As usual, I've been ruminating about how much of my life I'll allow to spill onto these digital pages. Sometimes, I think "keep it light and fun." Other times I think, "ehh... this is your space, write what you feel, when you feel it."

So, today, I'm going to write about the fact that I'm a bit depressed. Okay, maybe not a bit... let's say a lot. Don't worry... I'm not thinking of stepping in front of a speeding train or anything like that, but somehow I slipped into a place where my life feels exceedingly bleak.

I guess this has been coming on for awhile... the divorce (which meant not only losing a husband but also my bestfriend), getting entangled in a tumultous and faintly abusive relationship... then relocating here and the resultant loneliness and isolation... well, it's all just become a bit too much.

I am getting help. I started antidepressants a few days ago and though the side effects are unpleasant (what?! I can't drink red wine??!!), the drugs have already calmed me down. It's really odd actually. I've always been an emotional person -- case in point, my bestfriends have been known to call me Emo -- but now I'm completely balanced out. It's like taking a vacation from my emotions. Now, I don't find this exactly a pleasant idea either -- i mean, my emotions are part of who I am -- but at the moment, it's a welcome respite.

I would like to emphasize that none of this has to do with M. In fact, he's the only solid thing I'm really holding onto right now. I know it's hard living with someone who's so glum all the time and I'm doing my best to take it easy on him. I feel lucky that I'm with someone who can cope with this side of my personality.

I will try to keep this blog updated as best I can. I find that writing -- now more than ever -- is a cathartic process for me and it really helps if I can release some of the thoughts that rattle around my brain all day long.

Pics from Amsterdam....

This is my friend Royd eating his first ever (and possibly last ever) patat oorlog. Doesn't he look happy?





This is M eating his first ever McDonald's cheeseburger IN HIS CAR. Never ever has he consumed fast food while speeding down a highway. Never ever has he used his knee to drive. He said he felt like an American. See what our culture has been reduced to?



This is me on a bridge. Nothing "first time" about this shot. (Note that my hair is STILL a frightening shade of blonde. Ugh... I think I'm going to just shave it off and start over.)

Texan Yurt Babies

Why? Because I haven't been able to get this phrase out of my head for about a week.

The "other American" here told me about her brother-in-law whose sister lives in a yurt in Texas. She also has two children.

I said "Texan yurt babies? Interesting."

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Yurt

HAPPY ONE HUNDRETH POSTING!

Yes, I've been blah blah blah-ing for months already and now here I am, the proud mother of 100 posts!

To commemorate this special day, I thought I would issue some sort of challenge. Something to get your brain juices flowing... a chance for you to write your thoughts... and a chance for me to see my comments section filled (because I'm a comment whore and I feel like "you like me! you really like me! when I see that number go up...)

Here goes:

You've contracted a horrifying and highly contaigous tropical disease while swimming with crocodiles in the Amazon. (don't ask me... you're the one that thought that was a good idea...) You're doctor has just informed you that you only have 100 hours left to live. Not days, HOURS. During this time, you will be completely healthy. (Which, I understand, is so misleading, but trust me... at the 100th hour, your internal organs will liquify and run out your nostrils...) You are also quarantined. You may not jump on a plane and go ride camels to the pyramids. You may not go to Vegas to gamble away all your savings. You must stay put and enjoy the place you're in.

What will you do with your last remaining hours?

Okay, I'll go first:

Everyday, I wake up to the smell of bacon frying. I eat one pound of bacon and 3 Boston creme doughnuts. The kind with the yellow custardy center, not the white sugary center...

I fornicate. A lot.

I learn to tango.

I kiss and cuddle and hug and kiss some more. (with M, of course... and my kitties... )

I drink champagne ALL DAY LONG and with EVERYTHING.

I fly my parents over here pronto so they too can enjoy the copious amounts of dougnuts and bacon at my house.

I ride my bike alongside M's bike and hold his hand. While I make fun of this Dutch custom every time I see it, I also find it unbearably cute.

I watch the sunrise. (no REALLY, I would drag my lazy ass outta bed if I knew I was gonna die soon...)

I buy a wickedly expensive pair of Manolo Blahniks and where them ALL THE TIME.

Me: These pants are too tight. They're definately giving me cameltoe.

M: What's cameltoe?

