. He is beyond desperation now. So finally yesterday I decided it was time to see him. I did everything I wanted to him aside from tattoo my name on his ass. That will be the next session. 🙂
Today, I had to go and take care of some tax stuff, arrggg. So, after that was al sorted, I started organizing my thought around what I want my next photo shoot to look like. I know, I know, it is a wee bit compulsive, organizing this far in advance, but as my pictures show, it pays off.
So, basically I walked around, shopped a bit, got lunch, went into the city, and ended up at Sauna Deco, where I had a wonderful massage and sweated my buns off. Went to the Thai restaurant around the corner, and then taxi home. To discover that the language test I took last week for my citizenship, I passed! Now tomorrow it is off to the office to apply for our Dutch passports. I am not tense.