Assimilation

Greetings!

I'm thrilled to be sitting here and writing my blog because I'm honestly surprised that I survived the early part of this week. This is my first week with my full school, volleyball, and life schedules all in high gear and with the way that it is set up, Monday and Tuesday are a little on the insane side. I finally figured out my class schedule which was extremely relieving because I am the type of person who becomes easily flustered, especially when my schedule is up in the air. I was hoping to stack all of my classes into 3 out of 5 school days to minimize the number of days that I had to commute into Brussels, but the way that it worked out I actually have ALL of my classes and seminars (smaller discussion groups) scheduled for Monday and Tuesday. Now that may not sound too horrible, but when you add in a commute and my volleyball schedule (practices on Monday, Tuesday, and Thursday and a match on the weekend) then things get a little more complicated.

Monday is by far the worse day of the two (naturally, because being a shitty day is part of Monday's job description) and involves me getting up at 6 so that I can make it into Brussels for a full class schedule that lasts from 9 am until 8 pm... that's just rude. However, I do believe that will get a bit easier now that I've discovered that I can skip my last class of the day and still stay up to date because the lecture notes are posted online. Should I feel guilty about that? Maybe, but I don't because the class is a course on how to properly do research for your dissertation, and there is a seminar which is far more important to attend. I mean, I love school, but 9 am to 8 pm is a little over the top and I like to think that I'm doing my professors a favor by missing a few lectures here and there as opposed to the only other option, which would be for me to show up to lecture drunk. So, you're welcome. Even if I do miss an occasional class I still have to get home on the train so that I can make it to weight lifting and volleyball practice on both Mon and Tues from 7-10. Yikes. But I think I've concluded that I'm happy to have two extremely challenging days and perhaps suffer from time to time, so that I can have the other 5 days of the week to focus on practice, volleyball matches, basketball games, occasional fun... oh, and of course the hundreds of pages of reading that I have for each class every week! Party. 

 I really can't complain though because in all honesty I'm loving class to the point that I even get excited about note taking. I know, it's gross. Ask me how I feel about that in a month or two when I'm drowning in research papers and we'll see if I feel the same way. HA! I really do love being busy, and I think that things will get a bit easier in a week or so when the post knee surgery cripple I live with is more mobile, and my body gets used to having less sleep, more physical exertion, and a regularly stimulated brain! All of these things really make me feel even more at home in Europe. In fact as I was sprinting to catch a train connection the other day, I couldn't help but think to myself that it was a sign that I had started to really fit into this Belgian lifestyle. You really haven't experienced European life until you've had to haul ass to catch your train only to have the door shut in your face, or until you've had to take four different trains to make up for the one that was canceled for no apparent reason (not that both of those things happened to me this week or anything...).

As I was driving to the grocery store the other day I realized that FINALLY being able to drive stick-shift also made me feel like I was really starting to assimilate here. Something about being able to drive myself around and go about my daily life with such ease made me feel like I was no longer just a visitor here. I'm a resident. The majority of the time I just blend in with all of the other Belgians living here, unless of course I open my mouth and/or wear sweat pants to the grocery store... and then of course there is the fact that the car that I drive is covered in ridiculous basketball sponsorship stickers that make it pretty obvious that I'm American. But generally speaking I don't stand out in any way. As far as most people are concerned I'm just another person waiting at the train station to commute into Brussels like the thousands of other people that do that every day. I'm just like anyone else getting bread at the bakery, filling up my car with gas, or stocking up on mini kegs...

There is however, one particular time in which the true American that I am cannot be suppressed. I might have a shopping problem. Now, when you're talking about women with shopping problems it usually implies that they like to buy shoes, clothes, and purses... but that isn't where my problem lies. I have a grocery shopping problem. Having the use of a car is what brought this to my attention because it is the ultimate facilitator. When I had to walk to get groceries I could obviously only buy what I could carry, but a car on the other hand leaves you with unlimited options for how much crap you can haul home. That's dangerous to say the least. Yesterday I had to admit to myself that I had a slight problem after announcing that I needed just a few things like vegetables and fruit, and came home with three giant bags spilling over with food. There is a store in Aalst called Colruyt, and I blame them for my problem because it tricks me into thinking that maybe, just maybe, I'm in a Costco or a Sam's Club. I walk in there and seeing as though I'm an American, I feel obligated to shop like it is going out of style. Suddenly I'm buying things as though I'm stocking my bomb shelter for the approaching apocalypse. As with any healthy shopaholic, I have a justification for every ridiculous thing that I buy. Of course I need six bottles of wine in case we have guests over; naturally I should have an 30 pack of frozen Belgian waffles in case Damon might crave one (everyday for a month); I should be prepared and buy 20 cans of tomato sauce in case there's an earthquake; maybe I'll buy some dog food in the off chance that I one day become a dog owner, and clearly I'm obligated to buy this artichoke because it is on sale. You get the drift. Most of the other people in the store are buying things in large amounts to stock their restaurant or business, and I can't even argue that I'm shopping to feed an entire family. There are two people living in this house. I repeat, TWO. Get ahold of yourself, Alanna.


I guess you can take the girl out of America, but you can't take America out of the girl.

Now I'm off to binge eat so that none of my groceries go to waste. Until next time...

Disorganized Chaos

This past week has been interesting to say the least. In fact I think that I might be in a slight madness-induced coma despite the fact that my eyes are open. It is also possible that my comatose state has something to do with the three consecutive hours of Food Network that I've been watching. I am currently writing about one sentence per half-hour while considering the possibility that Paula Dean might have stolen my idea of hosting a cooking show for drunks even though she doesn't actually ever admit that she is boozed up during the broadcast. Apparently the ship has already sailed on that plan even though I'm convinced that here in Aalst I would have a great target audience for such a show, but I digress...

Now, where do I begin?

