Blog : The Yukon, Paris, Vietnam and beyond...
08-07-2019
, 03:57 PM
The Old Gringo
On the highway in between Guadalaraja and La Ciudad de Mexico, February 2001. The Mexican trucker was kind enough to stick us into the trailer of his cargo 12 wheeler van, despite not having room up front in the passenger cab. About 2h into our ride, the vehicle unexpectedly pulls over before the driver cracks open the door of the freight, mutters a few (incomprehensible) Spanish words to me and points to a pile of trash in the corner. I grab it and follow his lead to the cliffside of the road. After he tosses some random plastic waste, glass bottles and cardboard down the mountain like it is the 70s all over again, I painfully imitate him, trying to comply to the cultural differences (and environmental ignorance) despite driving a screwdriver dead into the heart of my own leftist ideologies... I mean, what can you do, right… WTF can you do
After booking an AirBnB in the bohemian neighbourhood of Coyoacan (where once lived Frida), I jump into the shower, put on my tourist shoes on and roll down the stairs of my (very) modest studio to conquer the f**king the world yo
I was not expecting this much beauty 
I mean, my expectations of CDMX had grown over the past few weeks, especially after spending (a bit too much) time in the standard tourist traps of Mexico ; but God Almighty and his fracking Saints, the colonial houses are just a delight to contemplate 
And that’s the whole idea behind travelling : being constantly reminded of how fracking magical the world can be when shivers cover your body in the face of beauty yo
For dinner, I meet up with the cousin of my Spanish teacher, but Holy God damn f**k does she ever speak fast 
I omit to ask her to slow down though, as my Espanol has made it beyond that awkward threshold of comfortability where communicating becomes (somewhat) natural, or close to…
I also have the pleasure of meeting up with Fossilkid, a legit fellow who has created a great little home for himself in CDMX
Peace
On the highway in between Guadalaraja and La Ciudad de Mexico, February 2001. The Mexican trucker was kind enough to stick us into the trailer of his cargo 12 wheeler van, despite not having room up front in the passenger cab. About 2h into our ride, the vehicle unexpectedly pulls over before the driver cracks open the door of the freight, mutters a few (incomprehensible) Spanish words to me and points to a pile of trash in the corner. I grab it and follow his lead to the cliffside of the road. After he tosses some random plastic waste, glass bottles and cardboard down the mountain like it is the 70s all over again, I painfully imitate him, trying to comply to the cultural differences (and environmental ignorance) despite driving a screwdriver dead into the heart of my own leftist ideologies... I mean, what can you do, right… WTF can you do
After booking an AirBnB in the bohemian neighbourhood of Coyoacan (where once lived Frida), I jump into the shower, put on my tourist shoes on and roll down the stairs of my (very) modest studio to conquer the f**king the world yo
I was not expecting this much beauty I mean, my expectations of CDMX had grown over the past few weeks, especially after spending (a bit too much) time in the standard tourist traps of Mexico ; but God Almighty and his fracking Saints, the colonial houses are just a delight to contemplate And that’s the whole idea behind travelling : being constantly reminded of how fracking magical the world can be when shivers cover your body in the face of beauty yo
For dinner, I meet up with the cousin of my Spanish teacher, but Holy God damn f**k does she ever speak fast
I omit to ask her to slow down though, as my Espanol has made it beyond that awkward threshold of comfortability where communicating becomes (somewhat) natural, or close to…I also have the pleasure of meeting up with Fossilkid, a legit fellow who has created a great little home for himself in CDMX
Peace
Last edited by Dubnjoy000; 08-07-2019 at 04:12 PM.
08-16-2019
, 08:49 PM
Robinson Crusoe in Les-Iles-de-la-Madeleine
The thing about travelling in a group of 11 stemming from 3 different generations with people from various backgrounds and political/ideological inclinations, is everyone must make compromises in order for the general harmony to remain sustainable. But such will be the case of family gatherings on a vacation on board a cruise ship when the space becomes more confined, thus increasing the possibility of various discords… This said, my folks selected a much more remote destination for their 50th wedding anniversary : the wonderful Isles-de-la-Madeleine Meaning that the beauty of this little haven would mesmerize all of us, unlike the previous one 6 years ago for their 44th that saw us take a more common route through the Caribbeans alongside a ton of MAGA Zamerican supporters that made me contemplate the possibility (more than once) of tossing them overboard to the sharks
"With few concessions to modern life, like free Wi-Fi at inns, there’s a land-that-time-forgot vibe to Quebec's Les Îles de la Madeleine. On this archipelago in the middle of the massive Gulf of St. Lawrence, Madelinots speak their own singsong version of Acadian French. Catherine Chevrier-Turbide says the remote islands’ geography defines them. "We’re an open window to the Gulf of St. Lawrence," says Chevrier-Turbide, who works at La Méduse glassware studio and shop. "The winds shape our inhabitants, landscape, and its culture." (National Geographic)
This is it. This is what the dream of independence was all about : a leftist roots society immuned from the intrusive presence of the Mcdonald’s, Walmart’s and Starbuck’s of the world… A land where there is no presence of abstract poverty, or overt wealth for that matter… A place where French and English peeps manage to cohabit, even if the latter formed its own community on a smaller island and asked for independence in this ironic reversal of roles… An arts and craft society where music and fishing intertwine in different forms of art…
Of course, there was always going to be a forever pending debate with one of my family members about the merits of a minimalistic lifestyle vs the ones of the abundance of suburban life… Of public schools vs private ones, of simplicity vs elitism… I am still not sure how the (over)consumerism mentality can still not be directly correlated with climate change nowadays or how living a simple life can be frowned upon or linked to an utopic vision, but anyhow….
