A prayer to the Gods, both the old and the new, allowed me to alter my given schedule to get a chunk of 8 days off. With intense pregnancy like cravings for Dutch Fries, I found myself jumping on a plane to good ol’ Amsterdam. And when I say “craving for fries,” what I actually mean is that I was having sex and LSD withdrawals that could only be happily satisfied in the international city of sin. Partnered with other airlines, every destination is within arms reach allowing me to literally hop on a plane going anywhere for solely the cost of the taxes and fees. Given I am at the mercy of being on standby, the risk factor of finding a flight back to Seattle is always something to worry about at a later time...when I'm stranded and desperate to get home. Little did I know that my visit to Amsterdam fell on their national holiday, “King's Day” where the whole city partakes in festivities of drinking, smoking, and wearing orange.
Nine hours later I found myself wandering between the canals and dodging bikes, as I had done back in 2011. Even the Couchsurfer who turned into a close friend from back in the day let me crash on her couch once again for sexual favors…like letting her paint me in the nude ==>.
Muscle memory led me directly to the steps of her welcoming door that resembled a poor family's quinceanera. Without knowledge of who actually lived within these quarters, the red florescent hand made signs notified the entire neighborhood that perhaps ignorantly genuine racists lived inside. But upon entry that thought would quickly diminish as photos of guys streamed her ceiling wall to wall. She claims to have posted them up for my arrival, to really bring out the homosexual in me...which oddly enough, seems to be a common theme after having taken up this career.
She also greeted me with fresh phallic produce and murky hot chocolate that had a butter like viscosity and tasted heavily of weed...but I didn't ask questions, I just consumed it and asked for seconds. The next minute I'm naked and passed out on her couch. One banana less and a sore bum later...
But(t) overall this brilliant first day only foreshadowed the awesomeness to come. During my short visit I checked out an art gallery of MY FAVORITE ARTIST
Beyonce
Tina Turner
Lil Yachty...all black strong female role models
Met Royalty
Stuffed my face with Dutch fries and questionable white sauce
Listed to some sexy ass music
Ate all you can eat Argentinian ribs..to obviously make my Dutch experience super authentic
Blended In
Watched children enter an inflatable caterpillar's anus
Built a bike powered time machine...that ended up just making coffee
Witnessed a solution to public urination
A first of many good trips to come, this only made my thirst for traveling that much greater.
A prayer to the Gods, both the old and the new, allowed me to alter my given schedule to get a chunk of 8 days off. With intense pregnancy like cravings for Dutch Fries, I found myself jumping on a plane to good ol’ Amsterdam. And when I say “craving for fries,” what I actually mean is that I was having sex and LSD withdrawals that could only be happily satisfied in the international city of sin. Partnered with other airlines, every destination is within arms reach allowing me to literally hop on a plane going anywhere for solely the cost of the taxes and fees. Given I am at the mercy of being on standby, the risk factor of finding a flight back to Seattle is always something to worry about at a later time...when I'm stranded and desperate to get home. Little did I know that my visit to Amsterdam fell on their national holiday, “King's Day” where the whole city partakes in festivities of drinking, smoking, and wearing orange. 
Nine hours later I found myself wandering between the canals and dodging bikes, as I had done back in 2011. Even the Couchsurfer who turned into a close friend from back in the day let me crash on her couch once again for sexual favors…like letting her paint me in the nude ==>. 
Muscle memory led me directly to the steps of her welcoming door that resembled a poor family's quinceanera. Without knowledge of who actually lived within these quarters, the red florescent hand made signs notified the entire neighborhood that perhaps ignorantly genuine racists lived inside. But upon entry that thought would quickly diminish as photos of guys streamed her ceiling wall to wall. She claims to have posted them up for my arrival, to really bring out the homosexual in me...which oddly enough, seems to be a common theme after having taken up this career.
She also greeted me with fresh phallic produce and murky hot chocolate that had a butter like viscosity and tasted heavily of weed...but I didn't ask questions, I just consumed it and asked for seconds. The next minute I'm naked and passed out on her couch. One banana less and a sore bum later...
