I have to add ...

I'm a big ol' whiny baby, but I can only blame it on those knives in my tummy!

It's absurd, but I can't help but muse ...

So my job is from hell, but I get to live in Europe and earn gobs of money. Am I selling my soul to the devil? I think the only answer to that is, "yes," which pretty much sucks for me. I've spent the last two days feeling like someone is stabbing me in the stomach. My extensive searches on WebMD have brought me close to believing I have an ulcer. What else could I think? I hate my job, right? Each and every day I dream about saying, "go to hell! I don't need this $#@&." Still, I don't want to believe that my body is reacting to a small, professional hiccup that really isn't even bad unless you think about the looking in the mirror every morning and respecting yourself for who you are/what you do thing ... Everything else is good, right? Outside of work, everything is pretty good. I mean, I don't have a throng of friends in Holland looking to hang out with me, but that's what happens after college, RIGHT? (All caps means agree with me or die!) But, I get to come home every night to a man who I believe in, and who I'm certain believes in me. That's something I haven't felt since I've really grown up, so I feel pretty good about it. Oh, perfect job and a life of adventure (a given for me) and worldwide travel ... take me away!

You never know

The thing about writing a blog is that you never know if anyone is reading it unless they comment. Well, one comment from two of my oldest friends (THANK YOU SIEL and emh!!!) does not a reading public make. Is there anyone out there? Or am I just typing to hear myself think?

Bicycles: my own personal terror

The most amusing thing about living in Holland is how amazingly they live up to many of the stereotypes.


BIKES: not just a mode of transportation, but a way of life.


See, here in Holland, trams are #1, but only because they stop for NO ONE. Bikes think they are #1, so basically they terrorize me on a daily basis. Driving from my home to the motorway is like playing pinball with humans in or on their various non-car modes of transportation ... in less than a kilometer, I have to dodge trams, about 25 humans on foot, and SCORES of bikes pedaling for dear life to get to the office on time. This description leads me to pedestrians. We have these magical safety zones, which are otherwise known as zebra crossings. If you see one of these magical stretches of white lines painted perpendicularly across the road, you just step on out! Never fear! All cars and bikes not only MUST stop by law, but they actually will. Unless, of course, they're an impatient American like me, who likes to kind of roll across them in my car. Cars, by the way, are the mode of transportation in Holland that has no rights whatsoever. My roll-through strategy doesn't always work, though. Take the day that I was just plain tired and wanted to get home. I practiced the roll through, and then had to listen to a not-so-friendly member of the Politie lecture me about what a dangerous menace I am to the roads. Justin had great fun reminding me that Mr. Officerman was right, and I was wrong. All I have to say to that is I fear for the public outside of Kimberlee's car. Why? I can't READ the signs, I just DRIVE. FAST.

What's it like to live in Holland?

Well, to be honest, it's a bit weird. I have the days when I love it, when I AM AMSTERDAM. Okay, not really. We live about an hour away from Amsterdam. But I also have my days when I just want to rage against the Dutch. Like for instance, I personally find it unreasonable to demand ... in the press, in one-on-one conversations, on blogs and even in local artwork ... for expats like us to learn Dutch, but then every time we speak to them in Dutch, they answer us in ENGLISH! Hey, guess what Dutchies? Just because I have an accent doesn't mean my sentence wasn't structured properly and pronounced correctly! Rant over. More on this subject to come. Stay tuned ...

Is that your cheek talking to me?

Justin tells me that a picture of me smoking a cigarette and talking out the side of my mouth would encapsulate my personality. Oh man! Whenever I'm reminded that I have this very weird habit of talking with my mouth somehow moved sideways makes me cringe. But, I know that if you're reading this and you know me, you're laughing - or at least smiling - right now because why? BECAUSE IT'S TRUE. My mouth has a freakish mind of its own. When it gets excited, it tries to run towards my ear or something. Your mission, dear readers, is to catch this mouth in action if you can, capture it on celluloid and torture me with it for the rest of our waking days. Challenge extended ...

"Just Because" Part 2: Adults are Rude ... So What?

As children, we take others at face value. The motives of others are either good or evil. We take what we know about the people around us and construct ideas about the world. The circumstances of our childhood prepare us to dream of that magical time called, "adulthood." For some, it’s the dream of those bright, shiny things that the rich possess. For some, it’s just enough to have a bit of security – a place to live, clothes on our backs and food for our children. More importantly, we want to leave a mark on the world. That mark may be in the form of invention or discovery. For others, it’s championing legislation that improves the lives of others, saving the lives of one or many, or changing for the better the way society views itself. While we’re striving to accomplish our personal and professional goals, we often become blinded by the quest. As we reach higher, we neglect various aspects of the quest. Getting the promotion that pays more means less time at home. Less time at home means paying less attention to the next generation. Paying less attention to the children is rude (not that I have any, so what the hell do I know?). At one time, I was one of those very girls who said, “Just because you’re old doesn’t mean you have to be rude about it.” Now that we’re all grown up and living each day to survive within the circumstances we’ve created, many of us often neglect what was once important. Think about it. Do you work 12 hours or more a day, like I unfortunately do? Do you ignore loved ones' desperate for your attention, your knowledge, your advice? Again, no one really needs my knowledge or advice. Gee ... maybe that's why my personal life has had so many dramatic ups and downs. But, then again, I can't imagine living a steady (read: boring), regular old life. If I'm not flying in the face of adventure at 100 miles an hour, with my hair on fire and wiping the bugs from my sunglasses ... it just wouldn't be LIVING!

Just because you’re old doesn’t mean you have to be rude about it

The girls brushed past, lost in their own universe … teenagers against the world. What were these girls talking about? It was a beautiful, sunny Fall afternoon in Edinburgh. We’d been walking for hours and were headed to the pub when they passed. We burst into laughter, wondering how the innocence of youth becomes so adamant in its demands for recognition, respect and, sometimes even deference. We know everything when we’re fourteen. We’ve lived through myriad circumstances, both bad and good. Some of us have loving, protective families, and some of us don’t. Some of us feel the safety of a warm home and food on the table every day. Some of us lie awake at night huddled against the cold and trying to ignore the rumbling in our bellies. We may have siblings with whom we band together against the world or fight viciously against. Others of us learn how to survive on our own, disenfranchised in our own homes. Some of us have moved from home to home nearly as many times as we are old. Why is it that as we grow older, we lose our ability to acknowledge the simplicity with which people interact with each other?

I'm like a slug

or actually more like a kitten. I really enjoy running around chasing little pieces of nothing, but I also find that a good nap in a warm, sunny spot gives me just as much pleasure. A certain man that I love has been on my case to get this blog up and running for -- oh -- about six months. SO ... if a person claims she is dying to write, she should probably get off her arse and do it, huh? Hopefully I can keep this interesting for my very small universe of interested readers. So, be brave, get inside my head (hold on, it's a bit messy in here) and laugh like a wasted teenage girl when I publish some truly stupid musings on the absurd!