Category: blog

In addition to loads of tulips, coffee shops and red light districts, the Netherlands has a plethora of museums. That’s Not Chinese is a fan of Van Gogh and had hoped to visit his museum last time she was in Amsterdam. Unfortunately, the museum workers were on strike, so she was only able to stand outside.

 

“I really, really want to go to the Van Gogh museum while we’re here,” she told Rusty Rogue Rafael and I. “I’m not much interested in going, but you two should go. I think I’ll just stay here,” he informed us.

 

Once arriving in Amsterdam Centraal, we immediately started heading towards the Museumplein. Sadly, however, by the time we walked to Museumplein, the Van Gogh Museum had closed. “I can’t believe this,” That’s Not Chinese said, “The first time I come to Amsterdam I can’t go in this museum because of the strike and the second time I’m here I can’t go in because they’re closed.” “Definitely a total no Gogh. Guess you’ll just have to come back. Third time is the charm,” I consoled her.

 

Once we returned to Haarlem, we found out about Rusty Rogue Rafael’s new ‘charm.’ Soon after we had left to Amsterdam, he and his friend met for ice cream. Once they had their cones, they decided to take a walk around the Red Light District, specifically the brothel. “I’ve really fallen for one of the prostitutes,” Rusty Rogue Rafael advised us. “I’m sorry, what?” That’s Not Chinese asked. “No, I know it sounds bad and I’ve never felt this way, but there was this one girl who was absolutely stunning and she smiled at me – and not in a prostitute way.”

 

“How does one do that?” I asked. “It’s just different,” he told us. “Seriously, this has never happened with me before. She had a queue of blokes as well. A guy in a wheelchair and another guy with a bad leg. Really, really seemed like a nice girl. I think I might ask her on a proper date. What do you think?” he asked us. ” “No go on the ho,” That’s Not  Chinese advised.

 

Rusty Rogue Rafael is a bit of a world traveler. While living in Thailand he frequently saw and heard young female prostitutes on the street. “Their famous saying was ‘same, same, but different,'” he informed us. “What does that mean?” That’s Not Chinese asked. “Not really sure mate,” he replied, “I never checked it out. At the end of the day, I’m very British. Very boring sexually.”

 

While traveling from France to Amsterdam on the train we were observing some of the same, same, but different commuters. As one of the same, sames exited the train, Rusty Rogue Rafael winked at me.

 

“Sorry,” I told him, “I can’t wink or I would wink back.” “You can’t wink?” he asked. “Nope,” I confirmed. “You’re a freak!” he replied. “A freak? Really? Because I can’t wink?” I asked. It was at this time that karma stepped in and he spilled his drink on his shirt and pants. While trying to help him clean up, That’s Not Chinese noticed that, in addition to having spilled his drink, he had chocolate on his pants. “Look at you, chocolate pants,” she told him. “I’ve never been called chocolate pants. I like it,” he told her. “What do people usually call you?” I asked and added, “Freak, by chance?” “You know me,” he replied, “They call me Subzero.” “No one calls you that,” I told him. “I know,” he said and winked, yet again. I gave him my notorious head tilt in response and quipped, “Same, same, but different.”

Due to the fact that I never found my French Travel Pack CD, my vocabulary in France was pretty much limited to ‘Bonjour,’ ‘Comment ca va?’ ‘C’est si bon,’ ‘Merci,’ ‘Beau cul,’ and ‘100% parfait’ (the ‘1oo%’ bit spoken in English – of course). I figured I would get by just fine because That’s Not Chinese speaks a bit of French and I didn’t think anyone would pick up on the fact that we weren’t French. “No way. American accents are loud,” Rusty Rogue Rafael loudly informed us in his British accent at a Chinese buffet, “they totally stand out.” That’s Not Chinese and I found this comment, especially in this environment, to be ironic.

