Betrekkelijk voornaamwoord wat of dating

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betrekkelijk voornaamwoord wat of dating

Zoals in het bericht observaties al aangegeven moet er nogal wat veranderd worden voordat de productie kan starten. Het begint er mee dat de. Modern English Grammar in particular would not be what it is had to the author's original, mainly by comparing fragments dating from ca. subject. A. VAN LOEY has studied Het bezittelijk voornaamwoord 'hun' ( Amsterdam, ). Namelijk; wat dacht je ervan om solitair te gaan leven? Met behoud van seks Dat is één van de redenen dat ik de voorkeur geef aan dates overdag. ( hoewel dit bezittelijk voornaamwoord uiteraard groteske onzin is) Big.

But my ruthless self-hatred was not the whole story. It was just my ratio that said that. It was all up in the head, not in the heart. Or when I thought of all the nice things we could do, if he was mine. Those were the times I wanted a single man. But only a single Big. I had always admired his ability to maximize profits in his personal life, just like he did for his clients. Of course it was unethical, but it also showed he did not need approval from other people and that he fully trusted himself.

He estimated how much was in it for him. If it was worth the risk he would do it. And if things turned sour, he would charm, buy, and trick himself out of it, like he always did. It was something else too. Something so obvious I wondered why it took me so long to see this: Big made me feel great. We celebrated each other like Bonnie and Clyde.

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In the past, the moment I had been unable to admire a man anymore, I knew my place was no longer there with him. A promise Mister Big had always kept. To take a stroll through the woods surrounding the golf course and have tea at the sunbathed terrace.

But the trees were naked now, and a watery sun was already fading, even though it was only 5 p. A blueish mist crept over the golf course. My graduation process had not been exceptionally memorable, although my professor had saved my thesis and my will to live on several occasions. We had never stopped seeing each other. Once every two years minimum, we would catch up. He was always amazed that I could recall in detail what the state of his love life was last time we saw each other.

What the stakes were, and what the irreconcilable differences. Did you take notes the last time? I only wrote things down if there was a good chance I would forgot them.

The professor had never been at the country estate with the mansion like hotel. Although he had heard it was heaven for the rich and famous. And unaffordable for the rest. It had not been easy to get there, using public transportation and a taxi. For three days my only program was to go for walks, to pick up my yoga practice, and to distance myself from the passionate wish that Mr. Big would finally choose for me. That Mister Big would propose to me.

Or that Mister Big would clear his calendar and join me for a short night to make intimate love to me. Or fuck me hard. I had not decided there. I think he will be alright sleeping alone. The fetus position with my forever-baby-cat cuddled up under the blankets to my warm belly, had become ingrained. I ordered more wine. The professor knew about Big, because he read my blog.

I told him the pivotal moment of Big and me. It was when I had not given in yet, and explained to Big I resisted because he was a player, and was going to break my heart. Wait a minute Lauren! Love and sex have been your top priority. Big is so mean? Get back in there; right now! We were both ready for that small triangle at the top. He was a vigorous rangy fifty-something, who decisively managed the chaotic bunch of us. And he became the only friend with whom I had politically, and historically, charged conversations.

I always thought I could keep our dates contained to three hours. But we needed five. And we needed wine, bitterballen, sensitive subjects and complex problems, that I could analyze in one blunt one-liner. And then he would accuse me of using historic shortcuts, but always had something interesting to add. We were somewhere on our third Chardonnay and I had already given an explanation why the biggest socialist party is currently in death struggle.

That went back to the protestant reformation. If you first throw out all hedonism and mysticism of the Catholics and a few hundred years later you throw out God and Jesus, you have nothing but an empty vessel striving for equal rights for workers.

The Archaeologist added that there were equal rights for workers now, so that its ideology had become quaint.

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I had slayed democracy and referendums. Having elections every four years already bore a fair chance a dictator would rise to power. And the Archaeologist answered: At ten-children-per-household the population had grown explosively, causing massive unemployment. Especially if you put them together. I suggested immigrants should get an option to live in a new to be build city. The Archaeologist explained there already was a blueprint, the city of Auroville in Southern India.

Like an archaeological Disney Land that everybody can come visit. Maybe in five hundred years, on a chilly Saturday morning, a rangy archaeologist would put a messy bunch of volunteers to work to dig it all up again. A Virgin Start, erotic story I was two weeks into my blogging and life challenge, The Virgin Diaries, days of dating myself. Aside from a consistent feed of one post a day, I had accomplished astonishingly little of what I had planned. Daily yoga, minimize social media and email, writing daily yet without binging.