Me. It's when your pants leave nothing to the imagination in this area (motions to crotch). It kinda looks like a cameltoe.

M: Ohhhh, we call that "whispering pants."

Me: Huh? I don't get it.

M: Well, you can see the lips, but you can't hear what they're saying.

Please note that in the comments area of my last blog entry, my mother said something along the lines of "oh and we want to hear about the weekend of debauchery!!"

Now, I ask you: Is this normal? I mean, most mothers want to deny out of existence that their daughters are having sex and smoking mair-ee-ju-wana in the sex and drugs capital of Europe. Not my mother. My mother wants details.

Snippets from the weekend ('cause I ain't no good at telling stories... I just do lists):

1) Earlier in my life -- specifically in grad school and just last summer in China -- I learned I really like to teach and I'm kinda good at it. There's nothing like implanting knowledge in eager young minds who want to learn what you have to give.

That's why I felt so special when I could use this special talent my first night in Amsterdam. Picture a smoky bar. Young gay men gathered in a circle, hanging on my every word. Were we discussing Van Gogh or Rembrandt or other bits of Dutch culture? Um, no... not exactly.

I was explaining to my audience the wonderous mysteries of The Foreskin.

(you asked for it, Mom)

See... European boys aren't circumsized and for those of us who learned the ropes in the good 'ol US of A, well this can be a perplexing situation the first time you encounter it. What exactly do you do with all that... um... skin? Is it like an extra piece of clothing? Like a turtleneck? I mean, should I just move it out of the way and pretend it's not there?

These and other burning questions were the topic of our discussion and I believe that I dispelled the hurtful myths and biased prejudices against The Foreskin. I then sent my pupils out into the world (aka away from our table and over to the hot guys leaning against the bar) armed with their new knowledge and increased self confidence!

It was a proud moment.

And as I typed those last sentences, I realized that I just gave my mother a mental picture of my boyfriend's penis. Excuse me while I go shower for about 14 hours.

2) If I lived in Amsterdam, I would hate me. God, am I annoying! I talk too loud -- in English! -- and I laugh REALLY loud and kinda snorty. And MY GOD, didn't I notice that I'd just stepped into the bike lane and made that big Dutch girl break and swerve to avoid plowing into my big American ass? And, oh gee, aren't you cute trying to speak Dutch to me in the restaurant? Look, WOMAN, I speak English just as well as you do (notice I said "well" and not "good" because unlike YOU I know that's not correct), so just stop torturing my language before my ears bleed and I have an uncontrollable urge to throttle you.

3) Two words. Patat Oorlog. I've written about it before, I'll write about it again, but there just ain't nothin' finer after you've indulged in a little wacky weed then perfectly cooked, thick cut, french fries smothered in mayonaise and satay sauce.

4) Speaking of that stuff that is TOTALLY LEGAL here... did I mention it's legal? Like, I'm not doing anything wrong. Nothing that my parents have to be ashamed about because it's just like I wandered into a bar and bought a beer. And if there's one thing my family likes, it's beer. So, see... it's just like that. No biggie.

But I digress...

I'm not sure I entirely like the stuff. I mean, it's kinda fun, but I have found I need to be outside in order to enjoy the perception-altering effects of it. If I'm inside, I do not have enough visual stimulation. Yeah, I'm like that baby laying in the crib who starts screaming it's head off when the mobile stops moving. Hey, where are the pretty swirly colors!? Where did the floaty shapes go!? I NEED the pretty swirly colors in order to feel okay.

Inside, where it's all talk talk talk, I start to think this: Huh? Huh? Where's the conversation going? Oh god, I just lost the thread of the conversation. I'm going to say something really really stupid and M is going to think I'm a moron and then he'll think, why did I let a moron come live with me? Oh look at him. He knows what's going on. He knows exactly what we're talking about. Okay, wait, they're looking at me. I have to say something. What do I say? What ARE we talking about? Oh right... we're talking about poop. What do I say about poop?

And what comes out of my mouth after all of this? I don't really remember but it had something to do with Germans and monkeys.

5) Conversation I had at a gay bar:

Him: Hey, I noticed you at Arc! (another bar down the street...)

Me: But I have these (she says as she cups her breasts). Why would you notice me?

Him: Because I just generally appreciate pretty people. You're pretty.

Me: Awwww...

That might've been the highlight of my weekend. That and the patat oorlog, of course.

