this is my newest haircut. I'm still trying to find a descent style 7 months after the New Jersey crisis.
Also, I couldn't figure out how to rotate the pic since everything is in Dutch on this computer. But if you ahve a lap top put it on it's side and you can see it vertically. let me know what ya think.
Every Tuesday night I have a two hour Dutch lesson in the capitol of Friesland. I have to drive an hour each way and bath the kiddies early in order to go and study Dutch. It isn't convienent(this is like my sixth try to spell that word, I give up on it... you should know what word I'm goign for) I also seem to be the only one who consistently does her homework. I have also put in a lot of effort to change my teacher's orignal preseption of me. I think all was lost his past Tuesday. In my class there were only three of us that were none European. One Chinese Girl and a Ugandan girl. There used to be couple more Americans and Africans but they have stopped coming. So, I am the token American. I am the American Embassy right there for anyone who needs to vent over the world problem of America.
However, this past Tuesday it didn't start out aggressive but it stung more than any comment that someone could have made about Bush's forgien policy.
It started with the comment:
"Canadians are also Americans."
NO THEY ARE NOT!!!!!!
In Dutch my teacher started talking about how she had family in America. just about everyone in the class had at least one relative living in America right now. Then the Italian girl said she too had family in America. I asked, "Oh, where do they live?" Canada.
Well, sorry honey then they live in North America but they don't live in America.
Everyone started talking at once in broken English and Dutch and whatever other language they speak. But mine was the only one that mattered. I was the only North American there.I was the only American there.
I have my reasons for feeling this way.
a.) REAL Americans have no other name to go by. We aren't called United Staters no that whole first part is cut out when you are talking on a global view of America. I shouted on about how Canadians come from Canada, Americans come from America. My teacher said, "je komt uit Verenigde Staten"(you come from United States) I shouted back, " van Amerika!" (of America) she let me have that point
b. I went on with the fact that Canadian's haven't earned the right to be called Americans. People don't view Canadians as a threat. Their culture of maple syrup and hokey hasn't been spread all over the world, they aren't blamed for all problems in the world. Americans are. We wake up everyday being hated for the simple fact that we elected Bush... Twice. I have earned that title of American: I'm loud, I'm Pushy, and I fat. I have American locked up in my gentic code. Surviving cold winters doesn't make Candians as thick skinned as an American living abroad must be.
c. One girl was like Canada, America they are right next to each other who knows th difference. She is Romanian and I couldn't think of who Romania is next to. So, I couldn't properly insult her by not knowing the difference, but I'll let her know that your average American with a Public School education has never even heard of her country. Mexico is right next to us too. and just cuz we have porious borders it doesn't mean every Mexican is an American. yet.
D. And finally what I feel was good point. I don't think Canadians want to be called Americans. Maybe North Americans but nothing any closer than that. The greatest challenge would be if Candians start telling people they are Americans when they are abroad. If as a collective whole they start doing that, than maybe... just maybe I'll let this whole issue drop and say Canadians are also Americans. Cuz lord knows when I'm abroad I've been know to fudge that line... Michigan... Canada when your talking to people who live in a country that America has screwed over than Michiganders might as well be Canadians. I mean it's cold and we have similiar nasally accents. Although, I always end up getting caught. Cuz if you say Canada the conversation always goes to hokey and I can't help myself I have to inform people that the Maple leaves suck and the Red Wings Rule!!!! Aren't the Red Wings in America? oh, I think your right and I think that is my bus! See ya!
Maybe it was Peace Corps. The first two months they drill into your head that half your job is to intergrate into your community. Or it could be growing up in a small town and being an athlete and a member of just about every club out there. I don't know what it is but something in me makes me what to come involved in the community I live in. In my smal villge here in the Netherlands I haven't become as involved as I'm used to. Until now I thought I was some how sliding under the radar. The only thing I did in the community was play volleyball with the 60± crowd of ladies. Oh, and the butcher always chats me up. However this past Saturday night I had to go to the town hall. It became The Netherlands version of wall Drug for me.
Wall Drug you know what that is?
It is a crumy lil town in South Dakota but starting hundreds of miles away there are signs proclaiming the greatness of Wall Drug by th time you get into double digits miles away you have to go to Wall drug. Wehn you hit single digits your brain is about to explode with curiousity.
