Hey guys,
sorry it's been so long since I last wrote. This one's going to be quick too b/c I'm on the clock and have 6 minutes before the world explodes (that was for the James Bond fantasy I live over and over in my mind) or until the comp. shuts off. So,
Amsterdam- A gorgeous city with tons of canals and flowers and boats.
Lots of bycicles and people/cars/trams zipping by. The people are very nice. I took a tour of a Windmill in a town an hour outside of the city called Haarlem, with Two Dutch guys who kept on saying, ' Ya ya ya, oo oo oo', to everything our tour guide said, even if it was not very important.
example-
Tour Guide-'Hello, I am going to be your tour guide of the windmill today'
Dutch men- 'ya ya ya, oo oo oo'.
Tour Guide- 'We will be walking all the way to the top'
Dutch men- 'ya ya ya, oo oo oo'.
Tour Guide- 'I will teach you everything you ever wanted to know about windmills'
Dutch men- ' ya ya ya, oo oo oo'.
Back in the day, even during world war 2 they would communicate from village to village using the positioning of the windmill wings to send messages. If the windmill was in the Red Light District, they would send massages. I might be mixing up two different facts, but for some reason, any windmill massage sent to the Red Light District finished with a happy ending. I love stories that end well.
Anyway, I hadn't ever seen two men moan so much over one fairly pretty woman telling them what to do in my life. Oh, wait, that's not true. I forgot about all the time I spent in the Red Light District.
Now, parents, family, and friends- Don't worry. I never have and never will pay for sex. But, my hostel happened to be 'near' the Red Light District', and the Red Light District happened to be on my route to many, well, every place I went in Amsterdam. Unless, of course, I was just going to stroll around the district itself. In those instances, I didn't actually have to walk 'through' the RLD to get to where I was going. Now, don't think I planned on going to Amsterdam to see the RLD. I wasn't really even going to go into it. Really, it was Rodrigo's fault.
Rodrigo, ladies and gents, is quite a character. Rodrigo is a 43 year old Brazilian who took a business/pleasure trip to 'the Dam'. He 's not doing anything really questionable- just smuggling back clothes that he can sell in Rio at 3 times the cost. When I got up to my room in the hostel, Rodrigo was there. Rodrigo, directly upon introducing himself to me says- 'you like girls?' And I say, 'Does Michael Jackson enjoy dancing middle-schoolers dressed up like Sesame Street characters after a casual Sunday afternoon nose job? The analogy got a little lost in the language barrier, but he took my response as a yes. 'Come with me'.
So he takes me for a little walk in the RLD.
Now, the RLD is a safe place. Police walk through all the time, and the girls just stand there behind the doors waiting for you to aproach them to strike up a conversation. They happen to be much more willing to talk than any of the girls I have tried to hit on thus far. Cant really figure out why though. There are sketchy big guys kind of hanging around the corridors though. They get mad when you take pictures of the girls. I don't know why. I'm always like, 'dude, it's a digital, I can e-mail you a copy.' But, apparently, they aren't up on new technology, because they just don't seem to understand no matter how hard I try. Those same men are
People Initiaing Money-Prostitute Sex deals. Or as I have affectionately called them- P.I.M.P.S.
Well, most men just walk by the girls, slowly, looking them up and down. Rodrigo stands, motionless with his shades on, staring straight at the girls, moving his eyebrows up and down until he decides he is ready to go. Or until these so called, pimps decide for him. As he walks through certain areas, he mutters to himself- Good Row. Or Bad, Bad, Girls.
There's not much else to say about Amsterdam except I did fall in love once. I don't know if it was real love, however, because she was backlit in red and I'm not sure if I'd feel the same way under blue, yellow, or no lighting. Anyway, I told her if either I had no morals, or she wasn't a prostitute, we could have lived happily ever after. Then pink bunnies started falling from the sky with pok-a-dotted tuxedos singing Mac The Knife. Really, it's true. Oh, wait. Like I'm going to tell you what really happened in Amsterdam.
Monday, May 18, 2009
Wednesday, May 6, 2009
That Round Thing in the Bathroom is NOT a Toilet
I just want to say that the title speaks for itself. I am not going in to details, but there was a little misunderstanding. Im assuming you can figure out what it is, but if you cant I will be more than happy to tell you about it one on one. That being said, I am now just a little bit wiser, and consider myself a better person for it.
