Day 185
So, today I started reading one of many personal essays that are required for my coursework. The story began and was seemingly about a hermit crab. This was wonderful. I thought, finally someone is not writing some sappy metaphor-laden piece of shit. How can I always be such a moron? Of course it turned into sappy crappy bullshit about missing your home as though she is the only goddamn person in the world clever enough to think: Gee, I think home is where the heart is--what an original, inspired story. I should tell it and hook people in with the promise of reading about my hermit crab. Honestly, the life and times of a hermit crab are much more riveting than hearing a Kentucky creek, and how the author misses it, but will never return to it. Am I jaded? Maybe. I think I am just bored. Can't people like that just keep diaries and be done with it?
In more important news. I read and watched a ton of news coverage regarding the disaster in Chile today. One of the news items was that there was a tsunami advisory in effect. My friends decided to go down to the beach. I met them down there. The water was high, and allegedly there were seals in the distance (could have been driftwood). The bad news was that I hadn't been out of my room in quite sometime. So, when I got down there my friends were with this Belgian guy from next door. I walked up and said, "Hey! It's my favorite Dutch guy!" He said, "I'm from Belgium." I replied, "Same thing," in a monotone voice. He got offended and I realized that my delivery of stupid jokes needs to be better when talking with foreign men I don't know and that if I have been in my room for a long time I can be an asshole in public. This would all be very unfortunate if I were not such a huge opportunistic optimist. I made two mental notes: 1. Apologize to the Belgian by explaining what a huge ass I am. 2. If ever I get an enemy who is foreign male I don't know very well I will arrange to meet him after I have been alone in my room.
Today I listened to my new favorite radio station. I listened to it so long that it stopped playing and popped up a message that said, "Are you still listening?" I clicked on "yes." Who would click on "No?" If it's coming out of your computer, and you didn't suddenly go deaf you must be listening. Right? If you weren't listening you'd have to be in a place other than near your computer, and thus unable to click "no" anyhow. This is the kind of thing that happens and distracts me for over an hour. Exciting life, huh?
Well, tonight was exciting. I went to a big Dutch Olympic celebration party. Here are some highlights:
1. So, you have to take a bus to a train to get to the party. My friends were meeting up with me and a ragtag group from the rez who turned out to be the three people I'd rather not talk to, look at, or know in any capacity. Luckily, I had drank a half bottle of wine before departing. I teased and poked at them. My actual nemesis was there, but went back before the bus came, deciding she'd better study. She left me with a guy who wishes he is a player and as my friend puts it "he doesn't acknowledge the existence of people who he thinks are unfuckable," pretty much anything that isn't 20 pounds underweight and female. The other guy is what my other friend calls a "prick." He has no personality and thinks he is very pretty. The only bonus is that he talks like Eeyore. On the long bus ride over I texted 6 people and had 3 actual phone conversations in an effort not to talk to them. We couldn't have talked anyway because we all sat very far away from each other.
2. Apparently, you cannot get into the Dutch party place unless you are Dutch or a guest of someone who is Dutch. This was fine as one of my friends is Dutch. But, the Dutch person could only have one guest and we were one Dutch to five Non-Dutch. So, my friend flitted around and found Dutch people who didn't have a Non-Dutch guest and paired us up. My friend ended up with an old man, and I ended up with a pregnant man. I was jealous of her old man.
3. Once inside I realized 2 important things: a. Heineken isn't really that bad. b. The floor was super sticky.
4. The frontman of the Dutch band looked exactly like Jack White. Two songs after I realized this they played a White Stripes song.
5. You haven't lived until you hear a Dutch band cover Bohemian Rhapsody.
6. The sandwich called a "croquet" has an amazing middle, but miscellaneous contents. I learned that it is best with mustard, and the bottle that says "mustard" is really Dijon mustard so slathering it on thick will lead to burning sensations. Wiping your tongue off with a napkin isn't an option if you are holding a sandwich in one hand and a Heineken in the other.
7. I almost didn't go to the party because there would be dancing involved. I am fine with dancing, if it's in your own room by yourself. Well, this was my old mindset. When a Dutch DJ starts spinning remixes of Michael Jackson, Pump up the Jam, Jump Around, and Madonna's Music you have no choice but to dance and notice that everyone else has just as fucked up moves as you do, especially the player who thinks he's in a nightclub and tries grinding on what he would consider a fuckable.
After that we pretty much just took a long train/bus ride home, where I almost puked watching the player try to slip a hand up a friend's skirt, then we popped off for a McFlurry and went home. Being Dutch ain't so bad.
I came home and went straight to facebook. During the day I forced myself to go without it for 5 consecutive hours, and now am making up for lost time, apparently. Anyway, the girl that I like the least in the entire world right now has asked to be my friend. I am torn. On one hand, I could make sure she knows I think she is a snobby America-hating bitch. Or, I could befriend her and look at her page and make nasty remarks to to cheer myself up when I am feeling blue. Option 2 sounds alright. Funny how friending someone can be a source of inspiration for hatred.
Tip of the Day: If you have the urge to wave at the cute guy on the train, do it. He'll wave back.
-Canadian Castaway
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