I’m freshly home from Amsterdam, which is located in The Netherlands, which is also apparently known as Holland, which, embarrassing as it is, was news to me.
Prior to this trip, I really only knew that Holland is where Heineken is brewed and Amsterdam is where the pot-heads and perverts of the world go to be themselves…and that’s pretty much it. Honestly, if my dad wouldn’t have drank so much Heineken while I was growing up, (or maybe, never made us get them out of the fridge, open the bottle and bring them to him?)… then I probably would’ve only known the latter, so…
Anyway, I’m sure I knew it once, but apparently that whole little section of Europe must have jumped the memory ship and moved on to be with the rest of the shit that I can’t remember…?
But, before we left for Amsterdam: I turned 30. I never expected to be one of those annoying girls who gets all depressed about how old she is and where her life is going, or worse: where it hasn’t gone yet, yada, yada, yada…but I was. I pretty much hid from all of my friends and family to avoid seeing my own short-comings reflected in their eyes and instead, I watched three episodes of Toddlers and Tiaras, and then tried to imitate this lady for the rest of the afternoon:
I also figured that feigning depression would be a good way to covertly track the number of ‘birthday meals’ I could squeeze out of my friends. So far, I’m like 3 for the 3. (1 meal per decade lived and counting… :) Not exactly through the roof, but 3 is better than the usual 1, right?
Also, if you think about it, having all of your friends show up on one night – for one meal -isn’t that smart. In fact, it’s the opposite. Here’s why:
You’re never going to have enough time to talk to everyone; they’re all just going to have to pretend to get along, and talk ‘small talk’ amongst themselves—which personally, just makes me feel anxious the whole time—especially, when the bill comes.
No matter what, having that many ‘friends’ eating out, birthday or not—if there are split checks involved: SOMEONE is going to get fucked over when it comes to paying the bill – but everyone is always going to think it was them.
It’s some sort of mathematical paradox, or a ’no one can keep track of much they ordered between the two of them, so let’s break out the crayon and add it all up’ black hole-a-dox, or something…
Either way, it’s a buzz kill. Am I right?
So, back to Amsterdam:
Apparently, the summer is the worst time for hotel prices in Amsterdam—and Priceline wouldn’t give it up like she used to, which actually worked out for the best because I found this site: http://hipmunk.com –and it’s my new favorite.
It shows the yelp reviews, prices, locations, proximity to restaurants, museums and brothels—and it has tabbed browsing inside a tabbed browsing. It also shows listings from http://airbnb.com which is what we ended up using –which is how we also ended up in the middle of the red light district.
Amsterdam: Bikes and good beer...and a couple of brothels
The red light district wasn’t as seedy as you’d imagine, I’m happy to report. I don’t see what the big deal is anyway…Prostitution is the world’s oldest profession, right? SO—at least it’s regulated over there.
Just saying, I’d take the red light district over the dirty shit that goes on at Treasures in Houston, any day.
Speaking of treasures: Did I mention that I got a camera for my birthday? Did I mention that it’s a big fucker? Well, here it is:
Every little Ngo’s dream:
the big fucker
Unfortunately, they don’t allow pictures of the red light district—just having your camera out, might result in it being thrown in a canal–so all I have to show for now, is this one of me at a coffee shop further up the street:
i heard extra music this night...
Advantages to wearing a giant camera:
The ability to stop wherever you want, whenever you want—and have masses of people get out of the way of ‘the shot’–, You could even potentially even draw a crowd, depending on the urgency with which you put the camera up to your face.
Somewhat-Expected disadvantage to the person who gave you a giant camera and everyone else in a 20 ft radius:
Last Friday, I flew back to NYC (again), for a birthday/yoga/fun-filled/third-wheeling weekend… Well, I don’t actually do yoga, but my friend does–and I just smile and nod. I feel like a sham when I go to those events… but I really do wear the clothes, but only because it’s like wearing fancy sweatpants. And I am fancy.
find these two on facebook!
Of course, yoga made me start thinking about hippies, which was then exacerbated by the fact that I stumbled into some weed on the very same weekend…which of course made me start thinking about Dave Mathews…and then I stumbled across this little gem that I already written up, and I figured I would share:
Re: dave Mathews: fuck him (and john mayer) too. Buncha goddamm hippies. I don’t like crowds full of any people.. let alone crowds of dirty, dirt-loving-stoned-out-of-their-moccasins-and-leather-vests-with-fringe-hippies. Blech. And no. I’ve never been to one of his concerts. And yes, I get what you’re saying. No. It’s not the same.
And, it pretty much sums up my weekend.
Here is what I came up with on the plane:
I made it to the gate a whopping 15 minutes early, which never should’ve have happened, considering I packed like an asshole, in 25 minutes or less.
