I hate stairs

So, 6 days left

The unthinkable has happened, well actually I kinda figured it would happen. I'm sick of monster hunter, imagine that. It happened around Friday. This is really unfortunate because now I have less than nothing to do. Let me run you through my day (again):

11am- wake up, eat something
1130am-1330: sit in front of the computer (check facebook, blog, gamefaqs forums, and ioncross forums). continue to milk it for as long as possible
1400-back to sleep or lunch
1700-wake up, computer again for as long as I can
1830-dinner, going out or staying home
2030-completion of dinner, computer, surf tv for something in english
2230-watch a movie or two, or a couple episodes of 24 (bringing home first season)
2am-sleep again

I've been on this cycle, or something simular to it for about a week. Somedays I do something, most I wont. I'm just killing time till I can come back to the States. I'll probably hate myself for doing this when I get older...but fuck it.

I managed to break my face yesterday. First, however, let me preface this story with:
"A History of Kellen and Stairs."

As a young boy growing up in Kingwood (a houston suburb), I was used to the concept of multiple floored houses. However, at about the age of 11 (6th grade i think) my parents moved me into a One-story home in Baton Rouge, for the housing costs their are more expensive. Ever since, I've lived in a one-story. Flash forward eight or nine years, I live on a first floor apartment. Regardless of my inexperience (I have about as much experience as Joel with sushi or Chase with the Arabic language) with stairs, I, like the 6 year old that I am, insist on bolting up them when forced to climb them. This generally concludes with some sort of injury to me. Watch me at the Student Center. I'd say about once every week or so I eat it on the stairs. The stairs here in Amsterdam are not for novice stair climbers, such as myself. These sons of bitchs are a polished concrete (making them super slippery even when dry) and are approximatly 6in wide. Bottom line: I fucking hate stairs.

So back to the face breaking (i typed "breasting" there first...). My mom alerted me that the "furniture guy" was coming over to pick something up and that he'd need my help loading into the van. I didnt feel the best, so I ignored her and took a nap. About an hour later I woke up to my mom yelling at me to get up and, of course, put some pants on. I stumbled upstairs and was briefed by my mother as to exactly what I was lifting. It was the "map table." By no means is this a light object. So me and the "guy" lift this son of a bitch, not terribly heavy, but by no means light. I'm the one that gets the honor of walking backwards...and then we got to the stairs. Fucking stairs. I start my decent. My mom tells me "Be careful, those things are slippery." In my mind I'm blowing her off thinking, "Jesus, I can walk down fucking stairs..." and just as that thought leaves my mind, I caught the edge of a step. The damn table catches me in the eye and drags all the way down my arm (and leaving a nice little gash), but I manage to keep it from falling too much. Table was fine, which was all anyone really cared about. My eye, or atleast the lower lid got cut, somehow. Not sure how a table can cut, but it did quite a good job. It looked like I was crying blood, which scared alot of the Dutch passer-bys. Imagine an American repeatedly saying, "Damnit" while having Virgin Mary crying tears stigmata. I bled all over the damn sidewalk, but managed to finish loading the van...while bleeding on it.

I guess the moral of the story is: fuck stairs.

I finally caught up to myself in 24, which means I'm halfway through the first season. Since I have several nights left here, I plan on concluding it and the 2nd season before I come home. My parents are letting me keep the 1st season and'll give me the 2nd (they have up to the fourth) when I come back in the winter. More to put on the Big Black Bookcase.

I again got denied by blogspot upon trying to upload an image, and I dont feel like restarting. So fuck it.

You can't catch a nigga with the last name Speed

I'm trying to make up for depriving you poor people of your entertainment for so long. I'll be your tamborine monkey just alittle longer.

I come to the conclusion that Turkish and I have simular patterns with women. First of all, one of his ex's is a stripper, one got knocked up. One of mine is potentially a porn star, and another potential prospect (we flirted a ton, she wanted me to goto homecoming with her, yea im a youngin, i declined. She went with another dude who all she did was bitch about, then went back to clinging onto her ex of 4years. Long story short, she got preggers and married the homecoming dude) popped a baby out at 19. I'm getting old. My parents had me at 25, pregnant at 24, that's 4-5years away. How far away are you Ella, Erin, Chase, Jason (cause one day someone is gonna forget something, I wont be able to handle pregnant Racheal, she's too much already)? However, I think 25 is a good age. My parents are 45, or something... and they live in Amsterdam. No kid, no worries. You get to be young and raise the kid. I just dont know though, that's getting close. I cant even decided if I want to be in school.

