R.I.P. Sweet LuluBirdy

Our sweet little Lulu passed away tonight. She died of Kitty Leukemia. It was the saddest thing to sit with her as she died. We miss her so much here in the house tonight. I hope you're chasing birds and butterflies right now in kitty heaven, Lulu.

Fish Tacos

I am on a freakin' hilarious Facebook string:

Original post (not me - a friend, I swear!): California is easily the most bureaucratic, ass-backwards, self-centered, shit-cluster of a state ever shrugged-off by Mexico. It deserves wildfires.

Responses:

- Why? What did you do?
- Cali has gorgeous areas. So does Colorado. Maine. Ireland. Italy. But when dealing with the DMV (Department of Motor Vehicles), I almost never talk to a clear creek or a benevolent doe.
- The CA DMV is extremely effective at inspiring assisted suicide.
- Amen bruthuh! Still, I miss the fish tacos.
- WA has no places with excellent fish tacos. It is the worst thing about moving back to Seattle. They microwave fish sticks, throw them onto a corn tortilla and top it with tartar sauce....
- There's a Mexi-pub down on Montlake I can't recall the name of that makes a decent fish taco. All others are tuna wraps.
- WA clearly has CA beat for scenic beauty, but more importantly WA has fewer scenic areas with excellent fish tacos. Its a matter of priorities.
- Who said you had to move there?

Who knew fish tacos would get so much mileage on Facebook?

Homesick Girl

Well, it's ABOUT time! I am officially homesick tonight. H-O-M-E-S-I-C-K. I will preface my list of all the things I miss so much with this: I adore my husband - love him with everything I am and I am so happy we live here together in Holland. LOVE him to pieces! I think the thing I miss the most is a little bit of me. I liked that girl and need to find her a little bit again. I miss:

- Walking on the beach in California by my mom's old house
- Grasshopper martinis in La Jolla with my husband at the beach bar
- Working for a KILLER team at an outstanding company (Fidelity, I miss you so much!)
- Laughing so hard with my girls that we cough like 20-year chain smokers
- Fresh Dunkin' Donuts decaf with 2 sugars and milk
- Red Sox baseball games, caps, and jerseys
- Houston's and Red Robin Cheeseburgers
- Weekly US Magazines
- My gorgeous BMW X5 with the heated steering wheel
- Alfred, my hairstylist (oh, I miss my reddish brown hair and sassy cuts)
- Diversity Leadership Weekends with my Fidelity team
- Pretty, inexpensive home accessory stores with friendly staff
- Target
- Nobody laughing at my big white tennis shoes
- Walking and running at Greenlake
- Really smart people I work with
- Traveling for work and getting reimbursed for it
- Endless supply of English language books
- Kitten and spiky heels
- Padded push-up bras
- Pike Place Market
- Fresh crab, lobster, and shrimp
- The smell of the Northwest
- Daytrips to Bainbridge Island, Vancouver, and Leavenworth
- Hiking Snow Lake
- Rajin' Cajin Sandwich at the Other Coast Cafe in Ballard (Seattle)
- Fred Myers (oh, I love you so much Freddy's!!)
- Pedicures at Lauren's on Newbury Street
- My mom and my brother
- Visiting Aunt Kerry at the farm in Bend, Oregon
- Riding my bike at Sunriver in Oregon
- The entrance to Yellowstone in Montana
- Driving cross-country on the I-90
- Ogunquit, Maine
- The Scoop Deck
- Nantucket and the Cape
- Grabbing Thai in Queen Anne
- Teaching at the university
- University Village in Seattle
- Showing my hubby where I'm from and that American girl he loves

Okay, I know there's so much more (I didn't have pics of all the people I love and miss!). But that should do it for tonight. I'm going to go to bed now. I miss you, America. I miss you, Seattle, California, New England. I miss you, girls. :)

Home Sweet Home in Bennebroek

Today is National Soup Day in Holland. Yep, you read that correctly. :) What exactly is National Soup Day, you ask? It’s one day a year when companies and restaurants serve a nice bowl of soup for free in exchange for a contribution to a child’s meal. For every 20 cents donated, a child gets a meal. It’s really a lovely idea to feed the needy – and the whole country gets involved. Yeah, the name made me laugh, but the cause is wonderful.

