Tickle-Me-Reinder

Anyone who hasn’t listened to the Philippine Madrigal Singers’ rendition of the Z. Randall Stroope composition “Riveder Le Stelle (We Beheld Once Again the Stars)” should do so immediately. “We Beheld Once Again the Stars” was the Madz’ fourth song in their performance in the 19th European Grand Prix of Choral Singing, and everyone who had the great fortune of watching the choral Olympics say that this was the song that won the Madz the Grand Prize. Apparently, Z. Randall Stroope himself seems to agree – I went to his website (www.zrstroope.com) a while ago and discovered that the “listen” button for “We Beheld…” on his samples page is a link to the YouTube video of the Madrigals’ EGP performance of the same song. The song is eight minutes long, so downloading it takes some determination, given the buffering speeds in third world countries. But trust me when I say that once download is complete, any time spent is well worth it. The entire performance is brilliant – if the first verse doesn’t move you to tears, wait until you hear the last ninety seconds of the song. The first time I listened to it I was in a coffee shop, but the setting didn’t stop me from tearing up when I heard the AMAZINGLY BRILLIANT (all caps sooo intended) climax. If I didn’t know the text of the song was taken from Dante’s “Inferno”, I’d have the first verse as my wedding march (more about weddings in the next part of this post). If my word isn’t enough, you can always listen to it yourselves: www.zrstroope.com/wboatsyoutubeclip.htm

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I had a weird, weird dream last night. I was in some hotel room, getting prepped for my impeding wedding to a girl (yes, a GIRL!!!) who I somehow deduced to be the daughter of a mafia don. In the middle of hair and make-up (yes, MY hair and make-up!!!), and under the watchful eyes of my soon-to-be mother-in-law, I hatched an escape plan that would take me far, far away to Germany (why I thought of Germany, I’ll never know).
As soon as Mafia-Mom left the room to check on her daughter, I somehow found the panache to hit the make-up artist to the point of unconsciousness, jump from 3 storeys up a hotel building to a rundown lawn, and run several hundred meters without giving myself away to my not-so-soon-to-be father-in-law’s henchmen. As if the dream weren’t interesting enough, my getaway vehicle was a pedicab driven by a smiling old man, who got me to the airport very, VERY quickly. Once there, I breezed through check-in and immigration, much like I do now, what with my diplomatic privileges and all (the things a diplomatic passport can do! Hahaha!).
Then the dream got even more interesting.
While waiting for my flight, I bumped into the Dutch Men’s Volleyball Team. Somehow, my Uncle Gorshil magically appeared, too, and as soon as Bram Ronnes passed by my uncle asked me to take a picture of them together. I said yes, and then as I hit the “capture” button on his camera phone, there he appeared. No, not Santa Claus, or Jesus Christ, or Heath Ledger, may he rest in peace. It was Rainder Nummerdor (http://www.fivb.org/en/volleyball/Competitions/WorldLeague/2003/teams/VB_Player.asp?No=10302), him with the killer spike and killer-er smile. I melted at once at the sight of him, him over whom I spend countless hours catching TV reruns of the Nestea Euro Beach Volleyball Tour. I instantly wished I could change flight plans, and instead head to Amsterdam (where I presumed he was going). I was speechless, motionless, for fuck’s sake, and it would have been a huge waste had my uncle not stepped in (thank God for uncles). He asked if I wanted to have a picture of me and Reinder Nummerdor taken, to which I said a resounding, “yes!”. Imagine my surprise when Reinder, as if on cue, immediately huddled next to me and put one of his arms around my waist and his face within breathing distance of mine. I could’ve literally snorted him in if I wanted to, but of course I wanted to do something else.
And then he did it.
No, we didn’t fuck in the pre-departure area, although I wouldn’t have minded. Instead, he held my hand, pulled me towards him, and started tickling me. Yes, he TICKLED me. He tickled me until I started convulsing with laughter, laughter that was borderline orgasmic. I tried tickling him back, and he laughed back, too.
And then, it ended. Not the tickling, but the dream. I suddenly awoke to the smell of sunny side-ups and fried rice, usually a comforting smell, but now nothing more than an irritant. I desperately wanted the dream to continue, so I tried closing my eyes again. Of course it didn’t work, but I was desperate, neh?
I thus felt weirdly irritated the whole day. I never knew that tickling could be so, uhm, sexual – and until this morning I never realized that I haven’t been tickled by anyone in a long, long time. I was somehow put off by the fact that it’s been ages since I was last tickled, and that I’ve never been close to being tickled orgasmically. And by Reinder Nummerdor, at that!
Agh. Reinder Nummerdor – will someone please bring me to the Netherlands and introduce me to him?
I promise not to tickle.

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OMG. I just saw someone using one of those primitive-looking, analog phones with long, stretchable antennas. You know, them that look like cordless phones, only you could bring them outside your house and still enjoy coverage. I used to have one of those. Luckily for all of us, smaller, handier, and more aesthetically appealing mobile phones were invented. I don’t know how I would survive bringing such a bulky thing around.
Maybe I should ask the guy how he does it. Lol.