This just in, a member of N'SYNC is gay!!
No shit. Is this supposed to suprise me? That's like say Wesley Snipes is black (not mentioning he's the blackest nigga around). It's time for a visual.













Snipes looks straight up homeless here. I don't even recognize him unless he's kicking someone in the teeth or killing vampires.

Now please don't get me wrong, I'm beyond cool with gay. However, we live in an age of predijuce. Actually, it would be nieve to say that. We live within an eternity of it. I look forward to that future where the chicks at McDonald's are smoking and everyone is equal, except maybe women. =) Regardless, people will always think they are better than each other, and that's where the problem lies. I, personally and all moral issues aside, think homosexuals should have all the rights of straight people. Here's where it gets gray though. I really want to be totally down with them adopting, I really do. The problem is though, not that wouldnt raise the kid right, it's how much shit that kid is going to get from his peers. I'm not agaisnt them adopting, I'm just looking forward to a time when they can and no one cares.

I think I'm this way because of the enviroment I've always been in. Most of the time I've gone to a gay hair dresser, even when I was little. Then I had a gay man for my boss for over a year. Just doesnt bother me. I'm not an advocate, I just dont care. Much like with many things in my life. Bottom line: Gay is OK, especially hot babes.

(Picture was going to go here, but about half way through posting everytime blogspot.com doesn't let me post anymore without rebooting or changing computers...so fuck it)

While on the whole pop culture train, I decided to finally visit thesuperficial.com out of my own free will. I love this kind of stuff, so it was bond to happen sometime. I found this wonderful quote from ms. britney spears, who apparently doesn't give what she types a moment's thought. We call these people morons:

"In some ways, people are a lot like animals. I'm mesmerized by tigers. Their eyes, their stripes, their constant quest for survival. They almost have a sense of mysteriousness about them. They pull you in and make it difficult to look away. They make you wonder what is behind their gaze. A sense of eerie awe comes over you in their presence. The fear they give you when you pass them is stunning. Behold the beauty of the tiger."

Be happy my blog isnt like this.

Joel, if you haven't yet read my comment on your kevin smith post I highly recomend you do so now. It's a nice quote from the master himself and an awesome interview, you wont be disapointed.

Enjoy yourselfs bitches, it's a celebration

I'm the damn hero of Canton

May Malcolm Reynolds be with you. But more on that in a minute.

It's been high 80's here everyday, which is a blast when you dont have A/C and you packed flannel. Because of this said heat wave, it's titty season in Amsterdam.

It's that time of the year where all the good Dutch women let their titties come out and greet the unwashed masses for a brief period of a week, or so it usually is. This summer has been uncharacteristically hot for Europe. The Frenchies are dieing cause it's so hot, but oh well. I've been indoors alot. With a fan, a psp, and a dark room, I've been couping. Regardless, everytime I come home from somewhere that I saw a ridiculous amount of hawt ladies, I have to knock one back to the bitches. So here's to the bitches!!

I looked pained... That's because I decided to turn the camera off (the power and shutter are way too close) 3 times before succeeded in photographing this moment. Needless to say, I consumed more of the beer in a minute than I would have liked, oh well, 22 more to go.

I've also been playing gross amounts of MHF (Monster Hunter Freedom for all the ignorant people out there). It's fun, but just like single player on console, it can be very cheap. I soloed "A Troublesome Pair", now I have to solo "Four Horns" to advance to HR2 (theres only 5lvs). I'll explain all the things I've learned when I get back. I'm friggen stoked about Valkyrie Profile!! I can't wait! I might not make it two weeks. Thanks guys for picking it up for me, I hope Erin drove my car, for I do not want Chase to. He drives too much like a Guy for my tastes. Please don't lock my keys in a room, Erin. Anyway, I'll give you cold hard cash when I get back. Simera in September...stoked.


