Shortcomings

It has been quite a week.  A week of laughs, a week of work, and a week of experiencing my shortcomings.

I choose the word shortcomings carefully because I think it is different than weaknesses.  I thought weaknesses were something you could change, and the driver of the self help industry.  But shortcomings are irreversible, a permanent state of being flawed.  After checking with Webster, I’m wrong, and weaknesses appear to have the same definition.  Stupid dictionary people.  All they do is screw up scrabble and my blog.

Back to what I did wrong this week. 

I think (ok, I know) I went out every single night.  I had a couple of great friends staying with me (the kind that you can go to the bathroom in front of, which is especially important in my flat).  And it was nonstop fun, I must say.  But one of my shortcomings is I can’t have too much fun.   I know no limits.  And it results in me dragging myself in the darkness of morning to the bathroom, looking in the mirror, and talking to my reflection: “Christy, we’ve had this conversation before.  Like yesterday, remember?  And we agreed that you were NOT going to go out again.  We agreed that you would work out and then come home and figure out your taxes.  They are a total mess…your taxes!  Remember?  By the way, you look like shit.” 

Instead, I did this (only a couple highlights, otherwise it would be embarrassing):

This is us singing (the rest of the party is in the corner covering their ears).  Unfortunately I went to another party (I KNOW!) with all my neighbors the following Friday night (an interesting bunch, might blog about them later) and they started singing the same songs we sang this night.  They said "they really enjoyed our concert."   It must have gone on a  long time...and I'm sure it was loud.

I'm not sure how to explain this one.  I think it's called a onesie and it's all the rage in London (right, Lee?).  Despite how sophisticated it looks, it's actually incredibly comfortable and I wore it to bed every night.  They cost 100 GBP!

The good news is that living in Amsterdam forces you to be very active.  I shudder to think of my fitness level if I didn’t have to cycle to work and climb my Mount Everest stair case every day. 

Another positive thing, there is a lot of reliability in shortcomings.  

Which brings me to another shortcoming – my sense of direction.  Today I was going to cycle to my friend Kristi’s house in Amstelveen which is a suburb of Amsterdam where the best International School is located.  The confidence building aspect of this biking adventure is that I’ve been to Kristi’s house before.  The not so great news is that she accompanied me there on a tram last time.

This is when I start commenting on my attitudes towards transportation.

I love public boats and trains.  Airplanes too.  Taxis – great.  Even cars that I’m personally driving (despite being a truly horrid driver, I appreciate the independence so long as I don’t hurt anybody).  I do not, however, like trams.  Or subways.  Buses for that matter.  Or any form of public transport that involves short amounts of time and transfers.  I don't understand when you get time to relax and read the paper or listen to your own music.  So I avoid them at all costs.  Plus I have no clue how the tram system in this city works.  You need some sort of special card and, I don't know, how to speak their language or something.

And this is why I chose to cycle to her house.  That and the fact that I went out every single night in the week prior and really needed to be physically active.

Deep down, I think I knew it would go wrong, but I couldn't have guessed how spectacularly wrong it went.  Despite lots of internet research and the carrying of the following map on my bike, I spent an hour lost and got nowhere near her house.

If you look closely, you will see it is ripped all over the place from the wind.  It was incredibly stupid to try riding a bike with this as my map.

  

I finally gave up.  It was sad.  But totally expected because every time I think I know where I’m going, I’m wrong.  It’s just the way it is!  Nothing to do to change it.  It is a shortcoming.

So next time I go to visit Kristi's, I’m leaving at 8 AM and I’ll get there at lunch time so we can drink champagne.

I'll end this note with the following:  I got a mani/pedi this evening, and as I was paying the bill noticed a sign posted which said “NO SEX NO SEX NO SEX NO SEX”  and it made me wonder – who in god’s name asked for sex while getting their nail's polished?   Only in Amsterdam.

Mussels in Brussels

I arrived in Brussels feeling great - was nice to go to a city that I remembered.  Especially since I didn't have a map.  There are some things you don't need directions for, you just instinctively remember.  And mussels at the fish market in Brussels is one of those things...

