Maaaiwidge. Maaiwidge is what brings us togefer today.

A very belated congratulations to Caroline on getting engaged. I've been meaning to recollect the shenanigas of their visit. But I want to do that in photos and the plug is at work so another time...why do today what you can put off till tomorrow.


So, I visited Italy for the first time, but it was with work so I didn't really leave the hotel and Milan looks like Madrid anyway...well, feels like it. The hotel was, however, wicked cool. I don't normally go in for all the bells and whistles on these trendy hotel concepts (though it is nice when your hotel suite doesn't look like Grandma Wasp's guest room), but this place did some pretty cool things. One side of the shower was translucent orange plastic and you could move the shade behind it to the side....see into the bedroom. I feel like this description is cheesy, but I think it could be hot.


Speaking of hot, check out what Milan was all about: http://www.camparitales.com/


(I like how I have time to talk about a hotel, but no time to talk about partying w/ the Pearsons. I really have my priorities in order)

I'm not the type of person who will disrupt things just so I can shit comfortably

There's been a lot of talk about poop and fibre over the past couple of days, exacerbated by the fact that ethnic food in Amsterdam = really tasty and that I still have a broken toilet seat. And I, being a ridiculously mature individual, feel the need to share this toilet humor. Summary of last night's SOBER conversation:

Me: I think he's in there trying to fix it.
E (male): What do you mean it's broken?
C: The seat can move unexpectedly.
Me: Am I going to fall in?
C: No, it's just a small shift.
E: I don't want to fall off.
Me: You won't fall off.
E: Do you touch rim?
Me: If you are so concerned about it, then don't shit in my house, shit in Kathleen's house.
E: I've already done plenty of that.

I have to sleep with the Duke, and the jealousy will drive you mad

I was a little sad when I came back from New York in August at the prospect of missing the fall shenanigans that inevitably occur on the East Coast. Last year included adventures such as discovering the best version of charades EVER, "blowing lines" at Whitey's house and skipping around Soho in men's underwear. Can Amsterdam hold a candle to this? (rumor has it they don't really do Halloween here, but I have an in with the goth crowd, so it's all good)

Perhaps. Though I'm not sleeping with any rich sugar daddies (yet...though I have had a few meals picked up which is always nice...baby steps), you should be envious of my next month which includes the best-version -of-charades-ever masters coming for an extended visit (added bonus: Snatch is joining us from Pareeeee), a Thanksgiving out of Alice and Wonderland, plus a work-sponsored trip to Milan where I get to hobnob with people who's waists are the size of my leg (or smaller). Thankfully for my body image, after that is a short trip to D.C., a city in which I actually feel relatively stylish due to the high number of people whose attire matches their politics (read: ridiculously conservative).

Tonight we kickoff with Strongbow and a birthday celebration for my buddy Kathleen who was actually friends with Alex P's brother first and was a roommate of a few rower friends from back in the day. Globalisation at work baby.

Marijuana on one. Reefer on two.

My fair city is crackin' down on hallucinogens. Come get 'em while you can.

We've got a full tank of gas, a half a pack of cigarettes, it's dark out and we're wearing sunglasses

I have learned to drive in Holland! This may seem like no major feat, but seeing as I had a lot of trouble with the whole bike-riding thing (I get my training wheels off next week), I am mighty proud of myself.

True, people here do drive on the right side of the road so its not exactly rocket science, but today was the first day that I maneuvered our office's little Renault without getting lost, stalling out or pissing off any bikers/drivers/pedestrians. High five! (I've reinstated the high five in my office -- don't call it a come back, 'cause we've been around for years).

There are a couple of things that suck about driving here.
1. Speed limits are actually enforced via radar in a Nazi-esque, huge-fine type of fashion. This cramps my style.
2. Traffic is a way of life. Highways are always clogged. It's like the New Jersey Turnpike near Elizabeth the night before Thanksgiving ALL THE TIME. (fun Dutch fact: The Netherlands is equivalent in area to New Jersey)
3. Kilometers are tricky little fuckers. I think I have all this time to merge and then I've already gone by the exit. I miss my "296 miles to New York" signs.
4. Street names are ridiculously long and hard to read when traveling over 5 kmph (e.g. the name of my street is Saenredamstraat -- sounds like some type of VD, but its actually the name of an artist)
5. Bikers. Bikers have right of way, which is sweet most of the time, except when you are driving (pedestrians:cambridge :: bikes:amsterdam)

Sweet thing about driving here: I get to drive. Period. My office has a car to borrow when we "need" it for business. Like this weekend I "need" it to go to Ikea (get me some Sweedish meatballs and a few lamps).

So, do you party?

What defines eurotrash? I'm having a lot of trouble in this country full of "pretty" men deciding where the lines are between eurotrash, eurostylish and eurogay. At this party on Friday I was surrounded by a bunch of relatively tall boys, but had a lot of trouble understanding how a guy can use at least a half pint of gel and be considered a) stylish and b) straight. (curious note: I have also run into this gel phenomena in Texas -- I have a couple of cousins who probably don't know what their hair actually feels like there is so much product in it.)

These guys were all G-Star-ed out in fancy sneakers and uber tight t-shirts (which, legitimately, looked good on some of them), serving red tomatoes and cucumbers as snacks (wtf? where are the chips biatch?). I decided to hit on the only guy who didn't have a head full of gel, but I think it was only because he was bald (therefore the only guy there who didn't look like a teenager).

We all left the party to go dancing and I'm like, well sweet, at least if guys are dressed like this, they must know how to rave out. But apparently, regardless of the percentage of spandex in their clothing, Dutch men cannot dance (maybe dancing is the way if you tell if someone is straight or not...). It confused me immensely -- though that might just have been because I was hammered. Apparently, one of the dudes commented that you could tell I wasn't Dutch because I was more "dancey." What the hell does that mean?

Got back to Amsterdam around 6:30am -- a personal record since my arrival. So, first Dutch house party = success. (Fun Dutch fact: "success" means "good luck" in Nederlands) Other really exciting things that happened over the weekend include me getting cable! Hey, only took seven months, not bad considering the lovely customer service culture here.

K-billy's super sounds of the seventies keeps on truck-in

"I'm from Holland..."

this song is stupid and awesome. as is the video. and this chick is actually dancing in one of the metro stations. and Dutch Flowers is not a flower market.

Our courteous and efficient staff is on call 24 hours a day to serve all your supernatural elimination needs

My most favorite running partner has departed the city, but not before having her very own "longest 36 hour vacation ever" (sometimes, time bends here). We also managed to squeeze in (oooh, is that a gross pun? maybe...) a show at the infamous Casa Rosso. It was... choreographed. We then attended an gala of sorts out in the Amsterdam burbs with great food and old people -- it felt like a tweaked out Eyes Wide Shut (though thankfully, no nudity at this show).

Last night was the first night since pre-Labor day that I've slept alone at my apartment. Get your head out of the gutter -- beyond guests, a friend was couch surfing while waiting for his apartment lease to start. Back to lonely nights of 24 and Northern Lights, though I am attending to my first ever Dutch house party next weekend! I am special (ed).

Oh and per the last post: Budapest was truly beautiful. So are Stef and Heather.