Things I learned today:

1. How to make the Xena Warrior Princess call using only my tongue and natural vocal abilities. Apparently this will come in useful in acting and whenever I am mugged.

2. How to play consonant badminton. I don't think this is going to come in useful in anything.

3. Wagamama is better in Britain.

4. The Globe Theatre is really cool looking inside.

5. The Merry Wives of Windsor is just as good as Falstaff, the opera I was in when I was 12. Except clearly I was a way better fairy. But I was singing in Italian.

Still watching reruns of Supernatural, when I should probably be studying. Good quote:

ASH: (opening door, naked) Sam, Dean.

SAM: Hey Ash. We need your help.

ASH: Well hell then. Guess I'm gonna need my pants.

I'm going to ROMANIA!!!

This is me in Romania. Or as I will look in Romania. Again, no judging. I still don't have Photoshop.

I just bought my ticket to visit Ms. Radulian in ROMANIA! I am SO excited!

In other news, today I saw a headline in a trashy British newspaper that read, "Dwarf Burglar Gets Drunk on Job". Oh how I love the Brits.

I've also decided that I'm going to embrace the sketchy. I mean, I'm not going to embrace sketchy people. (Sorry, I know you were hoping for that. ALL of you.) But I am going to embrace the sketchiness of life. And not get freaked out about it. Just roll with it. Enjoy it. Maybe flirt with the sketchy people on occasion. You know why? Because sometimes you need an ego boost, and who is better for that than sketchy people? They are always happy to give you a sketchy compliment. You know what else they're good for? Free drinks.

It's all good.

In other news, today in Physical Theatre class I spent an hour "being earth". It was awesome. I also brought a bottle of cheap champagne to rehearsal because my acting teacher told me that I should be drinking champagne in rehearsal. I guess I should have realized she didn't mean the real stuff. (I mean, the Brits are always drinking, why not in rehearsal?) The look I got when I pulled that out of my bag after my character shoes and rehearsal skirt was kind of priceless. Worth the humiliation, definitely, in hindsight. She also was trying to get me to connect with the scene and said, well, imagine you had a crush on someone in this class and you couldn't tell him. I turned bright red. Now I'm the blushing girl. Just call me blushing spirit fingers. Oy.

Alright, off to read Shakespeare and make squid with my hands.

Olivia

Bloggin' from LAMDA

Sitting in the LAMDA SCR, blogging. I'm pretty awesome.

So, I know it's been a while since I posted. I kept meaning to post but I've been exhausted! I realized after the first few days that the last time I had class for eight hours straight was in high school. Like, sophomore year of high school. I feel old and tired.

Okay, not really. The classes here at LAMDA are really cool and they're a nice break from the whole thesis-ing thing. I'm obviously the only Harvard person here, so I get a lot of Harvard comments. Also, the other day my acting teacher was talking about actors being too intellectual, looked at me and went, "Being an academic is death for an actor." And she said it in this big scary voice. So I'm trying to keep the medieval manuscript talk to a minimum lest I be discovered and condemned to death. I live in constant fear.

I thought that Harvard theater had a superfluity of theater games. I was wrong. There are many more to choose from, and they are practiced in abundance here at LAMDA. In fact, there are days I have felt that the one thing I'm going to learn at LAMDA is how to do an infinite amount of variations on the "yes" game. Now, while that may not be worth my £1650, it sure is damn fun. Food for thought.

One of the classes in which all we do is theater games is "Physical Theatre". Not really sure what that is supposed to mean in general, as a subject, but here at LAMDA it means you are taught by a feisty bald Northern Englishman who was trained at Lecoq and likes to make fun of you. Lightheartedly, but incessantly. While doing a finger stretch (cause you know, those fingers, they get tight, and they needs them some stretching), I started giggling because it looked like everyone around the room was doing spirit fingers like in "Bring It On". Because all I really do is find references to teen flicks in every day life. It's a finely honed skill. Anyway, I tried to stifle my giggles to no avail, and caught the eye of Marc, the teacher. He asked what I was laughing at. Being an honest person, I told him that I was thinking of spirit fingers. He asked what the fuck were spirit fingers. Clearly the only way to describe them is to demonstrate, so using the appropriate hand movements, I went, "These are jazz hands. THESE are spirit fingers." So now my nickname is Spirit Fingers. Both in class and out. It's great.