Whatever the case, finding such beauty close to home came as a delight yo
Hey friend, yes, I saw your question in one of the travel threads and have a similar answer then the one that was given to you, albeit with a bit more details : you have to check out with a bank in your home country before leaving and find an appropriate account. I did reach out to HSBC a few years ago in Canada for travelling purposes, but their basic account is for national transactions and an international one requires a different status (6 digit annually from a steady non-poker income, for starters). I went with another Canadian bank, get charged for 0% fees while withdrawing internationally (at all visa accepted atms), but you still cannot escape the local fees though (from the atm you are using). This account of mine requires a min of 5k at all times (at no interest) and ultimately, I probably managed to saved a few bucks but not much more. Of course, as a poker player, I always have close to 100k that I keep at hand and do not freeze in long term investments (so the latter earns me a mere 0.5-1% interest), so that 5k is consequently a non-factor. I would recommend to use your credit card as often as possible, accumulate air-miles or other promotions on it and hence limit the usage of cash all together ; unless you play live poker regularly, then of course eliminating atm fees becomes more essential. GL friend
Peace
The thing about travelling in a group of 11 stemming from 3 different generations with people from various backgrounds and political/ideological inclinations, is everyone must make compromises in order for the general harmony to remain sustainable. But such will be the case of family gatherings on a vacation on board a cruise ship when the space becomes more confined, thus increasing the possibility of various discords… This said, my folks selected a much more remote destination for their 50th wedding anniversary : the wonderful Isles-de-la-Madeleine
Meaning that the beauty of this little haven would mesmerize all of us, unlike the previous one 6 years ago for their 44th that saw us take a more common route through the Caribbeans alongside a ton of MAGA Zamerican supporters that made me contemplate the possibility (more than once) of tossing them overboard to the sharks "With few concessions to modern life, like free Wi-Fi at inns, there’s a land-that-time-forgot vibe to Quebec's Les Îles de la Madeleine. On this archipelago in the middle of the massive Gulf of St. Lawrence, Madelinots speak their own singsong version of Acadian French. Catherine Chevrier-Turbide says the remote islands’ geography defines them. "We’re an open window to the Gulf of St. Lawrence," says Chevrier-Turbide, who works at La Méduse glassware studio and shop. "The winds shape our inhabitants, landscape, and its culture." (National Geographic)
This is it. This is what the dream of independence was all about : a leftist roots society immuned from the intrusive presence of the Mcdonald’s, Walmart’s and Starbuck’s of the world… A land where there is no presence of abstract poverty, or overt wealth for that matter… A place where French and English peeps manage to cohabit, even if the latter formed its own community on a smaller island and asked for independence in this ironic reversal of roles… An arts and craft society where music and fishing intertwine in different forms of art…
Of course, there was always going to be a forever pending debate with one of my family members about the merits of a minimalistic lifestyle vs the ones of the abundance of suburban life… Of public schools vs private ones, of simplicity vs elitism… I am still not sure how the (over)consumerism mentality can still not be directly correlated with climate change nowadays or how living a simple life can be frowned upon or linked to an utopic vision, but anyhow….
Whatever the case, finding such beauty close to home came as a delight yo
Quote:
Hi man. I asked the below question in another thread, but maybe you could answer it for me:
Since you're traveling for quite a while already, I feel like this would be a good place to ask this question.
What is the best bank to use while your traveling? So which usually has the lowest costs for getting different currencies?
Verstuurd vanaf mijn GM1903 met Tapatalk
Since you're traveling for quite a while already, I feel like this would be a good place to ask this question.
What is the best bank to use while your traveling? So which usually has the lowest costs for getting different currencies?
Verstuurd vanaf mijn GM1903 met Tapatalk
Peace
Last edited by Dubnjoy000; 08-16-2019 at 09:19 PM.
08-26-2019
, 02:33 AM
Eternal Return
February 2011, Merritt, B.C. Day 6 of a ten day Vipassana retreat. Breathe-in, breathe-out. Seen from outside, I have been sitting for 2h str8 in a perfect Buddha position with my eyes closed, legs perfectly crossed, back str8 up in seamless inner-peace… On the inside though, the physical pain is mounting : my arteries are aching and my muscles want to rip my body apart to tear loose… Emotionally : this fierce anxious energy wants to run uninhibited… So I finally give in : I uncross my legs, loosen my back and let the blood flow freely once again in this generalized sigh of relief before standing up, stepping outside the meditation hall and going into my room for a sip of water, until... it hits me : there is no running away. Not in this cycle of life. Nope. Nada. Never. If we try, we will simply forever loop back and be stuck within the chains of our hindrances. Of ignorance. I put down the glass of water, walk back to the meditation hall and sit back in a Buddha position after a mere 60 seconds of hiatus. Breathe-in, breathe-out.
It feels surreal to be walking the old paved streets of Quebec... Perhaps because a conundrum creates itself in between the flashbacks of the blurry passed memories now revisited through sober lenses... And that my time of yesterdecades spent here was under the influence of juvenile intensity or indulging into the visits of a lady friend (with whom I also partied until the end of times)... So it is with hazy images of the past that I engage this cloudy and rainy afternoon Reminisces of being handcuffed (and arrested) a Saturday winter morning when I had drunkenly fallen asleep in my vehicle with the engine revving to combat the glacier -20c cold... Luscious images of making intoxicating savage love to her at 4am in the morning, on her apartment floor, when our burning hunger consumed us before even making it to her bedroom after closing the local pub... Flashes of another lady friend with whom no condoms were used and no mentions of our sexual transgressions to her bf... Comical snapshots of lives ago, seemingly belonging to someone else...
It could of happened eons ago for all we know, as Old Quebec City is still frozen in time, desperately holding on to its past reign of 450 years ago...
There is a ton beauty in these parts. Beauty that the past inebriated Dubnjoy would of certainly glanced at, but not exactly seized...
Peace
February 2011, Merritt, B.C. Day 6 of a ten day Vipassana retreat. Breathe-in, breathe-out. Seen from outside, I have been sitting for 2h str8 in a perfect Buddha position with my eyes closed, legs perfectly crossed, back str8 up in seamless inner-peace… On the inside though, the physical pain is mounting : my arteries are aching and my muscles want to rip my body apart to tear loose… Emotionally : this fierce anxious energy wants to run uninhibited… So I finally give in : I uncross my legs, loosen my back and let the blood flow freely once again in this generalized sigh of relief before standing up, stepping outside the meditation hall and going into my room for a sip of water, until... it hits me : there is no running away. Not in this cycle of life. Nope. Nada. Never. If we try, we will simply forever loop back and be stuck within the chains of our hindrances. Of ignorance. I put down the glass of water, walk back to the meditation hall and sit back in a Buddha position after a mere 60 seconds of hiatus. Breathe-in, breathe-out.
It feels surreal to be walking the old paved streets of Quebec... Perhaps because a conundrum creates itself in between the flashbacks of the blurry passed memories now revisited through sober lenses... And that my time of yesterdecades spent here was under the influence of juvenile intensity or indulging into the visits of a lady friend (with whom I also partied until the end of times
)... So it is with hazy images of the past that I engage this cloudy and rainy afternoon Reminisces of being handcuffed (and arrested) a Saturday winter morning when I had drunkenly fallen asleep in my vehicle with the engine revving to combat the glacier -20c cold... Luscious images of making intoxicating savage love to her at 4am in the morning, on her apartment floor, when our burning hunger consumed us before even making it to her bedroom after closing the local pub... Flashes of another lady friend with whom no condoms were used and no mentions of our sexual transgressions to her bf... Comical snapshots of lives ago, seemingly belonging to someone else...It could of happened eons ago for all we know, as Old Quebec City is still frozen in time, desperately holding on to its past reign of 450 years ago...
There is a ton beauty in these parts. Beauty that the past inebriated Dubnjoy would of certainly glanced at, but not exactly seized...
Peace
Last edited by Dubnjoy000; 08-26-2019 at 02:44 AM.
10-10-2019
, 08:58 PM
Quote:
Even though I’m long done drinking, there will always for me be a sense of romantic yearning, a nostalgic wanderlust, for the days of drunk youthful escapades, and the girls that came along for the ride. I suppose I will always have a yearning for getting away from it all. Good read as always brother.
