amstahdamn. . .

so I'm in an internet/pool/bar/hash place in amsterdam. I watched the usa get destroyed in soccer on tv, and decided tonight is not the night for my experimentation, as I am naturally a paranoid indivdual I don't need to ruin the night. I treated George to a joint, however, since he lost 100 euros to me in pool, I think it is only fair. So far the trip has been as expected - we are treating ourselves well, relaxing always, eating and drinking well, etc. I slept for 13 hours on sat --> sunday, so George was giving me shit about not being able to wake up for the train to amsterdam. I agreed and said we should clearly stay up all night and get the six a.m. train. He agreed and that's what we did. (It would have been nice if he remembered that he bought first-class eu-rail passes, but we got here :/. . .)We are at the Merdian in Amsterdam, which is very nice. I drank the best bottle of bottled water I have ever had today. It's called SPA.
Yesterday, we were watching a soccer game in an irish bar in Brussels. Geroge went to the bathroom. When he returned, we tried to get two more drinks. The bartender was clearly ignoring us, so George got up and strolled to the other end of the bar. It was then I noticed he had made a toilet paper seat and got a piece caught. So, there he is strolling through a bar with approx. seven pieces of toilet paper hanging down the back of his jeans. I scope the scene to see who notices. Then I realize since it's George no one will notice, which is exactly what happens. He just stands in front of three girls at a table with a roll of toilet paper hanging on his pants, and no one notices. . . .
My plan of maximum relaxation has been going according to plan. While drifting down the street in Belgium, George foresaw an accident in the making - two cars at a decent speeds were about to collide, and the vector of impact was pointed right at me. Normally I flinch hard at just about everything. This time I just decided to ignore a really loudly yelled "Glllllllleeennnnnn, WATCH OUT!" After a second or so (very long time in this circumstance) I just turned my head to watch two cars screech to a halt in front of me, then threw George a sort of "don't waste my time and make me turn my head unless you really mean it, bitch. . . " look. . .

oh, Johnny O, my plan of pulling out George 's secret nickname six days into the trip went as follows: I got off the plane at Brussels and meet up with him. We make small talk for like 3 minutes, then he said, "So, did John tell you he calls me hooter." Bah. . . more coherent update to follow.