Friday, February 24, 2006

This is sort of what my cat is starting to look like:

http://www.yadamnfool.com/PICs/shavedcat.jpg

On the bright side, though, I finally got the kitty downers from my vet. Here's hoping she mellows and gives her fur a chance to grow back.

Thursday, February 23, 2006

I walked out of the grocery store today and couldn't figure out which bike was mine.

This happens to me all the time here.

Tuesday, February 21, 2006

Okay, so finally the story about the big angry Dutch guy. (I've climbed outta my pit o' despair long enough to write...)

So, the other night.... M and I went to the gym. (and yes, thank you, the weight loss is going pretty well, though the Week of Depression -- as I like to call last week -- did make a bit of a dent in it.) Anyhoo... on our way home, we were roadblocked my mobs of people and cars trying to get into the soccer stadium which stands between the gym and our home.

As we were wending and wielding our bikes in and out of traffic, a big blue BMW came between me and M. In other words, the guy cut me off. M noticed and in a fit of anger (remember my bike accident? I think he thinks that I might injure myself on my bike...) he slapped the beemer's trunk. Now, this act didn't do any damage, of course, but I'm sure it sounded REALLY loud inside the car. The guy opened his door and he and Martijn exchanged a few angry words in Dutch.

2 brief notes: 1) The bike is KING here. For example, if you take your driver's license test and fail to use your mirrors continuously to check for bikers, you will fail immediately. Do not pass go, do not collect $200. 2) The cliche in Holland is that BMW drivers are heinously aggressive and arrogant. Both of these points came into play in M's anger at the BMW guy.

So, after the flurry of angry Dutch words, M and I were on our merry way home. We're biking along happily (it wasn't raining, so I was happy...) when I hear the screech of car tires behind me. I throw a glance over my shoulder and -- lo and behold -- I see a very tall, kinda tubby, Dutch guy quickly exiting his beemer and even more quickly striding towards me.

I was flabbergasted. We were a street over from the stadium, the guy had already been in the parking lot (and there was a huge lineup of cars still waiting to get in) and so he must have gotten out of line to see if he could find us. I had a second to register just how idiotic this is when he grabs my bike and stops me. I gotta say, that scared me. And apparently, my reaction to being scared is to... uh... scream like a banshee. I jumped off my bike and....

Warning for parents: You may want to keep the following sentences from your childrens', young, impressionable eyes...

YOU DON'T FUCKING TOUCH ME!!!! HOW DARE YOU STOP ME!!!!??? WHO THE FUCK DO YOU THINK YOU ARE!!!???? BLAH BLAH BLAH BLAH....

Needless to say, M has stopped and turned around by this point (he was a little ahead of me) and the Dutch guy is looking at me like "Oh shit, I gotta bitch this woman out in English??? I didn't realize this was gonna be like a test."

Anyway, the guy proceeded to whine over the fact we'd "touched his car" and ask such gripping questions as "what gave us the right to touch his car?" All the time, I'm saying such stupid things as (while my knees are shaking... 'cause a) I'm kinda afraid b) the guy's big but c) apparently I go completely apeshit when someone touches me in anger and therefore cannot keep my mouth shut) :

1) Oh, gee, sorry, mister. If you like, I'll run back to your car and wipe off those fingerprints. Will that make you feel better?

2) Now don't you feel just a little silly getting out of line to chase us down and, what? To teach us a lesson? Oh wow, you really showed me.

3) Do you have a wife or girlfriend? Yes. And if someone cut her off and almost hurt her, you'd be angry right? Um, yeah. And you might do something impulsive, right? Sorta like what you're doing now? You know, get outta line and chase down complete strangers? Uhhhhhhhh.... yeah, but that doesn't give you any right to touch my car!

Anyhoo, this all ended with M issuing an apology, which I guess is all the guy wanted. The gorilla even smiled when he left. I thought the whole thing was silly and had a good laugh over it, but M was a bit embarrassed. He said he realized that his impulsive reaction had unintentionally put me in danger.

I'm just suprised my smartass mouth didn't get me clocked. However, I did say to M that, in true, litigious, American fashion, I was thinking the whole time "Yeah, go ahead buddy. Hit me. I'll OWN your BMW."