I guess that being sober for almost 7 years now, I no longer have (much) of that yearning for those drunken times... But I guess I still crave to escape somewhat by smoking weed at times (especially now that it is legal in Canada
) and doing Ayahuasca journeys, albeit the latter is much more apparent to the seriousness/monastic approach of meditation, for instance.Alright folks, the next few chapters of my journey will pertain to my latest romantic journey into the Yukon wilderness and will mainly address how I fell for my Mexican lady friend. This segment, which will probably be spread out throughout multi-posts over the next month, will be named The Anthologies of Mademoiselle X. Enjoy Y'all
Peace
10-10-2019
, 10:03 PM
The Anthologies of Mademoiselle X ; Part 1 : Tamed Savaged Luv
Dawson City, February of 2008. I got drunk af yesterday, foolishly disregarding the fact that tomorrow I have a shytload of work to do in the kitchen with stuff like inventory, next week's schedule and this weekend's banquet, nonetheless But alas, here I am sitting up in my bed in a meditation position, breathing deeply, while my sweating body is on the verge of ripping itself apart The simple act of not moving is so f**king painful and requires a TON of will power... Yet, this physical agony - as TITANIC of a manifestation as it is - still fails to override the memory of dropping all my BR on the virtual tables yesterday 
I thought I had made it... Yet here I am : broke, no money to my name and not even enough room on my credit cards to cover the expenses of a sudden emergency, if such a need should arise... FML 
After purchasing a new SUV in Whitehorse (in cash, to the surprise of the sales clerk ), I put on my hiking shoes, pick up Mademoiselle X at the airport and together we zoom down Alaska highway direction Haines Junction yo
Kluane National Park is a natural gem located on the Yukon/Alaskan border and extending itself for 22, 013 squared kms at large. It is the home of Mount Logan (the highest Canadian peak at 5959m). But given its remote settings, it attracts much less tourism then Banff National Park does, for instance, especially come Autumn once the cruises stop floating in So it is to experience the Edenic life of Adam and Eve that X and I ride into the heart of the wilderness, hand in hand 
Times have changed since 2008 where I would drink like no tomorrow and build up BRs only to instantly tilt them away… As I glance at X's singular beauty as she peacefully naps in the passenger seat, I realize that I have driven this nomadic road that is my life for 100s of thousands of kilometers only to find myself here, in this moment, a passionate lover to this amazing woman that has an established family life in Europe, but has nonetheless chosen to embark on this wild adventure…
Even if X brings with her this civilized class, this well-traveled and well-read wisdom, she nevertheless easily blends into the Yukon wilderness like some sort of indescribable Earthly creature… It took little time to fall deeply in love with her, even if I knew that our love story is ephemeral at best and is merely constituted of forgotten chapters…
Peace
Dawson City, February of 2008. I got drunk af yesterday, foolishly disregarding the fact that tomorrow I have a shytload of work to do in the kitchen with stuff like inventory, next week's schedule and this weekend's banquet, nonetheless
But alas, here I am sitting up in my bed in a meditation position, breathing deeply, while my sweating body is on the verge of ripping itself apart The simple act of not moving is so f**king painful and requires a TON of will power... Yet, this physical agony - as TITANIC of a manifestation as it is - still fails to override the memory of dropping all my BR on the virtual tables yesterday I thought I had made it... Yet here I am : broke, no money to my name and not even enough room on my credit cards to cover the expenses of a sudden emergency, if such a need should arise... FML After purchasing a new SUV in Whitehorse (in cash, to the surprise of the sales clerk
), I put on my hiking shoes, pick up Mademoiselle X at the airport and together we zoom down Alaska highway direction Haines Junction yo Kluane National Park is a natural gem located on the Yukon/Alaskan border and extending itself for 22, 013 squared kms at large. It is the home of Mount Logan (the highest Canadian peak at 5959m). But given its remote settings, it attracts much less tourism then Banff National Park does, for instance, especially come Autumn once the cruises stop floating in
So it is to experience the Edenic life of Adam and Eve that X and I ride into the heart of the wilderness, hand in hand Times have changed since 2008 where I would drink like no tomorrow and build up BRs only to instantly tilt them away… As I glance at X's singular beauty as she peacefully naps in the passenger seat, I realize that I have driven this nomadic road that is my life for 100s of thousands of kilometers only to find myself here, in this moment, a passionate lover to this amazing woman that has an established family life in Europe, but has nonetheless chosen to embark on this wild adventure…
Even if X brings with her this civilized class, this well-traveled and well-read wisdom, she nevertheless easily blends into the Yukon wilderness like some sort of indescribable Earthly creature… It took little time to fall deeply in love with her, even if I knew that our love story is ephemeral at best and is merely constituted of forgotten chapters…
Peace
Last edited by Dubnjoy000; 10-10-2019 at 10:09 PM.
10-14-2019
, 05:40 AM
10-16-2019
, 09:58 PM
Anthologies of Mademoiselle X, Part 2 : Wild at Heart
After our caresses deeply found each other in the heart of Kluane National Park where even sightings of a bear, fox, moose, porky pine and deers would act as witnesses to our ephemeral communal, X and I decide that it is time to test the international boundaries and make a trip towards Skagway, Alaska.
But first we stop in the mesmerizing Carcross just before the US of A frontier, and God is this place so fracking mesmerizing I mean, I had heard that this village was charming and all, but never did I expect such beauty.
We walk around town, hand in hand, looking at the houses that could potentially be ours one day in a lifetime far, FAR away…
We dream of a cozy nest by the lake, one where we would raise her child together as well as an adopted one… These dreamy contemplations seem so fracking beautiful yet so distant... almost born out of pure impossible speculations floating just beyond the horizon… Could we ever reconcile different nationalities or her establish sedentary family life with my savage lust for devouring all the nomadic plains of the world… Perhaps, but the odds seem minuscule at best…
We cross midway through the bridge, but remain unsettled on which shore to choose, on which reality to establish ourselves in… Love is beautiful when it is consumed on the seducing plains of dreamland, but could we ever ground ourselves in some sort of reality and plant some roots, that is the question...
Nonetheless, sometimes you are in the right place, with the right person and in the right time, and that's all that fracking matters AKA
Peace
After our caresses deeply found each other in the heart of Kluane National Park where even sightings of a bear, fox, moose, porky pine and deers would act as witnesses to our ephemeral communal, X and I decide that it is time to test the international boundaries and make a trip towards Skagway, Alaska.
But first we stop in the mesmerizing Carcross just before the US of A frontier, and God is this place so fracking mesmerizing
I mean, I had heard that this village was charming and all, but never did I expect such beauty.We walk around town, hand in hand, looking at the houses that could potentially be ours one day in a lifetime far, FAR away…
We dream of a cozy nest by the lake, one where we would raise her child together as well as an adopted one… These dreamy contemplations seem so fracking beautiful yet so distant... almost born out of pure impossible speculations floating just beyond the horizon… Could we ever reconcile different nationalities or her establish sedentary family life with my savage lust for devouring all the nomadic plains of the world… Perhaps, but the odds seem minuscule at best…
We cross midway through the bridge, but remain unsettled on which shore to choose, on which reality to establish ourselves in… Love is beautiful when it is consumed on the seducing plains of dreamland, but could we ever ground ourselves in some sort of reality and plant some roots, that is the question...
