It’s an Oregon-y day here in Amsterdam. The hotel is like the last one, cool and modern looking but built from old buildings I’m guessing. It’s like a maze to find your room. Off the elevator, take a right, go down a step, take a left, walk down the unmarked hall, et voila! There’s room 815, right next to room 811, NATURALLY.
I read a book on the plane, finished it and started another that is a TURD, so I decided to watch a movie: Philomena. I also watched three episodes of The Mindy Project. And I slept. And snored. But the plane is so loud, no one can hear. At least I hope so. Cuz I MAY OR MAY NOT have had some tummy issues and had some ALLEGED gas issues. MAYBE epic gas, the kind my huz usually lets forth. MAYBE. Or maybe NOT. It’s my (public) secret.
Oh this hotel has a bathtub of fear, just like the last one. It’s nice and long, but approx one inch wide (give or take) and elevated slightly. Why? Why? Last time I was in one of those tubs, I had a big mishap.
Ok. I’m going to unpack and organize. My room is tiny and I can’t be having my shit all unorganized. I been married to J for too long for that kinda free-wheelin bznss.