One lovely afternoon, That’s Not Chinese and I decided to walk our loud selves down to the village bar. Maverik Midget King had told us about the bar on several occasions and, like many of the businesses in this quaint village, the hours were completely dependent upon whether or not the owner wanted to open. Luckily, the bar owner opted to open the bar on this day and we walked in to find two patrons. “Bonjour,” That’s Not Chinese and I excitedly greeted them. They replied with an equally excited “bonjour” and a sentence or two that neither That’s Not Chinese or I understood. We smiled politely and then I made a brief, yet important, announcement, “We’re Américains!” “Ah, welcome Américains,” the bartender greeted us in English.

Within no time, That’s Not Chinese and I were enjoying drinks with the bartender, a Countess, and an Italian. They taught us a few new phrases, such as ‘À votre santé,’ and we learned that, though a lovely and catchy phrase/tune, ‘C’est si bon’ is not what most French people say. We also got the scoop on the other shop owners in the village and, after a few drinks, stopped by the market before heading home.

By the time we returned home, Maverik Midget King and Rusty Rogue Rafael had returned from their afternoon in the fields. “How was Brokeback Mountain?” I asked Maverik Midget King. “It was very nice, but what does that mean? Everyone keeps saying that,” he replied. “Wow,” That’s Not Chinese replied.

Polite as always, Maverik Midget King asked us about our day. We informed him we had spent the afternoon at the bar and met several people from the town. “I live here one year and know no one. You are here one day and know everyone,” he said in shock. “What can we say?” I said and then, as if rehearsed, both That’s Not Chinese and I announced, “We’re Américains!”

 

Visiting Maverik Midget King is always both entertaining and educational. He lives in a small village in France and has learned English from books, language programs and Rusty Rogue Rafael, aka, Rosetta Stoned. Just as we teach Maverik Midget King English, we learn French and interesting idioms from him.

That’s Not Chinese and I were teaching him a few new words, like ‘epic,’ and he was trying to think of the best context in which to use the word. “Ah, I get it, it is monumental, like gay pride.” “Exactly,” we replied in unison. A little while later, he was sharing some candy with us and advised us, “The best is not the taste, it is the joke inside.” “True for so many things,” I replied.

Just as he had done last visit, he changed the ‘shits’ for us. Shits is his way of saying sheets and is one of those words you don’t want to correct, because it is just so cute. Prior to hitting the shits, he shared one of his favorite idioms with us, and we opted not to correct it – ever, “Do yourself like at home.” “Oh, we will. Merci,” That’s Not Chinese assured him.

Once Rusty Rogue Rafael joined up with us we all did ourselves like we were at home by heading to a Chinese (Chionese) buffet and, after that, a bowling alley and pool hall. Like at home, That’s Not Chinese and I spoke loudly, at least, that is what both Rusty Rogue Rafael and Maverik Midget King told us, “American accents are loud.” I chose to respond in Spanish, loudly, “Que?”

After That’s Not Chinese and I won two of three pool games and Maverik Midget King did time-out in the corner for being a sore loser, we played a game of bowling, and then went home to play BINGO – just like at home. Rusty Rogue Rafael, with a shit (not sheet) eating grin on his face, began telling us that Canal Jumper had made a comment about us visiting Amsterdam, “American girls want Euro cock. I’m going to get me some American pie.” I looked at That’s Not Chinese and said, “I need to go take some allergy medicine. I’m allergic to this bullshit.” Maverik Midget King responded, “I’m just like a Bounty Bar, but opposite. White on outside, black on inside.” “Do yourself like at home,” That’s Not Chinese advised him.

After a few hiccups, we found our little hotel near Champs-Elysées. The hotel and location is one of That’s Not Chinese’s favorites. Being that it is an older, independent hotel, you receive an actual key for the room. A key that you must return to the desk clerk each time you leave the hotel. As we left for the evening, they asked us the hour at which we would return. “Minuit. Une heure,” That’s Not Chinese advised him. “That is fine,” he replied and added, “You will not need key. We will still be up.”