Nonetheless, sometimes you are in the right place, with the right person and in the right time, and that's all that fracking matters AKA
Peace
11-08-2019
, 07:34 PM
Anthologies of Mademoiselle X, part 3 : Crossing the Frontiers
We arrive at the US of A border late in the afternoon. X gets a good lolll at the potential reversal of role where a white guy with antecedents with the law (marijuana and DUI) can potentially draw more attention to himself then a Latina woman (albeit with a virgin criminal record) can But, alas, in 2019 under Trump’s nationalist’s regime, having a brown skin and Spanish background are FAR more serious offences then a documented past with the law
#F**ktheFascists
Nonetheless, after 10 minutes of thorough interrogation from that biitch of a border officer (and who frowned at the notion of us originally meeting online and of X not recalling the name of Skagway), X is granted entry and a 6 month visa, go figure
Skagway is in fact a more colourful representation of a Wild Wild West town of ore then even Dawson
You can (almost) easily picture Soapy Smith being gunned down a hundred years ago in the middle of the street in broadlight
X and I do not make love in the streets. Do not find an alleyway to savagely make out, pressed against the wall. Nor do we run into the woods and f**k like little bunnies. Nope. Instead we find a cozy restaurant, order us a delectable little meal and eat casually like a decade-old couple, chatting away like lovers without the romantic lure of a candlelight.
This is what it’s all about. A nice dinner. Sharing memories. Getting to know her. Feeling aroused by her gentle hand pressed against mine, her leg underneath the table. And… that’s it. It is time to return to Canada soil, as this is not our promiseland.
Peace
We arrive at the US of A border late in the afternoon. X gets a good lolll at the potential reversal of role where a white guy with antecedents with the law (marijuana and DUI) can potentially draw more attention to himself then a Latina woman (albeit with a virgin criminal record) can
But, alas, in 2019 under Trump’s nationalist’s regime, having a brown skin and Spanish background are FAR more serious offences then a documented past with the law #F**ktheFascists
Nonetheless, after 10 minutes of thorough interrogation from that biitch of a border officer (and who frowned at the notion of us originally meeting online and of X not recalling the name of Skagway), X is granted entry and a 6 month visa, go figure
Skagway is in fact a more colourful representation of a Wild Wild West town of ore then even Dawson
You can (almost) easily picture Soapy Smith being gunned down a hundred years ago in the middle of the street in broadlight
X and I do not make love in the streets. Do not find an alleyway to savagely make out, pressed against the wall. Nor do we run into the woods and f**k like little bunnies. Nope. Instead we find a cozy restaurant, order us a delectable little meal and eat casually like a decade-old couple, chatting away like lovers without the romantic lure of a candlelight.
This is what it’s all about. A nice dinner. Sharing memories. Getting to know her. Feeling aroused by her gentle hand pressed against mine, her leg underneath the table. And… that’s it. It is time to return to Canada soil, as this is not our promiseland.
Peace
11-16-2019
, 07:27 AM
The Anthologies of Mademoiselle X, Part 4 : The Separation
As we are taciturnly driving up Dempster Highway towards Tombestone National Park (located just south of the North-West-Territories border), I realize that a great distance has nestled itself in between X and I... A great big gulf that might be too TITANIC to reconcile... Sigh and a thousand times f**king sigh
We wordlessly park the vehicle, nonchalantly grab our bottles of water and the bear spray before engaging into the heart of the tundra. It feels absolutely amazing to leave behind civilization, all the worries that come with modern life and to let ourselves be embraced by this natural serenity... Yet, in the back of my mind, this rift that is our lover’s quarrel is slowly tearing me apart…
I feel her slipping away in between my palms, waning towards a land far-far away... Already embracing in the distance her bf, her son, her work, a reality in which I have no part in... It was great to indulge in the temporary lost innocence of Adam and Eve, but beyond a certain space-time boundary that we will name reality for discursive sakes , the reverie does dissipate itself...
Would have I deliberately engaged in the wild adventure that have been these past 2 weeks if I knew that an ensuing wave of sadness was going to wash me ashore for the next 2 months... God yes
Would I still want to give up everything moving forward just to be with her if I knew that I would end up as another abandoned lover in this (apparent) repetitive cyclical pattern of hers... Yup, I'm all-in 
Would I give up the promise of an eternity just to spend a few years by her side, holding her tiny hand and marching towards our earthly and materialistic ambitions together... You betcha
But in the end, she still walks away... She does turn around one last time, glances at me with those big brown eyes and an idyllic smile painted on her face, yet I know that this it. This separation is definitive. All that remains is blissful memories of colourful fading reveries. Or the regret of what could of been.
RIP Mademoiselle X
As we are taciturnly driving up Dempster Highway towards Tombestone National Park (located just south of the North-West-Territories border), I realize that a great distance has nestled itself in between X and I... A great big gulf that might be too TITANIC to reconcile... Sigh and a thousand times f**king sigh
We wordlessly park the vehicle, nonchalantly grab our bottles of water and the bear spray before engaging into the heart of the tundra. It feels absolutely amazing to leave behind civilization, all the worries that come with modern life and to let ourselves be embraced by this natural serenity... Yet, in the back of my mind, this rift that is our lover’s quarrel is slowly tearing me apart…
I feel her slipping away in between my palms, waning towards a land far-far away... Already embracing in the distance her bf, her son, her work, a reality in which I have no part in... It was great to indulge in the temporary lost innocence of Adam and Eve, but beyond a certain space-time boundary that we will name reality for discursive sakes , the reverie does dissipate itself...
Would have I deliberately engaged in the wild adventure that have been these past 2 weeks if I knew that an ensuing wave of sadness was going to wash me ashore for the next 2 months... God yes
Would I still want to give up everything moving forward just to be with her if I knew that I would end up as another abandoned lover in this (apparent) repetitive cyclical pattern of hers... Yup, I'm all-in Would I give up the promise of an eternity just to spend a few years by her side, holding her tiny hand and marching towards our earthly and materialistic ambitions together... You betcha But in the end, she still walks away... She does turn around one last time, glances at me with those big brown eyes and an idyllic smile painted on her face, yet I know that this it. This separation is definitive. All that remains is blissful memories of colourful fading reveries. Or the regret of what could of been.
RIP Mademoiselle X
Last edited by Dubnjoy000; 11-16-2019 at 07:36 AM.
11-23-2019
, 08:44 PM
Mediterranean Coasts
Malaga, Spain, December 24, 2018. It must of been something toxic in the sushi... You go ahead and trust raw fish with your health, before finding yourself back in your AirBnB, shivering like a little fracking boy who just got hit with the highest fever known to peoplekind It isn't until I stick a finger down my throat and puke the living shyt out of me, that I finally feel (almost) human again... I am not one to think much of Xmas, but finding myself sick, vomiting my guts out alone in this foreign country, is just fracking taking its emotional toll on me
Much like it did back last year on the Costa del Sol, The Mediterranean coast feels kinda empty despite its discernible allure.
I mean, the architecture is candy for the eyes, the sea is pleasing, yet it all feels like glitter without substance... A small albeit vanishing breeze in the wind... And despite this being Europe and all, there seems to be a lack of culture, or at least substantial depth...
None was more ostensible of this superficial glamour then Monaco, who's glow is shining as can be, yet fades away in a blink.