It was non-existent, still abundant and erratic. The only thing I had achieved, aside from this blog, had been to keep my house clean, my beauty regime consistent, and I had put my company back on track. Only to then throw myself headfirst in a holiday week with out-of-office alibi on my mail. I wanted a virgin start. Until Mister Big called. This would be our first date with the new me.

In full appreciation of what we had. I would never mention the W word and the D word again. Maybe my new attitude, you may even call it a virgin attitude, explained why our love making was exceptionally passionate.

First we went on a proper date. He was looking sharp as ever. His full head of hair, black and slightly longer than usual. Jokes, catching up, candid conversation. I confessed I had been one credit card click away from starting to date other men, and mentioned the self-reflective lawyer. The profile that had almost made me click, pay, and take my chances as a single woman.

I can only see glimpses of it. Certain themes seemed to be recurring in his life. I will tell you one day. Or because I was the new me. Or maybe because, as I realized later, his apartment had been comfortably warm. But either way we started kissing. Or I started kissing, the moment he took my coat in the hallway. He responded but then delayed it.

He offered tea, his warm and tidy bedroom, and asked me for the dvd. I always shiver at the thought of how fickle my sexuality is. If he had pushed too hard, had undressed me and taken me immediately, I probably would have lost the desire for sex. If the bedroom had been ice cold or messy? Looking back at our dates I always appreciate Mister Big even more.

It allows me to pinpoint those moments that could have easily gone wrong. We settled on the bed, still clothed just the shoes off, and he placed the dvd in his laptop. I had found the resemblance between him and Michael Madsen striking, and this was the first time Mr. Big would consciously watch his counterpart. Even their voices were similar.

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I watched it four, five times. And fuck her hard. You have a cabinet. It had been raided when he moved out to live with his wife. It could have made a study, baby room, or walk-in wardrobe, but it had its entrance in the kitchen. I could transfer some equipment. Even joking about it was fueling the fantasy. Big and me always had these fantasies. Or I had them, and in the first half year he had fulfilled two of them. Which he had passed with flying colors.

My most likely explanation is that part of me and a fairly large part had expected him to choose for me. And the sex came at a price. After his five star porn performances, there had been days of silence, grumpiness, break-up. So now we only used the remaining fantasies as fiction.

To just let the thought spice things up, instead of playing it out. It took the drama and the neediness out of me and stabilized our affair.

Like I wrote earlier, our love making was particularly passionate that day. We had started making out in the hallway, then I had this double candy experience when I had Michael Madsen on screen and a real life Big next to me.

I had been masturbating on him for weeks. No wonder it would get so good. We started by kissing fully clothed. I have always loved that. It reminds me of teenage sex. Or kiss and cuddle downstairs, and then go to the bedroom where we would undress ourselves, and lie in bed waiting for the other. I always wanted to start as teenagers.

When we had just started dating, Big and me had complimented each other on sexual skill. I on his virility, which I could only compare to the strength of two black lovers I had. And Big had complimented me on my blow jobs.

And those were condomized. Especially in the beginning. Maybe that was why I had been uncertain he had meant it. Similarly, he had been unsure about me complimenting him. He thought his penis was okay, but he had never attributed any special powers to it.

Big was always clumsy undressing me. The reference to some people. Although one of the few things Big had to promise was to never tell me with how many women he slept.

The movie kept playing as we started to make love. It seemed so long ago. His body and mine responded, the skin-to-skin magic that had often surprised me. There had been few men with whom I had this chemistry. He rubbed my clitoris, finding exactly that ridge that I use when I masturbate.

Since I was five. I have never bothered with clitoral orgasms when I was with a man. No one could beat me at my own game. But this time Big was spot on, and gave me a clitoral orgasm. And cuddles and recovery time. I strode on top, with my knees pressing violently into his sides with every Oh God. Lifting my pussy up, from the inside. Squeezing him, milking him, but more than anything: It was like Anais Nin said in one of the first books I read from her: And so did I.

But sitting there, climaxing by pressing and squeezing everything, I realized what I usually missed out on. Ask anything you want. Do anything you want. Doggy style with me on the bed and him standing behind me. But then I thought of another six weeks without him.

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Or who knew how long. And I could feel the tears coming. It was the ultimate proof I was in love with him, although I never told him that. That husky voice creating intimacy, expressing desire, and pushing for a full submission in a porn like fashion. Maybe I had groaned too hard, or expressed how much it hurt. The last time we had been together Big had been completely gentle, taking me in different positions but never too deep.

I had asked him about it, and it turned out Big knew when he was giving pleasure, pain, or gambling in that risky area in between. We laid down and he wrapped his arms around me. Cuddling me, asking me if I was okay. And I enjoyed that moment, which was probably the closest thing to love he would be able to give me. I took the same position as before, with my knees in the mattrass on either side of his body. And lowered myself over his dick. A sigh of relief, to have him in me again, and I leaned forward.