Thursday, February 16, 2006

arrrggghhh.... arrgggghhh... arrrrggghhh... my "I hate the Netherlands" phase is now full-blown. (except for my bike. I still love her even if she did toss my ass into the bushes.) I haven't excersized this week (and cannot for the love of pete remember how to spell exercised... is that right?). I've eaten chocolate. (a lot). I've had beer. I even ate a thing called a patatje oorlog (which translates to "little war french fries"). The diet is out the window... I cry (a lot) and I don't want to get out of bed.

I feel just a tad embarassed admitting this, but that's what's going on over here and that's why my attendance here has been rather slim.

Apparently, this is fairly normal. I've just been told -- by a source I'll keep anonymous -- that she also experienced this in the first months she was here. Not getting outta bed until noon... daydreaming about getting on a plane and going home... an utter lack of will to do... uh... well... anything.

Now, don't get me wrong. This doesn't have a thing to do with M. I like him. He's the whole reason I'm here. But jeez... Dutch people. ugh. Dutch weather. double ugh. Dutch shoes... I mean come on people ... if you're gonna live in a crappy climate why not have beautiful shoes to make up for it? Why, for god's sake, are you wearing these boots... these sensible boots that have no heel? Say it with me: a heel eeeeeelllloooonnngggates your leg. Don't you know that non-existant heel makes you're legs look shorter? Okay, okay, you're a six foot tall Dutch girl. Nothing makes your legs look shorter. But they make me look like one of Glenda the Good Witches groupies.

Hmmm... it has just struck me that I seem to bitch an awful lot on this blog. Hmmmm...

Okay, tomorrow will be more fun. I'll tell you about the big Dutch guy that chased me down with his BMW.

Monday, February 13, 2006

All is well here in kikkerlandje ("little frog land" for those of you don't speak Dutch... uh, like, you know, everyone except a tiny tiny percentage of the Earth)

The fight was resolved the next day... though both of us went to bed mad. We both have tempers... can be incredibly stubborn... and quite frankly, almost always assume we're right, so it usually takes several hours for both of us to simmer down enough to think clearly. :)

But suffice to say, all is well again.

And the sun is even shining today. Hurrah!

Had a funny thing happen this weekend... got into a screaming match with a big Dutch guy... but it'll have to wait until tomorrow because I have more Dutch lessons to finish. I have class tonight and I don't want to look stom. (Dutch for "stupid")

Thursday, February 09, 2006

Only a brief note today:

Sometimes M makes me so angry I want to kill him.

But then I realize... oh, I guess this is what it's like to be in a relationship where both people are fully involved. Hmmm... this can be frustrating...

That's it. I'm too angry to write further...

Wednesday, February 08, 2006

Yesterday, I said to M "I just haven't felt terribly inspired lately by anything... what the heck should I write on my blog?"

Luckily -- just moments ago -- I remedied that situation.

I finally (finally!) decided I had packed enough goodies into my parent's Christmas box. Um, yeah, I know... I'm a tad late... but now it's their anniversary and I knew I had to get this thing on its merry way to the Verenigde Staten. (that's Dutch for the United States -- say: fair-ain-hihg-da sta-ten) Anyhoo... I looked at M and said "hmmm... wonder if that box is gonna fit in my backpack?" (said in a doubtful voice... really just hoping he'd say "No way, sweetie, why don't you just take the car?")

This, of course, did not happen. He said "Well, you won't know unless you try." So, I tried. No go. The box of goodies is too big. (see Mom... see Dad... it's late, but it's big, so that makes up for it, right?) I said "well, I guess I could take the car...???"

"No, no... I have a nice big bag here and this is part of your integration into Dutch culture. You can bike with your big box in this big bag."

(please note: M is sitting here as I write this and he is protesting loudly about how I'm making him look. Let me just say, I am coloring this just a little bit to make it funnier. He WILL let me use the car whenever I want. It's just that he respects me -- and yes, maybe even loves me -- a little bit more when I'm a good Dutch girl and use my bike.)

I said "You're right. I'm ready for advanced biking. No problem."

So, I left -- me, my bike, my big box in my big bag. We biked happily together to the local grocery store to get even more goodies to send to Ma and Pa Daley. Then, it was off to the post office to send the big box on his way. This is where my day took a turn south.

After navigating my way with the big box in the big bag, I arrived in front of the post office -- the closed post office. You know how people in the States dash out during lunch to mail things... well... apparently, the Dutch haven't gotten that memo because at the exact same time a working person (yeah, I know, not me) has the time to mail something is the exact same time the Dutch post office says "hmmm... it's time to eat. Let's close so we can go get some Gouda, herring and Heineken."