For the past month everywhere I have gone has been advertising Grote Bingo(Big Bingo) for January 12th. Even if I was shopping in another town or my gym in another town had the sign. So, this Saturday came and I had been thinking about Grote Bingo for a long time. I had nothing planned so I put on my Fryslan scarf my bright pink shoes and I walked into town. I figured I play volleyball with old ladies, at least ne of them has to be playing bingo. I was very relieve when I wlked in and saw Tjsetke. She seems to be one of the only ladies from ym teams who always goes out. I sat with her and her daughter. I was quickly embaressed as I stood up shooting Bingo just to have Tjsetke pull me back down and tell me that I infact don't have a Bingo. I have been playing Bingo my whole life I know a bingo when I see one. What I didn't understand is that you had to have a specific Bingo to win. I was forced to just wave the reader off as he kept asking if I really did have a Bingo. My low key status was blown by one shout of Bingo. Later on I thought I had a Bingo and hesitated to shout Bingo because f the last time. But Tjsetke told me I did have one and encouraged me to run up there. So, I shouted Bingo. Everyone gave each other a look like "I'm sure." They reviewed my card longer and slower than they had anyone elses. When they informed me that I had one a brand new smooth maker(blender with a cool spout in it) I lost all Dutch reserve and my Americaness came shining through as I jumped into the air, pumped my fist, and shouted, "Yes!"
I sat quietly the rest of the time eating chips and rinking a hieneken.
Apparently I was never as under the rador as I thought I was and this past Tueday comfirm it. On Tuesday my boss Rob had to go to a meeting for the parents of the kids in the school. I guess I was all people could talka bout. A mini celeb here in Oudemirdum. They were talkign about how my Dutch was coming long how I played Voleyball on Wednesday, my Bingo playing skillz, amongst other things. I guess now that I know that De Au Pair Van Lucas(the au pair of Lucas) is better known thn I had thought there might be many more Bingo nights in my future. And who knowns maybe I'll even manage a sentence sometime that isn't covered in my thick American Accent.
My friend Caitlin once told me this whole theory she has about how you spend your New Year is how your up coming year is going to be. She believes this, that is probably why she spent New Year's Eve in Thailand.
I'm not exactly a believer of that. I have had super weird New Year's that didn't represent my next year at all. There was even one very sad and depressing one my sophomore year of high school that my lil sister Diane still likes to bring up and laugh about. However, when she does bring it up it almost brings a tear to my eye. And I don't see where how I spent 2006 with Sara in a basement bar where we were the first ones to show up, we ate all the food, and sara got us kicked out 15 minutes after the new year; represents my graduating university and joing the peace corps.
I spent one new year with Tommy and his sisters having his sister smuggle us shots and telling us if we got caught for drinking underage we were to say a dirty mexican gave us the shots. I went to Africa to work with children who have AIDS that year.
But last night I was thinking of Caitin's theory and thinking of what that would mean about my 2008 based on last night. I was watching the movie Holiday with Kate Winslet and Cameron Diaz with my bosses till a lil after 11:30 when we went and woke the kids up and got them dressed. We watched the clock count down then opened a bottle of Rose champagane and eat olibalen(What Dutch think are doughnuts). Then we went out into the front yard and light fire works. I was given a sparkler. Not one of those little ones but one of those GIAGANTIC ones(ny true American knows what I'm talking about). I used all my restraint to keep myself from running away when Rob gave it to me. In my head I took off running and was giggling and laughing just like I wanted to be. However, Peace Corps broke my spirit and now I feel I need to show restraint instead of joy. I did show Lucas, age six, how freakin' cool it was to watch me spell out happy new year with th sparkler. After the fireworks were done we took the kids back to bed. Ellen went to bed and Rob and I walked into th village to see what was going on. There were some trash cans with fires going in them. We stood around and talked to some Fries guys and one guy who recently got out of an Ethiopian Jail. ONe guy grabbed me and gave me a very long hug and told me in English that he loved me. The Ethiopian told me how he loves George Bush and hates muslims. Rob and I took that as our cue to go. I came back to the house watched some news about the riots in Kenya and Arrested Devlopment(disc 2, season 2) and fell asleep. What does this say about my upcoming year? I have no idea. But I had fun on New Year despite trying to act grown up.
