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?

I Love the Unknown

"They ask him, 'Hey where is this bus going?'
And he said, 'Well, I'm really not sure.'
"Well then how will you know where to get off?"
And he said, 'The place with the most allure!'" - Eef Barzelay

In my experience, there are few things that are more interesting than being completely and utterly lost. In some cases I can imagine that being lost might be pretty terrifying, but I'm not talking about the horror film kind of lost that involves dark alley ways, deserted cabins, and some creep-show wearing a ridiculous mask. I'm talking about the best kind of lost. The independent, liberating, "I don't know where I am, and I don't really give a shit," kind of lost.  So yesterday morning was just like any other Tuesday morning in Belgium, which means that it was just like Monday morning. So I decided to mix it up a little bit. I woke up, had some coffee, and then got lost. 

Yes. It is as easy as it sounds. All you have to do is follow a few simple steps. Well, one step really. Leave your house with nothing except a garage door opener, an ipod, and your human powered vehicle of choice. So I did just that. I grabbed Lucille, my trusty, rusty, green 3-speed, and took off riding. I would like to note that I still do not have a cell phone, nor do I know the number for 911. I know, it's shocking. You spend your entire childhood learning to look both ways before crossing the street, trying to remember not to take candy from men with vans that have no windows, and memorizing emergency phone numbers just to grow up, move to Belgium, and discover that 911 isn't universal. Shit. On top of not knowing the number to dial in case of an emergency, I also do not know my address, nor can I really even pronounce the name of the street that I live on. I don't have a map and I most definitely don't have a Tom Tom. For those of you that don't know what a Tom Tom is, it is a GPS device that Americans spend hundreds of dollars on so they can attach it to their car and have some guy with a British accent give them directions. However, even if I did have one, I don't think that Tom Tom would appreciate me attaching him to Lucille and expecting him to give me directions while I ride my bike at 12 km per hour. Anyways, this is how my adventure began.

I began my bike ride by heading down a bike path that I had previously discovered. The cool thing about Aalst is that if you leave the city center and head into the residential areas, you will find that there is a bit of a rural feeling to it. It is where the outskirts of the city meets with the countryside and creates this great inbetween. Plenty of trees, and houses with huge backyards that contain goats, chickens, sheep, and even mini horses. People have expansive, beautiful gardens just a few minutes away from the center of the city where the winding cobble stone streets are packed with apartments and stores. I reached the end of the bike path and usually I just turn around and head back, but instead I decided to act on impulse and turn right onto the nearest road. 

I literally had no idea where I was going. It was awesome. I ended up on a road surrounded by fields filled with cows and corn, and I couldn't have been more thrilled. One cool thing about being in a country in which you don't speak the language, is that I feel like breaking the law is more acceptable because, if caught, you can feign ignorance, smile pretty, and try and use sign language to explain that you can't read Flemish words that are composed of 20 letters each. This being said, I clearly decided that trespassing was the next step in my adventure. I parked Lucille (and by parked, I mean I put her in a heap of grass on the side of the road because she doesn't have a kick stand) and wandered down a dirt road into someone's corn field. Seems like a silly thing to do, but I had nowhere to be, no one to see, and I had never been in a corn field. So why not?! It turns out, that corn fields are really nice places to visit when you spend most of your time in cities. Everything is quieter and you sorta feel like Alice in Wonderland when she takes drugs and shrinks. Maybe you have hung out in a corn field before, but I haven't, and so this was my very first experience being surrounded by gigantic grain/fruit/vegetable (graitable? fregetain?) plants. No one can decide which category to put corn into, so I created my own. So now I can cross two things off of my bucket list, I visited a corn field and created a new scientific classification. I think that I probably deserve a pat on the back for that. 

Next, I retrieved Lucille and headed on down the road. I ended up riding into a small neighboring town, and pedaling my way through all the side streets. I can't explain the joy that my bike brings to my life. I am like a little kid at Disney Land. It is totally absurd that such a simple thing could make me that happy, but it does. I ride around like a complete idiot- smiling at people, singing, whistling, and just generally enjoying my lostness (lostitude?). If I were a resident of this town, and I saw myself riding around, I would probably think that the local crazy had been hitting the booze and then somehow managed to escape from her cage. But clearly I'm not concerned with what people think of me or I wouldn't be riding around on a dirty bike that squeaks and looks like it was built in 1875 compared to all the other bikes that are pimped out with baskets, shiny paint, and snazzy storage compartments. Basically, it looks like I'm driving around in a Geo Metro while everyone else cruises in Aston Martins... not that Aston Martins are built to cruise... but that isn't the point. Well actually I don't have a point, but that's ok because this is my blog and having a point isn't a requirement.  So I'll just tell you how I feel. Being lost in a random Belgian town on a 3-speed bike, is kind of like taking your soul, coating it in kerosene, and throwing a match on it. Fiery, awesome, magical, and totally liberating. You think to yourself, "if I don't ever make it home then that's probably ok, especially considering there are plenty of corn fields that I can sleep in". If you have never experienced that feeling or had that type of conversation with yourself, then I suggest you quit your job immediately and pursue soul igniting ventures as soon as possible. 