Peace
Malaga, Spain, December 24, 2018. It must of been something toxic in the sushi... You go ahead and trust raw fish with your health, before finding yourself back in your AirBnB, shivering like a little fracking boy who just got hit with the highest fever known to peoplekind
It isn't until I stick a finger down my throat and puke the living shyt out of me, that I finally feel (almost) human again... I am not one to think much of Xmas, but finding myself sick, vomiting my guts out alone in this foreign country, is just fracking taking its emotional toll on me Much like it did back last year on the Costa del Sol, The Mediterranean coast feels kinda empty despite its discernible allure.
I mean, the architecture is candy for the eyes, the sea is pleasing, yet it all feels like glitter without substance... A small albeit vanishing breeze in the wind... And despite this being Europe and all, there seems to be a lack of culture, or at least substantial depth...
None was more ostensible of this superficial glamour then Monaco, who's glow is shining as can be, yet fades away in a blink.
Peace
Last edited by Dubnjoy000; 11-23-2019 at 09:04 PM.
11-26-2019
, 10:29 AM
Like a Lyon
After spending 5 days grinding/exploring the Nice/Monaca coast, it was time to hit the road and cover some territory yo. After all, The upcoming Unibet Open in Paris only leaves me with barely a few days to cover some ground. So I hop into the shower, jump into my pants and slip into my (worn out) backpacker shoes, and off we are, with destinations like Lyon, Grenobles and Geneva on the horizon before looping back to Paris Disclaimer : given the frantic pace with which I will engage these next destinations, the nature of my next few imminent posts might resemble this same forced promptitude
#F**kAllDaTurtles
Lyon is located in France's central-east area (470kms south of Paris and 320kms north of Marseille/the Mediterranean coast), but more importantly, has an antique vibe to it, something that was lacking in Nice, me thinks.
Once again, I take pleasure in long walks while snapping away pics like a little fracking tourist yo
Like has been the case for the past week, we did get a solid amount of rain, but nothing like the fracking snow storms that are hitting Quebec
Next up : Grenobles, Geneva and Paris, followed by Brussels and Amsterdam, the latter 2 that will serve as an intermediary in Between UO Paris and EPT Prague. Let's bink a tournament, shall we not
Folks, if you have enjoyed this blog over the years, here is how you can give a little back : please take 2 seconds right now and close your eyes... Focus for a moment and deliberately send a little run good my way in the form of good vibrations, deal
Women's right protest. The French (and Quebecois) are notorious for taking the streets Revolution style yo when there is a politico-social reason to do so
Peace
After spending 5 days grinding/exploring the Nice/Monaca coast, it was time to hit the road and cover some territory yo. After all, The upcoming Unibet Open in Paris only leaves me with barely a few days to cover some ground. So I hop into the shower, jump into my pants and slip into my (worn out) backpacker shoes, and off we are, with destinations like Lyon, Grenobles and Geneva on the horizon before looping back to Paris
Disclaimer : given the frantic pace with which I will engage these next destinations, the nature of my next few imminent posts might resemble this same forced promptitude #F**kAllDaTurtles
Lyon is located in France's central-east area (470kms south of Paris and 320kms north of Marseille/the Mediterranean coast), but more importantly, has an antique vibe to it, something that was lacking in Nice, me thinks.
Once again, I take pleasure in long walks while snapping away pics like a little fracking tourist yo
Like has been the case for the past week, we did get a solid amount of rain, but nothing like the fracking snow storms that are hitting Quebec
Next up : Grenobles, Geneva and Paris, followed by Brussels and Amsterdam, the latter 2 that will serve as an intermediary in Between UO Paris and EPT Prague. Let's bink a tournament, shall we not
Folks, if you have enjoyed this blog over the years, here is how you can give a little back : please take 2 seconds right now and close your eyes... Focus for a moment and deliberately send a little run good my way in the form of good vibrations, deal
Women's right protest. The French (and Quebecois) are notorious for taking the streets Revolution style yo when there is a politico-social reason to do so
Peace
11-30-2019
, 02:54 PM
Les Alpes
Next up, Grenobles. Grenobles, Lyon, Nice... all names that ring a bell, that somewhat evoke this uncanny familiarity... like a distant conversation, a forgotten reference, a faded daydream… These abstract names that float aimlessly around, without images or memories to represent them… Nonetheless and despite the lyrical lure that these mythos could potentially represent, for yours truly, they are but mere layovers on my way to Paris, anonymous names listed on a random map
I did not expect Grenobles to be this pretty, with a picturesque riverside mightily resembling the one found in Florence
The 24h go by pretty quickly, leaving me with barely enough tic-tacs to walk around, to take some pics, eat out, grind and get a massage
For those of yous that do not follow my PG & C, I am presently on a 28k downswing (steepest in my life) over a 2 month period. Which is not the best valley to sink in before engaging this MTT grind that will see my BIs surpass the 40k mark (90k in BIs for 2019).
Darn, you used up all your run good or it just sparsely shows up whenever it wants Whichever the case, thx bro, I appreciate it 
Thx friend
Peace
Next up, Grenobles. Grenobles, Lyon, Nice... all names that ring a bell, that somewhat evoke this uncanny familiarity... like a distant conversation, a forgotten reference, a faded daydream… These abstract names that float aimlessly around, without images or memories to represent them… Nonetheless and despite the lyrical lure that these mythos could potentially represent, for yours truly, they are but mere layovers on my way to Paris, anonymous names listed on a random map
I did not expect Grenobles to be this pretty, with a picturesque riverside mightily resembling the one found in Florence
The 24h go by pretty quickly, leaving me with barely enough tic-tacs to walk around, to take some pics, eat out, grind and get a massage
For those of yous that do not follow my PG & C, I am presently on a 28k downswing (steepest in my life) over a 2 month period. Which is not the best valley to sink in before engaging this MTT grind that will see my BIs surpass the 40k mark (90k in BIs for 2019).
Whichever the case, thx bro, I appreciate it Thx friend
Peace
Last edited by Dubnjoy000; 11-30-2019 at 03:02 PM.
12-03-2019
, 08:18 AM
The Sound of Music AKA Geneva
With my exhaustive understanding of Europe, the World, life, the Universe and all the f**king Multiverses constituting Time, Space, Dimensions (and/or the absence-of...), I eye-ball with perfection the map of France and decide to take a loop into Geneva, Switzerland because... why the f**k not, right So it is with this same knowledgable precision that I book an AirBnB on the French side of the border, one that, even though it is located at a mere 40kms or so from Geneva (and 90 minutes drive through the mountains) and accessible by train, was nonetheless a 6h+ detour by means of the latter 
The lady from the AirBnB was understanding and refunded me without taking any cheap shots at my geography savviness... phew
I guess I always knew that Western Europe was expensive, but rich places like these (and Monaca, for instance), make a first world country like Canada feel fracking cheap as hell I guess highly coveted places with a limited amount of space will just see their prices sky-rocket (think the West American-Canadian coast), a phenomenon that will just accentuate with the growth of the world population, alas
Nonetheless, Geneva is GOAT in terms of eye-candy beauty. Roaming the streets is a delight, despite the light rain and absence of specific plans yo
But like is the case lately with this middle-age-backpacker-with-a-suitcase mentality of mine, my time in Switzerland comes to expiration in a matter of hours, minutes really... An empty cup of coffee with a faded adrenaline rush, really
Next up : Unibet Open in Paris.
