Well, I'm just having all kinds of DMs this week. (not to be confused with BMs...)

I went to the grocery store today and while I was perusing the choices of pre-packaged coldcuts, I came upon paardenrookvlees.

Smoked horse meat.

Read more here: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Horse_meat

I just enjoyed a four-day weekend for Hemelsvaartsdag. (Ascension Day: http://www.holidayorigins.com/html/ascension_day.html)

On Saturday, M and I indulged in one of our favorite activities -- a full day at the sauna -- and I had a moment where the liberalness of Dutch culture smacked me in the face. Now, people who enjoy going to the sauna (and by no means does this include all Dutch people... there are plenty of folks here that also feel shy about getting naked) will often take their kids with them. Once confronted with naked kids running around, I think most Americans' knee-jerk reaction would be: "Oh my God! Naked children being seen by naked adults! Oh my... how inappropriate!" But Dutch people -- who don't view nakedness as always sexual and/or dirty -- don't think about it at all. It's just people... young, old, slim, fat, lumpy, wrinkled, pregnant... whatever... enjoying themselves in what's deemed to be a healthful and relaxing environment.

And while I'm all for this (and find that the longer I live here, the less I think about my body and it's flaws while in my birthday suit), I do have what I like to call "Dutch moments" -- instances in which my inherent Puritanism burbles to the surface when confronted with the often very different sensibilites of the Dutch. Here's my latest DM:

M and I were "doing a round" at the sauna -- from sauna/steamroom to cold shower/pool to hottub or warmed swimming pool, etc etc. Basically, you make yourself super sweaty hot then plunge yourself into freezing cold water. That part is rather unpleasant but it's also sort of... um... pleasant. Hard to explain -- you'll just have to experience it for yourself when you come visit. wink wink

Anyhoo... we were sitting in the hot tub when three little Dutch girls hopped into the tub with us. M started chatting with them and he said something like "and he's only wearing one earring..." Well the "he" in question was actually a "she" which I think is in the same class of faux pas with saying to a chubby woman "So when's the baby due?" Except that this little girl took his mistake as a compliment. (She's trying to look like a boy.) So, M continued to tease them and said "Well, I'm a girl too." I got into the game and assured them in my foreigner Dutch that indeedy this pretty thing next to me was a girl. They looked baffled for a second and then said "Nooooo, he's a boy. He has chest hair. Girls don't have chest hair!!" M smiles and tells them again, "No really, I'm a girl." Again, slight confusion. Then a lightbulb goes off and one one of the little girls realizes this mystery can be solved once and for all. A devilish smile spreads across her face and she yells "Stand up!!!" The other girl's get it immediatly and start chanting "yeah, stand up! stand up!!"

And what does M do? He stands up and gives three little girls proof of his... ahem... gender. I felt my face flush bright red and strained my ears for the sounds of police sirens. Meanwhile, the little girls are giggling and saying triumphantly "Hij heeft een plaasetje! Hij heeft een piemel!" (He has a pisser! He has a penis!)

M laughs and concedes, "Yeah okay. You're right. I'm a boy." And then M and the little girls just go back to normal chatting while I'm sitting there thinking "I'm in love with a man who shows his penis to children."

But really... it was just silly fun... innocent... and not at all weird for M or the little girls.

This incident really made me think just how stupid we Americans can be about nudity. I mean, we have 11 year old girls running around showing their bra straps and their thong underwear which, if you ask me, is WAY more sexualized than a little girl swimming naked with her friends. But one seems to be okay and accepted in American society while the other would make a lot of Americans feel terribly uncomfortable. Or even more than that... I think many people would deem it as horribly improper (If not downright licentious)... that maybe naked little girls would incite pedophiles to act on their impulses or perhaps even entice grown men to act in a way they've never considered before. (Now, I'm being a bit dramatic here... but really... it's not that crazy of a thought considering how our culture views nudity.)

