Bloodsport, pt 128

I do have two blogs, one in german which is probably the more fun thing because it's my native language and I am wittier in it. None the less am I trying not to reproduce myself, I'm always writing about different things in both places. Which is kinda hard because most of the time not enough intersting or even fun things happen to me to fill one of these things. But, you know, after rambling on about all the anoying insects who seek shelter in my appartment lately in my other blog I wanted to give you a treat of the same astonishing quality. Alas I seem to have none. What happened to me yesterday - and what I found hilarious at the time - is the following: I went to a Cafe with my friend Andrea. Of course that was neither funny nor even all that good. She was talking me down a bit about my lack of perspectives for my future near or far. And after half an hour of her motherly talk I fled to the bathroom for a little break. What I found on the way there then actually kinda made my day. There was this poster. You can see it above. That's a guy I know from a club and the two times we met so far we ended up in bed together. His daywork is nurse at a psychiatric ward. He's nice, I like him. We usually do not talk on the phone or anything, we just have sex every few months. Or years even. He now is in this play - as you can see above - adapting Fight Club. I thought it was funny but maybe it's not. My friend wasn't all that amused when I told her that I slept with the bloody guy on that poster. Twice. To me it was, because after you had sex with somebody you know something about them only few others do. There is some kind of secret bond, even if you never see them again. Or only on a poster.
And now you think I'm a slut. My friend kind of does. Wrong. I had a rather slutty phase but I don't think that's all that bad. You live and you learn as the Cardigans once sang. That's true.