Amsterdam ::: Day 4

I'm quickly losing interest in Amsterdam. Too many people here are messed up or just plain weird.

It was funny the first couple times I encountered people too high to see reality correctly. Like when this old British biker dude was freaked out by a pigeon that only had one leg. Except, of course, the pigeon clearly had two legs. So that was funny. It was comedy. But too many people are like that here and it's lost its novelty.

A bizarre too-skinny Dutch boy on way too many drugs asked me yesterday if I wanted a new special friend. I'm assuming he was talking about himself, and no. NO. I do not want any new special friends, especially not ones that look like him, talk like him, or would randomly approach me on the street with that ridiculous question. I kept walking, and I heard him say, "Think about it." Like I'm totally going to mull that one over, change my mind, come running back and invite him out for a coffee, so that we can talk about the many things we clearly have it common.   

Later, I went to Vondelpark with a stack of postcards, hoping to write to my friends and family. I am seated on the grass in the sun, listening to my iPod, with pen in hand. This apparently means, please, come talk to me.

A 63 year old Italian man decides to stand a few feet from me and provide me with a monologue about his life. He tells me how many books he's written and which universities have accepted his papers. He says he has a son he's never seen, except from a distance, because he didn't want to be bound by the flesh when he was younger (his actual words). He showed me the "tapestries" he purchased today. He tells me about the San Francisco woman he met in Vondelpark with whom he exchanged letters, poems, and leaves (wtf??) for 10 years. He says that he is reading an essay that he is so impressed by that he is copying it verbatim in his own handwriting. And it goes on, without the least bit of encouragement from me. I was and still am just completely dumbfounded and amazed.

So, sorry, nobody is getting a postcard anytime soon. Because just as he left, Diego showed up. I didn't really feel like seeing him again, but I made the mistake of telling him where I would be. I think he took my friendliness over the past couple days as flirtation, and I spent an awkward time in the park and walking around Amsterdam with him, trying to politely discourage his great affection for me.

That feels like a terrible thing to do, and seemed very passive aggressive on my part. But how do you tell someone who doesn't speak English very well that at 5'7 there is no way in hell that he possesses the strength necessary to lift me over his head while I am in a perfectly horizontal flying superman position, ala the final dance sequence in Dirty Dancing, which is #19 on my list of requirements if one wishes to date me.

Once Diego left me to return to his friend's house, I decided to go see a movie. Exhausted with trying to bridge the language barrier, I craved hearing some American English. I saw Funny People, which was good.

Just before the movie, I really wanted to knee the ticket taker in the groin for the number of times he turned me away. The movie started at 21:00. I got there 20 minutes before, as is common in America, but he says the theater isn't seating yet. 10 minutes later, he allows a mass of people to enter, and so I think surely I must be able to take my seat now. Not so. From the time he last rejected me and exactly 21:00, hardly anyone went through those doors, and yet, when I finally got admitted to my theater, it was practically full. So I guess I'm not smart enough to understand the intricacies of movie theaters in Amsterdam. Or he was just being a dick.

Last gripe about Amsterdam: The bikers greatly outnumber the cars in this city, which is very cool, except that these bikers never stop for anything. I was almost hit by a biker going 20 miles an hour down a crowded street yesterday. Diego pulled me out of the way just in time. He took great pride in this, and started grabbing me anytime a car or bike approached within 30 feet. Maybe if I was Hellen Keller this would be fine, but I'm not, so it wasn't.  

Apparently I had my crabby pants on yesterday. I'm sure today will be spectacular.