No joke: last Thanksgiving I left my house so late that I had to park my car at the terminal instead of the economy lot, but I was also so broke, that I knew paying $20/day for eight days, plus not working for eight days , would end badly. So, I did what any reasonable adult would do and I left my car parked at the terminal, unlocked, with the keys in it. I took a gamble on the off-chance that someone would either steal it, or that a friend might pull through for me and ferry it back to my house…(and enable me to continue making bad decisions with little, to no consequence. Yaay! )
Anyway, as a result of my poorly executed morning, it seems as though procrastination has prevailed once again: I ate myself into a mini food-coma before the plane even left the ground and I awoke to the gentle sounds of beverages being served.
I am happy to report that I am currently full of Wendy’s, fully-napped, and half in the bag, on scotch #2….Here goes:
A Semi-Structured Stream of Unsolicited Advice–As Regards to Air Travel
Parking:
Park in the economy lot, (time permitting). They have all new shuttles and they changed the name from ‘Parking Cent$’ to ‘Eco-Park,’–which I would have guessed was short for ‘Economy’, because I don’t get how they’re playing the ‘green’ card.
Now, I know that everyone is all gay for saving the earth and the miracles of compressed natural gas shit, but let’s be real: You’re at the airport…saving the planet isn’t real high on your agenda.
Although, I would like to commend Eco-Park for upgrading their entire fleet (and their logo) and keeping the price at $4.69/day. That never happens. And, I dunno if Mother Earth really gives a shit, but I have to admit, riding around in the blue and green earth-mobile is far less embarrassing than being scooped up in a super-size kidnapper van with a giant, wheeled-pig on the side.
yes, that is a stick baby being run over by the old parking cents shuttle
Security:
Smile and be nice no matter how big of a hurry you’re in.Get 2-3 bins to put your shit in when you go through security. It’s not like you’re at a buffet; no one is judging you for how many pats of butter that you grab–don’t be shy. Cramming all of your junk into not-enough-bin-space, will only hold up the line when they have to re-scan your shit because it looks like one, amorphous blob of potential bomb.
The bin order:
Computer. And any other (small) squashables, e.g., eyeglasses or phone
Bag. Conspicuously set your sac ‘o liquids to the side of said bag–this makes you look like well-informed and compliant traveler–which might come in handy, should your acute alcoholism symptoms ever betray you and come off more like sweaty, drug mule symptoms.
Shoes. And try to take them off last, too. I don’t get the people who take their shoes off like it’s a race and then look around to count how many people they beat. How bout: You look like an asshole.
Then, grab bin #1, put it on top of bin #2 and then stack them both on top of bin #3…and carry your shit, (one stack of three bins), away from the scanner and over to the benches to situate yourself.
Fiji Water is for assholes. And I like it.
After Security:
Buy a big bottle of water. Preferably Fiji so you can look like a proper asshole.Why?Because it has a lid, dipshit. And it will last you 2-5 days, provided you find a water alternative along the way.
Additionally, the bottle is a nice, rigid plastic, (not the sorry excuse for a plastic bag that Ozarka comes in now), so you won’t feel like such a bum if you happen to look like a bum. And, if you refill it, the bottle won’t look like you have been keeping it stashed behind your burn-barrel all winter, especially if you’re going to use it like a real bum and put vodka in it.
On Board:
Take your laptop out of your bag right when you get to your seat and put it in the seat pocket. (or your ipad or your phone, or extra bottles of scotch or wine…whatever).
Not only does this save a huge amount of jostling and grunting, it also saves you from being the asshole who just took 15 minutes and someone’s fucking eye out to barely boot-up his laptop before he has to put the stupid thing back up again because, Surprise! We’re there, jerk.
Pack a lunch. Or, buy some easy to transport/easy to eat/junk food and bring it on board with you, (put the trash in the vomit bag and hand it to the flight attendant all carefully, like you yakked in it).
Seriously though, have you ever wondered why your mom constantly tries to hand you granola bars and/or assorted fruit and won’t stop coming closer to you with it until you take it and put it in your bag? Ever wonder why Asian people always pack a snack of delicious foodstuffs, even if they’re only going eight blocks up the street?
Well, it’s because they’re smarter than you.
If you bring your own food, then not only are you in charge of its deliciousness, but you’re also in charge of when you eat it, making feel a little less like county jail…and more like nap time.
Speaking of nap time, chicka check out the voyeur-ific, hard-core nap action below:
look how fucking happy everyone is. (mouse over to see the opposite)
All right, I think I’ve spread enough wisdom for today…All this, coming from a girl who has a propensity for stopping when everyone else is going…yet can’t help but stay there, frozen with Asian-ness…immobilized.
And it gets worse if I actually realize what’s happening. So, I have that going for me.
Adios, thanks for sticking with me…here are a few travel related pics and assorted birthday cards for your amusement:
*Title was kindly provided by the Mister. And then this happened:
I’m home and in one piece after a quick vacation/trip/tour de new england with the Mister. From its inception down to the last, scotch-filled night it was remarkable for many reasons, but here are a few highlights.
