It's Donderdag, 5 Januari at 3am... that's Thursday, January 5th for those of you out there who don't speak Dutch. (the 3am still applies however.)

I. Have. Insomnia. Don't know why... but laid down in bed... head started getting all busy on me... and boom... can't sleep.

So, here I am at the computer. Let me set up the scenario for you...

I'm wearing my warm and comfy gray robe given to me by my Aunt Sylvia. (great present, by the way...) Under that, nada. (Yeah, I sleep naked these days.)

There is an exceedingly chubby kitty on my lap. Oh wait... now she's not. Hmmmm... in addition to being chubby, said kitty also seems to be a mindreader. Sorry kitty... I mean you're a tad Rubinesque, but well-proportioned. (mental note to self: kitty has special powers. Must always think good things about her or she may sit on my chest one night and suck out my breath.)

There is an empty bottle of Grolsch beer next to my keyboard. It's brewed here so I feel like I'm supporting the local economy when I drink it and I find it to be a tasty sleep aid. In fact, excuse me... heading to the fridge...

Okay, I'm back...

Next to my computer screen there's a plant I bought at Ikea. It's Himalayan grass and you mus'nt water it too much or it dies of rot. Yes, one plant has already succumbed to its watery fate. (but it was murdered with love...)

The room is cold, but I'll try not to whine. Oh fuck it. Of course, I'll whine. It's who I am. (just ask my ex-husband) I HATE being cold. The Dutch don't have central heating... just radiators that fill with hot water if you're lucky (what they quaintly call central heating) and when you're not lucky... well, your bedroom could keep a side of steer fresh for a month and the only room that's actually livable is the little-gas-heated-furnace-in-the-corner living room. Okay, calm down, Ang. We're not going to bitch. (must not bitch... must not bitch... thou shalt not whine... love the netherlands. LOVE IT!)

I'm still exceedingly blonde, but now my roots are coming in. They're not quite trailerpark length yet, but in a week or so, they will be. I have no idea how to remedy this situation. (and yes, I do remember that I still owe a pic.)

The chubby... er... I mean... fluffy kitty is back.

It's now 3:31am.

I'm still not tired. (and more importantly, I still have beer.)

Alright enough of the scenario... now what... want to write... write about what?... um.... um... okay, I got it. I know I gotta tell you about the trip to Amsterdam... I gotta tell you about my first Christmas here... oh wait... yeah... first I will tell you about that...

In short, it was nice. Really nice. But my poor sweet practical boyfriend bought me (drumroll please) a toaster. Yes, a toaster. I mean, it's a NICE toaster... and I did want us to get one... but yeah whatever... you don't need me to explain that you don't buy your loved ones appliances for Christmas. Terribly cute and I can't wait to tell the kids about it one day. (no mom, don't get excited... I'm not pregnant)

Alright back to what's in the forefront of my brain... I gotta diet. Really.... it's bad... at times, like in mid-sentence... I'll be talking about the weather or that I want a piece of toast (see above) and an involuntary OINK will escape my mouth. The early 30s really suck. (early... am I still early? or have I advanced to MID?) I never and I repeat NEVER had to worry about my weight... and now I so much as look at a piece of chocolate and a new dimple appears on my ass. (hmmm... reality dawns on girl... girl looks at nearly empty beer bottle sitting next to keyboard... girl wonders if this may be part of the problem... ) Anyway, a diet is for next week. This week is still vacation, damnit.

I start to feel weary. (... because quite frankly you people BORE me... har har har...) It's now 3:49am. Fluffy kitty is back on lap and starting to make my legs go numb. Maybe I should attempt sleep so the rest of me can catch up with my legs?

Ja... gonna do that. Welterusten...