Well Folks, things didn't start off wonderful today. More like, they started off HORRIBLE. First of all, I didn't sleep well. I tossed and turned all night with weird dreams about the Queen and how she wanted me to clean her palace. NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!
It only got worse after that. As I ate my breakfast, I decided to fill the silence with my book. I read to myself (in a British accent as I always do, but which is much easier to do now that I have British accents all around me). I decided that I'd only read to the end of this chapter, then get ready to go. I turned the page and read the last line of the chapter. "And Emma died."
No warning. No indication. Suddenly. Instantly. Horribly.
I was angry, and sad. And just furious. And grieved. But mostly just exceedingly enraged. I threw the book down. "Crap! This is just GARBAGE!"
It just really infuriates me how author's seem to have it imbedded in their heads that if they don't kill someone off, then their book just wont be taken seriously. GOSH! Ruined my morning. Ask Brenda. I sulked for like 2 hours.
Everything reminded me of my sadness. I listened to my music to cheer me on my bike ride.The first song, "Lonely, Lonely." The next, "Let Her Cry." And then, "Lost Cause." It's as if everything was teaming together to remind me that I'm emotionally incapable of handling sadness in a story line.
You know when you're a small child, and Lassie dies and you're depressed for a couple hours, cause it makes you think of all the ones that YOU love, and what if THEY died?! And it's just plain TOO much for someone of such a young age to handle. Then, as you grow up, you can appreciate such things. That death brings about life in other forms and that it's apart of life and yah. WHATEVER.
I never got past that stage of being depressed for hours upon end. Stupid book. Stupid ending. Waste of my time.
Okay, aaaand moving on.
Today, Brenda and I went to Maduarodam. It's the place where you go and look at tiny things, so that YOU don't feel as tiny. It was great! All of Holland in an hour! Everything was exactly 25X's tinier than it is in real life. I felt at least 75 or 76 inches tall. Miraculous!
|The veggi's from my lunch that I refuse to eat. I'm probly dying of Scurvy.|
After Little World, Big People (heh. See what I just did there..) we ate lunch. Leftovers shown above. And as we ate, Brenda researched things we could do in Der Haag, while we were close. "we could go to the aquarium." "sure." "we could go bowling." "yah, that's fine." "we could take a bus tour." "uhuh, if you like." "We could do a Torture Museum?" "HECK YES!!"
So, off we went. It took us forstinkin'ever to find the blasted building, but we were lost in a very pleasant environment. And also, we got ice cream. So, like a two year old, I felt like everything would be okay. Like all was right with the world.
|Amy, I bought you this house. European Man Sold Separately.|
After what felt like days of hunting, we finally arrive at the torture museum. Excellent. I've found that the most morbid and strange things fascinate me. Is that bad? Like if I am forced (GOD FORBID!) to watch a documentary, I'll complain. Unless! Unless it's talking about 1)Polygamy, 2)The Holocaust 3)Murder Trails 4)Columbine 5)Anything to do with conjoined twins and now 6)Medieval torture.
We arrive early. Brenda is freakin'.
|Totally spooked. What a baby!|
We sat in the lobby for awhile waiting for the guided tour (which turned out to be lead by a VERY enthused Dutch man who didn't seem to care that we didn't understand a lick of his babble.)
|He wouldn't let me get on the torture table and take a picture. What a stiff!|
|Still don't know what the rope was for. Still don't speak Dutch.|
During the tour, we were joined by several middle aged, Dutch couples. And a random single man in his mid 30's with a large vacancy down the center of his head where hair usually is. Normally I wouldn't bother commenting on such a thing(who am I kidding. Of COURSE I would.), but considering he insisted on becoming the Man of My Hour, I think it necessary to point out. He obviously didn't speak Dutch either. Now he was either pretending to be stupid, or just was, but at one point he said, "You can't understand what he's saying either, huh? [don't start trying to make it like we have all this in common.] So...what room is this?" I point at the HUGE sign, basically in Neon lights that indicate the room's name.
A few more rooms are toured.
"SOO.......where are you from? London?" [you WISH!]
"Right, right. Cooool." [no one says cool anymore.]
"So...uh...where are you..."
[Quickly, I decided whether to go with, "I'm 15..." or "I'm married"]
"I'm 15." [Much more realistic.]
Poor chap. After the tour, he we were the first to run for the entrance (our parking had expired), he pitifully followed for a block or two...but then just stopped and turned around.
So, now we await the arrival of our pizza. Nom nom. I wub pizza.
Oh, and before I forget. I'm dying of arm pit cancer. No, really. It's super sore, feels like it's been badly bruised. This is not to be taken lightly. I'm positive there's a tumor. Its a good thing I have such good hygiene, I have nothing to be ashamed of. If I should pass on, know I love you.
And on that happy note, I shall big you farewell. Love to you all.
Remember me by this picture, a picture that I actually like, which rarely, rarely happens. I meant to take a picture of me and behind me would be a teensie tiny little midget building, but I had the zoom on, and so alls you get is, me. And the reason I like it, because in it I look happy. And I look happy, because I am. Arm pit cancer and all.