But wait, it gets better. Oh yes, MUCH better.

Defeated, I decide to bike home and come back to the post office later in the day. I climb on my bike, swing myself into traffic and start peddling.

Oh hey... grunt... gasp... arrrggghhh... this is kinda hard. The wind is pushing against me, my bike and my big box in a bag... this big bag is acting kinda like a sail... and not in the good way. Finally, I get a little speed going and I decide it would be a really excellent idea to move the big box in its big bag in front of me -- you know sorta perched on my handle bars -- so the drag is a bit less.

You know how you get an idea in your head and you know that's it kinda stupid and yet you still do it anyway?

Within seconds, the Dutch biking gods had decided that this silly little American girl needed to learn a lesson. Oh yes, who does she think she is? She must have a "learning experience" so she understands there are certain biking laws we do not break. See those bushes lining the road? Yes. Let's put her in them. Oh yes, that would be good. Very good. But wait... see those 5 young men walking on the sidewalk towards her? Yes. Let's make sure they are close enough to get a really good look at her while she careens wildly into those bushes. Should we hurt her? No, nooooo... let's just toss her in there and really embarrass her. Afterall... this is just a lesson and we don't want her to be afraid to get back in the saddle again.

After, I pulled myself out of the bushes and laughed in that really high-pitched giggly way that means "heh heh... um... aren't I just so silly? (I want to die) hee... hee... see everyone, I'm okay! Really! (oh god, who saw that? Did those guys see me? oh god, please let the sidewalk open up and swallow me right now), I calmly straightened out my bike light which really shouldn't point straight down at the ground and walked me, my bike and my big box in a big bag home.

Just as I was about to turn the corner into my apartment complex, a Dutch girl biked by me carrying a bag that was almost twice the size of mine. And she was wearing high heels.

Sigh.

Friday, February 03, 2006

Random thoughts (my specialty):

I love my bike. Truly, I do. I love love love that I can go out and do errands on my bike and there are nice safe routes to follow. I mean, I DO wish that it would get warmer so tears aren't whipped from my eyes when I'm in the frigid air, but other than that, I love peddling around town.

There are 2 girls who go to my gym who are very overweight. (rare to see in the Netherlands) They are there almost everytime I'm there and almost everytime M is there. (sometimes we go separately) This means, they are there A LOT. Probably every day. In this time, they never, EVER exercise. They sit in the cozy part of the gym, eat the cookies and drink the coffee. They do this for hours. But... but... they DO wear exercise clothes every time. I'm trying to figure out their motivation. Do they have really hateful husbands at home and they use the gym as an excuse to get away? Is the 50 Euro per month membership fee worth the unlimited free coffee? Or is it that they simply have friends that go to this place and it's a much nicer hang out then some smoky bar? Hmm... maybe that's it.

I'm learning more Dutch and I'm finding that the more I learn the less I know. (Ik leer meer Nederlands en ik vind dat de meer ik leer de minder ik ken.)

There are really little horses everywhere in the Netherlands. (and no, that's not the wacky weed talking...)

One of my friends is preggers again. (baby number 1 is only about 9 months old) Part of me is very happy for her, part of me is a smidge envious and part of me is glad I still get to sleep in on weekends. :)

Oh wait... wow! Now THAT was some retroactive typing. Duh, I'm unemployed. I can sleep in every day.

This is one of the funniest things I've seen in a long time: www.gofugyourself.com. Warning: if you're not a girl and/or you have no clue about American pop culture, you probably won't find this funny.

Apparently, Dutch people get cuh-razy when the weather gets warm -- stripping way down in public, driving way too fast, and just generally being paganistic sun-worshippers. This should be interesting to see...

I no longer feel shy -- at all -- in the coed naked sauna. I go there alone... I hold conversations with random strange men... I take a shower, then wrap my hair up in a towel and saunter through the place buck naked.

And on that note... where does the saying "buck naked" come from? From deer? From money perhaps?

Since I've moved here, I've had 3 dreams where I'm being chased. I have no clue who's chasing me and I'm not even sure it's always the same person. They are disturbing and I always wake up in a sweaty, twisted-sheet mess. Anyone care to analyze?

The vet has yet to get more kitty downers in, so my neurotic kitty is still licking herself bald... and getting even balder. Could this be a result of that "period-of-time-we-do-not-speak-of" when mommy abandoned them for six months?

Alright, enough... I'm uninspired. My Dutch lessons today have sucked every last watt of brain power from me...