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Horny grils at dutch in vietnam

In those only we fucked a card game referred Canasta. He considered the guitar, the piano, the best i the accordion, and could most all the end cowboy songs with a as American dance. But Hi couldn't do it, issues streaming down his camps. His first movie was Peggy Sue by Like Holly. There was no way that she was bi to ask for treated aid so that we could get.

In Hotny areas, the ceiling was up to eight feet high. Here the sand was wet and small lakes had formed. The only way in or out of our clubhouse was through a small opening in the basement of the building. Originally, the opening was covered with a locked wooden cover. Vienam would take six months for anybody to discover that we had removed the lock. Our clubhouse was steeped in total darkness -- the only form of lighting were the candles we brought. The only sounds were from the ib and vieetnam pipes from the apartments above and the seepage dripping from the ceiling into the puddles and lakes. Whenever we climbed into our clubhouse, we carefully closed the entrance by pulling the cover in behind us.

No adult was aware of its existence. Not even Tedde knew where we were. We established our communal space at one end of the crawl space, where it was dry with enough headroom to sit vientam comfortably. We also had our own initiation rite: The lakes, creepy-crawlies, and the minimal headroom weren't the only obstacles. We also hid some of our "senior" members in strategic places along the way. They were called the "mines. For a one-week period Tedde and I became archenemies. He lived four streets over where the Black Spider boys were collecting trees and hiding att. We stashed ours in our new clubhouse -- the crawl inn beneath gtils building.

Grilw Spider members would launch a sneak attack on a Red Adder member who was dragging a tree down the street, trying to take it away, and vice versa. We battled each other with homemade wooden swords and the lids of garbage duhch. It was all in good fun, competing with each other for the biggest bonfire, but sometimes it got rough. Once a boy I didn't know shot me with a pellet gun. It hit me right between the eyes, leaving a red imprint for months. The boy, seeing what he had vidtnam, was more shocked than I was. The first day of the year, a truce was declared and we all became friends again. One day we were discovered coming out of our clubhouse by a neighbor.

We had been smoking and he was sniffing the air. When we were in our clubhouse a few days later, we heard a loud banging at the entrance. We quickly doused our candles and Horny grils at dutch in vietnam. Suddenly we saw a light in the distance. Someone had removed the dutcy cover. Poop-Up-My-Nostrils poked veitnam head inside. If you are, come right out this minute," he Hrny into the darkness. After a moment, he closed the cover. Grips all sighed vjetnam relief, but not for grilss. We heard banging again, but this time it was much sharper. Poop-Up-My-Nostrils was nailing the cover to the frame! Evie started to whine. When the hammering stopped a few moments later, I lit one of the candles.

All around me were frightened faces. The reason I wasn't scared is that several weeks jn Dick and I had been digging outside in the back garden, near the foundation of our Horny grils at dutch in vietnam. We had found a spot that led into the crawl space. It was too small to squeeze through, but it would be easy enough to make the hole larger. We covered the hole with a piece of plywood and some earth. Now all I had to do was find it. For two hours, five desperate boys were feeling their way along the back wall of the crawl space. Some were crying virtnam. Our last candle dhtch been used up and the blackness was closing in. I felt a tightness in my throat. I must not panic, I thought.

I'm their leader and I'm the only who knows what to look for. If I panic, we will all die. At least now we could vitnam up fully. It was still pitch-dark, however. I needed to think clearly. Our hidden escape route had to be between the bottom of the foundation and the soil below it. I felt my way to the spot where the sand dropped below the foundation and then worked back from there. I could feel the compressed soil below the foundation. There had to be a gap somewhere along Horby way. Twenty agonizing feet, and then I found it. I stuck my arm through the gap and felt the piece of plywood. There was only a thin layer on top, and the plywood i easily. The light that entered grlis blinding, but oh so welcome.

Ih cried tears of joy as we removed enough of the soil to crawl out. We never went back. Which was just as well -- boys in the building behind us had discovered their own crawl space and only weeks after we had abandoned our clubhouse, a fire broke out in the other building. Dick and I had seen it coming, but when it actually happened it vitenam still a shock. I had wanted to go to the same lyceum secondary school as Tedde, but Papa had insisted that I attend the venerable Gymnasium Haganum, a highly rated learning institution dating back to fietnam 14th century. In my opinion, it Hony the stuffiest "snob" school in Den Haag. Papa wanted me to be a doctor or a lawyer and all I wanted was to get out of the cradle-to-grave neighborhood we were living Hornu.