Much more to tell, but I'm hungry. More anecdotes to come soon. Love and kisses!

Back in London, Safe and Sound

The view from my window. Not the most picturesque or anything, but it's definitely the highest room I've ever lived in by a lot and it's cool to see a skyline.

So I'm back in the U.K.! Woo! It is no warmer or sunnier here than it was in Holland, people still have funny accents and I still don't know what all the fuss is about football. However, it is a change of scenery and it gets me off my lazy bum to actually do something useful and productive with myself. Like acting. Because that is a useful and productive use of my time.

I have moved into a room at Nido London, this student housing complex right by King's Cross station. The area is not particularly nice, not particularly not-nice, and in general pretty nondescript. There is a Pret a Manger. There is a McDonald's. There are two train stations. That's pretty much it. But the building is really cool, if only because it's brand new and has all kinds of fancy amenities, like a cafe and a fitness center. Which I will totally use. No really, I swear.

I have a roommate, Amanda, and we have already discovered that we have things in common. Like friends on Facebook and Shakespeare. Okay, that's all I got right now but I'll keep you posted.

I realized as I was getting on the plane in Amsterdam that I have put exactly zero amount of thought or preparation into coming to LAMDA. It was just sort of something I was doing in between other things. So I figured maybe I should do some reading up on what I would be doing here. In shuffling through the papers I had stuffed in my bag, I was reminded that I would be learning Alexander Technique, Historical Dancing, and, of course, would be required to bring a Complete Works of Shakespeare with me to class.

Hold on, what?

I guess I should have realized that if I was going to attend a four-week Shakespeare workshop, I might have to bring some works of Shakespeare with me. I guess I was a little distracted by all the medieval manuscript smelling. So it's a Sunday afternoon and I have not brought the one thing I was supposed to bring with me. And everything here is double the price it would be in the States because of the fucking dollar. "What am I gonna do?" I thought.

Enter: the most GHETTO-TASTIC COMPLETE WORKS OF SHAKESPEARE EVER.
My financial angst was solved on the second floor of the Gower Street Waterstone's when I came across this bad boy. £5.99. It even has a picture of Shakespeare on the cover. Oh wait, that's not a picture of Shakespeare I've ever seen before. I don't think that is Shakespeare. I think that's the guy who wrote some other play. DEAR GOD IT'S STEPHEN GREENBLATT!

Okay, it's not, but wouldn't that be funny? Seriously, where is this portrait from? Well, apparently this version is based on the "highly regarded Shakespeare Head Press edition," so they must know what an authentic Shakespeare portrait looks like, right...?

Alright, I'm going on too much about my cheap-ass Shakespeare. Whatevs. It was cheap. I am awesome. That is not Shakespeare on the cover. Finis.

Tomorrow's first day of classes, so I'm sure there will be lots to report. More to come soon!

Exit, pursued by a bear. Wearing high heels. (This should be the way it is performed anyway.)

Stuck in Stanstead

Alliterative, and annoying. Here's my question: why would one build an airport where the gates are so far away from the main building that you need a train to travel from one to the other? And why, if you chose to go ahead with that daft scheme, would you not have a backup plan if you couldn't use the train. Like, for example, if your stupid train CAUGHT FIRE?

I would like to have a chat with Mr. Inventor-of-Stanstead-Airport. Now.

I am sitting on a dirty floor, in a hall that smells kind of like Ovaltine that's gone sour, waiting for a train THAT WILL NEVER COME. Kill me now, please. Why can't I ever arrive in England without incident? Seriously.

On the upside, I've got my iPod on shuffle and "No Air" just came on and it makes me think of Katee and Joshua's dance on SYTYCD. Now I want to watch it. It's the little pleasures.

Mwah.
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from the Green Wing episode I'm watching:

Caroline: Did you just throw your breast at me?

Sue White: No. Do you want me to?

Caroline: NO.

-------

Karen: How do I look?

Rachel: Rough. I know! Crouch down, it makes you look less ugly.

Karen looks confused.

Rachel: No, crouch!

Karen crouches.

Rachel: Mmm, still ugly.

Karen crouches more.

Rachel: There.

------

brilliant.

i'm a lazy bum

I have spent the last two and a half days doing....nothing.

After hanging out with Hannah, Marcus, and Ty for a few days, I felt old. And tired. And realized that I have like four days until LAMDA starts. I am in desperate need of doing nothing.