Now back to what I was talking about earlier; If Firefly was a religon, I would gladly goto church. Fuck, I'd be a disciple. This is my calling: Spreading to good word of Malcolm Reynolds to the world, sharing wisdom such as, "Have you ever been with a warrior women?", and undoubtedly sharing the fair teaching of Shepard Book. Missionaries go from door to door, in brown coats, handing out DVDs of the pilot. There's path to follow depending on what character you choose to model your life after (me, of course, being Wash). So really, it's so much more. I'd really look forward to the followers of Inara =). The deserves a "Shwing!" Sunday mass is a Saturday night bar fight, and the followers of the Mal path have to punch someone. However, only once a month are the forced to punch a bitch.
Yea...I could do that...

I lost about 4 years off my life as blogspot.com gave me such a hard time loading these images. Oh well, finally done.

Sorry about comments, somehow I turned on comment moderation and it wouldnt post comments till I approved them. I approved all pending and now it off. Before, I was going to stop bloging, but then I saw all the comments! Now ill have to find something to write about. Thanks for defragging my computer chase.

I've made the decision (with my father the other night when we got drunk together at a pub, well two really) that I'm going to smuggle ridiculous amount of liquor back home. It's really cheap here, and if customs busts me I'm just gonna fork it over and say 'I didn't know.' Duty-Free is the way to go, everything is 5 to 10 euro cheaper than the States, that's about $15. I love Europe, but only for the bitches and alchohol. I would also like to share that I drank 5 beers posting this...enjoy. My picture of tits didn't load, ill go take a picture of some tomorow...maybe

Hopefully I get into more trouble for your sake.

Jesus sold me a cheap tripod...what a jew

A week without a blog, how have y'all survived. My parents decided not to bring the laptop...sooooooooooo, no blog. Oh well, here we are now, together once again.

Turks...fuckin Turks...

Istanbul, easily one of the prettiest places I've ever been, ironically enough, I've never been readier to leave a place before in my life. Turks love to lie, so don't blame Art, it's not really his fault. From what was advertised about the hotel, somewhere around 2 of the statements were true. That's alot of fun. Turkey is the best example of capitalism I've ever seen. Everyone there is trying to sell you something. blah blah blah turkey

I started typing this with high spirts, however, I really don't want to talk about Turkey.

*grabbed a beer*

I'm thinking...give me a minute...I cant think of any funny pictures to post on this one.

I'll go out tomorow night and get into some trouble, then Ill have something to type.

Joel wouldn't survive over here...no double cheeseburgers, and they eat fries with mayo

Bitches

This morning I woke up to what I thought could very well be the rapture. It turned out to be a power drill, circular saw, and belt sander working in harmony. So I grabbed my liter and a half of Sinas (orange drank with alot more carbination, less sugar, less orange), and started typing.

I've been having the weirdest fucking dreams lately. The night before last I dreamt I stole Hideo Kojima's DS (or was it Shingeru Miyamoto's PSP...) because it had tons of cool shit on it. I, of course, immediatly felt bad and pretended to be a PR director calling the other (one gave to the other as a goodwill present from the respective co.) to get it replaced. I feared for a quite literal console war. However, ol' Kojima has been thoroughly enamored with Nintendo recently, as is quickly becoming BFF with Miyamoto.
*Disclaimer: If you don't know who these men are, ask Chase or Joel, then you can care even less when they explain*
The one I had this morning was strange as well. I dreamt I helped start this basketball, ethnic, streetballin', church. There didn't seem to be much church, but lots of streetball. Anyway, people could come up and challenge you for a position on the "squad". I had a challenge that lasted for hours, which ended with an elbow to the stomach and me shiting myself. It literally got six times weirder than that...but I'm not getting into it.

Bottom line is I rarely dream at night, and now I have a fucking insane one everynight...

On a different note, I think Jagermeister is a drink made for the evil...