The week has been filled with a wide range of interesting occurrences, some of which were exciting and others that I could have gone without. I suppose I'll begin with the unwelcome events so that we can get all of that shit out of the way (pardon my French, but I'm not obligated to practice since I'm commuting into Brussels for grad school). I will actually reach back a few weeks for this next thrilling story. It all began when Damon went to France for a few games with his team and was knocked out after a collision during his game. The symptoms of a minor concussion were not too much to worry about until the following day when he began having nose bleeds. Clearly the only rational thing to do is to panic because every concussion results in brain damage, paralysis, hemorrhaging, pancreatic cancer, malaria, polio, and blindness. No... seriously. Check WebMD. However, he was one of the lucky ones and the brain scan that I forced him to get was clear. Little did we know, this would be the least of our worries for the week.

Last weekend the Okapi team had games on both Friday and Saturday. I'm going to go ahead and add that these were the 4th and 5th games that they had played within a week and a half, which might seem like a difficult schedule for a human body to survive. You're probably thinking to yourself, 'gee, how can anyone stay healthy when they are practicing twice a day for 10 months with games every weekend?!'  Fascinating question. You'd be right in assuming that it is a struggle at times; exhibit A: Damon Huffman. Unfortunately Damon injured his knee in his game against Amsterdam on Saturday. After various scans it was discovered that he had torn the ligaments that hold his Patella in place and so on Tuesday he went in for knee surgery to repair the damage. The doctor said it would take about three months before he could start playing again.

I could sit and bitch about how much that diagnosis sucks, but I think I'd rather look on the bright side. As far as knees go, three months isn't all that bad. ACL injuries can take an extremely long time to come back from, and there are plenty of other injuries that can be career-ending for a professional athlete. Obviously when your livelihood is dependent on your body and your physical health, an injury can be a scary thing. Like in any profession, you are paid to produce, and if you can no longer do that then you are replaced. If you can play into your thirties then for the most part you are in the minority for a basketball player and your career is considered to have been a fairly long one. An injury brings a variety of worries for an athlete. Although contracts include injury insurance, it is possible that a team will choose to buy out your contract and bring in someone else to play. For example Trevor's team (Damon's brother for those of you that don't know) went through something like 14-16 players and a coach all in one season. They are expendable commodities and often times there isn't much loyalty between team management and players. Another concern is that an injury can become part of your reputation, and it is something that teams take into consideration before pursuing a contract with you. A history of injury can be a major deal breaker. While professional European basketball can be extremely lucrative, it is certainly not the NBA and these players are not set for life after playing for a few seasons. That being said, Damon is very lucky that his injury is something that can be fixed with surgery and that he has a live in babysitter (me). It is also nice to be playing in a  place like Aalst where good relationships can be formed between the club and the players. It is early in the season which leaves plenty of time to heal and then return to the court with more than half of the season and playoffs left!

Ok. Blah blah blah. I've surely bored you to death with the inner workings of European basketball. The real point is that now I have the equivalent of an immobile, giant child in my house who for the time being can hardly move off the temporary bed that is set up in the middle of our living room (I may be exaggerating slightly). Clearly this location is important because then he can have easy access to video games, food, sleeping accommodations, and television without moving. So let's be honest here, the only real issue with this entire situation will be trying to ensure that he doesn't spend 3 months straight murdering his brain cells by playing video games... annnnnd also that our living room doesn't look like it is straight out of an episode of Hoarders.

Now I suppose I should move on to the more positive and exciting things that are happening in life right now. Last week was my first week of orientation for my Masters program, and this week is the first week of classes! It is all very exciting and overwhelming at the same time. It has been more than two years so I was last in school and so it is certainly going to be an adjustment. It takes me anywhere from 50 minutes to an hour and ten minutes to get to the campus in Brussels by train (Aalst is only about a 20-25 minute drive from Brussels, but the trains make many stops along the way so it takes more time). I have spent the early part of this week sitting in on various classes and trying to decide which courses will be part of my schedule for this term. It has been a little bit of a struggle because I have to take some constraints into consideration that most of the other students don't have. The majority of the students live in Brussels near the campus, so they don't have to take train schedules and commuting time into consideration. I also have volleyball at least 4 days a week which means that I have to be home from school in time to get in the car and drive in the opposite direction to Gent. Hopefully I'll have my final schedule set within the next few days and then I can stop being an insane stress case.

Orientation week was exciting because it was my first chance to meet my classmates and professors. Seeing as this is a European University, orientation clearly had to include an excess of booze. I mean what better way to get to know a group of strangers than to get them drunk off of unlimited, free wine and let them over-share and blurt everything about themselves in a matter of hours?! I've met people in my program from all over the world; Greece, France, Ireland, Germany, Costa Rica, Colombia, The Czech Republic, Kansas, and even another girl from Washington State! I've discovered that Grad school is an interesting place; an entirely different beast than the Undergrad experience. It is awesome to meet other people that are equally as nerdy as I am and that are just as excited to continue learning. You also meet people that want to spend their time telling you how smart they are, which is always entertaining. I've already had someone tell me that from their experience they can see that Americans are dumb, I've learned that someone was up for an orgy after they announced it to the entire bar, and I've learned that one classmate is far more knowledgeable in the field that they majored in than anyone else in our Masters program (which I think MUST be obvious considering they've earned an undergraduate degree which is a feat that hardly anyone else in the world has achieved...). Grad students are fascinating. I love them. I hope that they'll find me at least slightly interesting too and that I'll be able to make some friends so that I'm not the weird kid that gets picked on during recess.

In other news, my volleyball team played our first official league match on Saturday. After nearly 2 months worth of preseason training, conditioning, and practice scrimmages (or 'friendly matches' as they call them here), this was a very welcome and exciting change. I am positive that the average age on our team makes us the youngest team in the first division, and also most likely the smallest, height-wise. But we won our first match in three sets, and played extremely well! I think we were even a little surprised by ourselves because we really came together and played with great chemistry and energy, and we were able to compete at a level that we hadn't yet reached during pre-season. Hopefully this will be a confidence booster for us and we will be able to continue competing with the bigger, more experienced teams. For now, I'm quite proud of all of my 'baby girls', as I like to call them on account of the fact that I've been playing volleyball since a few of them were 4 years old... That's a fact that I'm reluctantly sharing and one that we don't need to revisit because it just reminds me that I'm going to blink and be 35. Devastating. 