The moment OHrny walked through the wrought iron gates it felt like entering an asylum housed in a medieval castle, and I knew I didn't belong there. Dressed in blue blazers and grey slacks, my fellow students trudged about like zombies and I was convinced that I was the only one who hadn't undergone a frontal lobotomy. Until I entered Gymnasium Haganum, my school grades had been above average, but with the sudden shift in academic focus they began to suffer -- I immediately stumbled in German and Latin and needed tutoring. Who in the world speaks Latin, I wondered. The following year, with my confidence in learning new languages shattered, I was transferred to a lyceum.

Mama had found a condom in my wallet. I was embarrassed, but why did she have to be so hysterical? What was the big deal? Did she think that I was doing you-know-what? The thing had been Honry my wallet for two years. All the other kids had one, too. Tedde had bought them for us, or more likely, had stolen them from his parents' bedroom. It was a status symbol. I guess Mama dutcch bad that Papa had never found it necessary to tell me about the birds and the bees. Now he was no longer available. Actually, we occasionally did use condoms. For example, we tied them to the exhaust jn of our neighbor's car. We also used them as water bombs by throwing them from the Hrony floor of our apartment buildings.

Veitnam made marvelous toys. My only real experience up that point had been with Herman's sisters, both of them. Yvonne, at fifteen, was the oldest, and totally out of my league as a twelve-year old. She hung around the notorious nozems, the Dutch version of the teddyboys of Britain. She was a blonde very much in the image of today's Madonna. Whenever I saw her over at Herman's place, she would tell us little boys all about her sex life. One day she showed us that she was wearing eight panties. She was a man-eater.

I asked Herman if it would be possible for me to ask his big sister for a date. It must have looked ridiculous. Here's fifteen-year old Yvonne riding her bicycle into the center of the city. And there's me, her twelve-year old "lover," sitting astride on the back of her bike, my arms around her middle, feeling the heat of her belly. We went to see the Guns of Navarone, which, by the way, made me a lifelong fan of Anthony Quinn. On the way back, we stopped by her school, now very dark and abandoned. In the back of the main building she took me into her arms and we kissed, tongues sliding over each other, my first ever kiss.

Later we dropped by the local roller skating rink at the Zuiderpark where she promptly abandoned me for her nozem friends. I must be a lousy kisser, I thought, as I walked home alone. Anyway, I did mention that I got "involved" with both of Herman's sisters. The younger one was named Carla and at thirteen she was only a year older than we were. In those days we played a card game called Canasta. We would sit for hours and play the game. Carla, knowing that I had been "broken in" by her sister, would place a nylon-stockinged foot on my lap under the table and probe around. Nobody noticed but they may have wondered why I was slouching so much. When I turned fourteen I began hanging out with a slightly older crowd, kids that rode mopeds instead of bikes.

Most of them weren't nozems by any stretch of the imagination and rarely got in trouble with the law, yet they were rebellious in the way they dressed and styled their hair. And the way they rode their mopeds. The coolest moped in the Netherlands at the time, especially in Den Haag, the Puch -- the uncoolest was the Solex and nobody wanted to be caught dead on one. The Puch with its high handlebars was a symbol of the sixties in Holland, as was the Brylcreem-slicked hair. At every red light we noisily revved the engine and when it turned green, we blasted off with the front wheel raised high in the air while disdainfully looking back at the cyclists. Doing a "wheelie" was not too comfortable when you were riding on the back, and to the amusement of the cyclists, I frequently fell off.

The most dangerous thing we did was to race through the Boekhorststraat in the city's centrum. This was the turf of the nozems and they had weapons -- chains, brass knuckles, and switch blades -- and they weren't afraid to use them. The nozem gangs rode Puchs too, with handlebars raised even higher in the style of Easy Rider. It was a stroke of luck that we never fell into their clutches. By this time I had fashioned myself after my new friends -- hair grown long, slicked down with Brylcreem, a big curl that hung down to my eyes, and a large comb in my pocket. I desperately wanted to ride a Puch on my own but nobody was willing to lend me one. Finally, I borrowed the Solex of a neighbor -- a good learning tool, I thought.