I have officially succeeded. I've been waking up uber-late. Then taking naps throughout the day. Watching episodes of The Closer and Supernatural. And Gooische Vrouwen. And eating cereal and peanut butter sandwiches.

I realize I'm in a foreign country and should be exploring and experiencing it. But I've done the Dutch thing. Hanging out in a house for days = pretty awesome.

Back to online television...

mwah!

At the beach in Zandvoort!

Chilling at the beach in Zandvoort with Hannah, Marcus, and Ty. Yes, Holland does have beaches. It's the one day of good weather we've had since I've been here, and I get to share it with friends at the beach!

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Surprise!

Yesterday, I had the lovely surprise of Ms. Hannah C-S, Marcus, and their friend Ty arriving in Heemstede! I have houseguests for the first time in Holland!

We're now out and about in Amsterdam. It's the first time I've been here with people my own age... Yay!

More updates soon...
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Oof...

Bob eating his pancake with ham and cheese.

I think I ate my weight in cheese and dough. I might burst. I am definitely not eating again for a week. (Meanwhile, sitting next to us at the pancake house was a troop of tall, skinny, beautiful Dutch people eating cheesy fried pancakes and topping it off with ice cream. ICE CREAM! WHY DID I NOT GET THOSE GENES!?)

Okay, off to sit very still and try not to throw up...
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At the Pannenkoekenhuis

Possibly my favorite place in Holland. The pancake house is the YUMMIEST PLACE ON EARTH. Amber and Bob agree.
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This one is for Rachel, and all my peeps in Italia

Click the image to make it larger. From www.katebeaton.com, which has way more awesome cartoons like this one.

we roll out, yo.

your MOM is the stupidest thing ever.

and then this:



and this:


ladays love the pontiff.

mwah.

The Jexican on CNN!

That rhymes!

The HCF's very own Ely Portillo, who is working at the Miami Herald this summer, was interviewed on CNN! It's a really sad story, and look how stoic and professional he looks! Aww, our widdle Ewy is all gwown up!

(Also, I find it funny that the CNN guy asks if there were "shady characters" at a college party.)



Yay, Ely, you're FAMOUS!

Dutch Weather Sucks

This really sucks. There are NO SUNNY DAYS in SIGHT in Holland. I want to go to the beach! (Yes, Holland has beaches. They are very nice. Why is everyone so skeptical when I say that? Oh, wait. Maybe it's because IT RAINS ALL THE FREAKING TIME.)

So, what is there to do but sit inside, type up a script, and watch Gooische Vrouwen. Anouk is sleeping with the police officer investigating Claire's husband's death. Gratuitous sex scenes and dramatic music abounds.

The weather outside looks like Mother Nature took a look at Holland and couldn't be bothered to make a decision. It's gray, but only rains on and off, when you are about to say, "Oh look, it's clearing up." I think the weather in Holland is constantly PMS-ing.

Oooohhh Martin is singing again on Gooische Vrouwen. You know what's funnier than sappy pop songs sung by middle-aged men? Sappy pop songs sung by middle-aged men IN DUTCH! Baaaahahahahahaha....

Deze week op Dutch Idiosyncrasies

There are many things about Dutch culture I don't understand. Like, why are all the stores closed on Mondays? Who exactly goes to church? Anyone? Or are they just pretty old reminders of when they were ruled by the Spanish, French, and Germans?

But while they may be puzzling, the idiosyncrasies of the Dutch are nothing if not amusing. Now, there are far too many to write about in one measly blog entry, but a good three came up today that are just screaming to be shared with my less-informed-of-the-Dutch-ways friends.

So here we go, in order of their appearance in my day today.

First of all, there is a word the Dutch use for emphasis, "hoor". This word can be used to make any word that precedes it more pronounced. It is mainly used after the words "ja" (yes) and "nee" (no). This is all well and good, and the Dutch like to have words to add to their sentences to give them a little flavor (sort of like verbal exclamation points), but this word is particularly unfortunate. Because every time someone says, "Nee, hoor!" I involuntarily giggle. I have been coming to this country for five years, and even though I know the language well enough and I certainly know better, I can't help thinking that everyone - from the hairdresser to my little sister - is going around calling each other whores. I mean, that would kind of make sense in this country. After all, prostitution is legal, there is a more liberal mindset, who's to say that "whore" would not become a term of endearment? Still, it is awkward when one of my half-siblings is in a fight with my stepmother and they keep saying "Nee, hoor!", because I am not very good at stifling my laughter. I do not win brownie points from either side.