I'm probably forgetting to fill you in on all sorts of thrilling things, but my brain is completely overloaded and I'm trying desperately to avoid getting so flustered that I spontaneously combust and splatter brain chunks all over my already messy living room. More than once this week I've asked myself, 'what the hell have I gotten myself into?!' I vividly remember telling myself frequently during my undergraduate student-athlete experience that I would never put myself through something like that again. Well apparently I'm out of my mind and I love torturing myself. But hey, at least a serious lack of sleep, and self-inflicted pain and stress is better than being bored out of my tiny little mind. Right?

RIGHT?!

The Missing Months

Dear Blog,

Sorry I completely abandoned you. I know that I should have given you a little warning and I honestly didn't mean to blind side you. I swear it's not you, it's me. We were just at such different places in our lives and I needed to focus on myself. I know, it was selfish of me but it turns out that my schedule has opened up and I think I can pencil you in again, at least for a month or so. Will you forgive me and take me back?! Yes? OK great, now that we have that out of the way...

I think I last posted in January or February, which means that I have officially dropped the ball on this blogging thing. Let's be honest, I just didn't have my poop in a scoop, and seeing as though I have the attention span of a 12 year old boy it makes things like updating my blog nearly impossible. Life totally got in the way of me hanging out on the inter web, which I hear is all the rage these days, so I had better get back in the saddle or something like that. I'm having trouble hearing myself think because even with my headphones in I can hear death metal and machine gun sound effects coming from the television as Damon and his teammate, Chris, watch some absurd film that makes me actually consider hiding in the laundry room. Despite this, I shall try and update you on everything that you've missed, Readers' Digest style.

February was the month of Carnival. This is a much more worthwhile holiday than Valentine's day as it involves people getting inappropriately drunk, dressing up in elaborate costumes, and throwing the most insane street party imaginable for four days straight. Aalst is known for their Carnival celebration and although our city is small, the intensity of the celebration and the level of commitment that comes from the Belgian party crowd makes up for it in comparison to the celebrations in places like New Orleans and Rio de Janeiro. I'm pretty sure the point of this holiday is to partake in every form of debauchery possible and commit every 'sin' in the book prior to the beginning of lent, and from what I saw I can conclude that Jesus would be very proud and very honored. The tradition is for all the men in the city to dress up as women and then to go out into the city center and dance, sing, eat, drink, and love life. Each year it seems as though one or two people sacrifice themselves to the Carnival gods and either fall into the river in their Winnie the Pooh costume or get so drunk that they sleep on the streets in the February weather where they freeze to the sidewalk and remain, never to party again. It is indeed tragic, but it is just a testament to how serious this party is; it puts American college parties to absolute shame. I wish I had blogged about it at the time because I saw some truly incredible things. However, it goes without saying that I was unable to read or write because, while "being in Rome and doing as the Romans do", I had pickled my brain with Vodka and Duvel and this is the real reason I have been out of blogging commission for seven months.

March was the month that I celebrated my birth (thanks Tom and Andra). I turned 24 (underwhelming), and went to a concert to celebrate. I won't get into that story because it involves beer bongs and a brawl during the encore, and so clearly I can't do the tale justice without proper sound affects and reenactments. What I learned is that there seems to be a cultural difference when it comes to how to properly enjoy a jam band, and also that one should avoid going to see live music in a venue that leaves you surrounded by people that hate fun. I'm not going to throw any specific regions under the bus (Antwerp), but let's just say that this particular city has a lot of work to do in order to redeem itself.

During the spring I also applied to graduate school, to which I was accepted! Surprise everyone, I got a life! Starting in September I will be getting my Masters degree in Migration Studies from the University of Kent at Brussels. The University is a British University that has their International Studies Campus in Brussels, and I will hopefully be completing my degree in one intensive year. I also tried out with a First Division volleyball team in Gent. I have began training with the team which involves practicing three days a week for three hours each and includes weight lifting, jump training, and me sweating like a 300 pound man as well. The team is young, and by young I mean that they are too young to have sweat glands apparently, and the next oldest person on the team can't legally drink in America, but they are all very talented and have a lot of potential. Despite feeling like the grandmother of the team, I'm having fun and trying to get back into fighting shape and learning how to argue with the referees in Dutch. I won't elaborate on this too much because I can tell that you're bored. Translation: I'm boring myself, which is tragic because literally I'm just talking endlessly about myself, which most people generally love to do.

Let me sum things up. I went home to Seattle for the summer to spend some quality time as a member of the McDonald family circus, and to have pretty much every job that I had lined up successfully fall through. It was a real blast. Damon signed another contract with the team in Aalst, so here I am in Belgium, extra broke and extra flustered because I had to learn how to drive stick shift in less than a week so that I could drive myself to and from practice and games. Driving has been going just swimmingly (thanks for asking) as long as you don't count the time that I briefly stalled the car on the train tracks. What can I say, I like to live life on the edge. School will be starting later this month, and so I am trying to mentally prepare myself for the busy life of a student-athlete, which honestly is one that I did not imagine I would be revisiting post graduation from Brown. I will be commuting by train into Brussels for school, and then driving myself in the opposite direction in the evenings for volleyball practice. Somewhere in there I will try and find time to be an active member of Democrats Abroad Belgium, breathe, go to Damon's basketball games, continue my gourmet culinary adventures, drink Cava, and do laundry. Life has gone from 0 to 60 in the blink of an eye, and hopefully I will survive. Wish me luck!