Needless to say, I eventually found my way home because it turns out I'm not totally stupid, crazy, or drunk, and I do have a general sense of direction.  It was a very well spent couple of hours, and I highly recommend that everyone get lost every once in a while. It turns out that lostitude is super underrated and I definitely plan to spend more time in that state in the future. 

Happy trails! I hope that you spend some of them in any or all of the following ways:

absent, adrift, astray, at sea, cast away, disappeared, disoriented, fallen between cracks, gone astray, hidden, invisible, irretrievable, misplaced, nowhere to be found, obscured, off-course, out the window, vanished, wandering, or wayward. 

Ciao!

One Requirement

Prior to my trip across the pond, Mr. H (more familiar to you as the poor sucker of a basketball player who got tricked into putting up with me) asked me if there was anything that I really wanted to have when I got here. I mentioned that light bulbs would be nice, and that some means for making coffee would be pretty important, but besides that I wasn't very picky. This is evident by the fact that I am now living in an apartment with an oven smaller than an Easy Bake, a busted washing machine, and windows that are plastered with Disney Princess stickers courtesy of the little girl that lived here last year. Then he suggested that perhaps I would feel more at home if I could help decorate the apartment when I arrived. Ummmm. No. That sounds really hard, not to mention something that a really organized, normal adult would do. If you know anything about me, then you know that I'm not the kind of woman that spends excessive amounts of time at Bed, Bath, and Beyond buying a bunch of shit that matches so that I can go home and feng shui my house. It would be lovely if I could do that, but I don't have the vision or the patience for that kind of stuff. I generally think that a room looks nice if there are minimal dust bunnies and cobwebs, and if there is a chair for me to sit in. Most of my desires involve food, because let's be honest, I plan my days around meals and think about food (and booze) at all times in an effort to practice for the day when my metabolism is completely shot and I will begin my transition into the life of a morbidly obese woman. At this time, there will be no sign of a neck, an outrageous number of fat rolls, and a floral print mumu, but I digress...

It seemed as though there wasn't much that I would need, but there was ONE thing that came to mind. The one thing that I knew I wouldn't be able to survive in Europe without. This thing would do wonders for the mind, body, and soul, while simultaneously allowing me to fit in with the locals and transport myself. Obviously, I would need a bicycle.

Well I got my bike. As a matter of fact, I got two! The team owner gave us two bikes that had been owned by his parents and that had been sitting untouched in his garage for over 10 years. The bikes arrived in all of their glory with completely flat tires and covered entirely in dirt, dust, and various other crap. They were caked with so much shit that you couldn't even see the original paint colors. We gave them a bath and then dropped the bikes off at the bike shop to have the tires replaced and have the breaks checked. Mr. Plaid shirt at the bike shop informed me that it would take an entire week before I could have my bike back, and from this point on I became the most annoying individual on the planet. All I did was talk about my bike. I repeatedly asked where I could buy a basket for it. I even inquired about finding a lock for it, despite the fact that I can't imagine that anyone would ever want to steal my ancient, dirty, piece of crap bicycle. Every time I saw someone riding a bike, I would sigh as loud as possible and make some absurd comment about how much fun they were having, or how practical their cute little basket was for holding groceries, potted plants, dogs, or small children. You get the drift.

Well, yesterday was a big day for me. I picked up my bike from Mr. Plaid shirt, and took her out for our first magical joyride. I immediately attached myself to one of the two bikes, despite the fact that I have a special place for both of them in my heart. One is a lovely greenish-blue combo with a white seat, and for now she has been deemed The Sea Foam Dream. And then there is the forest green love of my life, Lucille. The name may seem strange, but you can't question it on account of the fact that it is the same name that B.B. King gave to his guitar, and he was listed as the number 3 greatest guitarist of all time by Rolling Stone. What I'm trying to say is that Lucille will somehow be the catalyst to my success in life just as she was for B.B. King. For example, I could see myself breaking the sound barrier on my 3-speed at some point. I will ride past you and all you will see is a blur of color accompanied by the sound of a whip cracking. This dream is totally realistic, and I shall begin to pursue it immediately.