Secondly, the obsession with fries is out of control here. Out. Of. Control. I understand that it's like a cultural thing or whatever, but I have never seen so many fries in my life. There is half a row of shelves dedicated to fritessaus, the mayonnaise-like sauces they dip fries in, in the Albert Heijn. Then, in the frozen foods section, literally one third of the frozen food is fries. Like, they have their own massive freezer bin with just different types of fries. And we're not just talking straight or crinkle-cut. These are intense. I thought I had seen the worst of it until my little brother brought these home for dinner:


What. The. Fuck. They are fries. That smile at you. It's like a mashed potato version of Goldfish, only wayyyyy creepier. They have holes for eyes and mouths and they sit on the plate and stare at you with a vacant glare that threatens to suck your soul into their deep-fried holes of doom. The Dutch have taken their obsession with fries too far. TOO FAR I TELL YOU!

(Apparently, not everyone agrees with me. I got this picture from a website dedicated to declaring that "Smiley Fries" are the Best Fries Ever. Ew.)

And, finally, drumroll please....

Gooische Vrouwen

...quite possibly the best Dutch invention. Ever. Like, beyond the windmill or Heineken, this takes the cake.

Where can I find the words? There are no words. Okay, yes there are. Gooische Vrouwen (roughly translated: "good wives/women") is the Dutch version of Desperate Housewives. And it's awesome. The Dutch describe it as a "soap". (For more hilarious soaps from Holland, check out the Gooische Vrouwen website.) I find this funny because American day time soaps are the dramas all the Dutch people watch at night. My stepmother and little brother and sister cannot comprehend why I do not watch Days of Our Lives and All My Children. It just does not compute. I try to explain that (A) these shows are on during the day, (B) I don't have television anyway, and (C) these shows are not necessarily the toast of American television, but that goes over their heads. Just like the Abercrombie and Fitch things. Some American trends that travel over here, however inexplicable, are too deeply ingrained for one small person to battle.

Okay, back to Gooische Vrouwen. The Dutch have shamelessly ripped off the concept of Desperate Housewives made it TEN TIMES BETTER. (Okay, so I've seen one episode of Desperate Housewives. It seemed kind of lame. This show, too, is lame, but it in Dutch and there is way more nudity and sex than is allowed on T.V. in America, so I think it wins.) The main characters are:

- Claire, the perfectionist divorce attorney who is wearing white in almost every scene just to show how much of a perfectionist she is and whose husband gets killed during the first episode (more on that later).

- Willemijn, the token fat one (we don't have one of those in America, it's a shame). She has not had sex in years ('cause she's fat! The Dutch are soooooo insensitive to different body types. Oh wait, I'm from America. Our shows don't have fat people...) but we see her husband masturbating every morning in the shower (that's right, people! Masturbation! On network television! At 8PM! Full nudity! Oh, the Dutch....) Poor Willemijn.

- Cheryl, the wife of the huge Dutch pop star Martin (an oxymoron) who is clearly having an affair behind her back while she is oblivious. She befriends Willemijn because she is fat and hasn't had sex in years and knows how to pick out hors d'oeuvres. Her life is a trial because the paparazzi keep hounding her. You know, the hordes of Dutch paparazzi. Going after the Dutch pop star. Oh yeah, this show makes tons of sense.

- Anouk, the sex pot. She flirts with any man who comes across her path, and then there are extended sex scenes in which she has sex in the kitchen, in the bathroom, in the backyard, in her daughter's room, and in her art studio, and that's just the first two episodes. Her ex-husband is hot and a pilot. She has a daughter, but she doesn't seem to really have time for her. She's busy having all the sex. She has an au pair from Taiwan named Tippi Wan. This is an example of how the Dutch do not shy from insulting racial stereotypes. Anouk treats poor Tippi very badly. Apparently later in the series, in retribution, Tippi Wan uses her Asian expertise in explosives to blow up Willemijn's party. Chaos, hilarity, and sex ensues.