All I do know is that I feel less ashamed of my less-than-perfect naked body here in Holland and much less constrained by how I "should" look when I remove my clothes. Maybe that's getting older and more comfortable in my own skin or maybe my inner Puritan is turning into a pagan. Who knows...

In an attempt to make me as fluent as quickly in his moedertaal (mother tongue), M has decided that I'm now ready to be bombarded 24/7 with Dutch. I get Dutch before sleep. I get Dutch in emails. I hear Dutch first thing in the morning. I am living with a man who I understand only about 47% of the time.

I hear you ask yourself: "And this is different from my husband/boyfriend how...?"

He is conducting this Berlitz class at the same time as I'm trying to wean myself from antidepressants. (which is making me just a smidge irritable...)

I wonder how long he'll live?

Just in case you feel your vocubulary could be more killer, dope, rad, phat, and wicked.

http://www.urbandictionary.com/

It's Friday!!

I've completed all 12 minutes of my work here at... er.... work (I use that term loosely) and now I'm free to just blather.

(blink. blink.)

Um... well let's see... how about I set my work place scene for you ?

First, I'm sipping some free hot chocolate, which is quite tasty. (or "lekker" as I've taught you before. Means "tasty" in Dutch, but they also use for all kinds of things including food (duh), sex, nice weather, and sleeping.) Go ahead, use it. It's quite a nice word. I might even call it lekker.

I'm listening to some internet radio. Specifically, 123party.fm -- The Best in Hip Hop & Rap. Because though I'm blindingly white on the outside, inside I'm... well... okay, still super white... Whatevah... I just love me some hip hop. "Used to Love You" by John Legend is on right now. Yo, dis tune kicks it.

Doesn't get more black urban than that, huh?

I sit in a large room with about 30 people. We all work for different channels but we're all herded into this one space. Like one big, noisy and unruly family. The boss people sit in glass offices on one side of the room and since none of these people are actually my boss -- mine are conveniently located in London -- I feel lucky that the transparent cubes over there display 3 quite fine specimens of Dutch lekkerness. hubba hubba

Don't worry M -- I'm only perusing the menu, not actully ordering one for take out.

Ohhhhh wait! I do have interesting news!

Tonight, I will be meeting M's ex-girlfriend for the first time! I'm not going to replay the whole drama for you (go back through the archives if you must know), but let's just say we've been dancing around her (and vice versa) for the past 7 months. If we go to a party, she won't. If she wants to go, we can't arrive until after 11pm. Things like that. However, she called last night to ask if we're going to a mutual friend's party tonight and then announced "I think it's time I meet Angela."

Whoa.

I'm sure it'll all be civilized and such. I highly doubt there will be any blog-worthy events, but such things have a way of taking a weird turn. Maybe the night will end with bikini mud wrestling or something.

Okay, maybe not that weird.

And a quick update about "going off the meds." Actually, it's all going pretty well. I'm down to taking only 10mg now (from 20) and the only side effect I've noticed is extreme irritability and heightened emotions in the evening. Other than that, I'm surprisingly okay. I've read some horror stories on the web but, luckily, I don't seem to be having any dreadful withdrawal side effects. No more scary vivid dreams. No stabbing M in the chest.

Because it's Friday, I'll end with a joke. One of the Brits told this to me the other day.

A woman finishes her grocery shopping and heads to check out. She plunks down her groceries: a frozen dinner for one, a bar of chocolate, a can of catfood, a woman's magazine and a small container of ice cream.

The checkout guy says to her "Single, huh?"

The woman replies, "Oh, well, yes. How did you know?"

The guys replies: "Because you're fuckin' ugly."

Remember the Burnt Sienna crayon? The one no little girl ever wanted to use because it was just such an ugly color and why use babyshit brown when Midnight or Brick Red or Cornflower are right there, waiting for you to color Barbie's dress. (...after you go over the outline of her dress with a firm hand, then ever-so-carefully lightly shade the inside of her dress, making sure to color all in one direction and never EVER stray outside of the dark border you painstakingly created)

I saw a 20-ish guy this morning in Amsterdam wearing a crushed velvet suit in Burnt Sienna.