For now I must depart on account of the fact that blogging hurts my brain and besides, when it comes to this, my attention span wore out yesterday. I have the horrifying sense that I've lost 'my funny' which could be a result of the fact that I haven't used blogging as a means of embarrassing myself in a public forum for quite some time now. Orrrrr it could be that it is borderline impossible to be entertaining whilst paraphrasing seven months worth of events. Ugh. At least I know that my Mom will read this, even if no one else does, and I can rest easy knowing that she is obligated to like it.

I am Pretend

I am blogging. I would love to say that the reason for this is because something really cool happened, but that isn't the reality of the situation. I am blogging because it is NOT on my to do list. Yes, I have created a rather extensive to do list for myself, and some of the things included on it are actually rather important to me. So naturally I am doing everything in my power to avoid getting them done. Then of course I add things to the list such as, "take a shower" and "eat dinner", so that I can cross those things off and feel as though I've done something productive. Then I make another extensive list of excuses for why I haven't been able to complete the other things on my to do list. Here are a few of the totally legitimate excuses that I've tested out in the recent past:

- The economy is in the shitter

- My bike has a flat tire

- It's too expensive

- I have imaginary pneumonia

- I was forced to drink an entire bottle of wine

- I was kidnapped by Belgian pirates

- I don't know my multiplication tables

- I have no choice but to watch the History channel

All valid excuses if you ask me. They are made extra valid because I put them into list form. Lists are productive, right?! I am so good at procrastinating that I have even figured out ways to procrastinate the use of my favorite "procrastination tool"... my blog. I am a joke.

I know that I've reached joke status because I actually said to myself the other day, "I need to buy another pair of sweat pants because I am wearing out the two pairs that I already own." Devastating. This was followed later in the week by another little gem of a quote: "I totally understand now why moms cut off all of their hair, long hair is just a hassle." My pathetic level peaked when I was riding the train one day, but before I get to the point, I must mention this fact; a Belgian woman would never be caught dead wearing sweat pants in public. They are completely put together at all times, wearing high heeled boots and with everything matching. Work, school, grocery shopping, and walking the dog are all activities that require getting fully "dressed" in Belgium. That being said, when I ride the train to volleyball practice I am ALWAYS dressed in my sweats. This alone makes it obvious that I am American. But one fateful day I took it to a new level. For once I was actually wearing jeans and a proper coat, but I had only brought with me a flimsy pair of flats to wear and it had begun to snow. The only other clothes that I had with me were my volleyball clothes. So I'm just going to come out with it. The only practical thing to do was to put on my tennis shoes, my white and pink Nike "trainers" to be exact (I will call them trainers in homage to the 1980s when women walked to work in blazers with shoulder pads, skirts, nylons, and their tennis shoes complete with orthotics). That's right; I wore Nikes with my skinny jeans without thinking twice about it. We're talking about the girl that used to wear flip flops in the winter in Seattle. What has happened to me?! I am not a working woman of the 1980s, nor do I have any children. If I'm not careful I'll be wearing jeans pulled over my belly button, and velcro shoes within a month. This alone is enough of a reason for me to get serious about getting a job.

I need someone to light a giant fire under my ass. New Year's resolutions are total crocks of shit if you ask me, and that won't cut it as motivation for me. (I learned this the hard way when my best friend and I resolved to quit cursing one year and quickly realized that removing certain words from our vocabularies was completely unnatural). I am starting to drown in insignificance. There is nothing I hate more in this world than feeling stagnant. (Well unless I'm feeling stagnant whilst wearing Nike trainers and sporting a Hilary Clinton hair cut at the age of 23).

What are my options here? Let's make a list:
1. Win the lottery
2. Exploit my family for money by writing a best selling book about them
3. Get a real job
4. Become a stripper
5. Apply to a masters program
6. Become a creepy European street entertainer that paints my entire body and pretends to be a statue in the middle of town square
7. Have a bake sale

Ya. Gee. I just don't see any valid possibilities there. Bummer.

In other news, I took a day trip to Luxembourg yesterday with Damon and his mom Jenni. It never previously made it onto my radar because it is such a tiny country and thus I automatically assumed it was going to be Europe's version of Rhode Island. False assumption. The capital city of Luxembourg is Luxembourg for those of you that didn't already know that, and let me just say that it is a gem of a city. The layout of the city is incredibly beautiful with towering bridges, winding cobblestone streets, big stone walls surrounding a giant park in the city center, and brick houses lining the hills. I can imagine that it is exponentially more beautiful in the spring and summer time when there is sunlight and everything isn't washed out by the gray scale. They have under half a million people living in the country, and they have combined Germanic European culture with Romance European culture, making it quite an interesting little bubble. They have three official languages, including "Luxembourgish," which I shall promptly learn before moving there. It's not like I have anything else to do... and since learning Luxembourgish isn't on my official to do list, it shouldn't take me long before I'm fluent. Now if you'll excuse me, I have to go get a life.

P.S.

Upon reading the first draft of this blog ( and by "first draft" I mean the post that I wrote and published without editing as per usual), my Mother told me that it sucked. She said it was scattered, disorganized, and poorly written. She was right. Thank goodness for moms... well, thank goodness for moms like mine who will be brutally honest with you instead of always looking at you through the maternal version of beer goggles, which cause them to conclude that their child is the greatest thing since sliced bread. Fine, I admit that my Mother still tells me that I'm pretty when I look like a troll whose hair could double as a nest for small birds, but at the very least she tells me that my writing is shitty when necessary. Plus, I found it fitting that my writing was disorganized just like my life and just like my thoughts. A true representation of where I am at this particular moment. Here I am people. Get to know me!

There's a First Time for Everything

Considering that I am the busiest unemployed person in the history of the world, it seems like a miracle when I find time to update my blog. When I update my blog less frequently, there is, in turn,  a build up of important things that must be shared and thus I'm forced to ramble about a million things when I finally do sit down at my computer to create a new post. Brace yourself. It has been almost a month since I last visited my blogspot and in that time I've experienced a lot of "firsts," so needless to say, that will be the topic of this post. Now, where to begin...