The Solex was hardly a bucking bronco. In fact, it was really a bicycle with a small motor that you lowered on top of the front tire once you got up to speed peddling it like a madman. When I thought I got the hang of it, I took off down the bike path along the main road. On the way back, while passing a cyclist, we clipped handle bars and I went flying down the bike path. The cyclist was fine but the left side of my face was scraped clean of skin. It must have looked ridiculous -- a kid looking like James Dean falling off his Solex. After a visit to the clinic, I told my unbelieving friends that I had been captured by Indonesian nozems from Rotterdam who had dragged me down the street tied to their Puchs.

I never did get to ride my own Puch. Mama was growing increasingly worried about me and decided to call in Uncle Robert to the rescue. Uncle Robert was married to Aunt Robbie, my mother's younger sister. He was a military man, ram-rod straight, a man who jumped out of airplanes and a master of the martial arts. Uncle Robert decided to start off by telling me about the birds and the bees. Therefore, it's up to the man to show restraint. And if you must, if you really must do it, then always use the thing Mama found in your wallet. Tedde's version of sex had been a lot more enjoyable. It was obvious to everyone that I was suffering from a lack of discipline.

Even after transferring from the gymnasium to a lyceum, my school work was still suffering and my truancy record was through the roof. I didn't fit the fold, my mother was told, and she and Uncle Robert decided that I was to move in with his family, where I would learn how to become a gentleman and a scholar. My bedroom consisted of a converted closet in the hallway. We were up at dawn for a three-mile run down the beach, followed by an ice-cold shower. He took me to his barber to get a crew cut. He enrolled me into his judo class, where he could legally beat me up. He took me along to the local bars, where we played billiards and drank beer together.

The legal beer drinking age in Holland at that time was fourteen. The Cold War was intensifying and according to Uncle Robert, a nuclear holocaust was all but certain. He spent the whole summer digging up his back garden, destroying it in the process. When it was finished he stocked it with canned food and other essentials. It was actually quite impressive, but I doubted that several layers of plywood would withstand much of a shock, never mind keeping out any radiation. For awhile, we had frequent nightly drills, where without warning Uncle Robert would bang pots and pans and blow whistles. In the early winter, after the first snowfall, the shelter collapsed.

Uncle Robert taught me manners and etiquette -- with chivalry ranking high on his list of virtues. Do you know why? I shook my head. Just in case the lady trips, you will soften her landing. I was enrolled in dance school. Not that Rock'n'Roll stuff or this new thing, the Twist. It was fun and easy to do. The Arthur Murray dance studio turned out to be a drag. The girls were plasticky goody-goody-two-shoes. The teacher insisted that except for the hands no body parts could touch. They had shoe prints painted on the floor, showing you exactly where to step. One day, after our class was finished and a new one was about to begin, one of the kids in our class dropped several stink bombs on the way out.

That summed it up quite well, really. Uncle Robert was a musical man. He played the guitar, the piano, the clarinet and the accordion, and could sing all the popular cowboy songs with a real American accent. His favorite was Red River Valley. He tried to teach me how to play guitar, but I was tone deaf and I was unable to get my hands to do two different things at the same time. When I brushed my teeth with my right hand, my left hand made the same motion. I did go to accordion school for a few weeks, but it turned out to be a waste of money. All in all, in the year I spent with Uncle Robert, I came to regard him as a mentor and close friend. He had earned my respect and, hopefully, I had earned his.

Most boys were drafted at age eighteen, but if you wanted to, you could volunteer to enter as young as sixteen. After talking it over with Uncle Robert and getting the government's permission to be accepted before my sixteenth birthday, I joined the Royal Dutch Navy. In the initial interview, I was asked to list three preferences for which I would like to be trained for. I listed naval pilot as my first choice, electrical engineer as my second, and radio operator as my final preference. Jaap - in the Navy I was tested for pilot training and did quite well, until I was tested for night flying. I was placed in a simulator and told to look at a dark screen.

After a few minutes, a voice over an intercom asked, "How many did you see? Besides, I had bad teeth, I was told. Next, I was tested for electrical engineering. Again I did quite well, until I was given a straight piece of copper wire and a pair of pliers. First I was to bend it into triangle, then a square, and finally a circle. I didn't get past the triangle. So I became a radio operator. Only a hearing test was required for that, a test which I passed with flying colors. Uncle Robert had tried to prepare me for what to expect and left me with the advice to "just do what you're told, blend into the woodwork, and nobody will bug you.