Dare I say there is not a better winter meal than a hot bowl of Moules Mariniere?  I had to fight with the waiter to get ketchup for my fries which made the experience even better.

La Grand Place



Belgian Beer at La Grand Place!  I still haven't lost my wallet.



I didn't remember this part...there is a ChiChi's in Brussels as well.  Didn't enter this one either and am slightly concerned about the existence of Chi Chi's.

Luxemboring

Well, I didn’t learn about dead Americans or get any closer to Jesus, but I did go to Luxembourg.  So that’s taken care of.  I took a few pictures to remember it mostly because I have a hunch I just might forget about it in an hour or so without some photo memory.

Some illustrations:



My train ride to Luxembourg took forever.  I didn’t get in until like 1 AM, and I couldn’t sleep on the train, although it does look comfy, doesn’t it?



Perhaps I should have put a little more planning into my train picnic.  Because one of the greatest things about riding on a train is that you get to have a lovely little picnic without having to wait for the cart to come down the aisle and then paying through the nose for something you don’t really want.  On a train, you can have it all - bread, cheese, wine, apples, pears…but I had already eaten myself out of all cheese and bread and, due to an impromptu going away party for a colleague, had been drunk out of wine and champagne (they were mostly Brits and very impressive drinkers if I do say so myself). So I ended up getting bad red wine in a plastic cup on the train which complimented the Hot and Spicy Pringles quite nicely.



The posters at my hotel should have given me some clue that I was in a place that hasn’t been visited by a tourist since 1982.  Maybe that’s why nobody speaks anything but French?





What?  You thought Chi Chi’s went bankrupt and have been deeply mourning your loss ever since?   Be reassured that there has been a miraculous resurrection of Chi Chi’s in Luxembourg.  It even has prime real estate in the central square.  I probably should have gone in and gotten a chimichanga and pretended it was my birthday to get some balloons and free fried ice cream like I used to after ballet class in Eau Claire, but decided I didn’t want to ruin that special memory.

I made the choice to have champagne and oysters for lunch in Luxembourg. It just seemed like the right thing to do.  The problem was that the oysters looked even more revolting than usual…like blue eye balls with stringy bits.  I ate all 6 of them, but I don’t think I would have been able to manage without the champagne courage.



And here are some pictures of buildings I was probably supposed to tour to learn more about why Luxembourg is interesting and get closer to Jesus.  Oh well.

 

Didn’t plan my Luxembourgian exit as efficiently as I would have liked, so I had a good half hour at the train station to kill before my departure.  The highlight was finding this newspaper headline.  I have no idea what it says (Bets, a little help here?) but have mucho appreciation for the writing genius who combined Die, Fahrt, and Fock all in one short line.  Then using the illustration of depressed pigs and triumphant roosters as back up?  I don’t know about you, but it got my attention and I wanted to read more!

Katy, I’m not going to be able to work at the Luxembourg Chamber of Commerce either, am I?  It’s looking like I might be stuck with insulated cups for a while.

Belgium Perhaps?

Still stunned by the mistake I made by coming to Luxembourg, I decided to take a joggy jog this morning to learn about this new city and find out what looked interesting.  In 10 minutes flat I learned there is nothing to do here and my run ended in 20.

I mean, there were some different things I found facinating like self cleaning toilets (wish it had occured to me to bring my camera into the bathroom, because it was an amazing process), but for the most part I decided to spend my time here getting hair removed.  There wasn't much else to do.

Conveniently, a salon was across the street from my hotel, so I walked in this morning, et voila!  They cut and colored my hair in 2 hours flat (I had no intention of having my hair colored in a super foreign country, but they really, really insisted.  I am sorry to everyone who has seen me recently because they seemed to be concerned with the state of my roots). It was the most efficient hair color and cut experience I've ever had and I highly recommend it.  But I'm not taking a 6 hour train back here to love it all over again.

Then I walked up and down Luxembourg which means that I went in circles and kept seeing the same things over and over again.  After 2 hours here, I felt dangerously familiar with this city.

