Amsterdam a.k.a.- don't let Grandma read this

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.