Tomorrow my age digits increase. I wasn't going to celebrate, but since my friend is throwing her belated birthday party tomorrow, I will be crashing her party and turning it swiftly into my very own. The Railway tomorrow evening – be there. I bought a new outfit to commemorate the occasion, I didn't mean to, it just happened. On my way to the train, I was thinking about how lovely my skirt was, a beautiful and stunning skirt which I bought in London, and I thought about how good it felt to buy it, my thoughts were completely obsessive over the sheer perfection of this skirt. As I walked past the underground mall, I thought, since it was about to be my birthday, wouldn't it be nice to feel that good again? To feel the warmth of new clothes against my aging body? That was a good enough excuse for me, and I redirected myself immediately towards the birthday gifts. I bought a pair of black pants and a black shirt, my ideal outfit. Very simple. I own, perhaps a dozen, no, four dozen black shirts – two pairs, no, six pairs of black pants. But these were different, they have cuffs.
Funny story #30 Calliope and I were walking the streets of Amsterdam in the middle of the night, searching for the perfect pub in which to consume pannenkoek and fries,with a side of beer or Genever, aka Dutch Gin. After passing up a dozen venues, of which were just not the perfect environment for our jet-lagged arses, we ended up in a bitty lil' place filled with peanut shells and cherubs. Chaos Cafe (on the Looiersgracht) was its name, chaotic it was not – our presence was certainly known, the room was small and four people sat at the bar, three of which I presume resided there. We silently glanced at one another, quietly questioning it's environment and whether or not would find the food we so desperately were searching for. As if reading our minds, a Liverpoolian bloke at the bar spoke out, breaking the eerie silence within, "Christ, this place is fookin straange!" He continued with a comment on how he knew the two girls that entered must have second thoughts about the joint and figured we would turn and leave, but on his cue we decided to stay and experience the strangeness of this little hole in the wall. It was simply hilarious that he said this with such perfect timing, he himself, having stumbled upon this litte Dutch bar and finding it quite curious. We had a really delightful time in Chaos Cafe, no they didn't serve food, but peanuts and beer fed our hunger. Gary, the boy from Liverpool, now residing in Amsterdam, kept good company and taught us a lot about the mystery of that city. A bell rang into the wee hours, my immediate reaction was that of the bell representing last call – quite the contrary, the bell represents empty glasses, those of mine and Calli's – they filled our glasses on the house! We left sometime near 2:30 or 3:00am, the cafe closing when it's patrons were done, lovely! With our grand fill of beer, and a little of the young genever in Calli's belly, we departed, wandering the streets of Amsterdam till maybe 4? After passing the same giant plastic bathtub twice, we realized we were lost, roaming the city in circles, half the time desperatley searching for a place to pee. It wasn't so bad in the end, we saw much of the city we wouldn't have otherwise, and were pleased to listen to the sounds of the Westerkerk (west church) bells at 3am while in a small bicycle filled alley and eventually found our temporary home via Prinsengracht.
Funny story #30 Calliope and I were walking the streets of Amsterdam in the middle of the night, searching for the perfect pub in which to consume pannenkoek and fries,with a side of beer or Genever, aka Dutch Gin. After passing up a dozen venues, of which were just not the perfect environment for our jet-lagged arses, we ended up in a bitty lil' place filled with peanut shells and cherubs. Chaos Cafe (on the Looiersgracht) was its name, chaotic it was not – our presence was certainly known, the room was small and four people sat at the bar, three of which I presume resided there. We silently glanced at one another, quietly questioning it's environment and whether or not would find the food we so desperately were searching for. As if reading our minds, a Liverpoolian bloke at the bar spoke out, breaking the eerie silence within, "Christ, this place is fookin straange!" He continued with a comment on how he knew the two girls that entered must have second thoughts about the joint and figured we would turn and leave, but on his cue we decided to stay and experience the strangeness of this little hole in the wall. It was simply hilarious that he said this with such perfect timing, he himself, having stumbled upon this litte Dutch bar and finding it quite curious. We had a really delightful time in Chaos Cafe, no they didn't serve food, but peanuts and beer fed our hunger. Gary, the boy from Liverpool, now residing in Amsterdam, kept good company and taught us a lot about the mystery of that city. A bell rang into the wee hours, my immediate reaction was that of the bell representing last call – quite the contrary, the bell represents empty glasses, those of mine and Calli's – they filled our glasses on the house! We left sometime near 2:30 or 3:00am, the cafe closing when it's patrons were done, lovely! With our grand fill of beer, and a little of the young genever in Calli's belly, we departed, wandering the streets of Amsterdam till maybe 4? After passing the same giant plastic bathtub twice, we realized we were lost, roaming the city in circles, half the time desperatley searching for a place to pee. It wasn't so bad in the end, we saw much of the city we wouldn't have otherwise, and were pleased to listen to the sounds of the Westerkerk (west church) bells at 3am while in a small bicycle filled alley and eventually found our temporary home via Prinsengracht.
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