(Sort of) Done!

After six months (or three years) of worrying about it, I completed my colloquium on Wednesday evening. And I passed! So I do have to write some papers to complete my credits, but it looks as though I am actually going to receive a Bachelor's degree in a month. Wow. And then I'll have no excuse about not updating this blog more often.
My colloquium, which for those of you I haven't explained it to is a one and a half hour conversation with three faculty members, was on the possibilities of radical gender performance in cyber-mediated relationships. And I think it really went well. I could have been more sharp with Aristotle, but who couldn't use some sharpening on Aristotle really?
But Ryan orchestrated a wonderful and impromptu celebration (thanks!)that involved close to a hundred balloons and karaoke (of course). If you didn't make it (and really there were only five of us) we'll have to celebrate the next time I see you. You'll notice that Josh had a good time.
So I guess I am now officially looking for an actual job (preferably one that doesn't require being polite to drunk, lecherous customers). So if you know of one that you think I'd be good at let me know. Because I honestly have no idea. In fact I am not really sure what marketable skills I have. Besides literacy. And opening stubborn bottles of wine. So let me know, internet. What's my next move?

Time In New York

So it's been almost a month and I can't apologize enough for being such a jerk about updating. I forgot how busy life can be in New York. I have been trying to put my finger on why exactly one city should feel inherently more busy than any other, and I honestly am not quite sure. If I were to list possibilities for why they would be:

1) There are so many things to do, it seems like no matter what you're doing you ought to be doing something else. Like if you are having lunch with a friend at two, then you want to finish by four so you can get the reduced price bagels from the guy on University Place (though that's only true on Mondays, and since the bagels are now 35 cents instead of 25, I rarely make the effort).

2) The city is so huge that a large portion of the day is spent getting from one very important thing to another. Last year when I lived in the East Village (which for those of you in Amsterdam is in downtown Manhattan), I walked everywhere and pretty much limited my social interactions to the twenty block area which vaguely represents that neighborhood. Now that I am in Brooklyn (all the way across the river!) I take the subway places, and once I am on the subway I am much more willing to travel farther. Also, spending seventy dollars on a monthly pass is incentive to use the subway as much as possible.

3)Bars are open till four. Which means, I often stay out till four (maybe frequently more than often). Which means I rarely get up in the mornings before it is absolutely necessary. Pathetic.

4)My life here has lots of responsibilities. In addition to school work and class, I am also working again (and much less broke because of it!). On top of that, I have begun to nurture two tiny and wonderful plants. Although they aren't looking that great right now:


5)New York is so large and weighs so heavily on the fabric of the fabric of the universe that time actually passes here in warped and unwieldy ways. Honestly.

Quick Update

Greetings from Brooklyn, New York City and My New Apartment! How are all of you? Well, I am cold. The heat here is not so good. Neither is the level of filfth. That is, it's too high. Unfortunately spatial limitations dictate that the backdrop for my copious self-portrait photos will be sadly vacant of all Irish Literary Greats. Mea Culpa. But here I am, never the less. And yes, that is a sweater vest. It's an experiment.



So I am back at my old job, waiting tables and pouring wine. It's basically the same. My new apartment is cheap, but otherwise a little unsatisfying. Classes are good. And, basically, I am just incredibly busy. But I hope to settle down and start writing more regularly soon. I'll start taking extra note of hilarity with which to regale you all. But until then, know I am thinking of you.

Urgent Alert: Seal Terror!

It is with great sadness that I relate to you, dear readers, that a harp seal "adolescent" has been shot. Shamefully, it was in the waters off the coast of my home state, Massachusetts, that this dastardly deed was done. It is an unfortunately common practice for fishmermen to shoot seals found in fertile fishing areas. In this particular case, the (as yet unknown) shooter used a shotgun (that's the nasty kind that puts lots of painful little pellets into bodies instead of one bullet). And to make matters worse, the harp seal is fairly rare in Massachusetts, so this particular pinniped was our guest!

Perhaps some of you are not aware of my fondness for seals, but you can expect more important updates about all marine mammals in the future. Until then, do keep your eyes peeled and your ears to the ground as the hunt for this villan continues.

The Continuing Story of Ronjo, The Tiki God

So lots of people ask me lately why I chose to study abroad in Amsterdam. If only our lives were so radically digitized that I could immediately link them to this article.

Puppy Beer.