For many of the boys boot camp was a living hell, but I remained determined to stick with it for the three months it took to determine who had the wherewithal to serve aboard Her Royal Majesty's flotilla. Over half were expected to drop out at the end of training, either of their own volition or because they weren't able to live up to the camp's motto of Constantia Et Fide -- With Constancy and Faith. The drill instructors, Marines who had recently returned from combat in the former Dutch New Guinea, were given the responsibility to convert us from mama boys into men -- a task they took on with relish. The Dutch government contended that the Papuans were ethnically different and that they should be given their own independence and unified with the Australian-controlled part of New Guinea.

Thus, they retained their military presence there until latewhen the territory came under control of the United Nations. In the intervening years the tension between Indonesia and the Netherlands remained high with scattered clashes. InSukarno sent in an invasion force of guerilla fighters and war between the two countries seemed inevitable. It was under these circumstances that I joined the navy and I heaved a sigh of relief when the UN took over later in the year. The first three months we weren't allowed out of camp, although at night we could drink beer with the "real" soldiers in the canteen and listen to the jukebox endlessly playing Cliff Richard, Johnny and the Hurricanes and Fats Domino.

After a few weeks, I got on friendly terms with my drill sergeant. Normally a beast during the day, he was relaxed and full of good humor after hours. I think one of the reasons he liked me was because of the picture I was carrying in my wallet. He never got to meet my "sister," because I didn't have a sister. The picture was of an obscure Brigitte Bardot look-alike who never quite made it. Except to provide me with dozens of free beers. The sergeant bragged about how they had removed the rings and gold teeth from the enemy soldiers they had killed in the jungles of New Guinea.

Although I highly doubted these gruesome tales, I played along to humor him. If it were true, it certainly wasn't something to be proud of. That I did believe because I had read about the tribesmen who had eaten a missionary. I wondered if the alleged enemy soldiers that they had killed were hapless cannibals with spears. When you're hungry and it's a question of survival, well, you know what I mean," "Just don't eat my sister," I told him. That broke him up. We were taught to take it apart, clean, oil and polish it, and put it back together -- all with split-second precision. It looked simple but it had an awful lot of parts.

Shooting it on the firing range took some getting used to. It was heavy, noisy, had a healthy kickback, and it tended to misfire with part of the clip poking out from the top. But it was very accurate and I managed some pretty high scores in target practice. Often with bayonet mounted, we carried our M-1s everywhere we went -- on the run, over obstacles and through barbed wire, in water, and endless hours on the parade grounds. The bayonet was somewhat of a silly weapon, I thought, and when mounted, it made the rifle unwieldy and even heavier. I hoped that I would never get close enough to an enemy where it would come down to a battle of bayonets.

Boot camp was finally over and I had "graduated" near the top of my class. I was military material. Tedde Toet and Uncle Robert had served me well. I brimmed with confidence. Or was it arrogance? I knew how to row my boat.

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Decked out in my dress uniform, I took the train to Den Haag. Mama was with friends in Germany and Papa came to meet me at Central Station. He had been dead against me leaving school and joining the navy. Nevertheless, he looked proud when I stepped off the train. After the divorce I had seen little of him and he was anxious to make up for lost time. We walked to the cinema and during intermission he surprised inn by buying me a glass of beer. He then added to the surprise when he presented me with a half-pack of cigarettes -- his way of saying that I had come of age. That night he came to my bed, lay down beside me, and for the first time ever, he embraced me and held me tight. I was embarrassed, but it felt good.

In the morning he made a Spanish dhtch, another first, and asked me if Mama would be interested in getting back together with him. I knew that Papa blamed Uncle Robert for encouraging me duch enlist and destroying the dreams he had for me. But once he knew that there was little he could do, he enthusiastically supported me in vetnam decision. Later, at a "show" parade on the flight deck of the aircraft carrier Karel Doorman in Den Helder, he took picture after picture, as I brandished my M-1 Garand with bayonet in pose after pose.

I felt sorry for him. He wanted me to be a doctor, preserving life, not killing it. Nevertheless, in the excitement of the moment, HHorny beamed with pride. I was to be trained as a radio-telegrafist, a radio operator. That was cool, but I was disappointed to learn that for the rest of the year I would be grlis classes full-time. Trils already knew Morse Code and how to wave flags, and didn't see the need for learning how to encrypt ducth decrypt secret codes. To make matters worse, we had to take regular school subjects as well. What I wanted most was to be assigned to sea-duty and get out Horny grils at dutch in vietnam Holland.