In the first episode, Claire's husband dies at a party thrown by Cheryl and Martin by drunkenly diving into a pool...with no water in it. It is very gruesome and there is a lot of screaming. Claire handles it like a professional, obsessing over her inheritance and avoiding hugging her daughter, who runs away to live with Willemijn's son Roderick in sin. When Claire finds the key to a safe deposit box in her deceased husband's things, she opens the box to find that he was in loads of debt and gay. Yeah, along with the bank statements there's a bunch of polaroids of him gettin' it on with another dude. Gay blow jobs caught on camera: that's how we roll in the Netherlands. Clearly she's pissed. She puts on another white pantsuit. She feels better.

There is so much more to tell, but if you've gotten this far, I'm absolutely shocked. Why have you spent this much time reading my stupid blog? Go do something else. Got nothing to do? Okay, watch a clip from Gooische Vrouwen. Night!

At de Bijenkorf

Amber bites off a little bit more than she can chew at the cafe in de Bijenkorf, which is like the Bloomingdale's of Amsterdam. Bob got a brownie for lunch. I'm on my third cup of Dutch coffee today. All in all, a good start.

Tot ziens!

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clearly have way too much time on my hands...

Well what am I supposed to do? It's raining and Wanda and the kids just went out to buy an ironing board. My life lacks excitement since I left Venice. There are no creepy Italians here. There are no dungeons to get lost in. (P.S. WHY did I not take pictures of the dungeon we got lost in? I was looking through my camera and I totally did not document that experience. I am stupid.)

So this is what I've discovered: my webcam has effects! Look, I'm back in London:


Cool, right?

Alright, well I think it is. I'm officially Skype-ing with a different background every time now. Look out. It's gonna be awesome.

In real "news", it's nice to be back in Heemstede with Wanda and the kids, I just don't know what to do with them? I get up in the morning and they're like, so, what do you want to do, and I'm like, "Bahdunno." We do not get very far with this line of conversation. Especially since "bahdunno" is not really a word and definitely does not translate into Dutch.

The weather outside is not nice. I mean, it's Holland so one expects rain and gloom for the majority of the time, but it would be nice to be somewhere warm and with sun during the summer for a change. While Venice was incredibly hot and humid, it was nice nevertheless to get some sun and warmth. The minute I showed up in Holland it was raining.

Wow, it's really coming down hard now. And thundering. I'm wondering if Wanda and Bob and Amber took the car. I hope they did. We live quite close to town so we/they often walk or ride bikes to get places, but it really sucks if you get caught in weather like this. It's actually surprising that bike riding is such a thing here, since like 60% of the time it's raining cats and dogs and deadly for bike riding. But the Dutch do not care. Rain does not faze the Dutch. The Dutch laugh in the face of rain. And danger. They're basically super heroes in wooden shoes.

It is funny because every time it rains here, my family seems disappointed and surprised. Like, "Oh, no, it's raining! Oh how horrible!" And I'm like, it's Holland. Don't you get used to this? But I suppose if you live in a country like this you have to develop an inner irrational optimism about the weather. Otherwise your mood would be as gloomy as the weather usually is. Or at least that's how I'm going to explain it.

So something you may not know about Holland: one of the most popular clothing stores is Sissy-Boy. Yes, that is what it is called. Completely un-ironically. I don't know who came up with the name, but it was clearly not someone who had very good knowledge of English. My little brother and sister have no idea what it means, and just think the clothes are really cool.

Like many shops and department stores, bigger Sissy-Boy's (hehe, it's funny just typing it) have cafes in them. We went there for coffee and lunch today, as most of the cafes were closed since it's Monday. (That's another Dutch thing. Stores and restaurants and lots of other places close on Monday. They're open Saturday and Sunday, but they close Monday. No one is able to explain the reasoning behind this, except for Wanda who says, "Well we do like to party here in Holland. Maybe it's to recover from the weekend?" I laughed at that.) If I could describe coffee in Holland in one word it would be awesome. I love Dutch coffee so much. Even more than Italian coffee, to be frank. And the cappuccinos we had in Venice were killer. But a Dutch kopje koffie beats all in my book. It's strong, comes with a biscuit and koffiemelk, and must be savored over several sips. It's quite the ritual here, and I love having a ritual for coffee drinking. It's soothing.

Wow, I am really rambling. I wish I had more exciting things to share, but I don't. Just tales of rain and coffee. Maybe something more exciting will happen tonight.

Tot morgen!

