Amsterdamned If You Do

July 27, 2007

Goedemorgen, everybody!

</ Dr. Nick>

This evening, the missus and I are off like a Dutch prom dress for a week in Amsterdam. I thought I should stop by here to warn any interested parties that the posting schedule might be even a mite slower than usual for the next few days. It’s possible that I’ll have some sort of windmill-powered internet hookup in the land of clogs and tulips, but I can’t promise that I’ll be posting again soon. Or before I get back. Or that I will come back.

But I suspect my money will run out around the same time as our hotel reservations, so expect an update of some kind by next weekend at the latest. Meanwhile, I’ve got to finish packing, find my passport, and figure out what to say to Dutch customs officials when they ask, ‘Why are you entering our country at this time?‘

‘Uh… hookers and weed, duh. They didn’t give me the third degree when I flew to Vegas, dude.‘

“When in Rome, you wear bedsheets and feed Christians to the lions. When in Amsterdam… well, we haven’t really sorted it out yet.”

Honestly, though, I’m not sure how much time we’ll spend in the Red Light District. The missus has an itinerary full of museums, canals, and beer halls picked out, and that’s peachy with me. Mostly the last one, but hey, it’s Amsterdam — they probably let you drink in the museums, and I bet the canals are filled with Hefeweisen. At least, you’ll believe they are, if you eat a few of the brownies. Just watch out for the psychedelic sea monsters.

And one less-imaginary anecdote before I cram my laptop in a suitcase. With all of the people giving us the eyebrow about going to Amsterdam, my wife finally decided to bring the situation up directly. We’ve had so many people telling us to hit the ‘coffee shops’, or eat the cakes, or don’t eat the cakes, or try the brownies but only one brownie at a time, or ask for the good stuff, or for the love of god don’t try the good stuff!!, we’re a little dizzy. It’s like a pre-trip contact buzz — and like I said, we’re not really going to Amsterdam for that sort of thing.

Really. We’re not.

Stop looking at me that way.

But we’re not a couple of uptight fundy fraidy prudes, either, and we’re keeping our options open. When in Rome, you wear bedsheets and feed Christians to the lions. When in Amsterdam… well, we haven’t really sorted it out yet.

So last night in bed, my wife turned to me and asked: ‘While we’re in Amsterdam… do you think we’ll try anything?‘

I didn’t miss a beat.

‘Well, hon, Amsterdam’s known for its hookers and hash. Tell you what — you pick one to try, and I’ll try the other.‘

We’ll see where that gets me. Probably a ticket to sleeping on the floor in our hotel room, but I can’t be sure yet. I just hope she calls my bluff before one of us is standing in front of a red door somewhere in the District, with our plane fare cash in hand yelling, ‘Oh, I’ll do it! Just you watch me — I’m not scared!‘

That would suck. The last thing we want is to be stranded on the seedy side of Amsterdam with no way to get back, some prostitute laughing at us in Dutch (‘Unh-huh-huh-huh!‘), and no money for brownies. That’d sure stuff a clog up the old tulip.

And with that image, I’m off. Gauw tot ziens, everybody!