6) It is a surreal experience to watch your boyfriend move through a bar while dozens of men check out his ass.

7) Surprisingly, I didn't make it to the Anne Frank house or the Van Gogh museum.

8) I am now too old to go out 3 nights in a row and I'm okay with this.

I could write more, but I have to bike to the grocery store. We're out of potatoes and this is a code red situation in a Dutch household.

Immediately after dinner last night, M's lip began to swell. Not a lot... just a little... but enough for him to wonder "Hmmm... where's this gonna go? Wonder if I'll be able to go into work tomorrow...?"

(I don't think I've ever mentioned this before, but M has a severe allergy to MSG. Even a tiny amount of the stuff will make bits of him look like the Elephant Man. Swellings often occur on his legs or a hip or a wrist, but sometimes his face will puff up to odd proportions. It took him months to finally figure out what was doing this to him, so now he's super careful about what he eats.)

But the odd thing is that nothing I cooked last night could've possibly had MSG in it. Salmon? Nope, totally MSG free. Potatoes? Nothing in there. Snijbonen? (I think we call 'em pole beans) Heck, it's a veggie... no MSG there either.

We shrugged it off as some freak occurence of "the swellings" and went to bed.

At 4am, I'm suddenly awake and I promptly hear M whisper "Ang, are you awake?' But really it sounded more like "Amf, arf oo athake? I haf a bigth sthellingf."

But before I could really process this info, my stomach cramped. Badly. As in "Oh god, I gotta get outta bed or I'm gonna yuke all over my new boyfriend." I ran to the bathroom, bowed down the to the porcelain god, tried to push away my immediate thought of "ewwwww, i really need to clean this thing" and heaved.

And... well... nothing. (Okay, a little, but do you really want all the details of my puking? No, I didn't think so.)

I crawled back to bed and my stomach started cramping again. M tried to be nice and rub my belly for me, but the pain was so awful, I couldn't stand to be touched. I just laid there rocking back and forth, trying to comfort myself through each wave of cramps and thought "What the hell did we eat? Do I have food poisoning?" I finally fell asleep after another unproductive sprint to the bathroom.

This morning I woke up next to The Missing Link.

Yes, Ladies and Gentlemen, I have discovered that missing humanoid that irrefutably links us to the monkeys! He is Dutch, has a taste for nice clothes and I live with him! Do not be afraid children! He is gentle and tame and I keep him on a very short leash! Feel free to pet my monkey... er... human... er... monkey....

After searching the internet (no, M didn't go to work today... but I've already made 50 Euros displaying him to the neighbors...), we figured out what happened.

My cooking POISONED us.

(Right now, my mother is laughing and laughing and laughing... go ahead Mom, yuck it up... get a good chuckle outta this one... put it down on that list you keep... the one entitled "Things to Torture my Daughter With")

Did you know you gotta cook pole beans real REAL good so that they aren't... ahem... poisonous to humans?

"Before they are eaten, the raw bean seeds should be boiled for at least ten minutes to degrade a toxic compound - the lectin phytohaemagglutinin - found in the bean which would otherwise cause severe gastric upset."

Severe gastric upset. Um, whoopseeeeeee.

Now, we couldn't figure out a link between my poisonous cooking -- I hereby dub myself The Death Chef! -- and M's allergy to MSG, but we can't think of any other reason for the disaster that now is his face.

And since he's such a good sport, he's decided that I can share that disaster with all of you. This is M at approximately 9am this morning.

Only a shout out today as I'm still recovering from my weekend of debauchery in Amsterdam. Lordy lordy, is that city FUN.

Hello Will and Barbara in Brussels! Thanks for reading my blog!!

Wahhooooooo
oooooooooooooooo
oooooooooooo!

Whew! That took all my air.

I'm excited. (obviously)

My friend Royd is in Amsterdam and M and I will be spending some time with him. This will be the first friend of mine that M will meet. (so, by God, he better make a good impression... 'cause, ya know, the next people of "mine" that he'll meet are my parents and, well, I gotta have someone balance them out. Kidding! You know I love ya.)

And actually, I'm gonna go tonight and "sneak" into Royd's room and crash with him. M will join us tomorrow.

I'm gonna go get my fun on.

But I leave you with yet another pic. Here's what I look like when I'm writing to all of you.

