Wandering Wednesday: Amsterdam

I've been to Amsterdam twice, but the first time doesn't really count because:

1. I was with my ex,
2. It was only for two days,
3. The locals wouldn't talk to us,
4. I got high - which had never happened with any American pot I had tried - and proceeded to remain high the entire time we were there. From one joint. So the main thing I learned on that trip is to not smoke pot on my next visit, if I wanted to remember it at all.

But this (introductory) post of the Wandering Wednesday series will focus on my second trip to Amsterdam. . .

I went with my friend from high school, M., and some of her friends. We went for New Year's, which is excellent if you're not afraid of firecrackers. They just kind of throw them around the streets at midnight and it's up to you to get the hell out of the way. Anyway, winter is the time to go because there aren't any tourists, so the Dutch people are all nice and friendly and charming and nothing is crowded.

I used to scrapbook. I wasn't very good at it.

We stayed at an affordable, nondescript American-style hotel a tram ride away from the center of the city. I really only remember being there to sleep, which we mostly did in the day time. M. and I got there a few nights before everyone else, so we set about find a cool bar. Which we did. It was so cool that we stayed there until 3 am, which would have been fine if the tram hadn't already stopped running. And if the taxis hadn't stopped working.

There was a freezing rain coming down as we started walking back to the hotel. The hotel that was miles away. After we'd been walking for twenty minutes or so, a gentleman pulled over and asked us if we wanted a ride. He had a ginormous dog in the back seat. He explained that he was going to work and could easily drop us off at our hotel.

We never would have gotten in that car when we were teenagers, or if we'd been in the states, or if we hadn't been pretty drunk. Our plan was to (casually) imply that we were FBI agents, familiar with and loaded down by weaponry.

Seriously. I also want to point out  that we were about 27 when the story took place.

So, the perfectly innocent man tried to start a conversation about which museums we were going to visit. . . .and we started talking about Glocks. To this day I have no idea whether he was laughing at us or terrified for his life, but he certainly hurried to drop us off near our hotel.

A few nights later, joined by M.'s friend F., we ventured to one of the city's infamous live sex shows. It was a lot more performance art-ish, than porn-ish. There was just a rotating series of erotic scenes, with penetration but no ejaculation. We were (I think) the only group of women at the show, but no one was rude or made us uncomfortable.

Before cell phone cameras, I used to buy a lot of post cards. And yes, I really did

save my ticket from the live sex show. Who wouldn't? 

Well, not until we saw F.'s boss there. F. worked for a large international corporation that my dad's company also worked with, so I had a momentary fear that someone I might know through my dad was there as well. It passed quickly, but from then on we were also trying to look for a way out that would not take us right past F.'s boss. I don't know why M. and I just didn't walk nonchalantly out of the theater, it's not like the boss knew us. . .but instead we followed F., crawling down the row and up the aisle. Which probably made us more conspicuous, but F.'s boss never said anything to her. Of course, why would he? Then he'd have to admit that he'd been there too. . .

My favorite place in all of Amsterdam, despite my utter fascination with the red light district, is the Van Gogh Museum. If you ever get to go to Amsterdam, that's the museum to visit.

There's also the cool bar, where we also went for New Year's Eve 1999, but I can't remember the name of it and I have no idea if it's still there. It was on a small square between Dam Square and the red light district. It was one of those places where everyone who visited wrote on the walls, with excellent beer and the hottest bartender. I think we forced him to kiss us at midnight, which he handled very gallantly. We also met a bunch of locals, who kept making fun of us for only being able to speak one language. But they bought us shots too, so we got over it.

Turning Forty-Two Tuesday: Holy Crap

Sometime in the next few days, it will be the twentieth anniversary of my graduation from college. Actually, it may have already happened. I know it was in May, 1993, though. Which, holy fucking crap, was twenty years ago.

I have been an (alleged) adult for TWENTY YEARS.

You'd think I would have gotten better at it by now.

To be fair, I am much less insane than I was twenty years ago. Also, less blond. And far less skinny. But in general, I prefer being 42 to being 22, unless I'm looking in a mirror.

A fancy dinner with Dad, Grandma and Mom

Yeah, I wore hiking boots and a flannel under my gown. It was 1993, okay? 

Notice how I have cunningly left my then fiancee, now ex-husband out of these photos? Fortunately my parents insisted on some pictures where he was not plastered to my side. Thank God. 

Which leads me to the advice section of this post. Take heed of my wisdom, new graduates and other youngish people. . .because I don't have a lot of it and what I do have is very precious to me.

1. When you are taking pictures at a life event, focus on taking pictures with your family - especially your grandparents. I do know some couples who have been (happily) together since college and even high school, but I know a lot more people who cringe when you bring up the "love" of their 22 year old selves. Play it safe. 

2. Hiking boots should only be worn when hiking and never as a fashion statement. 

3. Listen to music that actually makes you happy, not what is hipster and cool, unless you really like what is hipster and cool.

4. Tattoos are forever. Be sober for them. 

5. Piercing any part of the ear that is not the lobe never, ever heals. 

6. You've only a year or two left before sleeping on a futon becomes uncomfortable. Start saving for an actual bed now. And buy a good one. 

7. Contrary to (some) popular belief and any '80's movies you may have seen, you do not have to have your life figured out now. In fact, just when you think you do have it figured it out, something will change. You are never going to feel all grown up. But you will feel much more sure of yourself.

8. If you are too shy to buy condoms at your local drug store and to ask your doctor for  birth control, you are not ready to be having so much sex. 

9. Don't go to graduate school right away. You need to excel at graduate school and you'll be a lot more motivated if you've worked at a crappy job for a while. 

10. Travel. By yourself. I don't care if it's just a five hour road trip to visit your best friend from high school, just go. 

Hiplandia

"Maybe it's funnier to you, because you lived there," Hot Guy commented after we watched Portlandia the other night.

"Well, it does make me happy that Portland hasn't changed since my time there in the '90's, " I replied. But I don't find Portlandia all that funny, really.

I'm not sure why I put it in my Hulu queue*, to be honest.

Sometimes it makes me laugh, or nod my head in recollection. But so does Jimmy Kimmel and he's not in my queue.

I'm not a huge Fred Armisen fan. In fact, I'm sort of less than a fan since I heard that he's a total jerk in real life. I shared this with Hot Guy, who reported that most celebrities are. Except for Queen Latifah and Chris Rock, whom he's worked with and swears are wonderful, down-to-earth people.

I like Carrie Brownstein, but not enough to make me watch a show.

I'm a little worried that I watch Portlandia because it's hip.

It is hip, isn't it?

I don't know what's hip anymore.  I live in suburban New Jersey. I'm 41, not 25. I drive a minivan. People are always talking about bands I've never heard of. I buy my clothes from Lands End. I have favorite words.*

Do people even say hip? Or are we just supposed to make fun of hipsters?

Wait, isn't that what they do on Portlandia?

This is so confusing.












*"Queue" has always been one of my favorite words. I used to teach it to my students just so I could tell them to queue up for lunch. Hulu had me the minute I learned I could have a queue on it.