I suppose Thanksgiving would be an important place to start right?! I have had quite a few Thanksgivings away from home, but never have I cooked for a Thanksgiving or hosted a Thanksgiving, especially not one for 22 people. Yes, I said 22 people... and let us take into account that these are not normal people. The majority of them are mutant, super-human, freak basketball players that can eat double the normal amount without even chewing. Clearly I am not dumb enough to volunteer myself as the hostess and organizer, so we can blame Mr. Damon Huffman for offering up my services. How thoughtful of him! This adventure story begins with the planning, and I would like to point out that this whole process becomes a little more challenging as a result of the fact that Thanksgiving is only an American holiday and so many of the products that are used to carry out this yearly tradition can only be found in the U.S. On top of that I'm pretty sure that the Belgian people think we are dumb for having this holiday, probably because I think everyone except Americans recognize that it is generally a celebration of how the founders of America were total dicks and murdered massive numbers of the Native American population and stole their land. Belgians also seem to have holidays every week and I'm pretty sure every single one revolves around drinking and eating so Thanksgiving doesn't even create a tiny blip on their radar. Let's start with the challenge of finding a turkey. It isn't as easy as you would think, mainly because it isn't a common thing to just have a whole turkey in a store for people to buy and eat on an ordinary Monday or Tuesday night. So it comes down to this, you can find a farm that has turkeys, you can go watch the turkeys do turkey things and then you can pick out the one that you want to have slaughtered for your dinner. Interesting to say the least. Orrrrr you can get really lucky and acquire access to the U.S. military base and then go shopping in an American store, which leads to my next "first".

I went onto a military base for the first time. I was lucky enough to have a wonderful friend who has access to the base and who offered to let me tag along and participate in some Thanksgiving shopping! I would compare it to going to somewhere like China town or Little Italy when you are in the U.S., but instead I was visiting "Little America". Even the cars that people drive and purchase on the base are American. They have pretty much everything you could want including exercise equipment, and of course Burger King because what would Americans do without fast food?! All of these things are really neat, but the most important part of the base is the American grocery store. When you have been attempting to navigate Belgian stores for months and trying to read labels in Dutch, I can't even explain what it feels like to see Hamburger Helper and Bisquick on the shelves. I don't even eat those things even when I'm in the States, but all of a sudden I felt the urge to buy absurd things like jumbo bottles of ranch dressing, maple syrup, instant mashed potatoes, easy-mac, and a plethora of other crap (Don't worry, I refrained). I didn't fully realize how serious America's obsession with convenience was (translate as America's laziness) until I spent a few months in European stores. Everything is super sized compared to how you would find things in a Belgian store and it just reminded me of how wasteful and over the top Americans can be. Dear USA, you still have a lot of shit to figure out compared to other parts of the world, and when you are done working on not being obese and wasteful, I could use some health insurance and some help with my god damn student loans that are equivalent to an f-ing mortgage. Thanks. Moving on, I also had horrendous house-wife moment where I proceeded to get ridiculously excited about buying fabric softener, at which point I had to take a time-out and question what the hell I'm doing with my life. Once I finished dealing with that crisis, I was able to focus on how amazing it was to shop with U.S. dollars again and not have to pay for things in Euros. Not only was it cheap but it was tax free! Woohoo!

Once I had acquired all of my goodies and multiple turkeys, the next step was to actually organize and cook. Clearly I wasn't going to cook the turkeys at my house, because I doubt that you could even fit a pigeon into the Easy Bake oven, let alone a giant flightless gobbler... (I also had a minor oven fiasco the day before Thanksgiving that may or may not have involved me fully lighting it on fire, which is only another strike against my Easy Bake confidence). But we shant dwell on that magical moment in my culinary adventures. I successfully baked my first apple pie without the assistance of the "Baroness of Baking," aka my mother. I made my pie crust from scratch, and not only I am quite pleased with myself, but I am certain that the Baroness would have been fucking thrilled as well. I must say that making two pies, two cakes, mac and cheese from scratch, and impromptu gravy was no small feat for one day especially considering only one thing can fit at a time into my godforsaken oven from hell. However, Thanksgiving turned out to be a success and a shit load of fun with all 22 of our guests!

Another "first" would be that I participated in my first volleyball game! Well, technically it didn't count because my volleyball license hasn't gone through yet and so I was playing illegally, but it was lots of fun and I'm looking forward to playing for the rest of the season. This is probably not exciting for you guys to read about so I'll move on to something slighly more interesting... like how this is the first time I've dated a criminal.

Damon Huffman commited a felony without telling anyone and I was lucky enough to be the one at home when the police came knocking on the door. The story goes as follows: Damon leaves the house to rush off to his basketball game but forgets his ID. He comes back to the house and jumps out of the car to run inside, leaving the car outside without the parking break on. Our egg shaped vehical then rolls ten feet into the passenger door of our neighbors piece of crap audi, leaving a giant dent. Clearly the thing to do in this situation is for him to get into his car and drive off without leaving a note, or telling anyone, all on account of the fact that if he is late for his game the team fines him. He has now created a hit-and-run situation despite the fact that he wasn't even in the car when the accident occured. This is Damon Huffman we are talking about, Mr. nice guy who just one day before this told me that when people block our garage with their car I should leave them a polite warning note before calling the tow company. As far as neighbors go, he is as close to Mr. Rogers as possible minus the whole questionable, chester-molester vibe that Mr. Rogers gives off. Anyways, "Mr. Rogers" didn't take into account the fact that our neighbors across the street are total creepers and are constantly peering through their window and spying on the neighborhood. So despite the fact that it wasn't their car, they call the police and claim they saw the whole thing happen through their blinds. Freaks. So here I am, telling cops that Mr. Rogers would NEVER do something like that without leaving a note. Turns out he isn't a total asshole, and the reason that he didn't leave a note is because he can't speak or write in Dutch (duh) and thus was planning on trying to talk to the lady in person after the game... let's just say that didn't go so well. Damon spent 10 minutes trying to say sorry and that it was an accident while she just screamed at him in Dutch. The insurance completely covers it and she will have everything taken care of for her yet she has decided to be a nightmare, uber bitch, neighbor from hell. The best part of the whole thing ocurred yesterday when we were trying to get into our car and leave the house. We encounter said friendly neighbor, she lurks by our car and waits for us to reverse so that we are facing her, and then she puts on a bitter-beer face and flips us off while shaking her fist for a solid 10 seconds. Now that is definitely the first time I've ever had that happen! Now we are just waiting for the first time we come outside to find that our car has been keyed or someone has taken a baseball bat to the hood, at which point I will call the police and say that I saw the whole thing happen through the window and that I'm certain it was our neighbor, Mrs. Lucifer. Needless to say I now feel inclined to sarcastically wave, flip off, or flash the neighbors every time I walk outside with the hope that they are once again spying through their blinds.