My good friend Craig (from Houston), or should I say bad friend, left me an undiscernable amount of Jagermeister. He got really sick from it so he decided that buying me some was the way to improve our bond. He was right. Last night my parents decided it would be "cute" to take me out to the Dutch countryside to eat dinner with my dad's coworkers (engineers), their wives (spoiled bitches), and their daughters (...spoiled bitches). More on this later; somewhere in there I decided Jager would take the edge off me. I took two hefty gulps (do it big or not at all) before walking out the door. Now my tolerance for alchohol isn't what it was in the winter, but I'm no pussy. I felt odd... After I got on the tram, I saw shit outside that I knew wasn't there...and I also seemed to have a new set of gravitational rules set just for me. I was not drunk, I was, what I have now discovered is...a state of Jager. Which brought me to this conclusion, two types of people can drink this shit: topless, drunken, bitches at Mardi Gras and evil people with dark souls. Now I'm not pure, I wouldn't even say I'm a good person. One could go as far as to say I'm a bad man...but I dont think Im evil, atleast not that evil. I don't kick puppies...that's usually how you gauge if someone is evil...puppy kicking.

I like puppies.

So back to the backyard blast that was an engineer's dinner party. We get on the train (my parents don't have a car, and being a product of the american lifestyle I can say honestly, they dont need one) ,and headed towards Den Haag (the Hague, but Im Dutch, bitches). We get off in a smaller city, where one of the wives pickes us up in her 30-40k $ Acura (it was bigger than any two cars in the lots put together) and drives us to her house. She pops the trunk, and much to my delight, I find beer. With the trip I call Jager well worn off, it was a welcome gift. We marched around the house, saying our hellos and meeting niggas. I think I said four phrases the whole time I was in the backyard: "Like an upside-down wedding cake," "that's a Class Bravo airspace," "Corperate Aviation," "Bah, that's Louisiana for you."

The daughters came out, attractive enough, but nothing overly special. One of them looked like she wanted to kick a baby, had the meanist look in that bitch's eyes. The other was more friendly. I, like the awkward social creature that I am, stared forward, made sure not to drink more beer than anyone else, and didnt speak. Occasionally, I would catch the 21 year old looking at me (four times I think I counted), and she would look away.

Needless to say, after eating all that cheese and potato salad with eggs in it, along with four beers, I was feeling a tad gassy and had to piss pretty awful. Someone recomended a walk on the beach. I thought, sure, I can make it, it'll be brief.

Little did I expect an eight mile death march up sand mountains and through the tide. I felt like an American soldier captured on the pacific front. The sand dunes here are easily taller than a moderately sized hill. They would classify as mountains back home. They are made of sand! You ever walked up a sand mountain...it sucks. Now imagine having to take the biggest piss of your life.

I eventually made to the end of this Dutch trail of tears. One of the mothers decided it would be nice to tell me how great her daughter (the baby kicker) had it here. I'll just give you some of the high points with my thoughts in ( ): "Oh, *what's her name* has it so great here, and she has so much fun. They go out on nights and run around on the beach (naked), have bonfires and such (read: sex). Also, the drinking age is 16 here (good habits start early) so she has that. She doesnt seem to appriciate it, but she has tons of fun."

Let me tell you how much highschool was. I worked. I played video games. And for fun, me and my friends slept on watertowers and...ate at taco bell.

I took a monster leak on the train...

Hope to be able to type in Turkey, but no promises.

I've said my goodbyes to the sun, my little one

So here's how my schedule is like here: I wake up somewhere around 7-9 in the morn, walk around town til about 12-14, nap till dinner at 17-19, then go to sleep in the 19-21 area. I goto bed early and wake up early.

Yesterday I made the most delicious sandwich. Dutch hard salami, ham, and cheese my mama bought at the cheese market. Very very tasty, I did well. They also have chips with paprika here, it's kinda like european barbaque chips.
There's some crazy stuff going on in the middle east now. So where do my parents think it's a good idea to visit?? Turkey, gateway to the middle east. Needless to say I'm not very excited. Shit is really going down over in Lebenon.

It's almost scary how much I believe in Sam Jackson. I honestly believe that if we gave him a butter knife, a desert eagle, and a canteen of MD 20/20, he would solve any conflicts in a matter of hours. This is something I truely, 100%, believe. Sam is the man. Lucas didn't let him keep the "purple drank" (mace's lightsaber) because he feared the balance of power in the world would be thrown off.