I know I am a shithead about updates. But I found an apartment, I'm working again, I turned in my colloquium rationale on Monday (only two and three-quarters months late!) and once I finish this ridiculous paper for Saskia "I Will Kill Any Joy Performance Ever Brought You" Kersenboom I will be back to my normal schedule of homework and procrastination about finishing said homework.

I will also make a New Year's blog-resolution to avoid run-on sentences.

Till then, a photo story of a run in with an angry Tiki god in the off season in Montauk:



Ronjo holds court at the base of the desolate motel. His giant gleaming red mouth moistens as he remembers the copious tan bodies which crowded his lap all summer.



Unfortunate and unwitting Joshua happens upon the ravenous god. Overcome by his majesty, Joshua takes pains to show his respect.... Nay, admiration... Nay, LOVE! for this glorious being.



Sadly, Ronjo will not be moved.



Thinking it is taking Joshua a long time to get a sandwich, I go after him. Death hangs in the air as I approach the idol.



"Are you really gone, my love?"



Fighting back the tears and gathering all my courage, I challenge this Ronjo.



But Ronjo will not be moved.

Things I Will Miss Most

And that was just the last night....


Merry Christmas to all of you. Stay tuned for updates about my re-acclimation process and hilarious tales of the stress of graduating and finding an apartment and job and life. It should be a very happy new year.

Things I Will Not Miss: Blue Gatorade

It's fucking awful.

Help Me Out, New York

So I am feeling pretty down on leaving Amsterdam and I'll probably post another Thing I Will Miss really soon, but for now why don't you remind me of all the great things I am coming back to. I have started a list, as you can see, but other than the company of your lovely selves, I'm a little stuck. Let me know!

Things I Will Miss: Comestibles

So, I do a lot of complaining about Dutch cuisine. And while there are many things I will be glad to never think about again (raw herring? those pate salads? unrefrigerated sausages?), I have grown quite attatched to certain foods and beverages that just won't be available to me in New York.

1. Stroopwaffles Should any of you find yourself in Amsterdam at some point it is imperitive that you try the fresh, warm stroopwaffels at the Albert Cuyp Market. A treasure. Warm, gooey, a little cinnamon-ey.... and so, so delicious. I am planning to have my last one *sniff* on Thursday.

2. Vla It's so much better than pudding! And I'm really not sure why. It comes in milk-style cartons and you could practically drink it. Maybe it seems healthier, or at least higher in calcium than a Snack Pac. If you get the chance, try the "dubble vla" (double vla) in chocolate/vanilla. Like Hoodsie cups of our youth! Only in near-liquid form!

3. Cheap Wine Do you remember that time we bought wine for $1.99 in New York? Lost Vineyards was the brand? No? You can't remember? Because the vile substance (which might have been cleverly packaged fermented Welch's grape juice) erased your memory of the evening? Well, over here it's a different story. While it's usually more satisfying to go for a 3 or 4 Euro bottle (OMG the Aliwen Sauvignon Blanc is just the most delicious 13% alcohol white wine of all time), you can easily drink the 1.89 grocery store Rioja.

4. Cheese It's just. so. good.

Things I Will Miss: My Shower

This is the first installment of a new, questionably-regular feature called Things I Will Miss. In all liklihood it won't last much longer than the process of writing the paper I am currently not writing. Which is to say, Tuesday. Hopefully. But I just wanted to commemorate in words and images some of the finer things in my life here in Amsterdam. And the first object of praise is my shower.
Having showered regularly in six different places in 2006, I would like to state without reservation that the shower at Meer en Vaart 442 is by far the best I have experienced. Maybe even ever. I, like most people, I imagine, look for lots of water pressure and inexhaustible amounts of hot water when evaluating "shower awesomeness levels." This shower, my friends, has both to spare. If you aren't accustomed to the positioning of the faucets you might even burn yourself or bruise your skin with the pressure (probably hyperbolic). The room billows with steam. The water on my back is like a thousand little cat tongues insistently massaging away my stress. Or whatever.
It is not merely the superior heat and pressure which make this particular showering experience perfect. It is the design of the shower itself. It is just a shower head in the corner of the bathroom, unseparated from the toilet or sink by a curtain or a tub. At first, I admit this was difficult. The toilet seat gets wet and the toilet paper can get a little damp from the condensation sometimes. But then, I began to realize the benefits. As I have mentioned before, the ability to position a coffee cup within reach but outside the spray of the water has exponentially improved my mornings. And afterwards I just brush my teeth. And not with hot shower water (hot water brushing is gross). I use the cold faucet of the sink. Without the chill of leaving the shower.