He wrapped his arms around me, and as I started to move I felt a finger pressing my anus. Not even when it went in further and it hurt me. The build up from my orgasm, deep inside my pelvis, had started yet again. The finger went deeper and he repositioned himself under my clingy full body wrap, to get a better reach.

I squeaked when he pushed a second finger in. I would not be able to take this for much longer. As I moved quicker, he managed to stay in. And at some point I forgot about him, about the pain, about having the closest thing to a double penetration I ever had in my life.

And that Big was acting out another fantasy that I had told him so often. You mean you came? I told you when it happened. I was so wrapped up in myself. If I wanted to keep writing autobiographically, I could never have a normal relationship. This blog is a two sided sword.

It celebrates what a man has with me, yet it is a constant reminder not to screw me over. It has the power to please and to paralyze.

To seduce and to manipulate. My blog is like a super power. I can both claim and recreate reality. The blog is a threat to having a balanced relationship. I was kind of attached to playing God with the pen. The men I liked were not exactly beacons of safety.

My main man and clandestine lover Big was still married. Few people knew he was doing a terrific job occupying my heart and everything further South as well. When I had started dating Big I had said to him: But I was holding up.

And the only reason I was still playing instead of being heart broken and degraded was because my blog was doing its job of defining the truth, remarkably well. It was an exceptionally valuable tool when it came to coping with Big who, like most Major League players, depended on hiding his emotions and concealing the truth. I had never gotten a single I love you. And yet it had become unimaginable another man would ever touch me again.

At least it had been until Mister X entered the game. Now Mister X, to whom I swore secrecy to never write about this turn of events, was equally unclear about the state of his current relationship as well as anything else he had going on the side. It was vague enough to include a whole harem. Mister X was the first serious competition Big was getting.

It was the first time I could see my whole body, mind and soul, breaking free from being cornered by Mister Big. Contrary to Big, Mister X had made it clear that none of our interaction could go on record. Not the part where I tried to find out how significant his other still was. We were fascinated with each other. The first part of the paradox had been that if I wanted a normal relationship, I needed to stop writing about it.

The second part was that the type of men I fancied, were far from normal and I would need my writing. To keep myself sane, and cope with all my emotions. I was dating men at the top of their sexual game and playing to win.

And Mister X had negotiated I could not use my blog, my main weapon. But despite the spooky incantation of his name Mister X?! And there was a sexual tension, an emotional connection, and we shared similarities in background. That is the maximum of what I can reveal, but there were more signs he could be The One. Between sure signs Big would choose for me, and then tending to my wounded ego when Big retreated, Ivy warned me that my cuts were getting deeper every time. She was heavily in favor of Mister X.

Although she probably favored the whole alphabet over Mister Big. I joined Ivy to some hotshot gathering. By the time I got there the official program was over, everybody was in some state of being drunk, and food was scarce.

Ivy said it was always like this. But this is an annual fuck up. He would either still be in London or with his wife. And Ivy said she had not seen him anymore since we had started dating.

She told me everything bad she knew about him. Including a crooked business deal that had damaged his reputation. And she pointed out two women with whom he had more than likely slept.

But it was all in vain. I was into him, and she had dutifully listened to all my sex adventures and emotional despair ever since. She had even given Biggie the benefit of the doubt on more than one occasion, and had been a supportive friend. Although probably one with grinding teeth. A Catch 22 means a paradox. But Ivy and I had found a loop hole. But I agreed with Ivy to first collect, then select. Mister Big was stalling his divorce hoping that he could block it till the youngest was eighteen.

And Mister X was a player too. I expected them both to be strong enough to handle competition. By dating two men there was something in it for both.

I was meeting Mr. And Mister Big could stop feeling guilty for not providing for me emotionally.

betrekkelijk voornaamwoord wat of dating

For not choosing for me. If I had two partners, one I could write about and one I could not, I would be surprisingly close to a balanced love life. I had gone from a Catch 22, to a Catch 2. An undeniably drunk, surprisingly courteous and unapologetically happy to see me, Mister Big. We were next to a bar near the wardrobe, where they had just brought in some food. The low hallway was noisy, crowded, and cramped. I considered running into Big a good omen. Good omen being an understatement.

I saw it as a sign God existed and that she had been listening to everything me and Ivy discussed and was now throwing a boon at my feet. The fact that Big was drunk only added to the fantasy that this spontaneous encounter was a gift for me. He would probably not be able to remember much of it. He had a disarming straightforwardness that I had never seen before.

I realized how reserved he had been. We went to his penthouse. We had to walk for half an hour because he was no longer able to cycle responsibly. I enjoyed the one on one time, especially in his new compliant mental state. As if he had been shooting up on truth serum. He could barely find the keyhole and for a moment I was afraid he would set off the alarm because he appeared to have forgotten the code.

