My Life in Crazy Town - Travels to the Netherlands

OK so insta-corretion: the Netherlands isn't specifically crazy town. My life is. And by removing myself for 2 solid weeks from participating in my real life to do work over here, I'm able to subjectively assess how insane things actually are. Turns out going to the Netherlands is equivalent to having an out of body experience where you hover over yourself, fueled by jet lag, a language that half the time sounds like English being spoken backwards, and blisters. Screw you, flats.

**no image here... i google-imaged "foot-blister" and have no one to blame but myself for that one**

Scene 1:
I'm doing this in scenes because I want this to be appropriately chronicled when they make a Lifetime Original Movie about my life. Cut to it being 2 am here, and against all my will power I fell asleep the night before at 7:30, ip so facto, mamma's wide awake. So I drink a full calorie Pepsi that I'll never admit to again, fire up the laptop, and creep on Facebook for a solid hour. There's nothing more labyrinth like than Facebook roaming. You click on a friends profile, then click click click, you're staring at a photo of 5 people you've never seen in your life.

I  literally know none of them

This is how I came across my ex's profile. Now I'd like to clarify that I literally never think about this person. Ever. His name unfortunately comes up whenever I have to explain the most retarded 9 months of my life (See my DMV blog post for further explanation). Not to mention I'm currently dating the antithesis of that creature, so no reason to ever dwell. But the 80g of sugar on top of a prior warning from a friend who loves me enough to keep tabs on my past-crazy but doesn't know me well enough to not tell me things like "don't look at his profile... it's really creepy" equaled me going in...

And there it is. A facebook album that should probably be named "I'm extremely creepy and post pictures of my ex girlfriend WAAAAAYYYY after we've broken up... like weirdly long after". And I'm not talking pictures of me and him. I'm talking like solo pictures of me. Just me. Being me. Ew. I hate solo pictures. What WHAT am I supposed to do with my hands.

So that's not the creepiest thing on the planet, thanks only to M. Night Shamalamading-dong's slew of movies, spear-headed by "The Sixth Sense".

For the life of me I can't figure out why he did this. The only thing I care about quite frankly is the obvious lack of stability when someone publically makes a facebook album shrine to someone else when that person thinks they're disgusting in every way. Silver lining- I now have at least 30 pictures of myself from my early twenties that are going straight to my "See! Your mom used to be attractive before you ruined her" photo album for my future children.

Double silver lining - the blocked list for facebook creepers just got a new addition.

Scene Two

I have a weird collection of the best living things in the world. My family, friends, boyfriend and trillion cats that I own are proof that God felt really bad about plaguing me with migraines for eternity and is balancing it out. Totally worth it. All of this would reduce in quality 10-15 percent if I didn't have the dobbs. The dobbs is the 80th iteration of the name of my cat, the Black Dahlia. She a baby panther that is as old as Yoda, and if we could harness the power of her love like they harness will power in the Green Lantern, we could probably fix all the problems in the middle east. And find a way to eat cheese everyday and not get fat

So the dobbs is perpetually trying to make a jailbreak from the house. Mostly because she's a wild animal that belongs with her kind in the jungle and also because she probably noticed that our backyard needed some love. The night before my trip over here, she made a break for it. She bolted. And didn't come back for a solid 2 days. Which resulted in us having to explain to a majority of our neighbors that "The Dobbs" is a totally respectable name and "Yes, she looks like a baby panther with a halo of love around her".

Those two little growths off the back of the Dobbs are the only two things that love her more that Ryan and I do...

Her being gone for 2 days and my leaving a day after she left equalled one plane flight of me being convinced she was getting mauled by the bears that roam Towne Lake. So there I am, leaving my boyfriend for 2 weeks, not able to talk to my mom (who also fills the roll of therapist/personal shopper/cheerleader, so a pretty big hit) except over email, and my spirit-animal is missing. Top it off with watching "The Five Year Engagement" and you've got yourself an inter-continental break down in row 19.

Never watch this movie unless you were looking for something to push you over the suicidal edge.

Now I'm off to run on the treadmill and burn the full-calorie beverage off. It's 3 am. Screw you time-zones and screw you again flats. I still haven't forgotten what you did to me today or the google image search.