Inception:
Mister: FYI. I’m going up to CT for this. Just throwing it out there, if you don’t like it you can throw it right back. You wouldn’t have to attend the lectures :)
Me: Oh good, because I’d much rather use that time to wander around, trying to blend in with the potheads.
Mister: Your mom’s a pothead.
Me: Sold.
Planning:
I was tasked with booking travel arrangements and by ‘tasked’ I mean, that I forcibly volunteered because I am awesome at finding cheap tickets and because I also happen to use all of my fingers to type…
Anyway, I found the most reasonable tickets on Continental–who I usually love, but who I also might be breaking up with, unless they refund the bullshit baggage fees–(stay tuned), BUT, instead of biting on the tickets, we stayed up and watched this, because it’s hilarious:
You’re welcome. But, as I’m sure you were able to guess: ticket prices were nearly double the next day, and I looked like an asshole, of course. Especially considering my previous assertions of awesomeness, and that my entire conciliatory effort was centered on some nebulous muttering of, ‘let’s wait until the next Tuesday’…but, surprise! Procrastination prevailed and we ended up booking them for $218 each. And, now, if you ever wanted to know somebody, who knew someone who had the whole, ‘book your flight on a Tuesday’ thing work for them, well, it was me.
Part II.
(This part was written on the plane…)
Question: You know what I don’t get?
Answer: Drug tested. ha:) And people…like pretty much all of them, which, usually falls under the, ‘doesn’t directly affect me, so it’s not really all that real to me, so I don’t really give a shit’ category, so I don’t let it weigh on the ol’ noggin too heavily, which is usually fairly effortless to do since I invented and accepted the fact that approximately 79.99% of all people in the world are assholes…
Every day, studies are proving this to be truer and truer, which means that my statistical genius is also becoming increasingly undeniable– This is usually enough to maintain my sunny disposition, but speaking of sunny, and since I’m on a plane, breathing community air and such–well, here goes:
What the fuck is UP with these fully-fucking grown people who pick the window seat on whichever side the sun happens to be on and then keep their window shade up for the entire flight?
It’s like they have front row tickets to the “10,000 degree Giant Ball of Flaming Gas’ show and they dont want to miss one second of it in all its white, hot glory, while the rest of us can hardly see the insides of our eyeballs (sans multi-colored mystery dots), let alone see our own movies, or even anything else but ourselves in our laptop screens, and I can’t technically speak for everyone else, but I’m pretty sure that no one can see anything but dust on those crappy little tv 5″ monitors they drop down every four seats for 12 people to watch a crappy little movie on.
dick.
dick.
not dick.
Which, actually brings another question to mind, but this one is for Continental:
Who the fuck wants to watch this shit?
And again, I can’t speak for everyone, but Continental always has on some lame-ass ‘I hate valentines day’ or ‘Definitely Maybe’ type of movie, the likes of which I can barely hold my shit together through on my best days, but even less so when you add the very likely presence of alcohol, and multiply that by the varying degree of sheer physical exhaustion due to lack of sleep and/or binge drinking and/or packing like an asshole the night before–In fact, I’m fairly certain that any combination of the above variables would eventually devolve into a ‘cry your face off in public’ shit show if given enough time…for anyone. And guess what?
Crying in public isn’t fun…especially not on a fucking plane. Christ. There’s a fine line between, ‘drunk and tired’, ‘future suicide candidate’ and ‘imminent terrorist threat’…and I’m not entirely convinced that the flight crew was given the necessary tools to enable them to make that distinction. And, even if they were, I reckon they wouldn’t have the time to notice: They’re too busy selling shit to a captive, bored audience.
Why not show Harold and Kumar Escape to Guantanamo Bay like Virgin Airlines? You know, maybe give everyone a little respite from thinking about whatever they might be leaving or going back to…It might even get their minds off how bad they just got bent over for paying $7.99 for a headset that they can’t even use in real life…
And now a few more thoughts for the Window Shade Abuser:
I may be way the fuck off, but I feel confident that you’re not two years old. Also, that’s not the Grand Canyon down there, and we are not taking off or landing…What the fuck, I pray tell, are you looking at exactly? Are you pretending that you’re in charge of the sun? Is this your idea of being polite? Attempting to blind us while you jerk-off to the Roman sun god, or whatever slutty animal-shapes that happen to float by–Don’t you think that’s a little selfish? How many people must suffer so you can sit there daydreaming into your own reflection like you’re a big, empty-headed jesus statue cuddling with a freaking cloud-Simba?
Fuck.
jesus isn't the dick. You are.
Next Up: Trip Recap (Here’s what I can remember so far):
Day 1.
Ate a delicious meal in Queens, met Curtis out at McSorely’s and drank like 80 mini beers…wandered around drank more…slept on floor.
Day 2.
Woke up, took the longest way ever through Central Park…made it to Big Nick’s right before we died. Ate. Went to history museum to see the dinosaurs…A random French dude gave us his tickets because they were almost closing? dunno…maybe..
Met Anj & husband out at a hookah bar with belly dancer.
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