Since the bombshell of yesterday, it's been an emotional rollercoaster for me. I don't think I can get into the details of everything that I'm thinking and feeling about my ex-husband remarrying other than to say 2 things:

1) This is yet another event that has given me a hard shove into mourning the death of that relationship. I know most people in my life think that "what's done is done" and "that's all in the past" and "hey, weren't you the one that wanted the separation?" and all those things I should realize and/or be thinking right now. But well... I can't help how I feel. I just can't. It's not me. I am and always will be a highly emotional person and, well, I guess it takes me a long time to get over things -- or better said, maybe I never get over things like this. I mean, hell, I sometimes even think about my poor sweet kitty Puddy who got run over when I was in 3rd grade. I have love notes from elementary school. I cried when I sold my old Volvo because I knew it was gonna be crushed into scrap metal. (and those, in the grand scheme of life, are pretty trivial things... my marriage and eventual divorce certainly are not.) Sometimes, my emotions seem silly even to me, but I guess as I get older I'm learning to accept the fact of who I am. My grandchildren will probably find those old love notes from elementary school because I'm never going to be "mature" enough to do away with the things of the past -- certainly not the things that touched my heart.

2) I am very very lucky. Not only do I have excellent girlfriends who let me whine and whimper on about things they've heard about a millions times before, but I also have managed to find someone who is emotionally mature enough (and affectionate and supportive) to understand that all this isn't a reflection of how I feel about him. No "but you have me," no avoiding me because I'm sad, no anger whatsoever that this man from my past is currently very much in my present. He's just there, telling me to feel bad if I want to and encouraging me to look towards my future... our future.

Okay, that's it... now to change the beat. (because I'm scatterbrained and by god that's how I... hey look over there! A pretty bird!! ha ha... okay if you didn't get that, I'm not gonna explain it to you)

Anyway, here's a picture I told you about ages ago when we had the first snowfall here. M just took a photo of it for me. Behold, the Snow Penis of Enschede:













My favorite part is the ladies giggling. Cracks me up.

I just learned today that my ex-husband is getting remarried at the end of April.

Odd. I just noticed that I started spelling "baby" like "babby" at the end of my last post. All this time away from working is making me soft in the head, I guess.

The weather is absolutely nuts here right now. For example, this morning, the sun was shining. Then, it started snowing really really hard. Now, the sun is shining again and all the snow is gone. Cuh-razy.

Did you know every country using the Euro issues their own coins? I didn't. But just moments ago, M showed me his coin collection. Yes, he's actually collecting them and he still needs some very rare ones from Finland and a few from Ireland. Geeeeeeeekkkkkkyyyyyyy, but cute.

Then he asked me if I ever collected anything when I was a kid. I thought and thought... hmmm... not much (except for a mean stuffed animal collection at one point) ... but the pondering did remind me that in elementary school, I had to put together a bug collection. This assignment required that I go out, find the bugs, then gas the poor little suckers in a jar. M looked at me in horror. And, well, he's right. Ewwwww... this is pretty cruel. Do schools still do this?

Speaking of death, his father (who's a doctor) was telling me this past Saturday about euthanasia in this country. It's pretty shocking stuff for an American to hear... even though I totally agree with the concept. So, apparently, there are two ways you can end your life here:

1) Active euthanasia -- First, you must meet two requirements -- there must be unbearable suffering and no chance of recovery from your disease. If you meet these requirements, your doctor will give you a shot or a drink that will end your life very quickly -- usually within 10 minutes.

2) Terminal sedation -- or you can have your doctor "put you to sleep." No, this isn't like when you had to put Fluffy down, but literally your doctor sedates you so you can sleep peacefully. Sometimes, just being sedated will end your life, but oftentimes, you die -- say after a week or so -- from a lack of food and water. (Also, you can be pulled out of this sedation at any time.) I get the impression that this is the choice for people who are in horrible pain, but do not want to commit suicide because of religious reasons.

For more info: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Euthanasia#The_Netherlands

Holy moly, I had 8 comments on my blog! (uh, well... one was mine, so let's not count that one) But wow... I feel special.