2008: the year I grow up?
Keep reading, we'll see how it goes.
I need to bust open a myth about the Netherlands right now. People seem to be convinced that clogs(wood shoes) are not worn here anymore. That they are a thing of the past. A nice little idea for tourists but not something that is actually done in this modern age.
To be honest that is simply not true. Oh, I'll give ya when I was in AMsterdam I didn't see any one wearing them and since most tourists here don't get further than Rotterdam I can see how they would think that. If however someone were to venture out where I live, in rustic farm country, they would see the occational farmer walking around in clogs. And not just plain wooden ones. I have seen guys out and about in ones desigened to look like a cow, red ones, and even the fries flag.
I even got offered a pair of clogs but unfortunately they were too small, and trust me I really tried to jam my foot in there. I was told walking around in clogs would draw less attention to me then walking around in flip flops(and this was when it was still warm) So, if you come to the Netherlands and can manage to leave the high of Amsterdam come out to Friesland, we'll have some clogs ready for ya.
Sky Radio 101FM bring non-stop Christmas hits 24/7
No matter where you live in the world all radio guys sound the same, especially with their obnoxious 24/7 Christmas music. I get the all Christmas music here in the Netherlands even. The only difference is ocationally they throw one in in Dutch which I actually enjoy because then it becomes a Dutch Lesson. The Big thing is I haven't had a car in 5 years so I have been able to miss the 24/7 Christmas hits coming at me.
This year I ahve new perspective on Christmas. Living in a forgien country, hereing only Christmas tunes in my car when I drive, and spending Christmas all by myself has opened my eyes.
All I can say is that who ever wrote It's th most wonderful time of the year, did it right before blowing his/her brains out. If not then, then I will say with some dertainty the person was wasted and alone on christmas.
I can see him now(I'm going to assume it is a guy) alone in his appartment. He pathetically hung up a couple christmas lights and has a little plastic tree on his piano. He is in his pyjamas(Iknow that is the Dutch spelling but I forget the English one so...) with a robe(not tied shit, of course). stuble on his face, greasy hair, and an open bottle of scotch. The song has a real Scotch feel to it, I don't drink it but it feel like the song of someone who does to the point of blacking out.
I mean c'mon the song is so making fun of Christmas.
It's not just the happiest time of the year it is the : hap=happiest time of the year.
Not just fun hanging out with your friends:
Gay happy meetings
when friends are calling
...only someone who has no one visiting them coule write a line like that.
he punches at the keys of the piano hearing a party going on next door, he picks up the bottle of Scottish to pour into his dirty glass. Here the giggle of a girl and then looks at the bottle and dirty glass and decides to take a big swig from the bottle.
he then writes this next line:
There'll be parties for hosting looks around his empty apartment
And thinks why not :
Marshmellows for roasting(hey it rhymes!)
He heres some carloing out in the snow
but then he writes the clintcher line that lets ya knw he was off his rocker
There'll be scary ghost stories
Really?
never once did we sit down and have scary ghost story time on christmas... The closest thing to that you got is with Scrooge and what not but it isn't really scary...
So, maybe this guy didn't blow his brains out maybe he drakn enough Scottish just to pass out, but I promise you anyone who could write that song was at least thinking of blowing his brains out.
Conjucating verbs....
It has to be said that conjucating verbs is one of my least favorite activities I would rather power wash the manure spreader than sit and conjugate verbs. Any one who has seen me covered in wet manure after power washing or my GIAGANTIC Scar on my leg from the power washing hose (p.s. my mom totally said it would scar) knows I don't like power washing manure spreaders.
I ahve to admit though that conjugating verbs in Dutch is considerably easier than in Russian.
for instance if something is plural it will end with -en, if you are talk about someone else you end with a -t and if you are talking about yourself you just use the stem word.
i.e:
Ik Loop- I Walk
ze Loopt- She walks
Wij Lopen- We Walk
Some of you might notice the double vowel issue but that is alot bigger problem and not worth talking about now.