Within the last month, I have also had my first house guest. Now this is no ordinary house guest, it is Bongo. Bongo is a teammate of Damon's from Brown and has been a friend of ours for years, but let's just say that you don't get a nickname like "Bongo" unless you earn it. Bongo played basketball in Spain last year and is looking to get picked up by a team in Europe during the winter... (read as: Bongo might be my "roommate" for a month or more). Having guests is fun, but now I have two giant roommates that eat like hoover vacuumes, create lots of dishes, and leave a never ending pile of smelly workout clothes in the laundry room. Luckily I have been able to use Bongo for slave labor, and he most often comes in handy as a chaufeur considering my stick shift driving skills are not yet up to par. Clearly I have spent most of the last few weeks thinking about how we should probably have our own television show, but I just can't figure out which one we would be on... Three's Company perhaps? Real World Aalst, Mrs. Lucifer's Neighborhood, Belgium's Most Wanted, Desperate Belgian Housewives, Super Nanny, or Punked (joke's on me). As it turns out, Cheers is a front runner due to the fact that our house has become the neighborhood bar where everybody knows your name. (We now have a ping pong table and a kegerator... we're doomed). However, sometimes things occur that just prove to me that Bongo should have his own reality show in which we are just the supporting cast. For example we take Bongo out for a long night of drinking, come home, and the last time we see him he is passed out on our living room floor at 4 am. We awake the next day to a hand written note that says the following, "Huff + Alanna, Be back Tues at 3ish to get down like a tiger @ vball prac. Yours truly, Bongo. P.S. Thx 4 Living." Turns out Bongo drunkenly decided to go to Holland by train in the dead of night. Case in point. I almost died of laughter. Get this guy on television. I would definitely watch the Bongo show on a weekly basis because I know it would garuntee complete absurdity at all times. If you're going to have a house guest, you might as well have an entertaining one.

I am definitely missing a lot of things in this update and it is most likely due to the fact that I'm almost positive that I fully pickled my brain with tequila on Saturday night. Oops. So I could probably wait for another time to write about my first Dutch lesson, especially because I still haven't figured out how to make those noises come out of my mouth. I can at least understand when someone is asking me, "wat is jauw naam?" but unfortunately I can't answer them because I scrambled my brain. Bummer.

Over and out.

Trial by Fire

Shalom!

The time has come again for me to write about my adventures and provide a life update for the five people that read my blog (hi Mom and Dad). I would say that I've experienced a fair number of adventures in the last ten days or so. Some were fairly big while others were seemingly less significant, however this is the forum in which I shall discuss all of the above. I prefer to cover a wide spectrum of topics so that my readers don't die of boredom or opt to read things such as the dictionary over my blog. Now let the absurdity commence.

Let me begin with something that is substantial but probably fairly boring for you to read about. I took a day trip to Cologne, Germany with Mr. H who happened to have a few days off from basketball for once. How terribly exciting! It was only a two hour drive from Aalst and I was thrilled to discover that not only was Cologne a really cool city, but the people of Germany enjoyed exercising outside in spandex just as Americans do. Always a plus. Being that I'm a complete dork (I use this word because it is still one of my Mother's favorites even after I explained to her that anyone who went to the 4th grade knows that it means "whale penis"), I got my nerd on and visited two museums, a giant Gothic Cathedral, and a ginormous outdoor flea market. I learned some pretty interesting things about the city including that it is where the scented water that we call "eau de cologne" was invented, and that it was a large and important city in the first Roman Empire. The Gothic cathedral took 600 years to build and they currently use it for the usual God related Cathedral-y stuff, but in my personal opinion they should consider having concerts there because the acoustics in that joint were totally friggin' fantastic! I had schnitzel, bratwurst, and beer. I obviously love any place that covets beer and hot dogs, and although they prefer the "classic style" wiener over the "progressive Seattle style" wiener (aka a hot dog with cream cheese on it), I remain open minded and accepting of their ween-making methods. Germany is the motherland of bratwurst after all.

Next, let us move forward and touch base with my cooking hobby. The easy bake oven is still in tact. Translation: I have yet to drop-kick it out of my living room window. Despite the set backs created by that God forsaken oven, I have managed to conquer a variety of new things. Lasagna, chicken parmesan, raspberry-apple muffins, banana cinnamon muffins, brownies, blue cheese and spinach stuffed chicken, baked macaroni and cheese, and Greek salmon. This is just with the use of the easy bake, but I have also attempted steak fajitas, chili, fettucini alfredo, crepes, and a variety of other things! Needless to say, I am quite pleased with myself, primarily because I have yet to totally fuck anything up or light the apartment on fire. Most of the time I feel like I'm cooking for a family of six, which works out in the end because Mr. H sucks down food like he is a Hoover-vacuum and still proceeds to lose weight, much to his chagrin. Gee... it must be so horrible to eat whatever you want all the the time and still struggle to keep weight on. These newly acquired cooking skills are nice when it comes to helping Mr. H avoid the anorexic look, but they are bad news bears for my muffin top. But I think that in this case my muffin top is just going to have to take one for the team, so if anyone has any recipe suggestions please send them my way!