It's also really great to have the mirror right there over the sink. I have to swipe away the fog with my hands a couple times, but plucking my eyebrows has never been less painful. My skin is so soft and open from the warm water. Additionally the mirror can provide a great deal of amusement when I enjoy a small joint before showering in the evenings. I play a game called Scary Mermaid which basically involves smearing the mascara that is running down my face and making viscious, come-hither looks at myself in the mirror.
After the cleansing, plucking, caffinating, tooth-brushing ordeal I am relaxed and ready to start the day:

Tangental Update

So I just put my sister on a plane back to Boston. Which marks the end of the last visit I will recieve in Amsterdam, barring one of you surprising me tomorrow morning (this is recommended). But I crossed some very important things off the meta-To-Do list of the semester including the Heineken Brewery (just great!) and the Expressionist exhibit at the Van Gough Museum (they really over-sold the Kandinsky. There are only two paintings of his). Additionally I spent more time under the influence of substances that aren't legal (or "tolerated") at home than perhaps the whole rest of the semester combined. Which is a good way to end things, I suppose.

Another long term goal I attained this week was finally getting a white leather bag (a quest Leila and Doug might remember from the way I eyed the ones Italian police officers wear). It was a great deal and I really love it and my old purse is on it's last legs. I do feel a little ridiculous buying things for myself with Christmas right around the corner and not a single gift bought. Who am I kidding though? It's clearly going to be stroopwaffles for all.
And so, I am becoming more and more preoccupied with moving back to New York and the pending culture shock of that experience (and the general shock of finishing college in May). I'll just repeat for any of you who are so unlucky as to not be my facebook OR myspace friend that I am looking for an apartment that is cheap, doesn't require a year lease and reasonably easy to get to NYU from. It seems like moving back will be especially depressing because I'll have just missed that magical Christmas In New York feeling that's everywhere in December. Instead it will just be the Depressed But At Least The Bars Are Open Late feeling that takes over in January. I'd like to take this opportunity to warn all of you that I have not maintained my tolerance of alcohol while abroad and if you make me take shots I might vomit. I also go to bed by one most nights.
But for now I am just trying to write my last paper so I can do fun things and have a great time with the people I have met here who I will miss veryvery much. I am trying to look at it as an incredible opportunity to visit friends in exciting places in the future, but I also feel like I am just getting to know a lot of people and it's sad to leave them. Sigh. So complicated.
Ok. If I post again really soon just yell at me and tell me to go write my paper.

I thought you might need a little Christmas...

you know, right this very minute.
So this is sooner than expected, but I finished a paper early and I thought it would be fun to have up first thing in the morning. I couldn't think of anything you guys would like more than me being a complete asshole, so here you go.

Updates, Contests, Holidays, etc.

So I meant to mention under the contest rules that I only had certain materials available for fixing my earrings (scotch tape, duct tape, mounting putty and penut butter). But since I didn't, Devin wins. He'll probably get the stroopwaffles in the mail since I am unlikely to make it to Texas before they would become stale.
Don't be sad that you didn't get the stroopwaffles (but see how commenting pays off?) because I am working on a super-great holiday gift for all of you, but especially Leila, Rachel and any member of Sixie Choir I might be forgetting. It might be done before my sister gets here on Thursday should I drink too much Gluwine (hot wine, not wine made of glue) at the Sinterklaas dinner tomorrow night and not spend the evening writing my colloquium rationale. Nevertheless, it's going to be great.
I leave you now with a photo of myself with a Zwarte Piet in Rotterdam this weekend.


Coming Soon! Rotterdam! Marzipan Analysis! The definitive debate on what makes a bar gay featuring special guest commenter Yvette!

Contest! Fix My Earrings

What binds fake pearls to metal?




The winner gets stroopwaffles. No joke. Unless I don't know you.