So, as my Dutch improves I have look back at sentences I have said that have gotten very weird looks. My favorite one comes from when I first started getting confident enough to talk to people.
I was at the bar with my friend Lauren, another Au Pair from Australia. A guy asked us why we were here int he middle of no where Netherlands and why an Aussie and an American would be hanging out. Lauren went to answer in English but I stopped her. I figured I needed the Dutch practice and I knew how tosay I am an Au Pair:
Ik ben Au Pair
So, thinking of how to make something plural I added the -en
Wij benen Au Pairs
The man gave me a look.
I repeated it but louder:
Wij BENEN AU PAIRS!!!!!
again he stared at us. Lauren leaned in and said We are Au Pairs.
He understood that.
I was a little disgruntled and decided to look up what the plural form of "ben" is. Well the "to be" verb likes to mess with your mind and not be like other verbs at all. The plural form is "zijn"....??? "ZIJN?!" What?(Wat?) where?(waar?) Why?(waarom?) It made no sense to me why that is so far off from other verbs. I shrugged it off figuring I just said some gibberish, that is until last week.
I was studying the body parts I already knew leg was "been" but I never put it together that legs is... "benen"
So, when that man asked us why we were there I not only acted like he ws stupid for not understanding me, but I felt the need to shout at him even louder:
WE LEGS AU PAIRS... duh...
I gotta go study.
When I lived in Kyrgyzstan I came up witha rule of thumb that held up pretty well: If it looks good and it is good it is Turkish, If it looks good and it is complete crap it is Russian, if it looks like crap and it is crap it is Chinese.
I still live by that. The children had gotten some early Sinterclaus presents(the Dutch Santa CLaus, he comes on the 5th) one of them was a remote control car for Lucas. We put in batteries in the car and the remote . Lucas trying getting it to work and the only thing that would happen is the wheels turned. Ellen, the mom, pointed out that something smelled like it was burning. I brushed it off at first til I saw the brand new car go up in smoke. We paniked not wanting it to explode in the house. So, I picked it up by the antena and chucked it out the window. It continued to smoke for while. When it calmed down Ellen went out to inspect it. She ws scared t touch it but I from the comfort of the house incouraged her to check it out. She eventually picked it up and opened it the car was extremely hot, she opened it up and the batteries were the right one. She looked for the problem and could find nothing, all she found was a quality check sticker from China.
I will be the kind of mother who, when her child is making a big scene and crying fr no reason, will say "oh yeah, just keep it up! I'll give ya something to cry about!"
This morning after going to the bathroom the antique lock on the bathroom door broke. I became trapped in the bathroom. It only toom about 5 minutes to get me out of the bathroom but in that time it got me thinking.
I started thinking about how my life isn't what I always dreamed it would be: A situational comedy. If my life was a situational comedy I would have been trapped in there for hours and with someone else, perferably someone I had a problem with. Since I am in the habit of going to the bathroom by myself that will probably never happen. I will probably never take a trip to Hawai'i where my friend will be called a god. However, there is a good chance I will get locked into a walk in freezer... I mean accidents happen.
Chocolate Milk and Blood while both stain bed sheets. However, if you find a two year old in what looks like blood stained sheets see if she was given a bottle of chocalte milk before you freak out.
I move my step a little to the right. I still can’t see the instructor. So, I try moving it to the left. Still a no go. I’m in the back of the room. That is only half the problem. In any class I have taken since childhood I have gotten in the habit of being in the back of the room. Not because I don’t want to pay attention but as a way of being polite to the rest of the class. The norm is that if I’m in the front I’m blocking everyone’s view. In my belly dancing class in Kyrgyzstan I stood in the back of the room and over 30 bodies could still see myself in the mirror in the front, even if I couldn’t see the instructor.
It’s different in my new step aerobics class. Dutch/Fries people are tall! There are approximately 20 women in my class and I am only taller than two of them. And these two are Marshal Plan survivors! They didn’t get all their vitamins growing up. Also, they are currently in that stage of life where you are shrinking.
For the first time in my life I’m not tall. I’m not short either, I’m just average. I don’t tower over all other women. I have even gotten a slight crick in my neck while talking to some of the other women at the gym. On average Dutch people are the tallest in the world. The standards here are different.