I figured this post would get some of my girlfriends out there all riled up and I'm glad you guys weighed in. As I have no clue how exactly my life will change once (if) a baby comes along, it's good for me to get a glimpse of my possible future by hearing your first hand accounts. Now that I've synthesized your comments in my noggin, I've decided the following:

1) Baby daddy will be selfless -- something of a male Mother Theresa

2) Baby daddy will be able to afford a nanny and a maid

3) Babby daddy will also be able to afford a personal trainer (to help lose that pregnancy weight -- alright that one's strictly for me) Ooooh... and while we're at it, said personal trainer will be named Marco and will be tall with dark good looks and an accent. Baby daddy will always leave Marco and I alone for our "workouts."

4) Babby daddy will love to cook and will exercise this talent often (preferably food that tastes like it's from a 5-star restaurant but only has, like, 48 calories. We don't want to undo all of Marco's hard work, now do we?)

5) Babby daddy will finish everyday with this line "Sweetie, you are the most gorgeous woman I've ever seen and I feel so incredibly lucky that you decided that I was worthy of being your babby daddy."

6) This sentence will quickly be followed with "May I please give you a foot rub now?"

What do you think? Asking too much?

Howdy folks, I'm back. And here are some entertaining tidbits -- or just general info -- from the past few days:

1) The sun shone for three days. THREE DAYS! Saturday, Sunday and Monday were cold but sunny and it made me hhhhaaaaaapppppyyyy. Of course, today, there's sideways blowing snow out there, so things are back to normal, I guess.

2) M and I spent Saturday night in Utrecht. This is a very nice, little city -- beautiful buildings and canals, nice stores, and obviously a more prosperous place than where I'm currently living. (I'm in the farmer/blue collar area of the Netherlands) Here's a link with more info: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Utrecht_%28city%29

3) A typical M, dry Dutch humor, one-liner from this weekend: Me: (after getting a little jealous about something he said) "Hey, that's not funny!! Tell me you love me right now!" Him (completely deadpan): "Okay. I love you right now." har har har... maybe you had to be there...

4) I have had my first glimpse of "The Crazy." It was cold, we were driving approx. an hour to another city on Sunday, but by god, the SUN was SHINING and THEREFORE we drove with the TOP DOWN. Uh huh. Hey, I was a good sport about it... and actually, I'm beginning to understand. These pagan, sun-worshipping Dutchies are sucking me into their cult. The sun! The sun! I think I'll remove my shirt! I think I'll drive in my convertible! I will actually smile at the other people around me!

5) I pulled an egg outta the fridge the other day and there were feathers and a little chicken doody still on it. Yikes. This didn't even happen to me in China. (of course, there I ate the little chicken's heart, feet, intestines... etc etc)

6) I really want to watch the Oscars this Sunday but I think it'll be airing here at about 3am. Sigh.

7) The "other American" here invited me to be one of her buddies during the Self Challenge. (some 3 month thing where you exercise and diet, etc) I've found that seeing how much she's exercising every week is bringing out my competitive side. So... I've been working out like a madwoman. Yesterday morning I even dragged my butt out of bed to go to a class called "body combat." In addition to inspiring me to karate chop everything around me, the class has also left me sore... uh.... well... everywhere. My body feels about a 100 today.

8) We had a friend come over spontaneously for dinner last night. (which was great... the Dutch tend to plan every little appointment... even social ones.) Anyhoo... dinner was nice, the conversation was good, but I learned something surprising. He was telling us how much he hated the fact that his ex-wife put him second after their kids were born. Now, I can understand this, but the sentiment was expressed in a kinda whiney way. Sort of "Why did I have to be second? I hate being second!" At first I thought he was kidding because he was so adamant... but then I realized "nope, this whining is sincere." Is this why they divorced? Is this why he left his wife for a woman half his age? And what will happen when she also wants a baby ('cause she and I have talked about it and she's definately leaning that way)? I mean, will he feel this neglect all over again? Dunno... got me to thinking... I think a lot of women turn the majority of their focus towards their kids and well... how do you strike a balance between caring for this little human that demands all of your time and attention and make sure your husband doesn't feel left out in the cold? (plus clean the house, work full-time, cook.. etc etc etc... and yeah i know, your husband should be helping with these things, but I do have friends who are responsible for all of it.)

9) Students in Utrecht will paint their bikes crazy colors so they won't get stolen. (why steal the orange striped bike that will stand out when you can steal the black one that looks like everyone elses)

Alrighty. That's it... I can't think of another thing at the moment. Not much going on over here... either inside my head or out. :)