This pushed me over the edge and I decided to do all the Should Do's I didn't want to do.  I bought stuff for the "White Party" I have to go to next week (every year, Philips has a White Party where you can only wear WHITE.  It is horrid.  And every year I scrap together an outfit that I hate and never want to wear again.  2011 is no exception).  I also got myself waxed from head to toe and a pedicure (and there wasn't any complaining about the skin parasites which was a relief. Then again, nobody speaks English here so I wouldn't have understood any complaining anyway.)

Side note:  It is amazing to me that menus and signs in SE Asia  are in English in the most random, small spots.  In Luxembourg NOTHING is in English.  And most people don't speak it.  So I gave my 8 years of French education a good go and got no where.  The Luxemburgians were super friendly about it, but I have spent most of my time here confused.

I ate a lot of cheese and bread here, but it wasn't Dutch (check!).  Being in Luxembourg has actually made me miss Amsterdam.  I miss the bread and cheese, sure (French bread and cheese just isn't as good, sorry.  French cheese is soft and smelly, Dutch cheese is hard and crystaline.  French bread is fricking fantastic, but Dutch bread has so much more character with giant pumpkin seeds and dark grains) but I also miss the buzz of the crowds, the ringing of bike bells and the smell of pot.

It's 9:12PM and I'm going to sleep.  Don't have much more to say about Luxembourg at this time (I will comment and post pics later) but I do know that I'm high tailing it to Brussels tomorrow morning.  Mussels and beer are calling my name.

Mistaken

Brought "Neither here Nor There" on the train (barely made the train by the way.  Lots of running, dodging bikes, and general confusion as to how this whole train system works.  Am I going to Paris Nord or Brussels Midi?  Who knows.  It's all in Dutch).  Arrived on the train sparkling with sweat, a red face and overbleached split-ended hair.  Sat myself down with a big sigh and enthusiastically opened up my favorite Bill Bryson book.  Leafed through it trying to find the chapter "Luxembourg" that I remembered fondly.

I didn't find one.  You know why?  Because Bill was writing great things about Liechtenstein.  Liechtenfuckingstein.  Luxembourg isn't even mentioned in the entire book as far as I can tell.  He's probably never been there because his agent told him it was a waste of time.  Have I mentioned before that my attention to detail is appalling?  Sometimes I wish that I spent just 5 minutes thinking through things before I did them.

And it gets worse.  My sister reminded me that one of the most horrid meals she's ever eaten was with my parents in Luxembourg.  I've heard the story before, but for some reason I remembered it being in a Back Forest German city somewhere that nobody would ever come upon without some effort.  As the story goes, they essentially ordered what they thought was a nice lunch of sauerkraut and bratwurst and ended up with winding white and dark sausages with garnish of various animals innards.

Here is the sunny side of this 6 hour train journey to hell - I don't think I've lost my wallet yet.  And I am still really looking forward to the cemetary.  Beats animal innards.

I stop off in Brussels on my way so I could always just give up and go eat chocolate and drink Belgian beer.  But at this point I'm just too curious about how dull Luxembourg could possibly be.  Good decision, right?

Dead Americans and Jesus

This is my third week in Amsterdam, and one thing is clear.  I need to get a move on! 

Staring straight at another weekend at home and a long list of Should Do's, I was becoming increasingly uncomfortable:

• Figure out the ovenwave (nice one Katy) so I can have brunch on Sunday for my French friends.  For some reason I have several French friends here, and after a massive brain wave (probably too much wine) decided it would be a super idea to introduce them all to one another over brunch. Now that I write it down, this idea sounds racist.  Maybe not racist, but definitely discriminatory. Too bad I already invited them over.  I'm sure they'll be annoyed...doesn't take much, you know.
• Find a hair dresser who will correct the current state of my Amishly long hair, split ends and horrible roots.  
• Attempt, once again, to unpack my bags from the 2 months off...this is getting a bit ridiculous. 
• Work out and stop eating dutch bread.  Ditto for dutch cheese. 
• Stop myself from making the poor choice to go out with co-workers until the wee hours of the morning and then sleep until 11AM on Saturday (like I have the past 2 weekends). Christy, that is unhealthy. 
• Memorize the names of the Board of Management.