I have something very exciting to share… drum roll please… we got the house!!!!! YEAH!!! Very exciting. VERY exciting. Amen bruthuhs and sistuhs! We found out today around noon and I have been floating ever since. We got a killer deal – the sellers dropped pretty drastically right away. I guess it is a sign of the times. I would feel badly that they didn’t get much, expect that I happen to know what they bought the house for and they’re walking away with a good 35k still. Perfect, no. But a little equity, yep. AND they gifted us our first house. Our first house! We can do stuff to it and not have to feel like it’s wasted euros!! I have been daydreaming for a week now about all the things we could do with this house. There’s nothing “wrong” with it, per say. Yeah, a couple things will need to be redone/replaced/ripped out…. But nothing that must happen. And that feels really good. We don’t get to move in until middle of January, but hey, why rush spending a little more right away when we can clean out what we have, sell things we don’t need anymore, and pack with a little calm? That’s a new one for both of us!

Home sweet home! Our new home is in “Bennebroek”, pronounced “behnehbrook”. Cute, eh?

Dissed 'Americans'

Why am I so sensitive to loud Americans? I’m pretty sure we’re not all loud. Are we? Monday night I went to a networking event where a Canadian hockey player spoke to a group of diverse students and professionals about leadership potential and following your dream. Now, I am a HUGE fan of leadership development and motivational presentations. Huge. However, when the speaker is a really loud American, I want to run away and hide. I realize I’m a cynic at times in the purest form, but come on! Without sounding too harsh or cynical, this guy’s booming voice made my skin crawl! I met him about 5 minutes before he went up on stage to begin. Here’s how it went:

Mark (Speaker): “Hi! (Volume 9 on a scale of 1-10, 10 being the loudest). I’m Mark. Salerno… what kind of a name is that?!?! Where are you from?!?!”
Me: “I’m, American.”
Mark: “Where are you from in America!?!?”
Me: “I’m from all over: My family’s in California. I lived in Oregon and Washington for most of my life, then Boston for school and work.”
Mark: “Blah, blah, blah, blah, blah. Blah!! Blah! I am going to speak now! Bye!!!”

Five minutes into his presentation: “I met a an American woman here tonight… but you know, she says ‘American’ and well, I’m Canadian and I think “American” is really up for discussion… because we are so different…” (Shakes head and laughs). Uh-huh. Okay, That’s interesting because the way I see it, you’re a loud, Canadian hockey player who is blasting us right out of the room with how close you’re speaking to the microphone – people actually have their hands over their ears. Hmmm… For the record, he didn’t inspire anyone with words of wisdom or prophetic insight. He just made people think all “Americans” are loud, opinionated, and have really bad humor. Great. Thanks Dude. Can this particular Canadian not be American tonight please? I know a bunch of Canadians – they’re not all loud. Maybe it’s just a hockey player thing? Doesn’t matter. In the end, all the Europeans I was sitting with at the conference were rolling their eyes and had already made up in their minds that all Americans are loud and obnoxious.

I realize lately that I am a bit sensitive to people trashing Americans (myself included, if you want to include Canadians in the American group). Admittedly, when I hear many Americans talking around town, at a restaurant, on the street or on our travels recently to Greece… I insist on speaking Dutch so no one thinks I’m “one of them.” But who am I kidding?!? I am loud too! Still, it’s a love-hate thing: I love being American. I am American. And yet, so often, I don’t identify myself as an American. It’s a weird, displaced, disowned, simply all-out “dissed” feeling when you’re an expat. I can very easily agree when I hear Europeans say, “Ahhh, Americans. They are loud, wear big white tennis shoes and work too much.” True, true. BUT, I sincerely believe we are a generally lovable lot. We smile a lot, we laugh at funny things, we have excellent business practices (some of the stuff you see around here would make an American choke), and we do have AMAZING food and restaurants. I really could go on forever… I don’t really have a solution to share. I just feel like thinking on paper. And that’s as far as I’ve gotten today on the whole matter.

Okay, what is the deal with people who are selling their house but haven’t even started looking for another house where they’re moving? The sellers of the house I THINK we’re getting want a 4 month move-out period. WT…? That puts us to a March move-in. Uh, no. No thank you. Commuting already is ridiculous for us with 2 hours each way for each person. Ugh. It’s hard to imagine us doing this for another 4 months. I suppose if it’s the way we get this house we want so badly, then we work with it. We’re trying to see if we can negotiate moving in Jan-Feb somewhere. Fingers crossed. When we finally do get a house, sign the financial papers, and move our booties in, I am gonna crack open a big old Grolsch and maybe sleep for 5 days straight. It’s so stressful! And so emotional. You start really imagining yourself in the house, living there, your kitties running around and ruining crap there, eating your breakfast in the new kitchen, reading the Sunday paper in the new living room with the fire toasting your tootsies. People, I’ve got a new life to live! Make it happen.