Dutch Culture: Sinterklaas

This is officially my first post about the holiday season and my first post written while I ought to be working on a final. Probably the Sint will leave me coal. "The Sint" is an affectionate nickname given to Sinterklaas, which is an affectionate nickname for Saint Nicolas (Sint Niklaas). Sinterklaas is basically the Dutch equivalent of Santa Claus. Except they also have Santa on Christmas, so really it's just more candy and presents. I urge you to read more about this fascinating and complex tradition, but for now I will just do the highlights.
On the second to last Sunday in November Sinterklaas arrives on a steamboat from Spain in the Amsterdam harbor. Yes. A boat from Spain to Amsterdam (Sinterklaas Boot!). He spends Saturday chilling at his church (which I have posted pictures of before. It's big and vaguely Byzantine). You can see him from home because they broadcast his arrival on TV all over the Netherlands and Belgium. On Sunday he parades through town on his white horse (apparently named Americo) and throws (unwraped!) candy to the kids who come to see him. It's important to note that he does this in every town (in the Netherlands AND Belgium). So to recap, parents, television and the government (which I have reason to believe subsidizes this extravaganza) conspire to convince children that:
a) A boat came from Spain.
b) It was carrying a saint on a horse.
And then they leave this elaborate ruse wide open by having one guy in every town at once.
Of course the Sint himself isn't throwing the candy, his reliable helpers the "Zwarte Pietje" do it for him. Those quick with Dutch translation know that these are "Black Petes." This is probably the most.... difficult part to get as an American. I accept that we are racially preoccupied as a country, but Black Petes are just a bunch of Dutch guys running around with black face (and hand) paint with big red lips, wearing "moorish" outfits and gold earrings. Apparently Pete is black from the soot of the chimneys he goes down delivering candy. Which he does EVERYNIGHT FOR THREE WEEKS. Yes, Sinterklaas and Piet go from rooftop to rooftop each night atop Americo delivering candy to children's eagerly waiting shoes. Typical candy seems to be anything with an almond base (there is so much damn marzipan in this city right now!) and chocolates in the shape of the first letter of the child's name. Something makes me think that stubbornly ignorant American children would reject such a candy as a subtle ploy to teach them to read. Perhaps I am disillusioned.
You're really only supposed to get candy if you're good. If you're bad you might get coal or sticks. And if you're really bad you might get put in a sack and taken back to Madrid with the Sint (I am working on my badness as I type). Apparently the sack and Spain treatment isn't particularly in favor anymore, but I can try!
On the eve of Saint Nicolas day (December 6) everyone exchanges presents and the daily candy bombardment stops (until Christmas 20 days later...). Sinterklaas is really the day for gifts, but they are supposed to be small and funny. In fact, my favorite part of the holiday is that you write rhyming poems for all of your friends and family. Poems!
I would certainly love to write some rhyming poems, but since my first final is due on Sinterklaas, I think I better not.
All in all, Sinterklaas is probably not that much stranger/ less probable than Santa, though the mythology and ceremony surrounding him is certainly more precise. Racism aside, it's cool the way everyone buys into it. And capitalists rejoice that Sinterklaas' arrival in the Netherlands is perfectly timed to kick off the holiday gift buying season!

Old and New Amsterdam Compared and Pie

I wash my hair between Monday night and Tuesday morning and at some point on Friday. Every week. Hair dressers and women's magazines are always telling you it's a good idea to wash your hair less frequently and in the (relativey) smogless Amsterdam it's finally possible (in New York I wash my hair every other day. I brush my teeth the same amount in both places). My shampoo smells like babypowder. I don't know if I explained my complex method of choosing items like shampoo when faced with Dutch packaging. I basically choose something cheap and familiar looking. So I have Dove shampoo. The package says "Anti-Roos" and according to my translator roos means rose. Needless to say this discovery was very distressing. I mean, there must my lingo-psychological damage caused by prolonged use.... I later learned that "roos" is the word for dandruff. A little insulting. But just to be certain, I bought a conditioner (also Dove brand) which is labled "Respect and Balance." For some reason that's in English, though the rest is Dutch (I think I have normaal haar, right?). It seems like a good way to counter act shampoo that might be washing away flakes of my Self along with unwanted build-up and dead skin.
In New York I buy shampoo solely based on smell. Also commercials (to be totally honest). And the last time I bought shampoo in New York I succumbed to the trap of buying designer or professional or whatever the term is for an expensive one. I find myself making comparisons like this a lot lately since I have just over a month left here. I don't think I remember New York clearly anymore.
I have a vague notion that I might have already mentioned my perculiar Dutch shampoo situation in this blog, and if so, I appologize for boring you. My parents are in town and we had a long day riding the train to and from Maastricht (yup, the one with that treaty!). We also saw some neat medieval stuff like walls and churches. And we saw the crypt of a saint who died in 384 AD. But the important news is that the South of Holland is known for a particular type of pie called Limburgse Vlaai (which when pronounced correctly it rhymes with pie). And so I was finally able to fulfill the promise implied by the title of this blog.
Honestly, I wasn't blown away. It was served cold (a no-no) and there were raisins in it. Also I think it was a little mass produced. I won't condemn the style as a whole, though. The crust was cakey rather than the flakey pastry we are used to in the States, which I can dig. And the concept has merit (a crust of uniform thickness on all sides with a nicely proportioned amount of filling) but I think I went to the wrong shop. I guess I'll have to try it again.

