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.