As we were tooling around town, That’s Not Chinese speaking some French, me speaking muy poquito (Spanish for ‘very little’), I informed That’s Not Chinese that I was a “language killer – a linguisticist of sorts.” “Oui,” she responded. “Curds and oui,” I quipped.

While at dinner, our waiter took a liking to That’s Not Chinese – giving her free drinks, a rose, and advice, “Get a boyfriend. You will learn French and Greek. Here is my information. I will come to your town in September.”

Caught up in the moment, we lost track of time. Without a key, we had only 20 minutes to return to the hotel. We thanked That’s Not Chinese’s future husband for his excellent service and incredible kindness and then quickly made our way to the Metro. Since we had traveled to and from our hotel several times, we were very familiar with our stop, Miromesnil. Being that we were in such a hurry to get home, and we had imbibed a bit, I was anxious to get to the toilette. “We are so close,” That’s Not Chinese said in an attempt to comfort me. Then, as we rounded the bend to approach the stop, she added, “So close I can smell it.” “Miromesnil, pffft,” I said, “Miromesmell.” For whatever reason, our stop smelled like ripe trash.

Once back at the hotel That’s Not Chinese was ready for bed. “I think I’ll turn on the TV,” I told her. “Ugh, no,” she responded. “I only watch when I am on vacation,” I advised her. She succombed, but it ended up being a bad idea on my part. The first thing we saw when we power it up is Vincent D’Onofrio – her other future husband. “Oh, oh, oh,” That’s Not Chinese was elated. “I can’t believe Vincent speaks French in France.” “I can’t believe CSI is on TV in France,” I mumbled. “It is not CSI, it is Criminal Intent,” she corrected me. “CSI, Criminal Intent, key, no key, I can’t believe it,” I replied.

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When you arrive to the airport and straight out of the gate are told, “Nice bag. No, really, nice bag. We see a lot of bags coming through and, this one, this one is a good one,” you know it is going to be a good trip, maybe.

Just prior to going through security, I decided to alert my credit card companies of my adventure. “Thank you for letting us know. Our card is not accepted in France, Belguim or Holland. It is accepted in Cuba and Brazil.” “Not only am I not going to Cuba, Americans cannot go there. Wow. Guess I’ll exchange my money in France,” I told That’s Not Chinese.

The second gate we approached also provided us good news. That’s Not Chinese advised the gate agent of her name and the agent handed her an envelope containing drink coupons. As we were taking our seats on the plane we were sharing our joy with the couple in the row behind us. The man quipped, “I didn’t know they gave them (drink coupons) to unaccompanied minors.” “Yep, 16 of them,” That’s Not Chinese replied.

16 unused drink coupons later (drinks are free on the direct flight, “Oh, no worries, we’ll use them on the way home,” That’s Not Chinese assured everyone), we were in France. We found our luggage right away. Nice bag is not only nice, it is easy to find, which makes it even nicer. “Oh, honey,” That’s Not Chinese said to me while looking, sadly, at my bag, “What happened?” Turns out nice bag had a nice dent in it. “Good thing it has a ten year warranty,” I responded. “Yes,” she replied and added, “but it just doesn’t make any sense. It was a direct flight with no turbulence.”

Not one to get upset by such things, I decided to focus on withdrawing some Euros. That’s Not Chinese went first and her transaction was simple. Not so much for me. My debit card and PIN were rejected at several machines. “I am in Europe and my money is no good here. No Discover. No American Express. No money,” I told That’s Not Chinese. She replied, “At least you’ve got a nice bag – with a ten year warranty.”

Heading somewhere foreign…..I’ll be in touch and I’m not talking about the Divinyls in touch. A bientot!

In preparation for Paris, That’s Not Chinese and I decided to get International Driving Permits. This process includes obtaining a passport photo. I headed to Walgreen’s for my photo and, like a criminal, stood against the white back drop with my head held high, but that wasn’t enough. “I need to see your ears,” the employee advised me. I hadn’t heard this before, but I obliged and pushed my hair back over my shoulders. “No, you need to tuck your hair behind your ears. I’ve got to see the tips.”