The house was a mess and we snuggled up on the couch. I lay on top of him. A freshly pressed shirt. I remember this because I thought it was remarkable that he was as spotless clean and nicely smelling as ever. I had been holding back my sorrow, with the same stubbornness he had been hiding his feelings. I got about a thousand I love yous, including the first ever. And he asked if I really, genuinely, thought we could have a real relationship. It will work out. It will work out, and it is the only thing that will.

I spoke from the heart, not the mind. And the heart said I was right. Every time we brushed on the subject of why he was still with her, he said: At least I learned there even was a story. Aside from the fact that he still had feelings for her, which I had guessed pretty early on, there apparently had been something else. And that something was probably a reason to cheat, but not a reason to leave her. For all I knew it could be a reason to stay. And regardless of everything he had done, regardless of how much alcohol he had had, he was loyal to her.

In his own way. His feelings for me, symbolized by him as a King and a Queen, were opposite to his actions. He was still fighting to save his marriage. Or what was left of it. Since that night, I try to understand what happened. Was the night a message? Geplaatst op 21 december door Velomobiel. Dat klopt, maar dat is niet het hele verhaal. Roll center In a previous post I talked about the body roll in corners. In the four wheeler not only the front suspension resists body roll in cornering also the rear suspension does.

As in a three wheeler the axle with the single wheel will simply lean as much as the body does and not resist to body roll at all. De keerzijde is dat de 2cv sterk overhelt in een bocht. Het is weliswaar geen driewieler maar het rol centrum ligt laag, namelijk ter hoogte van het wegdek terwijl de auto tamelijk hoog op de wielen staat. De afstand tussen zwaartepunt en rol centrum is groot en de auto helt daarom flink over in een bocht.

Als je de geometrie van de vering kent kun je de positie van het rol centrum bepalen door het uit te tekenen, het rol centrum kan ter hoogte van de voor en achteras op verschillende hoogten liggen. Door het te bepalen voor de beide assen en er een lijn door te trekken in het zijaanzicht van de auto krijg je de rol-as.

Het rol centrum kun je ook vinden door de auto van links naar rechts te duwen en deze te filmen, op het filmpje is een punt zichtbaar waarom het geheel draait. Also, the position of the center of gravity with respect to the roll center, plays an important role. A Citroen 2CV is a car that has supple suspension and long suspension travel for optimum comfort, in addition, the suspension is fully independent since no anti-roll bars are used, which again improves comfort.

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The downside is that the 2CV strongly leans into a turn. But the position of the roll center is low; at the level of the road surface while the car is quite high on the wheels. The distance between the center of gravity and roll center is large and therefore the car has a considerable amount of body roll in a bend.

If the geometry of the wheel guiding is known, you can determine the position of the roll center by drawing it out, the heights of the roll center can be different at the front and rear axle. By determining the roll center for the two axles and drawing a line in the side view of the car you get the roll axis. That axis is in most cars lower at the front than at the rear, thus a safer under steered cornering behavior is pursued.

The roll center can also be found by pushing the car from side to side and filming this, in the movie a point is visible where the car pivots. Het rol centrum van een driewieler ligt ter hoogte van de as met het enkele wiel altijd op het wegdek. De positie van het zwaartepunt ten opzichte van de rol-as lijkt daarom veel op dat van een 2cv. Bovendien ontbreekt net als bij de 2cv bij de meeste velomobielen de stabilisatorstang. Is de velomobiel voorzien van lange veerwegen en soepele veren dan zal hij net als de 2cv met zijn onafhankelijke vering veel comfort bieden maar daarbij ook flink overhellen in de bochten.

Bij velomobielen is het gebruikelijk om de vering kort en stug te kiezen als men het 2cv gedrag niet wenst, het overhellen wordt dan weliswaar verminderd maar dat gaat ten koste van het veercomfort.

The roll center of a tricycle is always situated on the road surface at the axle with the single wheel. If the front wheels have McPherson suspension like the vast majority velomobiles it is not much higher because with this type of suspension it is not possible to create a high roll center.

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The position of the center of gravity with respect to the roll axis therefore, is very similar to that of a 2CV. In addition, as with the 2CV most velomobiles do not have an anti-roll bar. If the velomobile features long travel suspension and soft springs it will provide comfort like the 2CV with its independent suspension but will also have considerable body roll in corners. In velomobiles it is customary to choose the suspension short and stiff if one does not want the 2CV behavior, roll is then reduced but it is at the expense of the ride comfort.

Bij een constructie met een starre achteras met Panhardstang ligt het rol centrum op de hoogte van de Panhardstang.