It's disconcerting.
So, yes, I made it back to Holland alive. And with all my shit, too. I cried at the baggage check-in counter and they let me check my two 25-kg bags. (The limit is one 20-kg bag.) Do I feel guilty for playing the crying girl card? No.
My father is currently making dinner. When I asked him what he was making, he said, "food." All I know is he chopped onions, endives, cooked what was left in three different packets of rice and weird-noodle looking things, put it all in a casserole dish and stuck it in the oven. The smell is interesting. I'm sure the taste will be too. Maybe I should start drinking before we eat....
In other news, I'm going to take this week and try to get my Dutch citizenship. Since my parents weren't married when they had me, though, I'm technically not my father's daughter. According to Dutch law. You know, the law in the same place where pot and mushrooms are legal? Where gay marriage has been legal for like, ever? Yeah, that same place says that since my parents didn't get married 21 years ago, I'm not Dutch.
Maybe the crying girl card will work on the Dutch Naturalization officers...
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