I spent parts of yesterday and today riding around Aalst with a shitty grin on my face and my knees sticking out because I haven't raised the seat. And just in case that wasn't ridiculous enough, I sang "Bicycle Race" by Queen over and over again while Lucille's squeaky brakes kept the beat for me. I'm sure that people were staring on account of these things, but my delusional little brain was convinced that it was simply because everyone else was jealous of my sweet ride. Pure magic.

I have officially spent an entire blog post bragging about my new girlfriend and so I think it would be best if I went and worked on some of my other hobbies for a while. Tonight I shall bravely attempt to make honey mustard glazed salmon in the Easy Bake oven, accompanied by couscous and sauteed vegetables. This could be interesting, especially considering that I am sans fire extinguisher...

Goedenacht!

Addressing the Issue of Complete and Utter Boredom

I am currently living in Belgium with no job and no grasp on the native language. Essentially what I'm saying is that I am a completely worthless member of society and I am not making any sort of worthwhile contribution to the world, unless of course you count the fostering of one very happy individual as an important contribution. My living situation is unique to say the least. I am living with a professional basketball player whose accommodations are provided by the team in exchange for excessive physical labor, his sweat, his blood, and his soul. Totally a fair trade if you ask me. Which lottery did I win that allowed me to jump on this bandwagon? Great question. I cast a voodoo spell on said athlete, and tricked him into putting up with me and allowing me to live under his roof. Poor sucker. Now, I might sound like a total evil genius, but in reality I worked hard to save enough money to afford to be over here and support myself in the necessary ways. However, I'll probably have to start looking for work within the next few months, mainly on account of the fact that I have student loans that own my life, and payments to make to Mephistopheles in exchange for granting me this awesome opportunity.

To sum up that last paragraph, I have some serious free time on my hands. What the hell am I supposed to do with that much time?! Find some damn hobbies I suppose. So I have done just that. I've figured out some hobbies and some small goals for myself so that I don't become some crazy, brain dead version of a Stepford wife who stays home cleaning all day and sneaking drinks from the liquor cabinet so that I can stay pleasantly drunk at all times. So here are some of my new hobbies:

1. Blogging. Obviously.

2. Cooking. I have started teaching myself how to cook, which is actually going quite swimmingly. I had a strong background in baking thanks to my super cute, talented, and hilarious mother and so this was a fairly natural transition. I have attempted different things and I have yet to completely butcher a meal, so that is great news! I am clearly quite pleased with myself, especially because European stores don't have a lot of the products that we are used to being able to buy in the U.S. and so I've had to be quite creative with some of my cooking. Sidenote: the cool thing about hobby 1, is that it allows me to go onto the Internet and brag about my newly acquired skills in hobby 2. Woohoo! But calm down everyone, I have yet to conquer seafood, steak, lamb, snails, any sort of liver, etc. So basically I haven't even taken my training wheels off and I'll probably go make the most horrendous dinner ever as karma for being too amped on my success at making chicken a few times. So I'll keep practicing, and I'll keep you posted on my adventures in the kitchen.

3. Learning Dutch. As a wise man once said, "I don't speak freaky deaky Dutch!" Apparently, Dr. Evil and I have a lot in common. I don't even know a single curse word; that is how bad this language barrier is. Most people here understand English, but there is honestly nothing I hate more than being a monolingual American who walks around looking like a culturally insensitive asshole because I can't even say "please" and "thank you". My goal is to procure some kindergarten level DVDs to help me learn the basics, and to find somewhere to take lessons asap. Learning some Dutch should definitely be a challenge, but it is something that I'm actually looking forward to. Learning is so much more fun when you aren't forced to do it in school anymore!

4. Reading. I discovered a list composed by the BBC of the 100 books that they think people should read. Some of the choices on the list seem really questionable, especially some of the contemporary books that they added, but many of the classics sparked my interest. In high school and college I never had the time or the patience to actually pay attention to my school readings, and so now seemed like the perfect time to revisit some of these books! Skimming spark notes was fun and all, but I think I will actually be able to appreciate these books now that I have a zillion hours a day to kill in between watching cartoons in Dutch, and making strange concoctions in my tiny oven.

5. People watching. This is a legitimate hobby, and it can be very time consuming here. There is an incredibly high number of people sporting "Canadian Tuxedos" (denim on denim) here on a regular basis. Unfortunately it has already gotten too cold for men to be wearing their "shants" (short-pants), or white man capris but hopefully those will make a strong comeback in the spring. Then of course there are the women who manage to look effortlessly stylish in their tall boots and leather jackets which fully perplexes me because as far as I'm concerned, I look like a total asshole in leather. I can't figure out how they do it. This hobby has proven to be very entertaining, and I've discovered a vital difference between doing this here and doing it in the United States. In the U.S. I generally assume that I won't like people. I go out in public and chances are, I don't like you, and on top of that I probably hate your kid with their stupid roller skate tennis shoes on that is skating through restaurants with their portable video games in hand. But here I have a different mindset it seems. I generally assume I'll like everyone. Perhaps they are more polite here, or maybe it just seems that way because they can't understand me and I sure as hell can't understand a single damn thing they're saying. Either way, it's awesome.