While in Leiden visiting my British friend Sarah got touchy one night when I wouldn’t declare here to be tall. At 5’6 maybe 5’7ISH she wouldn’t be considered tall in the rest of the world. How could she expect me to tell she is tall here in The Netherlands. I ended up yielding on the fact that she was not short, but she defiantly wasn’t tall. She was average. I am a good 7 inches taller than here and somehow we are now both being declared average.
When we were in a jazz bar I commented on how some of these girls are just excessively tall. Sarah asked I was referring to a girl standing next to the bar. I looked over at her. Yeah, yeah… she is too tall! Sarah looked her up and down then looked at me. She informed me that she thought I might be taller than the woman. Holding my Heineken I slowly backed toward the woman and back to back with her. Sarah came over to judge the situation. She told me that I was in fact a good inch or two taller than the woman.
I was confused the woman seemed to tower over the crowd. Then I slowly realized that I was taller then they crowd. I noticed that even though we were in the back of the bar I could clearly see the performers in the front. How could this be? I’m not tall anymore, I’m average. I glanced over the crowded and the answer came to me. Most of the people in the bar were internationals. Students who had come to Leiden from all over the world. These weren’t local tallies, they were foreign shorties. For the rest of the night I relished in my resumed status as tall. I was able to reach over people to get another drink from the bar. I examined the musical instruments that hung high on the ceiling. I looked over peoples shoulders as they played trivial pursuit on a video game machine. I was tall! Then like Cinderella we left at midnight and went back out into the world where I was returned to my lowly status as average.
When I was looking into places to spend this year I liked the idea of Europe. Europe seems so classic. It seems like the kind of place that classy people live in for a while. And after a year in Central Asia don’t I deserve a little class?
I did actually have a choice. On the same day I got offered the job here in The Netherlands I got offered a job in Belize. Belize, is a country in Central America that was set up by pirates. The Netherlands- has ships too.
I feel I’m not expressing the fact that I really do like it here. It’s nice and calm, neat and tidy, small and charming. I’m relaxed and after Peace Corps and Camp Shane I deserve not to feel stressed to my very core. I like taking long bike rides along the dykes. I watch the kite surfers, it is pretty expensive to do so I opt for watching rather that doing it(I admit I hope someday to save enough money to try it). I also like trying to learn Dutch, even though I rarely get the chance to use it. Everyone says they speak only a little English, yet they speak English as well I as I do.
I think there is something fundamentally wrong with me. I think I need to live in a place with an unstable government. I’m not talking Iraq level, but Myanmar is looking pretty fun right now. The Netherlands is the picture of stable. The hedges are all trimmed, the grass is all mowed, the windmills are a spinnin’.
Biking across the flat land that has been reclaimed from the sea, I imagine the dykes breaking and watching a big wave of water coming across the way.
Sick right?
I really do love it here.
It just feels too safe.
The Netherlands is like one giant suburb, and I swore I would never live in the suburbs. I check the papers regularly but there is no sign of global warming making the sea come over the dykes, just yet. Revolution… unlikely. Not, even a Madeleine McCann sighting in this country. Safe, peaceful, Dutch.
While sitting in my VW Station wagon waiting for the ship to pass and for them to lower the bridge I fantasize.
I think about being in a hot, overcrowded, dirty bus in some far off place with a unstable government, children with dirty hands begging for money that I must ignore, and old women who stare at me because without knowing it I have broken some cultural norm. Then the bridge comes down and I realize if right now I was sweating on that overcrowded bus with my shoulders curled into me, I would be fantasying about driving past beautiful old windmills and canals in my own spacious car.
Because when faced with danger I like to think of something that is unrealistically charming. When faced with charm I dream of struggle.
In a book I read recently they said everyone has a word that defines them. I think it is a nice idea to think mine would be sassy, compassionate, helpful, hopeful, humorous… you know something like that. For the first time in my life I feel content, yet somewhere in the recesses of my soul I’m not. So, my word my forever be… restless. If you have ever lived with me you know that is literal and figurative.
Blond-hair
Blue-eyes
Six-years-old
Small-for-his-age
This is Lucas
We glare at each other from across the room. We both hold our breath. We are unflinching, time stands still as we both wait for the other one to make the first move.