I miss photoshop, microsoft Paint doesnt work in layers...

I'd like to thank Mr. Sharpton for all his help knocking out the technical kinks and such with the blog. I really appriciate the comments, either by facebook or the blog itself. It really makes my day to read them, and it's my only interaction with anyone my age I get.

Anyway, here's a quick on to tide you over

A drunken daze...skeet

So I had plans to post yesterday, however as Erin can vouche for, I was entirely too drunk.


I was having this outstanding dream of Kiera Knightly kissing my neck yesterday morning. It was quite brilliant, however, much to my dismay, I woke up to the cold nose of a 95lb German Shepard poking me in said neck. So that's how that day started.




I made the recent discovery that Dutch children are easily the most horrible little demons on Earth. It wouldn't surprise me if they were the ones responsible for the Rwanda massacres years ago. These kids make Sam Speed's offspring seem tame and civilized. I was walking through a park in the morning with my dad, and all the little bastards were doing was yelling and running around. A pair of them even decided it would be "cute" to scream at me the entire length of the park. However, the Dutch don't believe in fences or boundaries at these parks, so the little fuckers can just stroll out in front of a tram or bus. I believe it's what they consider population control.

On a similar subject, I was at the grocery store later that day. We go everyday because you can only get as much as you can carry. You have to pack your own groceries in a bag you bring with you. There was this little section of the store where parents could just dump kids off and shop. In this little castle of terror there was a TV playing Disney's animated Robin Hood. A great movie for young and old, however when it is dubbed in Dutch it is the most terrrifing thing I have ever heard. The male voices scream this horrible noise at you. No wonder the kids are fucked up.

In this same super market I got another surprise, this time pleasant. After being scared shitless by Disney, good ol' American porn brought a smile to my face. I'm standing in line, and what's this staring me in the face? Two pair of big ol' titties, an uncovered Playboy is sitting right next to a Star tabloid. This makes me assume that the old "Mommy, what are those?" talks happen alittle sooner here.

From what I gathered, the Dutch (or at least Amsterdam) are more socially advanced than anything else I've experienced. I base this soley on levels of tolerance. These people tolerate prostitution, hordes of foriegners, low level narcotics (herb and shrooms [shrooms are everywhere]), crazy hippies, and most horrible...patulie. That's my quick take on that.

I'm fairly convinced that my parents are out to get me drunk. They buy me beer by the case at the store, then take me to the pub and order me a beer even I don't ask. Now for some math: I had two 9.5% alc beers at 33cl (a touch over 11oz), then two more 5.1%ers at same volume (that makes 6 normal beers now). My dad takes me home, leaves to go out with his co workers to another pub, I head back out myself. Same pub as before, more beer. Two more small 5.1%s (8 now) then two big ones. These things were huge. Those things were easily 22oz, if not more. I'll be modest and say they were only twice as big as the smalls. Regardless, that puts me at 12 beers (modest) in 2 hours?? Drunk...but before then I decided with my good drunk judgment that I wanted to goto a cafe...

So you might here these tales of beautiful Dutch women rolling your J then licking it in the most sexual manner possible...heh. If by beautiful woman you mean sweaty, fat Greek dude, and by lick you mean throw a plastic vial with the J in it at me then overcharge me then...yes, yes it's like that. It was a shitty place, and I sat at a table in drunk(heh, on a proof read I found this and left it, funny fryodian slip...front) of this crazy strung out ice head, possible hermaphordite. It was a a sketchy call...but I did it. I guess it didnt help I did it was a block away from my house, which is quite a distant from the tourist areas, which is where all that stuff is. I couldnt feel the herb over the alchohol I consumed, money well spent. Excuse the sarcasm.

Strike three.

I called Erin, then proceeded to silly drunk shit around my house. Apparently I fell down the stairs...

I got bored and decided to go on an adventure...I went to the red light district, where I walked around for somewhere around 3 hours. Two things learnt: Haitians sell lots of blow, and you can't play a player. First, there are these Haitian dudes trying to push coke all over the place over there. I got sick of it, so in my great judgement I went up to one when he called me over. I asked him, "Do I look like I'm stupid?" In which he questioned my orgin. I then asked him, "Do I look like a mark to you?" He replied that I look like a smart fellow. Then I told him "Then you know, thatI know, that your overpriced and cheap quality." He gave me this look of, "what the fuck just happened?" I walked off. It was a terrible a idea and nothing but bullshit, but I think that dude was actually uneasy as to what was conspiring in front of him. That was my danger for the night. Expect of course the hundreds of hookers.