6. Learning to drive stick shift. I don't know if I'd call this a "hobby" per say, but I threw it on here anyway because it should make for some pretty f-ing entertaining stories at some point in time. Yeah, I know, it's embarrassing that I'm 23 years old and never learned how to drive a manual car. SORRY. I shall try and make up for it by taking my egg shaped car into giant parking lots on Sundays (because it is the Lord's day and thus everything is closed), and crashing it into various barriers and shopping carts so that I can tell you all about it afterwards. You can thank me later.

Any other spare time shall be filled with riding my 3-speed bike around town, day drinking, and working out (not necessarily in that order... but possibly). I apologize for the length of this post. I have a lot of time on my hands! Cut me some slack! But if you did actually read through the whole thing then it is greatly appreciated and I can probably forgive you for buying your kids those fucking shoes with wheels.

Peace and love!

Dag

Hallo!

I have been here for nearly a week, and so I figured it was about time that I started a blog. You may be wondering where "here" is, which is totally understandable because even if I have told you before, you've probably forgotten. Aalst, Belgium isn't exactly what you would call a massive economic or political center, nor is it the location of any holy wars or recent natural disasters, and so you've probably never heard of it. (Although it is a Mecca, of sorts, for functioning alcoholics, but we shall touch on that at a later date). Here is what I do know about Aalst: It is cute as hell, they speak Flemish, and the inhabitants love beer, the sport of cycling, and I assume they love soccer (football, futbal, whatever). So basically what I'm saying is that I don't know much about this place and so clearly I googled it, because that is my favorite thing in the world to do. Here is some vital information that I've acquired: Aalst is a city 19 miles northwest of Brussels, and it is located on the Dender River in the Flemish province of East Flanders. Apparently, the textile industry is flourishing here but more importantly the rural areas surrounding the city are known for their hops. That means beer. This liquid is the life blood of those living in this town, and it is the primary food group on their food pyramid. They probably put beer into your I.V. when you go to the hospital, and fuel your cute little egg shaped car with it as well. It is also important to note that Aalst has become famous for their Carnivale celebration that takes place in February. Word on the street is that they have one of the top five largest celebrations in the world, and while I have no idea if that is a fact or not, I'd prefer to believe that it is true. Another fun fact is that Aalst supposedly has a long standing feud with a town called Dendermonde which is located along the same river. This has carried on since the Middle Ages, and it is important because feuds are fun and without them I'd be bored. If I ever figure out what the feud is about, I'll let you know. I think this is some good background info to start with, and if you want to know more you should probably google Belgium yourself or keep checking this blog for random fun facts. To sum it up, I'm currently living here and I shall be here until I decide to leave.

Now, I feel like it is important to throw a disclaimer in here. If you do not like the use of foul language, are offended by people who use the Lord's name in vain, or have a fear of hippies and/or gypsies then you probably don't like who I am as a human and shouldn't read this blog. I come from Seattle, the land of godless heathens, and so it honestly isn't my fault that I turned out this way. For all of the aforementioned things I shall blame nurture all the way... well, the foul language issue may have been something I was born with, in which case I think it is possible that I might have secretly been adopted after being abandoned by my sailor (polite word for pirate) father, and truck driver mother. I am the opposite of organized, my thoughts are random, and I am way too long winded. My blog shall reflect this. Here are my reasons for starting a blog:

1. I like to listen to myself talk, and since it generally is not socially acceptable to speak out loud to yourself in public, I have opted to type all of my random thoughts instead.

2. I can keep family, friends, and randos up to date on my absurd life and interesting adventures without having to email them all individually and without having to answer all the same damn questions over and over again.

3. I enjoy writing, especially now that I am no longer in college and I am no longer paying a bunch of professors to torture me with hours upon hours of bullshit homework.

4. I desperately need a fucking hobby considering I am unemployed, do not yet have a cell phone or gym membership, and cannot yet drive stick shift cars.

I think that sums it up for the most part. I have completely overexerted myself whilst writing this blog introduction. I have no f-ing clue how to write a blog, and so I am clearly making it up as I go, just like I do with everything else in life. Now I am off to find "Dutch for Dumbasses" so that I can at least learn how to say "hello", "goodbye", "beer", "shit", and "thank you". (The staples of every language).

Until next time, Dag