Peace
Spoiler:
With my exhaustive understanding of Europe, the World, life, the Universe and all the f**king Multiverses constituting Time, Space, Dimensions (and/or the absence-of...), I eye-ball with perfection the map of France and decide to take a loop into Geneva, Switzerland because... why the f**k not, right
So it is with this same knowledgable precision that I book an AirBnB on the French side of the border, one that, even though it is located at a mere 40kms or so from Geneva (and 90 minutes drive through the mountains) and accessible by train, was nonetheless a 6h+ detour by means of the latter The lady from the AirBnB was understanding and refunded me without taking any cheap shots at my geography savviness... phew I guess I always knew that Western Europe was expensive, but rich places like these (and Monaca, for instance), make a first world country like Canada feel fracking cheap as hell
I guess highly coveted places with a limited amount of space will just see their prices sky-rocket (think the West American-Canadian coast), a phenomenon that will just accentuate with the growth of the world population, alas Nonetheless, Geneva is GOAT in terms of eye-candy beauty. Roaming the streets is a delight, despite the light rain and absence of specific plans yo
But like is the case lately with this middle-age-backpacker-with-a-suitcase mentality of mine, my time in Switzerland comes to expiration in a matter of hours, minutes really... An empty cup of coffee with a faded adrenaline rush, really
Next up : Unibet Open in Paris.
Peace
Last edited by Dubnjoy000; 12-03-2019 at 08:25 AM.
12-05-2019
, 09:05 AM
Parisian Loops
This blog started an odd 6 years, 4 months and 5 days ago, at a time when I was still living in the Yukon grinding lowstakes, and with this dream to bink a big score in a live MTT yo I had a ticket for Paris in hand (for the WSOPE), a BR of barely 20k (not even covering my student loans, personal debts and credit card balance) and a nasty drinking problem I mean, the fact that I had managed to survive for 3 years as a pro while being an alcoholic and somehow been successful on growing my BR on top of that (I originally quit my job as a chef with a mere few thousand to my name), was impressive af in itself But nonetheless, f**k have I come Lonnnnnggg ways My BR has grown to mid 6 digits, I have no debts to my name, plenty of investments and a healthy dream to bink a BIG score in a live MTT as a last objective that I want to accomplish before semi-retirement (and lest not forget : happier and more at peace yo ). Call it a f**king circle, if you wish
Paris for me has more a fictional lure then a real life one… All the passion that the Henry Miller’s, Mano Solo's, Dali's or Picasso's of the world have expressed for this city, hold more power upon me then the actual physical place does. TBH, when a Parisian inquires “do you like Paris?”, I shrug it off, look uninterested, and simply answer “no, not really”.
Yet it remains one of these larger than life cities, a place you are supposed to LUV, right, as how many people see their eyes sparkle up with when the city of love is evoked… Or like my Romanian-Canadian friend, who comes from humble origins, put it : "I was not supposed to visit Paris in my lifetime, as it was only rich people that got to do this trip"
But I don’t know, the glitter of it all fails to amaze me… Much like the Mediterranean Coast in France-Spain, tbh where it is all shine while lacking a little bit of substance, me thinks... I mean, one cannot say that Paris is lacking in culture, yet, IDK...
Nonetheless, my purpose of being here is to grind a tournament ; and that I do, successfully cashing for 3k and putting myself in a good spot to make a deep run until... Until I pull a Vanessa Selbst spew, obviously, and I bluff my A high into top set
Next up : Belgium, Amsterdam, Prague.
Peace
This blog started an odd 6 years, 4 months and 5 days ago, at a time when I was still living in the Yukon grinding lowstakes, and with this dream to bink a big score in a live MTT yo
I had a ticket for Paris in hand (for the WSOPE), a BR of barely 20k (not even covering my student loans, personal debts and credit card balance) and a nasty drinking problem I mean, the fact that I had managed to survive for 3 years as a pro while being an alcoholic and somehow been successful on growing my BR on top of that (I originally quit my job as a chef with a mere few thousand to my name), was impressive af in itself But nonetheless, f**k have I come Lonnnnnggg ways My BR has grown to mid 6 digits, I have no debts to my name, plenty of investments and a healthy dream to bink a BIG score in a live MTT as a last objective that I want to accomplish before semi-retirement (and lest not forget : happier and more at peace yo ). Call it a f**king circle, if you wish Paris for me has more a fictional lure then a real life one… All the passion that the Henry Miller’s, Mano Solo's, Dali's or Picasso's of the world have expressed for this city, hold more power upon me then the actual physical place does. TBH, when a Parisian inquires “do you like Paris?”, I shrug it off, look uninterested, and simply answer “no, not really”.
Yet it remains one of these larger than life cities, a place you are supposed to LUV, right, as how many people see their eyes sparkle up with
when the city of love is evoked… Or like my Romanian-Canadian friend, who comes from humble origins, put it : "I was not supposed to visit Paris in my lifetime, as it was only rich people that got to do this trip" Spoiler:
But I don’t know, the glitter of it all fails to amaze me… Much like the Mediterranean Coast in France-Spain, tbh where it is all shine while lacking a little bit of substance, me thinks... I mean, one cannot say that Paris is lacking in culture, yet, IDK...
Nonetheless, my purpose of being here is to grind a tournament ; and that I do, successfully cashing for 3k and putting myself in a good spot to make a deep run until... Until I pull a Vanessa Selbst spew, obviously, and I bluff my A high into top set
Next up : Belgium, Amsterdam, Prague.
Peace
Last edited by Dubnjoy000; 12-05-2019 at 09:21 AM.
12-10-2019
, 09:05 PM
How ironic it is that I was just referencing the inception of this blog years back and here you pop up, one of the first posters ITT About alcoholism, I strongly disagree when peeps label it as a black or white mental disease where you are either an alcoholic, or not. Nope. Like pretty much any defilement, it is better to picture it as part of a spectrum then a binary equation. If the age of analytics has taught us anything, it is that nothing is absolute, but rather all relative, nuanced, subject to statistical variance/deviations... Anyhow, my level of alcoholism was a middling one. An alcoholic, I certainly was, but one that took months off every year (for meditation retreats), many days off every week. Nevertheless, the more you consume over time, the more you become addicted. My addiction level is high enough that while I do not avoid completely alcohol (I still take sips, indulge in wine for cooking etc.), I nonetheless avoid taking full drinks.
As far as how I managed to transcend this declination, sorta speak, I feel that I was always going to quit. It was just meant as a temporary phase (that did, granted, go longer than necessary). Call it self-medication in the face of depression and anxiety. All defilements that meditation was eventually going to release
So it was just a matter of time. I have a buddy that has also quit this year. He is equally a serious Vipassana meditator. And as such, he was always going to quit. In fact, if we were to run the simulation 1000 times of my life with alcohol while revolving around Vipassana meditation, I would perhaps quit 1000/1000 times... Such is the strength of Vipassana. And awareness of self/non-self. Peace
12-11-2019
, 03:56 PM
Quote:
As far as how I managed to transcend this declination, sorta speak, I feel that I was always going to quit. It was just meant as a temporary phase (that did, granted, go longer than necessary). Call it self-medication in the face of depression and anxiety. All defilements that meditation was eventually going to release So it was just a matter of time.