Olivia

I would like a happy medium

I arrive in Holland. It is cold. And raining so hard you can't see more than a few feet. I am wearing an American Apparel sundress. I was sweating and dying in it in Italy this morning. Now I think I may freeze to death. I WANT SOME NORMAL SUMMER WEATHER!!!

That's all. Too cold to type.
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Goodbye Venice!

On the vaporetti boat to Ferrovia. I will take a boat, a train, another train, a bus, a plane, a bus, and two more trains. And then I'll be back in Holland. Or at least that's the goal. Hopefully I don't get side tracked in Verona this time. More updates to come...
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Good night after a LONG day

Rachel and I are the bestesy bedmates ever. And we're in Venice. Nuff said.

Buona sera,
Olivia
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Hunka hunka burning Venezia

In Venice with Rachel. We've been to San Marco church, the Palace of the Doges, and gotten lost in a prison. Now we're sitting waiting for the Vaporetti to S. Lazzaro, which is apparently the Armenian island. We are listening to Broadway songs on Rachel's shuffle. We are awesome.

I believe I am actually turning into a puddle. Will keep you updated on that front.

Ciao!

Olivia
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Finally in Venice!

I'm here and with the beautiful Rachel, eating pizza and drinking wine. I love Italy.
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In Italy...and lost.

So I made it to Italy! All is well! Except I got on a train to Verona instead of Venice. Oops. Hopefully there's a train from Verona to Venice tonight because it looks like this one is going nonstop. Mmmmmkay. I can deal with this. Totally.

In my defense, the train to Verona was supposed to leave a half an hour before the one to Venice, from the same platform. And they don't mark the trains. How was I supposed to know???

Quel adventure.
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On the Train to Eindhoven

...and it is raining in Holland. Shocker, I know. It might rain in Venice this weekend, too. I guess I bring it with me.

I love the Dutch. The woman in the seat across from me just pulled a matching plate and mug out of her bag, followed by a knife, a tub of butter, and a sort of Dutch fruit croissant. She's started spreading the butter on the bread and drinking something out of the cup, although I didn't see her pour anything into it. I think she made coffee appear in it out of sheer Dutch will.

As per usual, this train is stuffed with terribly tall attractive people and adorable children. A little girl sitting across from me (the daughter of the magical mug lady) is eating my favorite kind of Dutch biscuit, Sultanas, and reading a magazine. I want to steal her and take her home, but I think her mother would hit me with her plate. And that's Dutch china, that's no laughing matter.
So, the agenda for the day. I took the train from Heemstede to Amsterdam this morning, and am now on the train from Amsterdam to Eindhoven. I'll get the bus at Eindhoven station to Eindhoven airport, then a plane from Eindhoven to Milan Bergamo. A bus from the airport to Bergamo station, then a train to Brescia. Train from Brescia to Venice. Meet Rachel there.

Sounds simple enough. What could go wrong?

Gulp.

Tot straks!
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Welkom In Holland! (or, Why is everyone in this damn country so damn tall and damn attractive?)

Back in the land of stroopwaffels and eendjes. We're driving back from the mall, where my little brother wanted to look at new cell phones, but ended up not getting one. But we were in the HEMA (which is the closest you get to a Target or Kmart here) and he saw me looking at a tank top, and he snuck behind my back and bought it when I wasn't looking and gave it to me when we got out. He picked out the right size and color and everything. This is clearly why he is my brother: he's a savvy shopper.

In other news, the main radio station here is having an ABBA day. That's right: all ABBA, all day. Gotta love Dutch radio. This is their idea of cool. Also, my stepmom and brother are obsessed with Abercrombie and Fitch. They can't buy it here, but there are second-hand shops that sell Abercrombie. This has been the predominant topic of conversation for the past six hours or so.

Now I am watching my little half sister put my entire childhood to shame by being a badass at field hockey camp. Have I mentioned she sails and plays tennis too? So does my brother. Seriously, what happened to that gene for me? They're both super sporty and fit. I couldn't kick a soccer ball and I am physically unable to learn how to swim. WTF?

I always arrive when Bob and Amber are coming back from camp, and I usually go along to pick them up. The awkward thing is, they always have these ridiculously tall and attractive male counselors and I'm the dumb American who gets lost among the hockey fields. It's awful. I am the biggest dork in Holland. And that's saying something.

Venice tomorrow, though. And now I am going to go drown my awkwardness in Heineken with my stepmom. Awesome.

Tot ziens!

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