And I thought he looked cool.

I'm sure how I feel about this. Either the 6 months of not working has made me soft in the head or I'm this close to comfortable shoes, elastic waistbands and a sensible "mom" haircut.

I hate to say it, but I'm uninspired. The 5 hours of daily, mind-numbing travel back and forth from home to Amsterdam has drained all of my brain wattage. I have nothing interesting to relate to you.

Oh wait, one thing.

From my train window, I saw a cow -- a pretty beige one -- leaping through the air. She was kicking her legs out behind her and galloping. And the best part is that I saw it for FREE.

Take that, Dutch farmers!

Brain chemistry is a funny thing. Especially when you tinker with it.

So, to answer my friends Bethany and Dawn who are worried about me "going off my meds" (I love that phrase) without the supervision of my doctor, I have this to say: Uh yeah, you're right. I'm not supposed to be doing that.

However, also consider this: The doctor who prescribed them barely asked me any questions about my depression. Approximately 12.5 seconds into our meeting he said "Right, I'm going to give you a pill that will make you feel like everything is moving faster."

Moving faster like I'm in a car? Or on a merry-go-round? OR do you mean you're going to give me speed or maybe even cocaine? That will make everything feel faster.

Long story short, let's just say that while everyone in this country has health insurance, I do feel you get a tad shortchanged when you see the doctor. Case in point -- a normal appointment only lasts 10 minutes.

So... yes, I'm going off slowly. I'm carving up my pills and reducing the dosage just a little at a time.

But back to the brain chemistry thing. Whoa... have my dreams gotten weird. First, when I went on the pills, I had a VERY scary dream in which I got out of bed, walked to the kitchen, picked up a big knife, felt very attached to my big knife and then promptly went back to bed and stabbed Martijn in the chest with it.

Uhhhhh... all I can say is that I'm glad his mother doesn't read this blog.

And yes, I'm crazy, but i'm not that kind of crazy. (at least not yet)

Let's see... and this week, in my dreams, I've been in a terrible car accident in which M and I fishtail out of control and are launched into the air. We then crash into a body of water. I panic when I can't figure out how to save us both.

Then, two nights ago, I was shot several times -- by who, I don't know -- and no one would help me get to a hospital.

Last night was, thankfully, peaceful. No stabbings, no wrecks, no bleeding from bullet wounds.

And last but not least... if I do start to slip again, I have a emergency supply of pills, just in case. I can always go back on.

I spent the night in Amsterdam last night to give myself a little breather from the hateful travel. The nice -- and incredibly sarcastic (which makes her even better) -- British woman I work with offered up her spare room and I gotta say, the break was very welcome. I slept many many hours... deep, heavy, drool-on-the-pillow sleep. But before I crawled into bed, I wandered through the lovely Vondelpark and looked at all the happy Dutch people enjoying the beautiful weather. I also sat outside at an Italian cafe, read a book, sipped a little wine and nibbled on antipasto.

As you can imagine, my life is a lot more enjoyable now. So... against the advice printed on my crazy pills, I've decided to go back to being "Unmedicated Angela." Medicated Angela is rather pleasant, I guess. She doesn't cry much and her emotions are fairly stable, but Unmedicated Angela feels more like herself and much more creative. So... out with the pills. I think the sunshine and new-found activity will keep the crazies at bay. At least I hope so.

A picture... thousand words... blah blah blah. Us on the beach in Turkey.

No captions for these pics. But feel free to create your own. All I'll say is this: Yes, he's wearing a version of the banana hammock. Yes, I'm totally topless. Yes, that's an alcoholic beverage. And no, I took my top off before I had any drinks. This was not reckless, drunken clothing removal. I had a plan and executed it.

But in the sense of decorum -- because this blog is all about decorum -- I've censored us, lest little chilluns see this webpage and are scarred for life.