So it was just a matter of time.
Anyway I have always been a fan of your blog. Keep up the good work!
12-14-2019
, 09:41 AM
En Brussels
When I cross the Belgium border, I leave behind a French territory for another francophone one, albeit much more charming, me thinks, and lovely, despite of course a sample size that limits me to 2 days of visiting.
There is some sort of ease and calmness to the flow of the daily life over here...
But then again, perhaps it is a little bit too much composed to my liking...
Am not sure, as the impression left after 2 days spent in a city, depends on various factors fluctuating from the weather, the location of hotel, the brief encounters etc., hence one's opinion could promptly be swayed into a direction or another...
Nonetheless, it is with a smile on my face that I hop on a train from Brussels to Amsterdam yo
Peace
When I cross the Belgium border, I leave behind a French territory for another francophone one, albeit much more charming, me thinks, and lovely, despite of course a sample size that limits me to 2 days of visiting.
There is some sort of ease and calmness to the flow of the daily life over here...
But then again, perhaps it is a little bit too much composed to my liking...
Am not sure, as the impression left after 2 days spent in a city, depends on various factors fluctuating from the weather, the location of hotel, the brief encounters etc., hence one's opinion could promptly be swayed into a direction or another...
Nonetheless, it is with a smile on my face that I hop on a train from Brussels to Amsterdam yo
Peace
12-24-2019
, 11:34 PM
Red Lights
Manila, Philippines, December of 2012. I have just spent 7 days in Kep, Cambodia, grinding, working on my game and staying away from the urban potential pitfalls (think women, drunk gambling, stumbling back to the hotel blackout-drunk at 8am) that was Phnom Penh. But alas and a thousand-and-one times f**king alas, I am bored af Here is the thing about substance abuse : you get restless, blame it on monotony, go out and get wasted until no tomorrow, sleep-it-in for 2-3 days, feel antsy once again when the dreadful illness of the hangover has faded and rinse-repeat Ad nauseam this vicious cycle. You simply go on associating this "boredom" with a lack of excitement, while failing to realize that tucked behind this languor, hides years of implicit suppression, depression, anxiety, AKA all these strong dormant emotions that you kept masked underneath an overshadowing restlessness… And yet, I’m still bored.
Amsterdam, AKA the Red light city… This haven of joyous indulgences where hedonism is seemingly encouraged, the pleasures of the flesh stimulated… Yet, despite the luscious temptations of the outside world, my juvenile instincts are simply lacking. I wish I had this urge to conquer the world, to drop mushrooms and observe my body fracking vibrate under the aura of meditation, but alas, this manical energy is simply not at the rendez-vous…
Part of me just wants to have a mundane dinner with a loved one, to hold her hand, to aimlessly be walking down random streets while staring at nothing except the entryway to her eyes… The small stuff, I tell you, and not really what inspires plans of World Domination…
Nonetheless, I let the sadness surface, observe it, and walk with it side-by-side like a shadow comapanion, thus not letting it infringe the sunshine of this lovely day from pouring in But who am I kidding : all you need is fracking 4-5 coffees, to pound those beans down and let the caffeine do its f**king thing before conquering the fracking world
Amsterdam is perhaps #2 in terms of European cities that I would want to live in. It has all the elements I seek : a green outlook, progressive citizens, numerous pedestrian streets in the downtown area, a poker and meditation scene, decent food and etcetera, etc. I guess that the only areas that Barcelona clearly beats out Amsterdam, is in the linguistic arena - Spanish/Catalan >>> Dutch/English - and culturally - Spanish music, literature, cinema and the general warmth of the women.
Peace
Manila, Philippines, December of 2012. I have just spent 7 days in Kep, Cambodia, grinding, working on my game and staying away from the urban potential pitfalls (think women, drunk gambling, stumbling back to the hotel blackout-drunk at 8am) that was Phnom Penh. But alas and a thousand-and-one times f**king alas, I am bored af
Here is the thing about substance abuse : you get restless, blame it on monotony, go out and get wasted until no tomorrow, sleep-it-in for 2-3 days, feel antsy once again when the dreadful illness of the hangover has faded and rinse-repeat Ad nauseam this vicious cycle. You simply go on associating this "boredom" with a lack of excitement, while failing to realize that tucked behind this languor, hides years of implicit suppression, depression, anxiety, AKA all these strong dormant emotions that you kept masked underneath an overshadowing restlessness… And yet, I’m still bored.Amsterdam, AKA the Red light city… This haven of joyous indulgences where hedonism is seemingly encouraged, the pleasures of the flesh stimulated… Yet, despite the luscious temptations of the outside world, my juvenile instincts are simply lacking. I wish I had this urge to conquer the world, to drop mushrooms and observe my body fracking vibrate under the aura of meditation, but alas, this manical energy is simply not at the rendez-vous…
Part of me just wants to have a mundane dinner with a loved one, to hold her hand, to aimlessly be walking down random streets while staring at nothing except the entryway to her eyes… The small stuff, I tell you, and not really what inspires plans of World Domination…
Nonetheless, I let the sadness surface, observe it, and walk with it side-by-side like a shadow comapanion, thus not letting it infringe the sunshine of this lovely day from pouring in
But who am I kidding : all you need is fracking 4-5 coffees, to pound those beans down and let the caffeine do its f**king thing before conquering the fracking world Amsterdam is perhaps #2 in terms of European cities that I would want to live in. It has all the elements I seek : a green outlook, progressive citizens, numerous pedestrian streets in the downtown area, a poker and meditation scene, decent food and etcetera, etc. I guess that the only areas that Barcelona clearly beats out Amsterdam, is in the linguistic arena - Spanish/Catalan >>> Dutch/English - and culturally - Spanish music, literature, cinema and the general warmth of the women.
Peace
Last edited by Dubnjoy000; 12-24-2019 at 11:51 PM.
12-27-2019
, 01:40 AM
EPT Prague
When it is not the wedding of a dear buddy that is calling me towards the land of Czechia, it is da game of pokerz AKA the EPT events being held at the Hilton and gathering folks from all over the Old Continent and beyond yo
Unfortunately and unbeknownst to me before showing up with high hopes and all, I go ahead and commit ICM suicide in the first event by bubbling (2 off) with a 9bbs stack 99 < TT Then the poker Gods decide that 83 < 17% is not sufficient enough to hold up in this bottom-world and that AKs does indeed suck balls for mortals like me when I spike an A on the flop vs QQ, but alas, the Q on the turn clouds any dreams of conquering the world in the 2k (both pots were TITANIC af ) And then, in a final affair to hammer that last nail and to shut down the series for yours truly, my 2 bullets in the in the 1k PLO do not go beyond 90 minutes of play
But in the midst of all this misfiring, I get a message from X informing me that she is in town for a couple days with a group of students from Mexico (she works as a tour guide). So we meet up for coffee, exchange a few heated words, apologize, make-up and decide to meet in Oporto Portugal the following week for a WE of romance (or so I thought… ).
