The thoughts & opinions of Sassarella, the Queen of Sass as she cavorts in 's Gravenhage & beyond. Brought to you by CES's (Chief Executive Slaves) of Big Skanky Ho Inc.
It's one sad story after another in my life. Yesterday I was forced to take the day off and decided to drown my woes in the arms of Amsterdam.
First, I dragged my melancholy ass over to the Amsterdam Sex Museum or the Amsterdam Erotic Museum, where I got to sit on a six foot tall penis and look at various sex pictures and sex statues and displays of fun sex facts ("Oscar Wilde is gay?"). Then I went to the Red Light District, and discovered that the hoors on display on a Wednesday afternoon are not as attractive and/or well-groomed as the ones on Saturday night. We ended up in some kind of prostitute info centre, where I posed in a red light window and learned all kinds of fun prostitute facts, like prostitution probably isn't as much fun as it seems. Then I went to a sex shop, because for some reason, I was told to go look at the fake fists that you can buy for the purposes of self-pleasure (I assume self-pleasure, you see, because you would assume that if your buddy was involved, said buddy would have a fist and you wouldn't need a fake one). Then I ended up in a store that sold corsets, rubber bondage style, for about 400 euros.
Why? Well, I'm not exactly sure how this all turned out. All I know is I headed towards Amsterdam in the company of a very nice girl from Calgary and ended up looking at sex sex and sex all day. I suppose the best way to end this day would have been a prostitute or at least some strippers, but I was really tired at that point, so we went for pancakes and sat around in Vondel Park for the evening and went home. Lame, I know.
But...the pancakes were in this wicked place on a street called Grimburgwal called the Pancakes Upstairs, a teeny little place in a super narrow house with the steepest stairs known to man, So steep that while climbing the stairs, I could reach out and touch 10 steps ahead. They were actually steeper than the stairs at the Delft church tower, which is saying a lot. On the other hand, delicious pancakes, which is really the kind of thing that makes you forgive little things like death-inducing stairs. The restaurant also had a ceiling covered with hanging teapots, the kind of clever decorating idea that makes Trading Spaces jealous.
We also ended up in this bizarre store called Santa Jet, which sold all sorts of fun Mexican goodies, like Day of the Dead dioramas, Loteria cards, pictures of Mexican wrestlers, Mexican strippers, Mexican saints and all sorts of fun Mexican knick-knacks. What was it doing in the middle of Amsterdam? These are all good questions, my friends, ones that I can't answer. But the owner was cute and he winked at me as he packaged up my Virgin Mary keychain. 'nuff said.
At the end of the day, I bought my train ticket to Paris, so not this weekend but the next, I will be sitting in a gorgeous cafe in a Paris square, being ignored by my waiter and watching the Parisian traffic go by. Bonjour Paris, indeed.