So I just booked a ticket to Luxembourg.  Why Luxembourg?  Mostly because Bill Bryson gave it good reviews in “Neither Here Nor There,” but also because I have a Luxembourg guidebook for some reason despite the fact that I've never been there before.  The train ride is 6 hours long, but I love a good train ride almost as much as I love a good boat ride.  Well, not really, but train rides are awfully convenient for reading, writing and sleeping.  And I love doing all three of those things!

My friend Selina has already warned me that Luxembourg is a bit boring, but when I read the top list of attractions on Trip Advisor, I couldn't help but get excited!  The #1 rated highlight in Luxembourg City is visiting the American Cemetery Memorial.  What could be a more perfect complement to my tours of the Pol Pot Killing Fields and Genocide Museum than that? This sounds like a real winner to spice up my weekend! 

OK, so perhaps Selina could have a point about Luxembourg being a bit boring if visiting a cemetery is the most exciting thing its got going.  But further down on the list there were also lots of churches, some of them quite old, that are apparently worth a visit.

If I had to guess, I think I’m going to end up sitting in many different cafes in Luxembourg enjoying their food and wine.  But hey, at least I’ll be in a new country with Luxembourgians and I don't think I've ever met one of those before.  Plus, I might learn more about Dead Americans and Jesus.  Sounds like a weekend winner!  I need to get packing.

Fat Head

When you move to a new place, a new country really, you want some stability.  Something to count on during the ups and downs of foreign-ness.  Living below sea level, trying to communicate with giants in a language reminiscent of hocking a lugie, makes certainly highly welcome.  

I have found a few things to count on in Amsterdam:

1.  It will be ungodly windy.  As in, it feels like a creature you never knew existed comes down from the heavens to blow hell winds upon you.  Every day.

2.       It will be very dark, not just sometimes, but always.

3.       It will rain most of the time, and when it doesn’t, it will be so dark you can’t see the sun anyway.  I’ve tried looking - don't bother.

4.       Despite the first three points above, Dutch people cycle through it all and don’t understand what the big deal is.

5.       Regardless of how foreign this city is, you will run into acquaintances every time you walk outside your door.

I unexpectedly ran into a lot of people I know this weekend.  I went to the fabulous Saturday market to get ready for my dinner party and came upon 6 different people I knew.   

First I ran into my neighbor, which I do with some frequency.  During this particular encounter I repeated the same inner dialogue I’ve done for the past two weeks:   “Why in the hell haven’t you purchased her a Christmas gift yet?  Is it too late?  Yes, shit, it is nearly February.  Valentines day gift?  No, that’s creepy.  You’re a bad neighbor, Christy.  Get it together!”

But my neighbor broke into my thoughts with the following comment “did you lose weight on your holiday?” I looked at her surprised because I feel like I’ve gained about 5 pounds in Dutch Cheese. 

“No, I haven’t lost any weight”

“Well, your face doesn’t look as big as it used to look.  Maybe just less stress.”

Do you understand the beauty of this statement?  “Your face doesn’t look as big as it used to”?  Only the Dutch would say something like that!  Thing is, my face is humongous - I'm not called Cheeks Mommsen for nothing.  So my honest neighbor did NOT say my face appeared slimmer.  NO!  She observed that it didn’t look as big as it was before.

Love these Dutch people!  She’s not getting a Christmas gift after all.

Then I went to the market.  I froze.  And that’s because I ended up standing outside talking to people that I know.  Can you imagine?  For like an hour!  I lived in London for 2 years and never made 6 friends much less ran into them anywhere.  I was a lot more efficient there.

Unfortunately I didn’t just run into friends and fond neighbors calling me a fat head.  I also ended up standing in line for pumpkin seed bread with an ubber Senior Executive at Philips.  And I couldn’t remember his name (more inner dialogue:  “Christina Mommsen.  You want to get promoted?  Try remembering the names of the board of management!  What?  You think they all look the same?  You think they all sound the same?  You’re right.  It's hopeless trying to remember.”  I do have to say, on a positive note, Dutch bread is completely amazing.  Accompany it with some old Dutch cheese?  Well, I can’t stop eating it, which will make my face fatter, and I know my Dutch neighbor will be sure to give me a progress report.