I'm Basically Dutch.

Well it finally happened. Five weeks and one day before I leave the country I received my official residence permit card. This card cost me several trips out to the far flung industrial park where the foreign police are located and 430 euros in September.* But it's pretty cool to have an official identity card from another country. It says that my nationality is Amerikaans Burger which sounds vaguely like a menu item at Bartley's to me. I am still fascinated by all of the forgery proofing on this tiny object. The fancy holograms and barcodes and invisible inks on identification cards practically make up for the frightening loss of privacy they represent. Um, I mean, it makes me feel safer from terrorism. No terrorist could possibly get by the gold colored face silhouette on the back (and it ought to be real gold for the price I paid).
On a related side note, did you know that the Montana driver's license has bears on the hologram? And not like complicated roaring bears that appear to swallow the photo when moved in the light. Just tiny, simple bears. It's about as complicated as the key design that was on the fake ID I paid too much for when I was nineteen. But even the fake was more complicated. At least when you turned it you saw "guaranteed authentic."
Contributing to my Dutchness is the fact that I attended a "football match" between the national team and England last night. It was sort of slow (I was trying to root hard for my temporary home team but they just didn't have any hustle at the front). But in the end they tied it up and it was exhilarating good soccer for five minutes. The fans were almost certainly more interesting than the game. Especially those wearing "Lyonhosen," bright orange liederhosen-style short pants with a lion's tail coming out of the bum. The lion is the national symbol of the Netherlands and orange is the national color. As some of you might know I have an abiding fascination with people with lion's tails. I suppose I read The Borrowers too often as a kid. Whatever the reason, it was marvelous.


*exorbitant cost of photo copies not included.

Three Parter

So I have a lot of catching up to do. I am going to break down the last several days into three major categories: Karaoke, the Zuider Zee and Belgium. So, beginning chronologically:

Karaoke Thursday evening was my first time properly doing karaoke in the Netherlands. There was one activity called "bier cantus" (beer singing) during the orientation week, but that was really more of a sing-along with television screens projecting the words. So on Thursday, we went to a place that bills itself as a "the only karaoke bar in Amsterdam" after dinner. It was run by two Cantonese women and dominated mostly by groups of Dutch students. This karaoke bar was not doing anything right. Most egregiously, the DJ was incredibly rude to one of my friends, prompting us to leave before Son of a Preacher Man and the Macarena* had a chance to be brought to their full glory. Additionally they allowed the same (godawful) Dutch pop song to be sung twice in ten minutes and only had the Nikki French disco remix of Total Eclipse of the Heart available. It was popular nonetheless and my second song was met with what I like to think of as silent respect by the onlooking drunk Dutch students. I can say with confidence that 90% of the room had never heard MacArthur Park before (god help them). Marta emailed me this photo with the subject line "Pop-star Rose Costello in Amsterdam Performance! A new talent has born.."


*It should be noted that this selection was made by Federico and Marta who were choosing the only "Spanish language" songs in the catalogue. The lyrics to La Bamba appeared with phonetic spellings for a Dutch reader, which was pretty hilarious.

The Zuider Zee For those who aren't attuned to the intricate Dutch translation process, Zuider Zee means Southern Sea (isn't Dutch adorable?). On Friday I had the opportunity to visit this lovely region which is only about a half hour from Amsterdam. I went with Federico and Walter (who goes to NYU also, though we only met here. It would be a funny coincidence if I knew anyone at NYU). Our first stop was Marken. We were relying on a Rough Guide for our information on tour stops and mostly picked Marken for it's intriguing description: "Despite its proximity to Amsterdam, its biggest problem was the genetic defects caused by close and constant intermarrying." ("Damn, they really put the rough in Rough Guide on that one. We looked around, saw the pretty houses (they're a bright green color with white trim) and I began my new photo project of documenting the awful lawn ornaments used by Dutch people. I have honestly never seen more garden gnomes in my life. But all the while we were looking for people with genetic defects. Disappointed we returned to the bus stop where we finally spotted one at the bus stop. I would include a photo, but it's on Walter's camera.