So, Rome is amazing. Beautiful city with amazing piazzas and ruins. I turned a corner today and accidentally ran into the Coleseum (spelling?). How many times in your life can you say I accidentally ran into the freaking Coliseum (i tried a different spelling this time, just in case it was wrong the first)?
I had the best pizza of my life today. I made the decision that I would allow myself to eat pork, because, when in Rome..., for the first time in about fifteen years. Upon ordering my first pepperoni pizza I was in for a surprise. Apparently, over here, pepperoni means bell pepper. I couldnt even break the Big Guys law when I tried: Think someones trying to send me a hint? Well, I plan on trying again tomorrow, and if it doesnt work out this next time, Im becoming Orthodox. My waiter, however, stole the show.
He sat, as he was not serving myself and the other tabel outside, staring down women, and what amounts to barking at them as they walked by. Mind you it was a sexy bark, and I have no problem saying that, even about another man. I at one point purred at him, but realized that dogs hate cats (and remembered I was straight), so I stopped. My first reaction was- that is dispicable (said with a lisp). My second reaction was- lets see if this works, because I am not opposed to a mid-game strategy change. My third reaction- this is the closest I have ever been to truth in my life. Here is the explanation:
Finding someone to be with is based completely on lies. Women make themselves look like they normally dont look, and men make themselves act like they normally dont act in order to attract the opposite sex. Women lie physically to attract men because men are physical creatures. Men lie verbally to attract women because women are verbal creatures. (Please dont call me a chauvanist, you know its true, and the more you want to talk about it ladies, the more you prove me right).
This lying/period of dishonesty (however you like to rationalize it) is what I like to affectionately call-dating. Once we have lied enough to make the other person believe we are something we are not, we get married. This must be why 50% of marraiges end up in people not being married.
Now, this brilliant man decided to take the other route- he is going to act like the animal that he is, and when Ms. rite (spelling?) comes along, she is going to love him for the barking, chauvanist pig that he is. If he was anymore honest, we would have to make this asshole a saint. Hey, the Vatican is right down the road, and when in Rome...
p.s.- I had to say that at least once.
p.p.s.- If there are multiple errors here, the keyboards in europe are completely screwed up, and I asked for a glass of wine at dinner and they brought me a whole freaking tub of it, so you can figure out the rest. Well, screw it, I will tell you. I wasnt going to drink it all, and was about to send it back, but I figured, When in Rome...
Ciaow,
J-bird.
So, Rome is amazing. Beautiful city with amazing piazzas and ruins. I turned a corner today and accidentally ran into the Coleseum (spelling?). How many times in your life can you say I accidentally ran into the freaking Coliseum (i tried a different spelling this time, just in case it was wrong the first)?
I had the best pizza of my life today. I made the decision that I would allow myself to eat pork, because, when in Rome..., for the first time in about fifteen years. Upon ordering my first pepperoni pizza I was in for a surprise. Apparently, over here, pepperoni means bell pepper. I couldnt even break the Big Guys law when I tried: Think someones trying to send me a hint? Well, I plan on trying again tomorrow, and if it doesnt work out this next time, Im becoming Orthodox. My waiter, however, stole the show.
He sat, as he was not serving myself and the other tabel outside, staring down women, and what amounts to barking at them as they walked by. Mind you it was a sexy bark, and I have no problem saying that, even about another man. I at one point purred at him, but realized that dogs hate cats (and remembered I was straight), so I stopped. My first reaction was- that is dispicable (said with a lisp). My second reaction was- lets see if this works, because I am not opposed to a mid-game strategy change. My third reaction- this is the closest I have ever been to truth in my life. Here is the explanation:
Finding someone to be with is based completely on lies. Women make themselves look like they normally dont look, and men make themselves act like they normally dont act in order to attract the opposite sex. Women lie physically to attract men because men are physical creatures. Men lie verbally to attract women because women are verbal creatures. (Please dont call me a chauvanist, you know its true, and the more you want to talk about it ladies, the more you prove me right).
This lying/period of dishonesty (however you like to rationalize it) is what I like to affectionately call-dating. Once we have lied enough to make the other person believe we are something we are not, we get married. This must be why 50% of marraiges end up in people not being married.