I think I need to get myself checked into a Mentos-Addict rehabilitation center. I have a problem. They just keep popping into my mouth, one after the other. “Hi, I’m Kristin. And I’m a Mentos-Aholic.” :Hiiiiiiiii Kristin.” Allah, save me!

Random: The other morning it smelled like holy water in the country, driving to work. Things that make you go “huh.”

The Dona

The end of an email from my mom today:

"P.S. Save the earth. It's the only planet with chocolate."

Amen sistuh.

So freakin' tired. Just got home from work. Beddy bye!

A Lotta Bull

There's a guy at work named Rakan. "Rock on" is how you pronounce it. You can imagine the struggle I have every time I need to get his attention. I am always right on the edge of giggling and saying his name like 10 times really fast and loud. I know, I need to grow up. Today he helped me find some of our company videos for promotions. It was REALLY hard not to say, "Rock on, Rakan!" So I'm writing it instead, to get it out of my system. It's really not as satisfying to write. Someone on my team is dating him and I swear, every time he walks over to say something to her, I find immense pleasure in saying, "Hey, Rock on!"

It's really key to distract myself especially this week as (a) I've been home sick two days and I get absurdly bored sitting on the couch, (b) we are in heavy negotiations with sellers of a house we want and they're not playing fair AT ALL (I'm not being childish), and (c) I get bored with the same old same old with work so slow. So please, PLEASE distract me in any way you can. I beg of you!

J pointed out to me last night that my big thing to say lately is "I call bullshit." With all the house negotiations lately, it is true, I seem to say it a lot. As we were getting ready for bed last night, he said, "Yanno, when you say it, are you actually planning to call Bullshit? Because you've been talking about him a lot lately and I'm not sure if I should be feeling weird about you calling someone else all the time when you're pissed." He's got a point. I have called Bullshit a LOT lately. But you know, it's not an infatuaton. It's more a compulsive obsessive need to establish my wisdom about house negotiations. Here's my wisdom in a nutshell: (a) I like the general look of a house (chuh-ching! That'll cost us 200k from the get-go), (b) I can/cannot cook in the kitchen as it is (value can fluctuate 15k either way), (c) hey, there's a small room that could be converted into a walk-in closet (score! +10k), (d) OMG - there are exposed pipes all over the house (LAME: +5k to hide them in columns and cases), and (e) (I'll spare you all of the other ridiculius crap I look at with a house - thank Buddha J looks at the important things like electricity and the foundation) the yard is green (+30k). That should make 245k right? Yeah, I WISH that is what it cost to buy a house around here. But we are having fun looking and dreaming. Just occasionally ringing dishrags with the negotiations.

Anise & Tolstoy

Every time. Every time I watch Extreme Home Makeover, I cry like a baby. Yanno, the hyperventilating, crocodile tears? Tonight the home builder told the story of his own son who had a brain tumor at 2 years of age. He said, "It changes your life and you're never the same." Yeah, that's true. It does. I didn't cry yet though. It was the end of the show when he said, "This is the greatest thing that has ever happened to me (building the house for another family of a child with Leukemia). It has changed my life." He caught his breath and I caught mine. People struggle every day. And yet, they get on with life. We all get on with life, no matter what comes our way. I've gotta remember that when the weather is turning rainy, the sellers of the house we want to buy are fixated on a set price that is not even close to the value of their house, I feel yucky with the flu... Life ain't that bad! Bring on fuzzy kitties, a warm and dry house, and Extreme Home Makeover. You really can't feel sorry for yourself when you watch that from under your fleece blanket with a kitty purring like a lawn mower on your lap.

Last night, J and I were both propped up with pillows, blankets and steamy tea in our mugs on the couch, nursing our icky flu bodies, when Duckie sauntered over, jumped up on the couch, and dropped a Kleenex packet on J's legs. He looked up at J and nodded like he was urging J to blow his nose. We laughed and loved him, then put the Kleenex on the coffee table. Duckie ran over, picked up the packet in his mouth and jumped back up on the couch to drop it in J's lap again. That cat is our little golden child. Such a sweetie! He is now busy shredding the junk mail - what is it with this cat?