 

It wasn’t until I was with That’s Not Chinese at AAA, actually obtaining the permit, when I noticed they took passport photos and decided to ask about it. “Is it required that people show their ears, tips and all, in their photos?” “No, not at all,” the associate responded. “I knew that girl was up to something. She must have some weird ear fetish. Show me your tips. Maybe she said tits and I misunderstood.” “Are my ears showing in my photo,” asked That’s Not Chinese. “Nope, I just checked. When did you get this taken?” the associate asked. “Oh, just barely. I can’t remember exactly when. Maybe a month ago. No, a little bit longer than that. Two years ago,” she replied. “That is not just barely. Show us your tips,” I told her.

 

As we left with permits in hand, the associate wished us well and added, “Make sure to show everyone in Paris your tips.” “Oh, I will,” I assured him.

 

I then came home to pack. Translation: think about packing, look at books, sew things, google stuff. I was about an hour into this when I received an invitation from Oreggano to attend a porch party – immediately! I, of course, immediately headed her way.

 

Upon arrival, I found Oreggano and Patty Melt enjoying wine spritzers on the porch. Cream of Tartar and Le Chauffeur were in the house, “probably cuddling,” said Oreggano. They eventually emerged to prepare dinner for us, however, when they returned to the kitchen to make our plates, Oreggano totally busted them. Apparently they weren’t speaking kindly about relationships, specifically marriages. Oreggano returned to the porch upset by their behavior and sharing ‘words’ with both of them. “Put this in the blog, ‘there was a fight in the spice cabinet.’ That’s right, Cream of Tartar and Oreggano are not getting along,” she informed me.

 

Cream of Tartar and Le Chauffeur eventually had the courage (and desire to smoke cigars) to return to the porch. With my recent acquisition of an International Driving Permit, I had a lot of questions for Le Chauffeur. “Why don’t they have seatbelts on school buses?” “Do you talk to the kids when they get on the bus?” “Do you use the radio to make announcements?” “How do you start the announcements, ‘Welcome to the bus, I am Le Chauffeur’?” Apparently, this, combined with the fact that both he and Patty Melt were envious of the upcoming Paris adventure, was all a bit too much for Le Chauffeur. “I hope they put you on the ‘No Fly’ list,” he told me. “Uh oh. Better check your purse for a knife. I wouldn’t be surprised if he put one in their to trip you up at security,” Cream of Tartar quipped.

 

It was at this time that we all went our separate ways. Cream of Tartar and Oreggano found their place, side by side, in the ‘spice cabinet;’ Le Chauffeur warmed up the car and safely drove Patty Melt home – both of them wearing seatbelts – no radio announcements were made; and I went home and Googled things.

 

Well, as often happens with me, I’ve upset some people. With That’s Not Chinese’s birthday just around the corner, we planned dinner and a concert with a small (12-15) group of friends. Prior to dinner, I met up with That’s Not Chinese and Tree at her house for a glass of wine.

 

“You look pretty,” I told her. “Right?” Tree responded. “She’s got her hair all puffed up for someone who looks like he doesn’t smell good.” That reference was about the musician, Joe Purdy. As we were discussing the evening plans and other adventures, That’s Not Chinese reminded Tree of something important, “I’m fun now – I’m taking two anti-depressants a day.” “Hmmm, well I’m fun too,” Tree said and added, “It’s just there are some days when all I want to do is lay in bed.” “Maybe you should take an anti-depressant,” she told him. “Maybe two,” I added.