Now the second lesson, the player thing. These bitches are players. No heart of gold or pretty women hookers here. However, they are smoking hot and theres something for anyones tastes. Fine ass bitches. I didn't do anything but walk around and absorb the vice for three hours, biggest waste of time ever. I guess I'll explain to yall what this place is like. Imagine an alley with glass doors lining it, now imagine half naked bitches behind the glass, like lunch meat. Crazy place.

So I was adventurous but didnt really do anything but get drunk yesterday.

This is what the French call "power blogging"

First of all, if you comment please throw your name on the comment. I can only guess who you are and honestly, not so found of guessing. And who the hell is KY? Come on; give me something I can work with people!

There's something I need to share with you guys. When Moses was trying to lead his people to the "Promised Land" he was heading in the wrong direction. It's here... Please notice the price. That's 8 Euro for 24 bottles. So what, that's around $9.50, $10? That's 24 beers!!! A 6pack of Heineken at Wal-Mart or Mulligan's costs $7 or $8. Holy Shit!

So here's how the system works: You buy the beer in a crate like this, 8 Euro, awesome, but already established. You drink it...again, awesome. Then, you take the bottles back, a pain, but it's $9 for quality beer, I can cope. Here's the best part. At the grocery they add on a fee for the crate and glass, somewhere around 3.5o Euro. However, you get that money back when you return them.

So you may be asking, "Kellen, surely all beer (or bier if you wanna be all Dutch) isn't such a bargain!" That is incorrect. The nicer beer might be around 9 or 10 Euro...nicer beer...how much nicer can beer get?!






The world is indeed my oyster...or at the very least...my $9 dollar case of beer...



So that's where I was going to end this one, bring it to a close. However, typing that last sentence moved me. It inspired me to rant about this great beer salvation some more.

A case of Miller High Life, the Champagne of Beers, is $12.50 now in tin cans. A case of Heineken in glass bottles is $9.60. A case of Natural Lite, Natty if you'd be so bold, the choice of frats and dorm rats around the states is around $12. I'm flabbergasted.

Why Don't You Blog About It?

So I figured this would much easier than sending out a facebook message or an email every once in a while...we'll see if I can actually stick with it. Those familiar with Mr. Sharpton's Blog...don't expect the same level of writing from me.

Maybe it's because I've been living in Ruston so long, but it seems like everywhere I turn in this city I see beautiful women. Tons of them...however when your walking around with your mother all day they might as well not even be there. Who am I kidding though? It's not like I'd actually do anything about it anyway. Also, as Mr. Guy would say, there are tons of "trustifarians" here. White dudes with dreads, Marley T-shirt, smell of herb coming off them, while walking around with their didgeridoo. I guess that's enough about the people, was the first thing that came to my mind.

My day of flight was exactly that. My mom and I went to this Italian resturant they regularly visit. Great food, and they even offered me a free beer. I was tired and, amazingly, declined. I TURNED DOWN A FREE BEER. That's special, y'all remember that shit.

You go everywhere on a tram here. Fairly convinent. My parents live well into the city. Chad was right, there are lots of different people here. Certain people live in certain parts of the city. My parents live in a very Dutch area, which sounds odd since they live in Holland, but you'd be suprised to see all the different areas. I ganked this image from some Dutch tourist site.
So...I don't talk awhole lot now. I'm kinda uncomfortable here. I like the city, but I just feel out of place. While I don't fit in with the droves of tourists walking around in "I love America" shirts, I don't fit in with the locals either. Just feel out of place. Even Google is in a language I don't understand. I'll pretty much let you know now that there won't be any crazy stories. I'm just too much of a pussy to actually go out on my own and explore or goto the club/bar at night. It's a shame...blast my courage.

The weather is about 70 all day. It's good to see my parents and animals again, but it's going to be a long month...