Holland is obsessed with black licorice ("Drop") and Anise-flavored-pretty-much-everything. They consume more Drop each year than any other country. That's pretty impressive for a country of around 16.4M people. And it's very special for a girl who can't be in the same room with someone eating it. When a baby is born in Holland, the parents invite visitors to come by and see the baby and enjoy "Musijes" - melba toast with butter and pink or blue speckles of Anise sugar. And the love of black licorice in Holland begins. I love babies. I could do without the Anise celebration. Of course, I eat it with great joy when babies are born. And I brush my teeth the minute I get home. Tonight I went to the dentist for my 6-month cleaning, and you know what she cleaned my teeth with? Anise toothpaste. WTF? Whatever happened to the dentist asking me which flavor of floride I wanted? Honestly, the Anise is probably the best tasting floride I've had. That should tell you something about floride.

Have you ever read a 817 page book that you wanted to burn since page 10? I realize that borders on blasphemy, coming from a girl who loves literature. But, for God sake people! Leo Tolstoy had WAY TOO MUCH to say about Anna Karenina. So she had an affair and ruined her - very boring - life. I don't condone it - certainly am not a fan of infidelity. But for the love of Allah, Leo. Your story would have been returned by my creative writing professor with a "Redo" and "Try Tightening Up a Bit" in bright red letters on the front page. I'd put money on it. Surely, there were not editors in those days. My question for myself is, "How did I ever get through 817 pages I didn't like?" I suppose I had too much pride in myself that I wanted to finish a classic. Maybe I was just desperate to read a book in English. Life is too freakin' short. I am celebrating finishing the book by reading my US magazine cover to cover. Trash should fix 'er right up.

Don't Make Me Throw My Ax

"I'm just sittin' here watchin' airplanes..." La la la la... every morning on my way to work, about two corners before my parking lot, I drive under the approaching runway at Schiphol, where planes land. They hover over my car, driving in the country with cows and canals and grass, about 40 feet above, landing gear released, propeller and fan systems roaring and smoking. It's so cool. Every time a plane flies over me, I get all giddy and I become 3 years old, smiling, ooooohing and aaaawing. There's just something about seeing these monsters glide - more like tumble - over me. It's exhilarating.

We are officially in the painful first-time-home-buyer-waiting-and-poker-face-negotiating chapter of our lives. It's so not for me. I am good at negotiating, yanno, a rug at an open-air market or a hair color redo, but Buddha help me, this "oh, how about adding another 40k and we'll make it a deal" thing is for people who get their thrills playing blackjack. I know you might think I am a risk-taker, but not when it comes to money I have to spend every month for the next 10 years. nope. Girlfriend doesn't like to be pushed, poked or prodded when it comes to money. Plain and simple. And it doesn't help that the sellers of the house we want are f-ing crazy. C-R-A-Z-Y. Well, I suppose everything happens for a reason. Fingers crossed and reminding myself to be patient throughout the process. Y'all know how patient I am. :)

Nursing a whopper hang over after a fun last couple of days off playing with J's work buddies. Everyone in the company was invited, along with their partners, to a Friday and Saturday away for fun. We played Scottish Highland games all yesterday afternoon - in kilts - all of us - mmmhmmmm. I can throw an ax 10 yards and make it stick into a wooden dart board - never knew I had that talent - just goes to show, one never knows all the gifts she has until she comes upon such challenges in life... then last night we had a big Cuban dinner (lots of skewered meat and potatoes - this weekend was only for the carnivores in the world), and topped off the evening shaking up glasses of wine and beer in our bellies to a GREAT band who played every rocker and funky Jamiroquai song known to man (and woman). When the CEO was moshing in a pit of his employees at the end of the night, and everyone was sweating from gettin' their groove on, it was officially a kick-ass party. J and Michiel, his good buddy, threw this year's shindig - you boys know how to throw a rager. Yeah, I said rager. I know, I'm so 80's. The night ended for me at about 2 a.m. when I crawled up the stairs of the rental cottage we stayed in and met J's colleague's girlfriend in the hallway where our room doors faced each other. All we could get out was, "I'm dead-exhausted. Going to bed." All I could think as I drifted off to sleep was, "This is gonna hurt tomorrow. Yep." It did, it does, and it will until tomorrow. C'est la vie baby. You play with the bull, you get the horns. Simple math.

We hung out with Astrid, Kobus, Mark, Mom and Gerard today before heading home. Koko the Kobus is the most ADORABLE little man I know. He melts me every time I walk into the room with "Tante Kiki!!!! Aunt Kiki. Ah. If he keeps this up when he can ask for ice-cream or candy, his mom's never gonna let me see him again!