 

And with that we were off. After a lovely dinner we walked over to the concert facility where That’s Not Chinese’s sister had saved an entire row for us. Being that it was a full house and we were rather late, there is no doubt that this activity – saved seats and walking in late – upset a few patrons. If it didn’t, I decided to help out a bit. The opening band was playing and Godfather was announcing a song that Cisco Kid was going to sing. The song was about a child he has not yet had. I was chatting with That’s Not Chinese while they were providing the introduction so Sleepless got my attention and informed me they were looking for a baby mama. With all of my birds having left the nest, I was ready. “I’m lactating,” I yelled out. Although they liked the comment and provided a response, there was one patron –  the one who appeared to have sat on the armrest (with it upright) instead of his chair – who was sitting directly in front of us and not pleased with the comment. A few minutes later, Godfather was promoting their shirts. “They’re even good for people who are lactating,” he told the audience. I, of course, replied, “If I buy it, it will be a wet t-shirt.” “There you go, a wet your own t-shirt contest,” Godfather replied.

 

Once they finished their set, the man in front of us slid off the armrest and attempted to find new seats. This was pleasing to me – not necessarily because I wanted him gone, but because we needed seats for D-Dog and Casera. I’ve been to several concerts at this venue and they always involved dancing and typical concert behavior. Not this one. Looks like the Cheese Tour took a detour and had dropped off the seniors for a concert. Nobody was dancing. Just sitting, doing nothing. A few head sways every now and again. This is not my kind of thing. If I am going to sit in the same seat for more than an hour, I better be in another state by the time the hour is up.

 

LaLa and I had been chatting off and on about various things when That’s Not Chinese informed us we were being loud. A few minutes later, LaLa shared some information with me, “I’m seeing two of Joe Purdy.” “That’s not good,” I replied and added, “Because there is only one of him.” We were again informed we were loud and people we’re getting pissed. It is amazing how one person can be so vast. Not one to be shushed, I hightailed it to the lobby. Casera and D-Dog soon joined me. “What’s up?” asked D-Dog. “I’m too frisky for acoustics,” I answered and added, “I pissed someone off and it wasn’t Purdy.”  Casera stated he was also too frisky for acoustics and then advised me he has a new job at a RV dealership which means we can go on RV trips on the weekends. “Suddenly, because of RVs, I’m over it,” I told him referring to the pissy patron.

 

After the concert we headed over to the brew pub for some food. “Who likes Marguerite pizza? I’m buying,” Casera excitedly announced. “Marguerite,” Sleepless giggled. With food in our bellies, we were like new – ready to take on anything. Then, I looked down at my wrist and it was as if the concert venue had picked out the stamp specifically for me. It read, in all caps, “BAD.” Yep, it wasn’t purdy.

Lately, I’ve been wondering about the tulips. Each day as I leave to work they are open and lovely. When I return home from work or when it is rainy out, they are closed. Being the botanist that I am, I knew there had to be a scientific reason for this activity. Sure enough, it is called nastic movements – non-directional responses to stimuli. Plants and humans truly have so much in common.

 

Turns out, the tulips are just like Oreggano and I, in that they are photonasty. Now that you’ve got a visual, I’ll correct your nasty thoughts and let you know that only means we respond to light. In addition to photonasty, there are all kinds of other -nasty and many of them are common among humans. Nyctinasty – movement in the dark or at night; Chemonasty – chemical response ; Thigmo- or Seismonasty – response to touch. Then there is Stuponasty. This is one I just made up when I learned of my neighbor’s new landscaping business: G Spot Landscape Design. The ‘G’ stands for ‘Green.” I shared this information with Sleepless who, kindly, gave him the benefit of the doubt, “Maybe he was being funny.” “No,” I replied, “He isn’t that kind of funny.” “Really? Is he a virgin?” she asked, “Or is he just stupid? ” Yes, he is just stupid. Stuponasty – responds to nothing. And as far as whether or not he has pollinated, I have no idea – but I did see him with a hoe in the backyard.

 

It was around this time that I found two great things. An article on gardening with tips such as ‘Get in right,’ ‘Hit the spot,’ ‘Spoil the soil,’ and a Sesame Street classic on youtube, “It’s the Shpritzer Honker Splasher Sprinkler Tweeter Squirt.” This is a cute little song and video that involves dancing around a large wet instrument in a public place. Who doesn’t love to do that? It is amazing how some things can have so many meanings. I like to call this gem, Shpritzonasty.