This is a classic scene from movies. You don’t have to be some pale, film student wearing a black turtle next, and spending all your time at an art house to have seen a scene like this. It is the final meeting between good and evil, right and wrong, outlaw and sheriff. It can take places anywhere: a sandy lane in Arizona, a gritty street in New York, or even a roof top in Tokyo.
My scene takes place in the Blue Room of Rinia State(the house where I live, errrr live behind, is a national monument) in front of the toy cabinet.
He makes the elusive first move grabbing the fire truck. I make a sharp and quick second move pointing to the blocks, alligators, and cars on the floor.
“Lucas I swear…”
I trail off knowing if I say it in English he can pretend not to understand. I try in a mumbling clutter of Dutch words to tell him if he wants to play with new toys he needs to put the other ones away. It came out less coherent to him than if I had just said it in English. He looks at me, he looks at the red fire truck, and then to the other toys on the floor. He knows… he always knows. This isn’t new anymore.
Lucas is going through a few phases at once and they aren’t making him the most pleasant child to work with. He is going through a “know-it-all” phase, “I-hate-Carol” phase, and a “get-attention-all-costs” phase.
Little does he know, I have gone through all those phases. Hell I know I’m still in the first one and the last one I have been reluctantly growing out of for about seven years. So, lets just say I know the rules to these phases. Hell I may not have written very many of the rules, but I did come up with a bunch of amendments and some fabulous clauses.
Lucas isn’t a bad kid. A bit weird, maybe.. Okay…yes. But essentially he isn’t a bad kid. He is just going through some unpleasant phases for me. At least I hope they are phases. He has a hard time maintaining friends and he is in love with an eleven-year-old. He had several kids come over to play and they said they didn’t like playing with him because he didn’t have tractors. We got him tractors, yet I have not seen him and any other children play with them. He is small. He spends half of the week at one parents and half at the other. He has a speech impediment.
I just realized what I’m doing- making excuses for him. For his need to take his anger out on me. For why I clean up his mess after the fit. But come on! It’s not like I can say anything, I’m just the hired help.
I re-learned a lesson this past weekend. When traveling/living abroad if something seems to be going wrong or out of the ordinary- follow the lead of the locals.
I was down in Leiden this weekend-yes you are correct in assuming this is where Einstein studied and where the pilgrims lived. I was visiting my friend Sarah who is studying there, she’s a real Einstein(ba-da-dah!) My first night there we wanted a chill evening so we went to the Einstein Café and then to a movie. I finally saw the remake of Hairspray, this was a big for me since I am obsessed with the original. While standing in line to get our tickets some nice women behind us gave us a ½ coupon, which made the movie the cost it would have been if I had seen it in the States.
We were enjoying the movie when half way through the movie, mid-John Travolta line , the movie just stopped. I was outraged. I did the half-stand, half-sit move where I haven’t committed to full outrage or quiet seated outrage. Sarah pointed out that we only paid half price maybe we only get half a movie. I was checking our tickets to see if it said we only paid half price to see if I could get a full refund on the tickets. Then I noticed something- all the Dutch people were totally calm. They were getting up and going out calmly or sitting and talking calmly. Then they eventually came back with a fresh glass of wine or a new beer, calmly. I committed to sitting back in my seat at this point. After about 10 minutes the movie started back up. They do this for all movies so people can go and get a fresher drink. I’m glad I refrained from pulling the seat out of the bolts and hitting the manager while demanding a FULL refund. Instead I half showed I was foreign and half showed- I’m a quick learn.
HELLO, HELLO, HELLO, HELLO, HELLO, HELLO, HELLO, HELLO, HELLO, HELLO, HELLO, HELLO HOW ARE YOU?
HELLO, HELLO, HELLO, HELLO, HELLO, HELLO, HELLO, HELLO, HELLO, HELLO, HELLO, HELLO HOW ARE YOU?
THANK YOU THANK YOU I AM FINE AND I HOPE THAT YOU ARE TOO!
HELLO, HELLO, HELLO, HOW ARE YOU?