Our second and last stop (it really starts getting dark at four-thirty here) was Edam, home of the famous cheese. Edam is basically a postcard. It is incredibly quaint and picturesque. The canals, bridges, houses, etc. were all very enjoyable, but the highlight of this stop was definitely the cheese warehouse. We sampled about fifteen different cheeses and they were so delicious. Federico and I bought a fantastic creamy bleu and a delicious traditional Edam style cheese with garlic and herbs. Edam differs from Gouda, the other famous Dutch cheese, in that the rounds are typically smaller because the farmers in Edam were not as rich as those in Gouda (and consequently didn't have as many cows and thus didn't have as much milk). Edam cheese is also only 40% fat wheras Gouda is 48%. Again, this is because of the richness of farmers. I know these are the details that keep you all coming back for more, so I couldn't let you down. We returned exhausted at six pm to a pitch dark Amsterdam and prepared for more fun adventures the coming day.







Belgium Saturday was the first time I left the Netherlands since arriving almost three months ago. I went with six friends (yes, it is difficult to travel and make decisions with so many people). It took us a while to get on the train (train tickets are much more complicated than they ought to be...), but when we did our final destination was Bruges or Brugge. You might never have heard of this city before because I certainly hadn't, but let me tell you, it's a must if you're in Belgium. In English it's Bruges (rhymes with bruise) and in Dutch it's Brugge (for some reason Brew-ha). The city is apparently a tourist trap and was very crowded eventhough it was cold and wet. But it is full of medieval architecture and cathedrals and cobblestones and chocolates. We mostly just walked around, but we saw some really cool things including a Michelangelo statue in the Church of Our Lady (I literally went to six churches in one day). Perhaps inconcruously, the highlight of the trip was the bar we went to on Saturday night which was a sort of secret entrance piano bar with a Cuban santaria theme. it was so cool. The place was full of strange art and the mojitos were really cheap. And the piano player was.... well, completely unbelievable. Not in his skill necessarily, but more in his style. Picture an older Belgian man in an ugly tie and ill-fitting jeans playing and singing I Will Survive. Priceless. I took a video but I have to add sound and stuff so it'll come up later. For now I will leave you with this picture of the Virgin of Guadalupe to give you an idea of the style of the place.







So I'll probably post more photos soon, but I gotta run now. I am going to see the Holland vs. England soccer game tonight. I'm excited. Real live hoodlums!

Party's Over

So I love blog comments. They're like internet PDA's but more tasteful and less offensive. However, "Anonymous" has ruined my open commenting policy for everybody. You will now need to register yourself as a user. This is not a difficult thing to do. You don't even need to write a blog. You just need to sign up. You can do it through the blogger homepage. It's my intention that this will prevent further advertisements in the comments section. I hope this doesn't prevent any of you from contacting me. I think that most of you already have my email address, but I'll soon try to set up one of those fancy email links to make it even easier. I'll be back really soon with news (stories! photos! videos!) about my action packed weekend. Until then, enjoy Monday.

I am a Grown Up.

This evening after getting home from karaoke, I recieved the following email in my inbox:

Please respond so I know you'e OK. I read the most recent entries in
your blog
today and enjoyed them. XOXOXO R.

That "R" stands for "Roberta" (maybe Robin), who for the uninitiated (that is, creepy readers I don't know... or whatever, maybe you're not creepy) is my mother. So yes, my mother is reading this blog. Which is actually ok. Because when I think about it there isn't really anything I am uncomfortable with my parents knowing at this point. Sure, we might not naturally talk about the details of my sex life or things like that, but that's not really what I'm telling you guys about either (good thing too because it would hardly make for a good read what with the ocean between me and my monogamous partner). I sent out the address in a mass email which is probably how most of you found the site as well. Something about my mom reading this blog makes me feel old though. It's like, "Oh you read my diary? No big deal. Wasn't that thing that happened on October 15 hilarious?" Oof. Weird. But, I just wanted to say, "Hi mom!!" and that it's cool and strange but mostly cool that you read this. Also it's cool that you figured out the internet well enough to find it.
So that's it. I'm all grown up now.
In other news I'm going on lots of fun excursions this weekend. Tomorrow I'm going to a village that used to be an island that is known for inbreeding (apparently people are actually dumber there?) and on Saturday to Sunday I am going to Bruges in Belgium which is considered "the Venice of the North" (although Amsterdam is also called that). So I have to get to bed now. But expect lots of pictures of me singing "MacArthur Park" and posing in front of windmills with inbreds in the next entry. Cause that's just how we grown ups roll.