The other day M told me about a new past-time in Holland that occurs in the early spring. (So, alas, I've already missed it, as it's a one-time deal.)

Picture it:

It's early morning. Dew glistens on the grass and birds chirp happily as they greet the sun. People are bundled up against the morning chill, steaming cups of coffee cupped in their hands. They are on a farm, anxiously awaiting the big event...

The Spring Releasing of the Cows!

Yes, you read that line right. And no, I'm not intoxicated (yet) and just making up silly things. Apparently, when cows are released from their pens for the first time in the spring, the warmth, new grass, and sun send them into a giddy tizzy. They leap through the air, run out into the new grass, and just generally frolic wildly for about 15 minutes.

Then they settle down again and become the sedate and, dare I say, stately cows that we all know and love. (Behold, the majestic cow!) But who knew cows had a silly side, eh?

Of course, several things went through my head:

1) Uhhh... THIS passes as entertainment in Holland? (Of course, secretly, I very much want to see the cows for myself...)

2) Those smart Dutch farmers. I wonder what they charge for the entertainment and the coffee? (And believe me, they ARE charging for the privilege of seeing their kooky cows.)

(I'm just gonna go ahead and apologize for "kooky cows" right now. What can I say? I'm a sucker for alliteration.)

3) That's it. I'm moving back to the States... to my rinky dink small town, no less, getting me some cows and opening for business. It's still the entertainment industry and I get free milk. Can't beat that.

4) This is it! This is it! THIS is what'll get my friends and family to visit me! Legal drugs? Nawww... Prostitutes? No way! Tulips, maybe? Heck no! Take me to see the cows!

5) Dutch cows are just like Dutch people. The first sign of spring and they act completely nuts.

Yawn. 4pm. Fading fast... why does it already feel like I've been working here for 3 weeks?

However, I did forget how much fun it is to work with British people. Their slang is fantastic. Try these out:

winge = whine
for fuck's sake (self explanatory)
piss off = screw you, fuck off

Here's a phrase for you to practice with: "Oh for fuck's sake! What are you wingeing on about? Piss off and get yourself back to your desk."

I survived Day One.

The commute almost killed me. But mostly because I couldn't fall asleep on Sunday night. Luckily, we have beer and valerian in our house and the combination of the two put me into a coma-like state after I gave up trying to go to sleep naturally. (Of course, that is, after M and I first tried our new favorite game and non-drug sleep aid -- name the countries all the way through the alphabet. For example, "S" is Sri Lanka, Switzerland, Sierra Leone, Syria... you get the idea...)

Okay, about the job. I'm the "assistant promo producer" for Extreme Sports Channel. Don't get excited. There are no productions done here, only the promos and scheduling. It's not like I'm heading out to snowboarding competitions or BMX bike thingys or anything.) Pretty much my job will consist of assistant type crap like setting up studio time and mailing tapes. Yeehaw. Also, the job is probably only for a short time so once I start getting really fed up with it, I'll be coming home to the US to sit on my parent's backporch and watch the grass grow. (from one highly stimulating situation to another :)

But, as I said before, the job pays pretty well (the Dutch have notoriously low salaries) and I'm with people. Already today, I've had conversations with 4 people and have even laughed a few times. This is HUGE considering the isolation of the past 6 months.

And today the commute wasn't too bad. I slept almost 8 hours last night and I took a later train today. And I gotta say... psychologically... there's an enormous difference between getting up at 5:30am and getting up at 6:10am. For me, it's the difference between being on the train and wishing it would jump the tracks or hit a cow or something so at least I could go back to sleep (albeit in a hospital bed) and merely being in a cranky mood until I drink the thermos of coffee I've brought with me.

(Um, let me just say I do not wish any ill will towards Dutch cows. I just like my sleep.)

So, anyhoo... here I am. In Amsterdam. I have no official desk yet and no work to do (um, obviously) but, hey, I have absolutely no problem getting paid for doing nothing.

You don't either, apparently. Where are you right now while you're reading my blog, hmmm?