That lil "song" is what is stuck in my head. Over and over it keeps going through my brain. I tried to explain to the 6 year old at breakfast how annoying it was and then to the two year old at lunch. I gave the 6 year old some slack because he doesn't know English. However, the 2 year old understands English and still wouldn't believe me that, that song is extremely annoying. The song plays at this very, no I don't think you can understand, VERY(!!!!!!) high pitched voice. It plays in a stuffed giraffe that bobs his head side to side with the music.
Logic and reason have not worked on these children. So, I'm just going to have to do the most grown-up thing after that.... I'm going to hide it while they're taking their naps.
I'm going to have to stop cycling. It's doing bad things to my body. No, I'm not talking about my cut up leg and elbow, or my hurt back from my fall. I got the bike fixed-well almost. The gears won't shift, so I constantly have to ride in the highest gear.
All that is really not a problem compared to the fact that cycling everyday is making my legs... SKINNIER!!!!!!
OH GOD WHY?!!! NO!!!!!
Yep, everyday they are getting a little skinnier. I thought cyling would be good fo beefing up my legs some. I look at famous cyclists and they have nice beefy legs. I have to be the only person, other than my family memebers with the same infliction, who can not make their legs any bigger.
It's not that I want particularly huge legs, it's just I don't want to be what my old Chinese throwing coach said to me one day: "Carwal, you are sooo top heavy! I not sure how you stan on dose lil legs. I think wind come and knock you ova! ha.ha.ha!" I always figured it would be easier to beef up my legs by 15 pounds to maybe start evening them out with the rest of my body than it would be to lose a 100 pounds to match up with my legs. The only problem is if I lost 100 pounds some how I would lose 30 from each leg. Making my top and bottom half a still uneven match.
I would drive everywhere but gas is too darn expensive. Also, by bike I get to see things I would see by car. Last night coming back form the gym I took th long way home and got to go by a Llama farm. I was tempeted to throw my bike down and saddle one of them up and ride home.
Well, my butt has started to FINALLY get used to being on the skinny bike seat, my hands are becoming used to th grip of the handle bars, and to be honestly I'm getting in a lot better shape endurance wise. But skinny legs, come on!
This morning while I looked in the mirror and popped a zit(don't worry I already know your not suppose to do that, I just don't care) I saw IT! The first sign that my youth is on the way out. A GREY HAIR! What a cruel joke. Poping a zit, a sign of my extended adolesence, and a grey hair right in the front of my head, the sign that my youth is gone.
I'm trapped in ag limbo right now.
Since I have been in The Netherlands I have ridden my bike around 200 kilometers. Tomorrow I get a pedometer(is that what they are called?) so I can know for sure how far I am biking each day. There are plenty of bike paths all around here, which I throughly enjoy. Every once in a while, though, you end up having to ride on the narrow roads with cars. I was wondering why I hate riding on the road so much when all of a sudden it came to me.
It came in the form of my front tire being flat and as I leaned over to look at it a car went whizzing by. This promoted me to try and move a little more to the right which sent me off the road. When I tried to pull myself back onto th road the inner tubing of the front tire popped out. I went flying onto the road. I rolled over, and like something in a Will Smith movie, I had a low angle view of four motorcycles zooming my way. I grabbed the bike and rolled out of the way just in time. I imediately got the bike back up and start riding it. The bike was wobbling and I couldn't shift gears. Normally not being able to shift wouldn't be a big deal, but the only time you find inclines around here is to go on a bridge over a canal. I fell right before the bridge. I biked up it huffing and puffing, try to act totally natural.
As I got to the climax of the bridge I noticed that all the bikers that almost ran me over were parked and waiting for me. I looked straight forward. Refusing to make eye contact. They one by one asked if I was okay. While my elbow was dripping blood, my forehead was dripping sweat, my bike was wobbling, and my pride was shredded to an unrecognizable thread; I simply kept answering: YA,YA, YA!!!!!!! (yes, yes, YES!!!!!!) I biked as quickly to the falling action as I could.
I managed to make it 10 kms on the bike that way before it literally quit. The tire wouldn't budge. I ended up caring the bike for another 6 kilometers, yay for retard strength, before getting fed up with the looks and random shouts in Dutch. One farmer hollered, "YOU HAVE A FLAT TIRE!!!!," in English no question marks about it. I finally just chained the bike up to a small tree in someone's woods. I'm going back for it after I write this. Hopefully it is still there. I want to carry it the rest of the way in the dark.
