Here I am in Amsterdam safe and stoned. Sound! I mean, safe and sound. Totally haven´t made it to a cafe yet. Today was a very hurtful day on my feet. I´ve travelled many miles in these addidas today, most of which was a pacing motion for getting lost so much. I don´t know how people do it high, Amsterdam is a complicated city to get around, and please don´t tell me the street name as I cannot retain Dutch yet. Thanks though, friendly people!
Thankfully today on the train fom the airport to downtown I made a friend for the day. On and 8 hour layover from New York to his Home in Amsterdam Tsvki ..close enough I hope, accompanied me around town. Very interesting as I never met anyone from Israel. On our travels we made friends with this trio of two Canadian gents and a London bloke. Where else am I going to go with four strange early twenty something boys. Red Light District. It a different and slightly disappointing experience as I wouldn´t call most of the women attractive and they all looked quite angry in the window actually, understandably the one banging and yelling at my Israel friend taking photos BIG NO NO! And please excuse the lack of punctuation the keyboard isn´t doing what it says so i´m limiting my stylistic additions. Anyways, I could bring myself to stare at the angry window ladies too much, maybe I would be more bold if it was night time but the unadmiting feminist in me felt quite discuss with hem actually. I washed my hands before eating lunch with my day friends.
Tomorrow is my bus-boat tour which I´m looking forward to. But with only an hour on each I´m pondering what I will fill my days with besides the Anne Frank Huis. A girl can only go to H and M so many times, I don´t care how many there are in this city! What up with that Amsterdam. Two would be more than sufficient.

Belfast Intl.

Up up and away! Just a quick update as I await my flight to Amsterdam! How exciting? Normally I don't really get excited for trips believe it or not... hopefully I don't make a habit of it.

xoxo

Here I sit on my Pedestal

Here I sit (when I roughed the blog) writing this update on my pedestal with my oversized morning mug of tea while watching all the rainy-day Portrush dog-walkers. Actually, I believe it's more of an ikea bar stool I'm sitting on, but serves the same purpose.

There's a part of Ireland that eats away at my soul and every day a piece of me dies a little. One container at a time. People here do not recycle anything! Well, cardboard if it suits them. I'm throwing away milk jugs, plastic packaging and I feel like all the churches on my doorstep couldn't save me from the dark fires of hell for deliberately filling up the planet with packaging. Over-dramatic much? If you grew up with Katrina Dwulit as your sister, you'd feel guilty for not recycling a toilet paper roll, too! I have an abundance of wine bottles and beer cans I can't bring myself to toss in the trash, I foresee a small living space come summer.

To make up for that earthly injustice the Irish can't be bothered by, they pour a hell-of-a glass of wine. My eyes light up every time I go to the bar to deliver a glass and my inner-voice screams, "you lucky bastards!" Seriously folks, it's a generous 9oz at least. Rule of thumb: pour whatever you would pour yourself, (to the rim).

I must interject: as I write this I am distracted by a couple riding horses on the sandy beach outside my window. If that doesn't paint the prettiest fucking picture then I can't bring you any joy today.

And a side note: This blog has really sparked an overwhelming desire to try and write a novel, chick lit, of course. It's equally created an overwhelming fear of commitment to such a project. Hmmm... And what would I write so much about? Hmm....

The Big Smoke

Well, it's official. Come Febrauary 27th I'm off on my next adventure to Amsterdam for four days! (My 20-year-old stonner self would be so envious of my 27-year-old not going there to smoke weed self.)

The part I'm truly looking forward to the most is the Anne Frank Huis. Besides the Babysitters Club, Anne Frank was the first real novel I read prior to seeing the play and I just think it's always resonated with me. Ever since I was a kid I've always had a twisted optimism in spotting prostitutes on the streets. I don't know if it's because I was raised in a town that wasn't that colourful or if it's from the hollywoodization of 'Pretty Woman.' (Adding 'ization' to something makes it a word, right?) So I will undoubtingly see some of those. It just looks Dublin beautiful with an even more relaxed open mind than Canada. I look forward to all the creative music, (and the Heineken tour). It'll be nice to take some artsy photos as well.

"That's me!"

Something about nothing

When I moved into my apartment the realtor man neglected to mention the evident noise pollution of a mocking mass of seagulls, daily swarming above my window to greet me good morning in their friendly fashion I imagine. Seagulls and I have very different opinions of friendly it seems. Their idea is annoying and I'd be upset but they're just fucking seagulls so that must mean the weather isn't so bad.

I just started reading "PS, I Love You." If I ever figure out how someone could possibly possess enough words and detailed story plots to write 500 pages several times over I think I have found an unknowing mentor in Cecila Ahern. I'm momentarily obsessed with her writing, starting backyards, of course with her newest, to middle, then her first book. It's interesting to see the progression that way. Normally I wouldn't read a book to which I've already seen the major motion picture. Normally I wouldn't cry either. The lady in the used book store in Portstewart where I bought the book for £2 informed me that it was so good even her husband read it. So fellas...

I read on this cheesy card the other week, (the kind I love), that the biggest distance between us is time. In my case it is actual distance although funilly enough I feel like I could be only living as far as Vancouver. I miss the unlimited phone calls, over-sized dinners with friends and family and low-key couch banter but that'll have to wait until I'm still unsure when.

And a quick travel update if you'll excuse my personal-growth exercise on my literary skills. Still loving my place, the town, my job. Definitely a learning curve and finding it once again hard to fully understand what people are saying, but a smile goes far. I don't care what Cat Stevens says. I've found the most beautiful running route, although I've only managed to walk it so far. Between work and the stairs to my apartment I don't really need the additional cardio, but it can't hurt. And I have managed to visit my local, (and not make an ass of myself I must triumphantly add - obviously not the same night some loved ones got a mid-afternoon phone call from me).

So hopefully you found that uneventful entry written artfully enough to be somewhat entertained about nothing. Worked for Seinfeld.