I'm going to throw the least important update into the middle so that maybe by the end of this blog post you will have forgotten about what a huge loser I am. I have started watching "Weeds" on my computer, and I have already made it through 16 episodes beginning with Season one. I have decided that on account of our current economic situation and lame-ass recession, becoming a drug dealer is probably a good idea. It seems like a sound investment and a reasonable way to pay off my student loans. I mean let's be honest, it most definitely beats having to turn to stripping or hooking in order to pay off debt, and the market is always profitable because people don't stop smoking pot just because they got laid off and/or their 401 K got flushed down the porcelain pee-hole. Thanks for the inspiration Showtime! In other news associated with the boob-tube (another one of Mom's favorite terms), I watched the worst movie ever. It was called "Blood and Bone" and had something to do with an ex-convict, street fighter with a heart of gold who tries to save a crack smoking super hottie from her evil business suit wearing boyfriend. He wields a sword that he keeps hidden in a sheath that also happens to be  his cane, and in the end he cuts off his own hand by accident and everyone lives happily ever after. Fool proof plot. Seriously kids, throw away your t.v. and stay in school. Didn't your mother tell you that too much television makes you blind and impotent? Not worth it.

As I have mentioned in previous blogs, I have been working out at the gym in a pathetic attempt to counter the cooking induced muffin top. Last week I upped the ante and started practicing with a Belgian volleyball team. I figured this would be a good way to become a part of a community while I'm here, would provide me with more drinking buddies, and also inspire me to get into shape due to the fact that I'd have to be seen in spandex. After my second practice the coach asked if I would be interested in joining the team and so here I am! I am going to attend my third practice tonight, sign some paperwork, and within a week I'll be allowed to participate in competition. Practice is a trip because people are speaking Dutch, a little French, and some English, which of course is accompanied by a lot of pointing, head scratching, and thumbs up on my part. It is also a little different because the team's practice gym has a cement floor that they paint a variety of colors to try and trick you into thinking it won't hurt that bad when you throw yourself onto it. This is definitely going to be an interesting adventure for me!! The team is centered in a town that is about 30 minutes away which provides me with a transportation issue... and this brings us to the next topic.

Learning to drive a manual vehicle. Yes, this is what you have all been waiting for. Most people would go over the basics and then maybe start by practicing in a vacant parking lot... but that is because their driving instructor isn't Mr. H. For those of you that don't know D. Huff very well, let me explain something to you. He is pretty much good at everything, which is for lack of a better word, infuriating. Not only is he good at most things, but he is a quick learner and thus often assumes that things should be easy for others to learn as well (don't get your panties in a bunch D2, that is my diluted way of trying to compliment you). Naturally he has implemented his new driving instruction strategy, which I have officially deemed "Trial by Fire". The steps to this are simple. Put your girlfriend into the driver's seat and tell her to drive the 45 minutes home when it is pouring down rain and dark and she has never before driven a stick shift. It is also helpful if it is her first time driving in a foreign country in which she has no idea where she is going or how to read the road signs. I did NOT have the advantage in this situation, but instead of shitting my pants (which would have only made the situation more uncomfortable), I opted to handle it by talking to myself in the third person, breaking into giggle fits, and screaming at street signs. As you may have deduced, we didn't die. I actually wasn't half bad, but unfortunately I do have an achilles heel. First gear. Sooooo it is more of an achilles leg. I struggle with stopping at red lights and then shifting into first gear, and as a result I sat through one light three times because I kept stalling and then laughing uncontrollably. Vicious cycle. But we made it home eventually and I still had all of my appendages attached to my body, so in my book it was a success. Since I have volleyball practice again tonight, I'm assuming that I am about to be subjected to "Trial by Fire" part deux... if you don't hear from me soon, don't panic. I'm not dead and I haven't been deported. I am either stranded in the middle of Belgium at a stop light, or I'm at the police station trying to explain to everyone that the reason I ran 35 red lights was because I have an achilles leg. I imagine that excuse will go over quite well, seeing as though it makes perfect sense.

Sorry, I'm too Busy to Have a Job

Hello Blog,

I have missed you. I only have myself to blame, for I have been neglecting you. This is indeed a travesty, but I will be the first to admit that it is definitely not the last time this will happen. How on earth could this possibly happen when I don't have a job, nor am I in school or participating in any other type of full time activity?! Is it possible that I have actually over hobbified my life and that I get so caught up with some hobbies that others, such as my beloved blog, are unintentionally forced to spend some time on the back burner? Well the answer is, yes. This is indeed the case. My list of new hobbies has kept me pleasantly busy and often times the remainder of the day is filled with super fun errands, laundry, dishes, and general maintenance of my dirty ass apartment. Sounds overwhelmingly exciting, I know. But don't fret, those aren't the only things that I do, and I am nowhere near Stepford wife status, mainly on account of the fact that I never wear lipstick, nor do I change out of my sweatpants to do these chores.

