goedemorgen!

When I studied abroad in London my junior year of college, I spent a weekend in Amsterdam with some friends. It was pretty much exactly what you would expect a bunch of 20 year olds in Amsterdam would be like. We went to a couple of musuems and smoked a ton of pot.

Our first day there, we had a tour of the city, led by a little old Dutch lady. She was fabulous, and everyone wanted to take her home and have her be their grandma. She gave good advice - "Don't buy crack off the street, just buy weed" and told stories about hookers (a man who had a heart attack with his regular hooker and she had to call his wife to tell him). And over and over she would tell us, "ja, it is true!" As if we ever doubted her.

Oh yeah, and we actually lost our bus driver at some point because he kept going into the whorehouses. He was a little sketchy.

So the point of the story is that we loved the Dutch. And now I've decided to learn the language.

I bought a Pimsleur audio course thingy which I can listed to in my car. I've done two discs so far, and can say "Spreekt u Engels?" (do you speak english?) and "Ik spreek geen Nederlands" (I don't speak Dutch) So....that's going to get me far.

But what really annoys me about these CDs is that they keep giving me false hope. I have to have fake conversations with Dutch people. It goes something like this:

Pardon mevrouw

--goedemorgen meneer

Spreekt u Engels?

--Ja, ik spreek engels.

And at this point, I get wicked excited, because awesome! Dutch lady speaks English and I can forget this whole speaking in Naderlands thing. But no, that's not what Pimsleur wants me to do.

Ik Amerikaanse (I'm American...like she cares)

--Je spreekt zeer goed Nederlands (You speak very good Dutch...LIES WOMAN. My Dutch is terrible, and I keep spitting.)

Dank u (Thank you. And this is probably my favorite thing to say so far in Dutch, even though it makes me feel like a four year old. It's like English baby talk.)

--Tot ziens meneer. (Good bye sir.)

And that's it. It's pretty fucking fascinating, I know.

But the Puppy Bowl is on now, so I need to focus on watching that. Because it is 8:30 on a Saturday morning and I have nothing better to do.

Oh Celebs

I love this photo, blantantly stolen from boston.com.

Dakota Fanning: What the hell K Stew?

Kristen Stewart: Shut up.

Dakota Fanning: Why are you even HERE? You know this is Sundance, right? I mean, you know what that is?

Kristen Stewart: Shut up.

Dakota Fanning: You look miserable, like always.

Kristen Stewart: Shut up.

Dakota Fanning: Fortunately, I look fabulous!

Kristen Stewart: Shutupshutupshutupshutup

Yes, I know that they're in a movie together. But I like the scene in my head better.

Why living with a boy is gross

So I get home from work, pretty pumped. I scored a promotion and a raise at my annual review, so it's a good day.

And Boyfriend is sitting on the couch. Which is fine. Then I hear the tell-tale sign of video games: "Fuck you, you maniac!" That's the game, by the by, not the Boyfriend. The dog is lying on his lap. Next to him is a half finished beer and a bag of M&Ms. A nutritious dinner, to be sure.

And he's not wearing pants.

I just don't GET that. I really don't.

So when you ask what I'm doing BF, this is it. Writing about you, in all your pantsless wonder, on the blog that no one reads.

Happy weekend y'all.

Oh hey Blog, what's up.

No, I didn't forget about you. Jeez. Don't be needy.

I've been busy. Things to see, people to do. Or something. But you know, I've been watching a lot of Lost. Boyfriend and I are trying to rewatch all five seasons before the Feb. 2 premiere. It's actually a pretty big undertaking. Last night, I parked my ass on the couch for four episodes. It was rough. Watching Jack fight back tears for that long usually is.

Plus, I work. I mean, I'm at work now. But sometimes the phone rings and I have to answer it. I can't type and talk at the same time y'know. And trust me, that's true. Back in the days of college, my roommate and I would be having deep, meaningful conversations about the meaning of life (or sex. One or the other) and I would be on AIM. Inevitibly, I would end up typing what I was saying, so the guy I had a crush on for five years would get a message like "I just need to get fucking laid already". Which, in theory, could be taken as invitation. But it never was. Sadface.

Where was I?

Oh yes, my busy busy life. I read too, you know. Like, a lot. The book I'm reading now is called Break, and it's pretty good. Except it was written by a high school senior. It's like watching the olympics with all the frigging 16 year old gymnasts. I haven't done jack with my life, so when I read a book written by someone younger than me, I need to spend some time wallowing. And then more time reading And wallowing. Vicious cycle.

Wah.

So, I guess all this bitching means this isn't going to be a productive post. Hmm.

I has a blog.

So apparently, I am now a blogger.

Of course, if merely signing up for a blog and giving it a completely non-creative name makes you a blogger, I've probably been a blogger ten times over by now. Remember old school LiveJournal? Well, I was a little punk kid, so I had a DeadJournal. Plus something called mydiary. I've had real blogs, fake blogs, blogs that I have proabably forgotten.

If I ever become rich and famous there is probably a shitload of blackmail on the internet. Most likely, I'll never become rich and famous. But hey, a girl can dream right? Some day, a girl who secretly hated me in elementary school will realize that I'm a best selling author/Academy Award winner/nuclear scientist, and try to make a profit off my misguided ramblings.

And I'd be okay with that.

So yes. Blogging. Tally ho.