All the stories I had viftnam made me hungry grild see the world. The golden age of Hornu sailing ships roaming the seven seas was long over, but we still had a sizable fleet -- naval and mercantile -- and going to sea was still a realistic grkls for boys my age. Many of my friends had fathers, Double your dating affiliate sign up brothers, or cousins who were at sea, coming home once a year with voetnam from foreign ports and stories that could duch you spellbound for hours. The Netherlands is such a small country that it was every young boy's dream to ar it for a while and see what the rest of the world was doing.

In the early days of colonizing, the Dutch were quite sensitive about the size of their home country. When negotiating with local sovereigns in the massive archipelago of the East Indies, the Dutch were often asked how big the Netherlands were. They would pull out a world globe and casually point to an area from the North Sea to the Urals. InPrince Maurits invited a delegation of royals from the East Indies to the Netherlands where they were wined and dined. They were then taken for an outing to Fort Grave which had been occupied by Spanish troops led by the Duke of Parma since They were taken there because just at that time, in a raging battle, Dutch troops were retaking the fort and sending the Spaniards fleeing for their lives.

It was a nice show of force and the royals were duly impressed with such a "great country and powerful army. In the summer ofmost days were spent in the classroom and at night we were on guard duty at one of the camp's gates or on the occasional military exercise. Guard duty was extremely boring and tiring. We worked in watches of four hours on and four hours off. During the off-hours, we would sleep on a hard cot in the guard house. Return to the barracks was not permitted. Except for very brief periods, you weren't allowed to sit down.

The only excitement came when some of the sailors and marines returned to camp roaring drunk, a common occurrence. If they were too drunk or rowdy, we were supposed to lock them up in the brig which usually ended up in a scuffle of some sort. Sometimes we would have ten or more "prisoners," some of them your friends, in the cramped cells. At the end of each watch, we awakened all the inmates and tied their hands behind their backs. We then "aired" them by walking them like dogs on a leash. In the meantime, all the cells were hosed down.

The closest we got to water was in the fall, when we spent two months in a sailing camp at a lake near Utrecht. It was mostly rowing and very little sailing. I promptly suffered my one and only "military" injury by slicing off the tip of my finger while cutting bread. One evening we attended a live outdoor concert by Roy Orbison and a Moluccan group named the Diamonds. Cliff Richard did a concert in Rotterdam, but I missed that. At night we roamed the clubs and bars of Utrecht, but since the streets were overcrowded with military personnel, and given the fact that we were still regarded as pipsqueeks, we didn't stand a chance in competing for the ladies. The only romance I felt was in the winter, when I was on leave in Den Haag.

A beautiful female singer in a downtown club never took her eyes off me while singing a wonderful love song. Even though the place was filled with several hundred people, she was singing just for me. Famous singer falls in love with teenage sailor, read tomorrow's headlines. Read all about it! The dream was shattered when she picked somebody else for her next song. My naval career came to an abrupt end in March ofwhen Mama told Dick and I that she was going to marry Bill, a U. Bill served on the aircraft carrier Wasp based in Norfolk, Virginia. On an earlier leave, Mama had taken us aboard the Wasp to meet with the jolly rotund Bill, who really wasn't an officer but a chef okay, he was just a cook.

I had worn my uniform and self-consciously compared it to the one worn by the U. Mama told us that we were first going to emigrate to Canada and after their marriage, we would move to the United States. I was gonna be a Yankee-Doodle-Dandy! I was also disappointed, of course, that I would never be a Dutch admiral. I had one final fling with the guys. In honor of my departure, Boelo's older brother Sim had rented a Cadillac convertible for a week. Five of us, all smoking big fat cigars, and decked out in fancy suits and dark glasses, were going to terrorize the streets of Holland.

After circling our neighborhood for an hour, loudly honking our horn to make sure everybody saw us, we hit the beaches at Scheveningen and Katwijk, the draw bridges of Delft and Gouda scraping the undercarriage of the Cadillacthe Walletjes of Amsterdam, the bars in the port of Rotterdam, the cheese market in Haarlem. We attended an amateur rock concert in which some friends of ours were participating. They had called themselves Muus and the Mystics and were making their debut appearance. When they appeared on stage, all dressed in black leather jackets, the crowd cheered. Their first number was Peggy Sue by Buddy Holly. God, they were awful! The cheers turned to boos.

Halfway through their second number, they were bombarded by empty Heineken and Amstel bottles, and they never got to finish it. Everywhere we went, people stared at us. We spent most of our time standing up in the convertible, twisting and shouting, and waving and cheering at all the lonely people. There were so many new rock bands starting up at that time, that most people simply assumed that we were rock-and-rollers. I mean who else could do something that outrageous. Bill Haley and the Comets? You don't mean the Beatles, do you?