Now, before I delve into the newest ways in which I bide my time in Europe, there are a few things that I must come clean about. There have been two fairly major contributing factors to my blog procrastination, neither of which can truly be considered hobbies. Let's start with the least valid factor. Movie marathons. I'm sorry. It happens. I blame the fact that there are a gazillion movie channels on tv and they are constantly streaming all of the romantic comedies that you neglected to watch in the United States, and a plethora of other films that you heard about once and then totally forgot about because it was only in theaters for 1 week due to the fact that no one really liked it. I have wasted at least 15 hours in the last ten days on watching movies. In order to save you from this same fate lest you fall upon a movie channel such as this, I will give you some brief feedback on some of the films I have watched.
Blue State: A horrendous attempt at a quirky, indy film. I wanted to punch every character in the throat. It has Anna Paquin in it, and in my opinion she hasn't done anything cool since she was in "Fly Away Home" when I was 10, and that doesn't even really count because she was the token cute kid that they threw into a movie about some geese. She sucks at acting. Never see this film.
Quantum of Solace: This was the most recent Bond flick. Entertaining as always, but probably one of the most boring Bond plots ever. I like that new actor though, I always thought Pierce Brosnan was too much of a pretty-boy pussy to pull of 007. Worth watching if you have some free time.
Reign Over Me: This movie actually has a pretty interesting cast. Adam Sandler, Don Cheadle, Liv Tyler, and Jada Pinkett-Smith. Not that well done, which is probably why it was overlooked, but still an interesting look at the way humans cope with tragedy. I cried, which means that it succeded in moving me in some way (not that this is rare because I cry every time I watch Extreme Makeover: Home Edition). Only watch this if you're bored.
P.S. I Love You: Romantic comedy. Hilary Swank. It was cute and entertaining enough. I obviously cried. However, I think Hilary might be better off playing boxers and boys. Watch this if you have ovaries.
Bee Movie: This was a pretty cute little cartoon film with a lot of wit involved. But everybody knows that humans and bees can't fall in love with eachother. Watch Madagascar 2 instead.
Brideshead Revisited: The film version of the novel, that was also a tv series at some point. Beautiful cinematography and pretty fascinating characters. Probably my favorite movie of the week.

Ok. Now I've saved you a ton of trouble and you won't have to endure the absolute torture of spending rainy days watching random films. You can thank me later, because I realize that I have been totally selfless and truly taken one for the team here. But let me move on to the real distraction. I have a problem. I admit it. I feel like it is important to come clean because we all know that the first step to overcoming an addiction, is to admit that you have one in the first place. It's true...

I farm. On Facebook (Insert wince here). There is an application on facebook that allows you to play a game called Farm Town which is similar to the Sims except that it is based around building and maintaining your farm. It was introduced to me by a few ladies whom shall remain nameless in order to protect them from your malicious judgement and subsequent discrimination against facebook farmers (but they know who they are, and they know they are to blame for my addiction).  I'm aware that this is super embarrassing and you can judge me if you want to, because I have honestly spent countless hours judging myself for this. But look at the reality of the situation, I don't have a job and thus experience boredom at times. In this situation boys play video games such as Halo, FIFA, and other weird shit like World of War Craft. Instead, I farm. So accept it and get over it. It is super gross that I have spent enough hours on my farm to become a level 27 farmer, and the fact of the matter is, I will probably continue to waste my time farming until I have become the Queen of the farming universe and command 1 trillion Farm Town serfs (and/or get distracted by some other game that is more addicting and exciting). So laugh all you want, but at least I have been honest about my farming problem, and let's be real here, people have MUCH stranger addictions, so I'll take farming any day.

Now that we have that out of the way, we can discuss the newest edition to my already busy, hobby-filled schedule. Working out. The day that an ex-athlete refers to working out as a "hobby" is a really friggin tragic one. This is when you realize that shit only goes down hill from this point on, and before you know it you have to wear a girdle and you're winded from walking up 1 flight of stairs. Gone are the days of eating an entire pizza and pre-gaming dinner with dinner, and then still fitting into your clothing. Shit. Anyways,  I finally sucked it up and joined the gym. You might be thinking to yourself that this is a boring way to utilize my time, and you may wonder what it is about a gym that could possibly be so entertaining to me. If you are indeed asking yourself these things, then it is aparent to me that you've never been into a European fitness center.

Americans suck at a lot of things. Including being skinny. However, the U.S. is a massive country, and so it wouldn't be fair to assume that every person in the States lives an unhealthy lifestyle. We should give Americans credit for creating a prevalent work-out and fitness "culture". Most kids participate in some sort of athletic program at some point, schools require that you take physical education, and it has become extremely popular to join gyms. Part of this might be on account of the fact that Americans have really fucking weird body image issues and they feel pressured to look a certain way in order to fit in, and the other part might be on account of the fact that people finally realized that eating like a cow and sitting on your ass leads to health issues and then death. Regardless, this type of work-out culture doesn't exist in Europe. It doesn't seem very common for people to have a gym membership here, and it is even more rare to see someone running or exercising outdoors. At the same time, you don't see very many overweight people because Europeans don't super-size everything they eat (and it is hard to make room for food in your stomach when it is filled with delicious beer), and many people walk or ride their bikes on a daily basis. WOW, portion control and daily activity, what a snazzy concept! Anyways, my point is that all of these factors contribute to a really interesting experience in European gyms.

I love lists. So here is a list of a few qualities that are unique to European fitness centers:

1. The music being played suggests that you might not really be in a gym, but at a rave-tastic dance party instead. If Jock Jams made a Europe '09 cd, then I imagine all of the songs that I heard at the gym would be on it. Only in Europe can someone take "I Walk the Line" by Johnny Cash, and turn it into a dance track with a video that includes jorts, butt cheeks, cowboy boots, and a man with dreads playing a tiny guitar in the desert. It all makes perfect sense... right?!

2. There are between 3 and 5 other people in the gym, and I am clearly the only one sweating like a man-beast.

3. During your workout, it is possible that you might see someone being take out of the gym on a gurney... those treadmills are really dangerous. Please do not attempt to operate heavy machinery whilst drunk, and please note that chain smoking possibly adds to the workout's difficulty level.

4. Workout attire may include denim, an excess of sweat bands, full body spandex, and if you happen to be from Prague then sandals or bare feet will also be excepted in the weight room. Wear whatever your little heart desires; no one will judge you because there is no one else at the gym!

I could continue this magical list forever, but I'm tired and my face hurts from staring at a computer screen. In conclusion, it is far too easy to procrastinate when it comes to updating my blog because there are just so many important things for me to do, and just not enough hours in the day. Ugh. My life is so hard! How will I ever survive?! Now you'll have to excuse me because I'm going to go hop in my car and drive to Germany for the weekend.

Jealous?