Yeah, cuz that'll save my pride at this point.
The village I live near is Oudemirdum. For those of you that don't speak Dutch that means, "Old...Mirdum" I don't know exactly what a Mirdum is, but three kilometers away is a New Mirdum. I'm don't know why they felt the need for a New Mirdum when I like the Old one better. You have to understand Oudemirdum is painfully charming.
Oudemirdum is a "The Village". When strolling down the quiet lanes of Oudemirdum you will go past: The Butcher, The Bakery, The Store, The School, The Flrist, and because it is The Netherlands- The Bike Shop. Of course there is no gas station anywhere in sight. There are even a couple of "/"s. The Restaurant/Hotle and The Pharamacy/Post Office. Makes sense, because who doesn't want to get hopped up on pain killers and then send out some postcards? In an agonizingly picturesqe village like this there can only be one break in the THE rule. There are two kerks, or churches in English. Same denomination but for whatever eason there are two of them. So, there is a Dutch Christian Reform across from The Bike Shop and one across from The School.
Sometimes while walking around the village at night I notice that there is one red light. I hav nevr seen The Prostitute or The Drug Dealer hanging out under it. It would be so ideally Dutch for this village not to need a whole Red Light District but simply a Red Light. I like to imagine them there, The Prostitute and The Drug Dealer, late at night. The Prostitute pulls out a slim cigarette from her purse, lights it and leans down to the window of The car to make The Deal with The John.
Here in The Netherlands The Prostitute and The Drug Dealer wouldn't be ruining The Country Chram of The Village, but simply embracing The National Pride in Dutch Liberalism.
I want to be able to sit in the living room reading the newspaper while the au pair has a 15 minute arguement with a 2 year old over whether they are going to finish their fruit and bottle.
Around here people hang flags to let people know what/who they are. There are Frieshe and Dutch flags all over the place. The occassional Swede slides in and I have even seen a Welsh flag(have to admit I was proud of myself for even remembering what that flag was). Riding along on my bicycle the other day I saw the biggest, loudest, most obnoxious motorcycle I have ever seen. What was hanging off the back? The good old Stars and Bars!
I was forced into a flashback of camp where I thought about all the times us 'Mericans stood together, and took what the British thought were insults and turned them into compliments. It all started one day when a few too many drinks had been consumed and Jason and I sat in Stephanie's car and told off Scottie. Also, adopting a faux Tennis Sam's Dad's accent(Texan all the way baby, her father is quoted as saying "Hillary Clinton. is. a. Bitch!"). One of my favorite rants on being an Amer-I-Can I ever went into was about how I loved waking up in the morning and breathing that good ole 'Merican air. I love being able to see my air. I want when I take a deep breath to be able to feel the air settle at the bottom of my lungs. A bunch of other 'Mericans joined in and went with it. Finally, one of the Brits stopped us and goes, "You know you're making fun of America don't you?"
Of Course we did!
That's the fun of being 'Merican you can embrace what ever is bad or stereotypical about this country and splash on a lil excessive pride and it just makes you that much more 'Merican.
I looked down at my nice sweet, old, worn out Dutch Bike and then back at the tricked out Hog coming down the road; and I did the only thing I could do. I threw my fist into the air and gave a good ole fashion YEE HAA!!! Cuz these colors don't run! You either embrace it or spend your whole life hiding from it, and lets face it... I'm a lil too big to hide.
"Puss! Puss! PUSSSYYYYYYYY!!!!"
I was awoken today in my cottage to a man's voice yelling Pussy. I don't think I have ever awoken out of a sleep and been out of bed and running on my feet as fast as I did this morning. I was in panic mode. I started running around just to find two cats outside my bedroom door and the old garderner at the bottom of the stairs yelling Pussy. I took me a bit to realize he was yelling at the cats and not me. He had accidently let them in while using the toilet in my cottage. I have to say that was a much more affective way of waking me up, then my alarm on my watch that I had sleeped through.
However, I must say now I never wanna wake up to an old Fries man yelling pussy, ever again! I mean it!