Anyway, Jan van der Loogie whatever was standing next to me in a long line for about 5 minutes while we smiled and nodded and never exchanged a word.  But he definitely acknowledged that I didn’t know his name.  Good to know that my career might be finished.  Whew. 

Before I go to sleep (it’s past 8 PM) I would like to clarify for Katy the difference in our dinner parties.  Unlike my favorite Cousin Katy, I don’t experiment with Mommsen family recipes.  But I seriously admire that Katy does.  Instead I choose to spend about 100 euros on prepared food.  Why?  Well, mostly because I can’t be bothered to cook, but also because I still don’t know how to use my oven.  And it's not just because I’m a moron.   It’s because it is a combination microwave and oven.   What?  Never heard of such a thing?  That’s because it never should have been created and I’m pretty sure you don’t want one.

I have pondered what consumer insight Marketeers used to convince management this was a winning business idea.  Probably something like “Sometimes when I’m cooking food in the oven I suddenly realize I should have used the microwave instead and I am perplexed. It sure would take a load off my mind if they were the same thing. That would be like magic.”

It was created for fucktards and I'm boycotting it.

Problem is, according to my Dutch friends, I have to try the real deal next time.  No prepared food.  Katy, I will need your love and support for my first stab at the Totterole. 

Oh no, say it ain't so!  Monday is tomorrow.......

My Bana is Awesome

Check out the poem she wrote for me...I'm thinking if I can get my writing skills to this level, I'll be quite pleased!  And I talked it over with a couple of coworkers and we're going to try the new outfit for cycling here.  Pie tins and bucket back packs.  Not to mention, trousers in Dutch are called pantalons - she's on to something!

Mellofa hess is now rivaling fucktard.  I love both!

Hi, Christy,

After reading this you may tell me no more emails, period, but here goes anyway.

I read your blog and I must express

You really are in one mellofa hess.

A rainwear fashion is what this is about

Felt its my duty to help you out

On top of your head put your hair in coil

Cover it well with a little foil

A pie tin bonnet to keep out the rain

A backpack bucket to use as a drain

To cover your boobs , tummy and back

A big cozy terrycloth  gunny sack

Wear those pantyloons,shuck the jeans

Water rolls off those pant like its going down stream'

We need a little something to give us some spice.

I think some sparkling tennies would be nice

In sthis outfit , singing in the rain would be no sin

Just hope they wouldn't  toss you into the looney bin!!!

I have been working on the wine glass.  Drinking your share hasn't help but sure makes me feel good about it.     Loveyou, Bana

I fell asleep at work today

I really did.  Ironically it was during a conference call on the IPS' for insulated cups.  One second my head was cradled in my hand leaning against the desk with my eyes open.  Next second there was drool.  Thankfully I was alone.

Note to self:  find more interesting things to work on...and try to stop falling asleep at work. 

Oh yeah, this is what I'm complaining about.

It wasn't the best of days.  Was it the worst?


Let's take a look:

Beginning of my ride home (I know, it's impossible to tell morning from night because it's always dark.  That must be efficient in some way).

And arriving home soaked.

I guess wearing a garbage bag while riding a bike through pouring rain doesn't work as well as my Dutch friends said it would.  But at least I looked good.


The best news is that I met an old friend from Seattle for a drink before riding a bike home through freezing rain and wind gusts of 5,000 mph.  The unfortunate thing is that I didn't drink a bottle.  Katy, they do have wine here, but it is served in shot glasses.  If there is one thing that really chaps my hide besides incredible darkness, pelting rain, and high winds, it is the small wine glasses.  In truth, the rest of it would be acceptable if the Dutch wizened up and served their wine in the bucket.


Haven't mention that I lost a shoe on the ride home.  One second it was on my foot and the next second it wasn't.  This apparently happens when your shoes are soaking wet and stretched out. So I had to get off my bike and walk stocking footed through puddles to go and find it (I did consider saying "screw it" and carrying on without it.  But I'm far too responsible for that).


So it wasn't the best of days.  


I could lie to myself and say The Sun'll Come Out Tomorrow!  But I'm afraid it might not come out for an extraordinarily long time.

What am I complaining about?

Amsterdam, Netherlands Weather

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Updated: Jan 11, 2011, 9:55pm Local Time

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