Now, this brilliant man decided to take the other route- he is going to act like the animal that he is, and when Ms. rite (spelling?) comes along, she is going to love him for the barking, chauvanist pig that he is. If he was anymore honest, we would have to make this asshole a saint. Hey, the Vatican is right down the road, and when in Rome...
p.s.- I had to say that at least once.
p.p.s.- If there are multiple errors here, the keyboards in europe are completely screwed up, and I asked for a glass of wine at dinner and they brought me a whole freaking tub of it, so you can figure out the rest. Well, screw it, I will tell you. I wasnt going to drink it all, and was about to send it back, but I figured, When in Rome...
Ciaow,
J-bird.
Saturday, May 2, 2009
Howdy,
It's been a while since we've talked last. Lots has happened, but I'll spare you the petty details. The important ones are as follows:
1) When parking, the french know they have made it into their spot once they have hit the car behind or in front of them.
2) My little four year old french cousin talks to fast/ slurs his words too much for me to understand him. He talks to me, and I can't really respond. As a result, he simply assumes I am a large (bearded) baby; hence, he affectionately refers to me as 'le grand bebe'. (I tell him I'm not the baby, he is, and then I tell his mother- all he does is laugh, and it cuts deep down inside) Although we can't communicate, he likes to rub my beard and have me throw him up and down.
3) I met an Italian the other night and since I will be in Rome May 5th, and speak no Italian, he wrote me out a quick cheat sheet of only the most important sayings- Please, thank you, where is the bathroom?, you have beautiful eyes, can I buy you a drink?, is that guy really your boyfriend because you could do much better. Oh, well, I wasn't necessarilly talking about myself, but now that you mention it I think we could love each other forever. How can I tell? Because, when you walked by I saw the next fifty years of my life and it was with you, me, a bottle of wine and a little french guy named Pierre feeding us grapes as we watched sailboats disappear into the Sicilian sunset as we lay naked in our villa that has a swimming pool with little goldfish swimming around wondering how two people could ever love each other so much, and contemplating the complexity of our devotion. And, I think you're really hot, so if you'd just dance with me, that'd be cool, and then you could tell me your name. But if you just want to make one up, I'm fine with that too.
You know, just enough Italian to get my by.
4) I went to Giverny and stood on the bridges, and on the banks of the ponds where the water lillies continue to float, in Monet's masterpieces. Pretty cool.
Talk soon, probably from Rome,
Ciao.
It's been a while since we've talked last. Lots has happened, but I'll spare you the petty details. The important ones are as follows:
1) When parking, the french know they have made it into their spot once they have hit the car behind or in front of them.
2) My little four year old french cousin talks to fast/ slurs his words too much for me to understand him. He talks to me, and I can't really respond. As a result, he simply assumes I am a large (bearded) baby; hence, he affectionately refers to me as 'le grand bebe'. (I tell him I'm not the baby, he is, and then I tell his mother- all he does is laugh, and it cuts deep down inside) Although we can't communicate, he likes to rub my beard and have me throw him up and down.
3) I met an Italian the other night and since I will be in Rome May 5th, and speak no Italian, he wrote me out a quick cheat sheet of only the most important sayings- Please, thank you, where is the bathroom?, you have beautiful eyes, can I buy you a drink?, is that guy really your boyfriend because you could do much better. Oh, well, I wasn't necessarilly talking about myself, but now that you mention it I think we could love each other forever. How can I tell? Because, when you walked by I saw the next fifty years of my life and it was with you, me, a bottle of wine and a little french guy named Pierre feeding us grapes as we watched sailboats disappear into the Sicilian sunset as we lay naked in our villa that has a swimming pool with little goldfish swimming around wondering how two people could ever love each other so much, and contemplating the complexity of our devotion. And, I think you're really hot, so if you'd just dance with me, that'd be cool, and then you could tell me your name. But if you just want to make one up, I'm fine with that too.
You know, just enough Italian to get my by.
4) I went to Giverny and stood on the bridges, and on the banks of the ponds where the water lillies continue to float, in Monet's masterpieces. Pretty cool.
Talk soon, probably from Rome,
Ciao.
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