Prague during Xmas is definitely a different portrait all together, but it is nice to roam around, meet up with friends and all Besides, there are definitely some worse places to be during the Holidays
Peace
When it is not the wedding of a dear buddy that is calling me towards the land of Czechia, it is da game of pokerz AKA the EPT events being held at the Hilton and gathering folks from all over the Old Continent and beyond yo
Unfortunately and unbeknownst to me before showing up with high hopes and all, I go ahead and commit ICM suicide in the first event by bubbling (2 off) with a 9bbs stack 99 < TT
Then the poker Gods decide that 83 < 17% is not sufficient enough to hold up in this bottom-world and that AKs does indeed suck balls for mortals like me when I spike an A on the flop vs QQ, but alas, the Q on the turn clouds any dreams of conquering the world in the 2k (both pots were TITANIC af ) And then, in a final affair to hammer that last nail and to shut down the series for yours truly, my 2 bullets in the in the 1k PLO do not go beyond 90 minutes of play Spoiler:
But in the midst of all this misfiring, I get a message from X informing me that she is in town for a couple days with a group of students from Mexico (she works as a tour guide). So we meet up for coffee, exchange a few heated words, apologize, make-up and decide to meet in Oporto Portugal the following week for a WE of romance (or so I thought…
).Prague during Xmas is definitely a different portrait all together, but it is nice to roam around, meet up with friends and all
Besides, there are definitely some worse places to be during the Holidays Peace
Last edited by Dubnjoy000; 12-27-2019 at 01:50 AM.
12-31-2019
, 12:46 AM
The Anthologies of Mademoiselle X, Part 5 : The Unexpected (Emergency) Exit
I should of anticipated the worst when X greeting's hug at the airport was as cold as an ice shower while the butterflies in my tummy were nervously flapping around at her simple sight... Nonetheless, we gather our stuff, walk outside the terminal and jump into our Uber like an old - perhaps even antique... - couple. Furthermore, she does not smile nor say a simple "thank you" when I hand her over the carefully selected box of exquisite Belgium chocolate... Something has gone awry since the Yukon : if she presented the best version of herself back when she was on vacation 2 months ago in the Canadian Arctic - located far away from all normalized civilization, might I add -, I am stuck with the worst version of X on this rainy Portugal night And God is the flip side of her toxic af
We finally make it to our seaside spa hotel which she had handpicked as our getaway/love nest for the weekend, but X instantly spews out a plethora of criticisms. The mattress is not to her comfort. The water is lukewarm. Her clothes are all dirty. I left the closet door open. The rain won't stop outside. Etcetera and f**king etc. You name it, she spurts it out We could be in fracking heaven on Earth that she would spot the lone serpent lurking around miles away... FML. Why o why did I fall for this one
Our caresses fail to be heartfelt on this cold evening... Our kisses fall flat... Our orgasms barely resonate or leave an echo outside of a little primal mumble... We soon seek our own sides of the bed, no longer wanting to pretend the existential rift is non-existent, smack in the middling of the bed, repelling us worlds apart
The next day none of the dinner, the movie nor the walk in the rain can bring some semblance of connection, as she persists in criticizing every single fracking thing about my person, trying by all means to crawl underneath my skin and chew me inside-out It works... It definitely works, but I persist in politely pointing out to her that our lifeline together is rapidly expiring ; but, alas, to absolutely no f**king avail I don't even try cuddling her in the evening, let alone engaging in (fake) preliminaries... Instead I convince myself to sleep on it instead of coming to a harsh decision...
- "I am not sure I want to be spending the day with you" I state as she walks back from her morning shower.
- "Do you want me to leave?" she simply asks, barely affected by my seemingly strong stance...
- "Well that is up to you" I pursue, proud and determined, yet still believing that perhaps this might be the odd quantum reality where we can discuss our disaffection like reasonable beings... But alas and a thousand times alas : our lifetime is fracking punctuated with gutless separations, from birth when we come storming out of our mom's tomb like a lamenting crying baby until death AKA the ultimate disjunction of them all, and this one is but a mere - albeit painful af - rupture along my mortal path...
She packs up her stuff, gets up from the bed, turns around one last time with that lonnnnnnnnnggg devasted sad face of hers and mutters "ok, I am leaving now". My whole being wants to get up, grab her tightly in my arms and hug her until the end of times, but this fear that she might leave me hanging like an opened fracking scar stops me. Separations are tough.
RIP X
I should of anticipated the worst when X greeting's hug at the airport was as cold as an ice shower while the butterflies in my tummy were nervously flapping around at her simple sight...
Nonetheless, we gather our stuff, walk outside the terminal and jump into our Uber like an old - perhaps even antique... - couple. Furthermore, she does not smile nor say a simple "thank you" when I hand her over the carefully selected box of exquisite Belgium chocolate... Something has gone awry since the Yukon : if she presented the best version of herself back when she was on vacation 2 months ago in the Canadian Arctic - located far away from all normalized civilization, might I add -, I am stuck with the worst version of X on this rainy Portugal night And God is the flip side of her toxic af We finally make it to our seaside spa hotel which she had handpicked as our getaway/love nest for the weekend, but X instantly spews out a plethora of criticisms. The mattress is not to her comfort. The water is lukewarm. Her clothes are all dirty. I left the closet door open. The rain won't stop outside. Etcetera and f**king etc. You name it, she spurts it out
We could be in fracking heaven on Earth that she would spot the lone serpent lurking around miles away... FML. Why o why did I fall for this one Our caresses fail to be heartfelt on this cold evening... Our kisses fall flat... Our orgasms barely resonate or leave an echo outside of a little primal mumble... We soon seek our own sides of the bed, no longer wanting to pretend the existential rift is non-existent, smack in the middling of the bed, repelling us worlds apart
The next day none of the dinner, the movie nor the walk in the rain can bring some semblance of connection, as she persists in criticizing every single fracking thing about my person, trying by all means to crawl underneath my skin and chew me inside-out
It works... It definitely works, but I persist in politely pointing out to her that our lifeline together is rapidly expiring ; but, alas, to absolutely no f**king avail I don't even try cuddling her in the evening, let alone engaging in (fake) preliminaries... Instead I convince myself to sleep on it instead of coming to a harsh decision...- "I am not sure I want to be spending the day with you" I state as she walks back from her morning shower.
- "Do you want me to leave?" she simply asks, barely affected by my seemingly strong stance...
- "Well that is up to you" I pursue, proud and determined, yet still believing that perhaps this might be the odd quantum reality where we can discuss our disaffection like reasonable beings... But alas and a thousand times alas : our lifetime is fracking punctuated with gutless separations, from birth when we come storming out of our mom's tomb like a lamenting crying baby until death AKA the ultimate disjunction of them all, and this one is but a mere - albeit painful af
- rupture along my mortal path...She packs up her stuff, gets up from the bed, turns around one last time with that lonnnnnnnnnggg devasted sad face of hers and mutters "ok, I am leaving now". My whole being wants to get up, grab her tightly in my arms and hug her until the end of times, but this fear that she might leave me hanging like an opened fracking scar stops me. Separations are tough.
RIP X
Last edited by Dubnjoy000; 12-31-2019 at 12:52 AM.