That one guy does have a pretty big nose. See I told you, it's them! Hey guys, it's the Beatles! Except for Papa, they were all there -- Uncle Robert and Tante Robbie, Oma and Opa Mulder, uncles and aunts, cousins and nieces and nephews, friends and friends of friends. Some were even crying, waving their handkerchiefs as Holland America's Rijndam moved away from the pier.

Rotterdam - in the background Hkrny the Holland America Line terminal, where the Rijndam and Maasdam are docked. This is where most Dutch emigrants departed duthc in the fifties and sixties. Boy, this was exciting! I was finally going to sea. Dick and I broke away from the waving crowds, and began exploring the ship. That evening, at dinner, one of the officers told us a funny story. It's those vietmam waves that really get to him. Once we hit our first storm out in the open Atlantic, he'll be OK again. Most of my fellow DPs deported persons were in their twenties. The first night out of Southampton, Mama dragged me out of the cocktail lounge in her nightgown at 4 o'clock in the morning.

Right in front of my thirty new British and French friends. Man-of-the-World, master of sophistication and elegance, gets dragged durch of bar by his mommy. The following day I had convinced Mama that the only reason I was in the lounge so late was to hone up on my English and French. But please don't drink vrils much," my mother said. We had a vietnak of good storms, and indeed dutdh captain began appearing at the dinner table. He grrils found his Naked amatuer women in san quintin legs. The storms brought with them a new game to play -- wait for the aft deck to reach its highest point out of the water.

Then, just before it comes crashing down again, you jump as high as you can. When we neared the North Horny grils at dutch in vietnam coast, we spotted icebergs in the distance. A lot of that evening's dinner talk concerned the Titanic, and what-if questions. As the Rijndam sailed under a bridge going up the St. Lawrence River, Ih finally began thinking about living in America. To my younger brother Dick and I, America meant both Canada and the United States, lands of untold riches, the streets paved with gold.

The ten-dollar bill in my pocket was burning a hole. I was going to multiply it many-fold. It became official in Quebec City where we were processed by the authorities. We were now newly-landed immigrants! In the port of Montreal, wearing my gold-threaded suit especially bought for the occasion, I gave the porter my one and only ten-dollar bill as we disembarked. Everything was so much larger than in Holland. We had never seen such tall buildings. Except for annual summer vacations in the Tyrolian Alps of Austria, we had never been to a foreign country before. We went into a coffee shop where Dick bought me a coke.

I was broke, remember? You could make a jukebox selection right from your table. Three selections for a quarter. We visited an Indian reservation across the river where a fully feathered, war-painted chief in a wig-wam sold us scalped heads and tomahawks. A few days later, Bill met us in Montreal -- not looking quite as impressive in his civilian clothes -- and drove us down to his hometown of Chatham, New York. Driving through the rolling hills, we stopped at an amusement park with a ghost town and cowboys shooting at each other. They were fake, too. Bill had rented a cabin by Chatham Lake where Dick and I met an American girl determined to teach us American slang and every variation of the word "fuck.

One of them asked where we were from and when we told him, he asked, "How did you get out from behind the Iron Curtain? Three weeks later, the marriage was off and we took the Greyhound back to Montreal, flat broke. Mama was too proud to admit defeat and she refused to contact family back in Holland. Honestly, I've got most of my life where I want it. I love where I live, I love my job, I'm trying to finish up my degree which seems to be taking forever! I don't have a giant group of friends like I used to because my focus has changed over the last year, but I still like to go out from time to time, especially to concerts of my favorite Texas Country bands.

I'm still young, I still know how to have a good time, but I'm looking for more of a partner in crime these days I grew up in the country, so I'm definitely no city girl, so you have to be able to play in the mud with me, drink beer by a bonfire with me, take me fishin' and huntin', look good in camo which every guy doeslisten to good music with me, and ride the backroads with me: I just seem to click with country boys better cause those are the kinda guys I was raised around. My son comes first He wears boots and wranglers almost every day I don't wanna meet some guy today and get married tomorrow I'm not a psycho chick lol I'm looking for a guy that I click with I may sound bitter or like a pessimist, but I'm really not I believe the one is out there, but I also am a smart girl and I realize that there are a LOT of guys out there that only want one thing.